#this was supposed to run alongside the month in real time lol

[rilu-artblog]

Quick update because I'm gonna be out this weekend this time I won't forget tumblr exists too Part 1-3 Prev

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[burnedbyshoto]

good little omega

— He was an alpha, you were an omega. Can I make it anymore obvious? He was a crime boss and you were a movie star. What more can I say? Oh, he wanted you, really wanted you, but you swore you would never, ever need an alpha.

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pairing: alpha!shigaraki tomura x omega fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, abo/omegaverse, chad alpha!shiggy, virgin celeb!reader, kidnapping, drugging, sex slave auction, biting/marking, belly bulge, knotting, sex toys, heat, implied murder (lol rip shigsters last omegas), mind break, breeding, degradation, finger fucking, fucking in front of a crowd, modern world!au

word count: 6,174

a/n: this goes out to my shiggy stans. I never understood you until recently and now I blush like a schoolgirl when I see him. mondays are so busy, are they not? ive been home for 6 hours today wtf????

kinktober day 12 main kink: abo/omegaverse | kinktober masterlist

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You sat before the mirror, your eyes intently staring at your reflection. The people around you running around, chaotically bringing brushes and pencils to your face, the smell of chemicals in the air, tickling your overly sensitive nose. 

“Are we ready?! Is Y/n ready?! I don’t think she’s ready?! We need to be out of here in five minutes, people, let’s hurry it up!”

Breaking your gaze from your reflection onto your agent in the background, you sighed softly at the growing sour and distressed omega pheromones. Oh, you realized suddenly, your nose unable to keep from scrunching at the mildewy detergent scent, they were really stressed out.

Today was the night of the biggest award show one could attend as a movie star celebrity in Japan. The Motion Picture Awards gave only the most prestigious and prodigious actors and actresses their due. A night of fashion, alcohol, and nervous pheromone pumping alphas and betas in a single room to reveal who was the best this year. Working in an industry such as your own, you had become quite the living legend already at the mere age of twenty-two.

As an omega, you grew up in a society that banned you from enlisting or attempting to join the ranks of the best in just about every field of focus or study. So that even included the area of acting. Casting Directors had always said the same thing each and every time you were forced to present your secondary gender to them all when being called back for auditions.

‘Omegas can’t be movie stars, your heats are too often and too long, they cause rifts in filming schedules this project cannot afford.’

‘We have too many prime alphas on set. Our film's projected main character is an alpha, we wouldn’t want to be caught up in a lawsuit should she find you to be too… fertile.’

‘Omegas can only be good, suitable nurtures and well, mothers. This movie just seems a bit too intense for a little omega like you!’

Omegas can’t do this, omegas can’t do that. Alphas, the pride of society, couldn’t be made to hold themselves back to your alluring scent and occasional heats. Betas, the majority of the population, didn’t feel a challenge when working alongside omegas. Omegas? Well, if there were any that actually existed within the film industry, they were for sure never heard from, or seen of.

At the age of eighteen, you had nearly given up on your long aspiring desire to become the first omega actor or actress to ever grace the scene. But just as you were ready to tell your agent that you were tired of all of the same, repetitive bullshit, a gentle alpha had approached you with an exciting role in mind for you.

Movies and cinematic films had always showcased omegas as sweet, nurturing individuals. For the most part, you agreed that that’s how you omegas were. You enjoyed hugging your close friends, scenting them softly as means of a small pack you had created as none of you were mated this young, yet didn’t ever wish to be bothered by self-righteous alphas or betas. Through many, many biology courses revolving around your secondary gender, you knew that the hormones that made you an omega also affected the brain to accept and view things in a… softer light. But unlike what they taught in school, and unlike what the alphas in society knew about omegas as they could never honestly watch an omega in heat while alone, was that omegas weren’t always the most nurturing or kind.

The week before your heat, the week of, and the week following your heat, you were always irritable, angry, almost cold. You’d flash your small fangs at anyone who dared to approach you with a scent you hated, your heat room never once escaping with everything torn to shreds, and you definitely did not wish to seek any fiber of soft love.

So when the alpha male sat in front of you, a single fang poking out of his lip as he exposed his neck in a motion of vulnerability and conceding to you — the omega — you knew he was serious.

He explained to you his plan on creating a more realistic movie surrounding the brutal truths of what being a single omega was like. Films had, after all, had always depicted omegas as being mated the moment they presented and going as far as saying that there were others means to be coupled to other alphas without actually being marked. It was atrociously wrong of the omega lifestyle, and it always made your stomach curl to see that it was an alpha or a beta actor putting on the role.

But he wanted to focus on the realities. The anger, sadness, and horrors you could face as a single, unmated omega. The director raved that you were the face for that movie and had a soul that made him come seek you out. And without so much as consultation from your agent, you agreed on the spot.

The title of the film had been an ironic one. Good Little Omega was what it was called in the end.

All in all, the movie had done poorly in the eyes of the critics. Many individuals — namely alphas and betas — claimed that the depiction of omegas within the film had been horribly wrong. Omegas were never sad, never homeless, never abandoned by society! That’s what they had all cried the moment the trailer flashed with bright letters:

AND INTRODUCING: Y/L/N Y/N (Ω)

Still, the movie made billions as many went to watch it because they ‘needed to see how horrible the movie was.’ They wanted proof that omegas weren’t cut as movie stars because how could someone who was out of commission for a week every two months be proactive on set. But all they got was a cinematic masterpiece.

You had taken a claim in the industry, one while small, that hadn’t hurt that much because you were much more focused on the fact that you now were a household name. Well, that is until you were nominated for the awards ceremony you were currently about to attend, only that it was the one from four years ago.

You were the first omega actress and now the first omega nominee. You hadn’t won, but that had solidified the step you had in the door. After that, the interests to hire you in omega roles came pouring through the door.

But you were brought back to reality when the setting spray splashed against your face, your eyes fluttering when they covered your scent glands with the flesh-colored band-aids they got for you. Alphas could never complain about you being a distraction if you smelled the same as betas. 

Rising to your feet, you smiled graciously to your makeup and styling team, thanking them profusely as your agent placed her hand at the small of your back and began pushing you towards the exit.

“Goodluck!”

“Thank you!”

.

..

.

Shigaraki glared down the table of averted eyes, and his hands brought up under his chin twitched at his annoyance.

“Are you going to say anything, or are we going to remain silent?” he asked, his voice quiet yet heavy in all of their ears as they flinched. “Don’t think you’re going to get away without giving me an answer.”

The sour smell of fearful alphas should have corroded Shigaraki’s nose. It should have done something to unsettle the way that the young head sat on his black leather seat. But as a matter of fact, the young alpha had to resist the way he wanted to bare his teeth in a bloodied smile, his red eyes slit in his cruel lust for fear.

“O-Of course not, a-alpha!” croaked one of the smaller alphas down the table. Shigaraki snapped his eyes towards the yellow-haired croony, his neck exposed for the alpha, eyes refusing to look at his leader. “I-It’s just that, um, I — I mean, we don't know w-what happened to your mate!”

“I thought I gave clear and distinct instructions that you were supposed to have found them by this meeting,” Shigaraki stated, his voice somehow growing colder, meaner yet never once changing as his hands dropped from his chin to rest on the arms of his chair. He tilted his head, watching the pathetic alphas quiver like some scared, stupid omega. “Useless. Get out of here before I change my mind on killing you all where you sit.”

The crowd of alphas left quicker than Shigaraki could blink, leaving behind the reeking smell of scared alpha pheromones. 

“Tomura-kun, you killed your mate,” came the singsong giggle from behind him, and Shigaraki didn’t bother turning around, his nose and ears sharp enough to pick up exactly it was behind him. 

“They’re all a bunch of pissy lackeys,” Shigaraki simply stated, his eyes rolling as he slowly fell to the back of his chair, red eyes meeting golden ones that shone with mirth and joy. “What do you want, Toga?”

Toga leaned against the leather armrest, uncaring that Shigaraki hated his personal space invaded. The young female was an alpha, much like most of the people within this gang group, but unlike the others, she had a distinct, almost terrifying way to change the way she smelled. She could smell like anyone or any secondary gender. She often preferred to smell like an omega too. 

“We have a guest visiting us today!” Toga chirped, her fingers clasping together. “I wanted to introduce him!”

“Bring Giran in,” Shigaraki snapped, his eyes narrowing with no real malice for the alpha next to him who simply pouted at the surprise — not a surprise — being ruined. Giran reeked of cigarettes and cheap body sprays that, when wafted with his distinct omega pheromones, made Shigaraki want to throw up. “Hurry up.”

“UGH!”

Shigaraki’s mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes watching as one of his most trusted allies walked to the table, and taking a seat in the abandoned chairs as Toga purred in happiness, sitting on the armchair of Giran’s chair, arms enveloping him. 

“Shigaraki, how are you doing?” Giran smiled, the cigarette that seemed to take a permanent residence in his teeth moving with his words. “I came bearing some great news.”

“What do you have for me?” Shigaraki simply states, his eyes focusing on the letter that is unpocketed from Giran’s pockets and placed onto the table. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to sell me your omega niece again.”

Giran chuckled, looking at Toga, who was smirking softly, “I guess he still hates that joke, huh?”

“Absolutely livid!” Toga laughed.

Shigaraki growled, his mind and his inner alpha snarling at the lack of respect to the command of his question. He outranked them, outpowered them; they needed to respect his orders. 

Giran took a deep inhale of his cigarette, sliding the card over to Shigaraki, his eyes averted, but his stance still firm. “I know you go through omegas faster than a teenage boy goes through a pack of tissues, but I think this can answer the pleas you have at night.”

Observing the card in his hand, Shigaraki scowls, unsure of how to feel about the print on the invitation. 

“Say the word, and I’ll get you a seat,” Giran whispers, like a sinister god begging a mere mortal to sign over their life for something completely worthless. But Shigaraki knows his worth, and more importantly, he knows in this game he outranks Giran, who would never betray him. In the slightest. He huffs, his back hunched, and his eyes looking with subdued excitement. 

“Who else is showing up?”

Giran knows the seat will be wanted that instant.

“No one who could hold a candle to you, alpha.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Of course not, my liege.”

.

..

.

The award sitting in your hand feels almost fake as if the entire night was nothing more than a heat-driven fever dream. You had won, had actually won the most significant award of the night that an actress could win!

“Oh my gods, okay, okay,” your agent muttered beside you. Her eyes glued to the shiny gold statue between your legs. “Well, I know your heat starts tomorrow, and I’ll leave you alone for a week. But I swear, y/n, as soon as your mind isn’t a full-blown lusty heat brained bimbo, we’ll reconvene, and we will make sure you are nothing but the greatest!”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly state, eyes transfixed on the prize that felt like it could melt away any second right now. “That sounds wonderful.”

The car you were in pulled up to your front door, and you felt meek excited the car in nothing but a silk robe and slippers. The dress you had worn that night had already been put back into a plastic bag to be returned to the stylist who had offered to style you for the night. You waved with an almost transfixed look in your eyes as you closed your front door behind you, your heart hammering as adrenaline still coursed through your veins as if you had just been declared the victor of the category yet again.

Placing the trophy onto the table, you sighed in a wondrous, dreamy way.

You had done it.

You had won.

Fuck all those directors who had ever said anything different.

Still deep in your thoughts, you almost missed the knock on your door, and you figured that you must have left something in the car. Walking back over to the front door, your nose curled at the lack of scent, was it a beta?

Opening the door, you don’t remember seeing faces or even a scent of a pheromone. A single cloth wrapped over your head, and before you could send out your painful, fearful moments-from-heat omega pheromones, you were knocked out.

Cold and lifeless, you sunk against their arms, bile rising up to your throat as you know exactly what was going on. You were being kidnapped. 

No… please not… not after all of this had happened.

.

..

.

You wake up to the sound of moving feet, sneering laughter, the feeling of coarse, hot, hands on your ass and wet, simmering tongues on your lubricated cunt. The sense is vivid. You can feel the very littlest touch on your body, the layer of scented pheromones on your glands, and slick from alphas — you know it's alphas imprinting themselves on you as a mark of a claim.

You knew about this from high school; it was an extremely outdated and frowned upon version of mating and claiming as it simply turned away any sort of pursuer who wasn’t the thick pheromone individual. You also knew it was frowned upon because if multiple individuals sought mateship with the typical omega individual, it would result in a massive, unsolvable death match. But these alphas, even with layering their scent on you so thick you thought you were turning crazy, didn’t attack. No, they took languid stripes of your fresh, intoxicating slick and growled to you, maybe, how that was how slick was supposed to be. 

You wanted to move, to kick the stupid, demeaning alphas in the snout before running away, but in a twist of horrible realization, you soon figured out that despite your alert mind, you couldn’t move your body. Couldn’t shift it even the smallest of bits. 

“I hope all you wonderful clients have been able to taste and smell your potential mates out here!” A loud, commanding introduction voice echoed from somewhere where you couldn’t see, his voice vibrating into the straps of your legs, but you couldn’t make a sound or even open your eyes. “As you know, we have such an arrangement for you all, the best of the best, really! We don’t wish to rush, but as always, all of these events are incredibly time-sensitive, so if you would, please alphas, please come and sit down, and we’ll begin bidding on our first of seven beautiful, fertile omegas tonight!” 

The words sounded foreign in your ears yet at the same time, something so familiar because this was something you omegas were always warned about. This had to be some sort of omega mate auction, and by the stench of alphas who smelled like they owned millions and killed millions, you were in no doubt somehow caught up in one of the worst ones imagined. 

Two long, completely hardened fingers suddenly entered your cunt, and as if for a single millisecond, your mind and your body were able to work in tangent, your hips bucked at the sweet feelings. Oh, your eyes tried to flutter, enjoying the way the two fingers circled the walls of your long lonely cunt.

“Please, alpha, please refrain from touching the merchandise for now, please join us so that we may begin!”

The two fingers buried within your cunt as if it was their right, slowly withdrew out of your pulsing walls, and you heard the sound of sneakers against the hardwood floor and felt relaxed and sickened at how you sort of liked it.

Heat brain, you reminded yourself. Just your stupid, horny heat brain.

You were a celebrity, you mantra, a dignified star who didn’t need a beta or an alpha unless you saw it fit. Right now, as you had repeated many times to the countless amounts of reporters who had asked, you had no interest in someone to share your heat with.

“Alright, and to start off our night in a rolling go! Please, everyone put your hands together for the fertile and beautiful thirteenth in-line the Princess of Cabodia: Dayanara!”

This auction was insane, all six omegas before you all sold from a price that ranged from 198 hundred million to the one right before you who sold for one billion dollars. You were a prideful omega, and you saw worth to your abilities, smell, and looks, but were you even worth anywhere in that range?

The entire time you had been set up in who knows what, the small, overwhelming pound of your heat sinking into the depths and pores of your body was becoming heavy. You couldn’t move a single muscle still, your body still refusing to respond to the call of your body, but the seep of your slick running down the innards of your thighs, undoubtedly beginning to pool on the ground, must be embarrassing of you. 

Suddenly someone spread the skin below your ass out, and you couldn’t react as something sharp and prick stabbed into your flesh. You howled in the surprising pain, and you were fast to find that whatever they had injected you with had allowed systematic movement within your body. Your eyes fluttered open as two, impossibly huge alphas grabbed you by your forearm and hoisted you to your feet. 

Your neck was far too weak to carry the weight of your head, so your eyes were transfixed on the white silk of the slutty dress they dressed you in. It showed off your cleavage with no regret, and by the feel and look of it, it barely passed the bottom of your ass. Your vision swam, the alphas all over the room distorted and melting within one another as you stepped onto a stage, the spotlight on you feeling deliriously hot and melting your skin.

Your hormones, already going crazy with your heat, seemed to intensify at the small of so many capable, potent, possessive alpha pheromones that suffocated the room. Handcuffs slapped onto your wrists, and you moaned pathetically at the sting of cold metal on your skin, and you obediently followed the command of one alpha to go on your knees. 

A nail slammed between the metal links of the handcuffs, practically stapling you to the wooden floor, and you whimpered at the feeling of a stuffed pillow mount being placed beneath your lower stomach. You were in a forced and easily accessible mating position with your slick and cunt exposed for all the alphas to re-smell and see. 

Moaning, you shifted against the mount, your body not able to have the full movement you needed to ward off that building, insufferable heat in your core, but nothing you could do seemed to satisfy it.

“And for our biggest prize of the night, we have the one, the only, the beautiful sensation Y/l/n Y/n!” the auctioneer roared. His voice echoing in your ear as he walked over to you, exposing your dripping cunt to the crowd of alphas who had all gotten a sweet taste of your essence already. His hand came down to slap your ass with a chuckle. “Where do we start the bidding on this one, alphas? She needs no introduction, and none of you better be pussies because we know this bitch of an omega won’t take any tiny cocks as her alpha! She needs to be broken in, fucked to submission. No one likes a trailblazer… someone needs to remind of what fucking trail she’s supposed to be on. Besides, the bitch is in fucking heat, and if you don’t claim her, I just might do it myself!”

“75 million!” someone started the bidding.

You stiffened.

“75 to the man in the back!”

“90 million!” someone challenged.

“We’re up to 90!”

“125 million!”

“Do I hear another offer?”

“250 million!”

“250 million!”

The number climbed and climbed, the same voices coming to challenge each other until finally, they rounded out to a quantity that sounded bizarre even to you. 

“950 million!”

If it had been possible for your knees to give out, you would have been collapsed onto the floor, the pool of slick that continued to lubricate your cunt without a doubt drowning you as you craved the need to be fucked by someone with undoubted alpha pheromones and cock in this room. 

“950 million?” the auctioneer repeated, his voice for sure carrying a shark-like grin. “Going once, going twice—”

“Five billion.”

The gasp in the crowd was undeniable, and the omega in you crooned, knowing that this alpha valued you and your omega to be the price of five billion US dollars. 

“Fuck!” screamed the man who had presented the 950 million deal. 

“Wowee, five billion dollars, everyone! Anyone think they can beat that?! Going once! Going twice!” The crowd remained in silence, and you shook against your restraint, the heat emitting from your cunt almost demanding to be seen and fucked through this heat week. “SOLD! The virgin celebrity, Y/l/n Y/n sold to our own Shigaraki Tomura!”

The cheers of amaze weren’t nearly as loud as the smell of reeking petty alpha.

“Come and pay up, alpha, and then you can show us… a demonstration of how you’re going to break this omega.”

“Shut up.” Shigaraku growled, his footsteps heavy in your ear as you feel him climb up the stage, and you weakly tilted your head to look at the white-haired alpha boss hand over a simple credit card before walking over to you, his eyes unreadable as he looked you dead in the eye.

He reached out a finger that raised your chin up for him to study your face, moving and tilting your head as he pleased as a small, sinister smile pressed to his lips as he dropped your head. A sharp, uncomfortable pain fell on your chin as it crashed to the floor, and you shivered at the feeling of his calloused and rough fingers running down your exposed back.

“You’re such a small omega, still stupidly tiny. I bet you’ve never thought your first knot would come from someone like me,” Shigaraki laughed, his fingers and voice ice cold. His words were soft, spoken in a way that had your omega stupidly cooing for having secret conversations with your alpha who promised to fuck you till you were carrying a litter of pups. “I hope you realize that this is real life, that I will break you, and no hero in this world will be able to fucking save you.”

“Fuck the omega!” someone from the crowd screamed, and Shigaraki glared upwards. Still, you shivered in the thought of this alpha who spent five billion dollars to make you his claiming you, fucking your stupid heat brain into mush in front of these smaller, irrelevant alphas. 

“I’ll do what I fucking please,” Shigaraki snapped, but the fingers you remembered to have been the last ones to enter your slicked crazy walls seemed to be his. They moved deep within you, curling and spreading your tight, sopping wet cavern apart, letting your pathetic, chirping cries echo powerfully in the room as lusting, near rutting alpha pheromones filled the room. “For fucks sake, omega, your pussy’s fucking tight as shit! Don’t you have any real knotted toys?”

You couldn’t respond back, your body on the road to a complete shut down at the feeling of something other than silicone deep within your body, fingering and dragging against your pheromone soaked walls.

“Alpha, y-your fingers feel so good!” you gasp, your hips thrusting backward, enjoying the way his fingernails press onto your warm velvet walls. “So good, you make me feel so good already.”

“I’ve seen you all over the news,” Shigaraki growled low into your ear. “Talking about how you didn’t want an alpha, how you never needed to feel the tightness that a fat knot could bring you, and look at you now. I’ve barely touched you, barely begun to make you mine, and yet you’re already begging for me, omega.”

Your arms tug at the handcuffs, pathetically wanting them off. Exasperatedly seeking more friction from your newly bought alpha. You can’t think straight, can’t come up with a single response except the stupid apologetic, “I’m so sorry alpha, I didn’t know i-it would be y-you!”

“Don’t be shy on her, Shigaraki! Fuck the slutty omega already! Fucking knot and claim her in front of us, I want to hear the omega whore scream. It’s always hotter when it’s the first claim ever!”

“You better learn how to shut the fuck up, or I’ll kill you for interrupting my fucking session here,” Shigaraki seethed, his red, smoldering eyes ripping from yours and glaring at some loser alpha behind you. You couldn’t care. You only wanted what looked like the growing cock in Shigaraki’s pants; you wanted to feel the cock fill up your cunt, and his knot to lock you both in place.

You drooled at the thought, your loud, whimpering cries unable to keep from pouring out as the slick from your core seemed to pour endlessly from your pussy, demanding attention and a knot. “Breed me, fill me with your pups,” you begged fingers taking in his dirty fingers in your mouth, tongue wildly and uncontrollably flicking across his fingers in hopes it would be a sinking prayer of your promise to be good. “I want your knot, alpha, I want these stupid alphas to know you’re so much better than them~!”

Shigaraki’s once snarl fell when he looked at you, a slowly growing smirk falling on his face as his lips spread into a cruel smirk, one that had you moaning around his fingers as he pinched the pink muscle in your mouth before disappearing before you.

“I smelled your distress when I put my fingers up your sloppy little cunt right before the auction happened; I could tell even with your growing heat that you hated the feeling of my fingers up your pretty pussy. But look at you now, I haven’t even set you on my goddamn knot, haven’t stretched that tiny cunt to its max. You’re smelling better than a bitch in heat,” Shigaraki growled in your ear. His clothed chest pressing deliriously into your exposed back, the huge cock outline in his pants grinding incessantly into your wet core, undoubtedly leaving a damp patch where his cock ground into you. “You’re an actress, aren’t you, little omega? I bet you just needed this audience cheering your name to break your mind over this. How. Pathetic.”

And the pressure on your tongue is gone, the drool and saliva sticky and cold on your chin as you whimper for your alpha. You promised that it wasn’t right, it was just that you had been scared before, but your alpha was so strong, his pheromones so scary and mean, he could protect you and fill you up with so many pups you couldn’t help but to be excited now.

The smell of Shigaraki seemed to brighten, and you moaned when his hands pressed the white dress up, allowing for your naked ass to be seen by him and everyone who stayed to watch. Shigaraki squeezed your asscheeks away, chuckling at the way your small asshole clenched in your embarrassment and pain at how your hormone-driven heat demanded that he fuck you and knot you now.

“So fucking wet,” Shigaraki observed, his fingertips tracing the slick on your folds before a small pop told you that he licked you clean from his fingers. “Such sweet slick too, you really are a prime omega, little one.”

You whimpered, ass shaking for him to continue to touch you, to continue to fuck you more. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for my knot, precious omega,” Shigaraki taunted, and his words were a sealing deal in your lusting mind. Your hips knocking backward in some sort of desperation for more.

“She won’t,” commented the auctioneer.

“I will!” you scream, eyes filled with painful tears that could only be resolved with your alphas knot and claim. “I can take your knot, alpha!”

Shigaraki makes a small noise, and you choke at the feeling of something huge, nearly monstrous, shift into your cunt. You were a virgin, but even you knew that it was merely the head of his alpha thick cock, not enough for you to be satisfied, not far enough in you to breed or fuck you properly. All the moans in your throat were slightly painful, and the tears in your eyes continued to fall as you rocked your hips backward, trying to sink yourself further on his cock, wanting him deep in your womb.

You craved him.

“Ah, good, you can take more,” came the airy, almost insane driven coo of Shigaraki, the lack of humor making your cunt flutter against his thick, long cock. “Cry for your alpha, little omega.”

With that, Shigaraki slammed into you with no mercy, his cock bottoming out into you with a powerful, edging thrust. You screamed in pain, tears leaking from your eyes, and even with the pool of lubricating slick, his cock was far too big, incredibly thick that you felt your inner walls splitting in two as he fucked you as if you weren’t in delirious pain.

Drool and tears covered your arms, your painted fingers digging into the floorboards with crazy strength that you clawed scars on the floor as Shigaraki rutted deep within you.

Shigaraki commanded you with every thrust he gave, and soon the omega in you was cooing, howling for more, the pain of having your virginity ripped from right under you having become bubbling, glowing pleasure. You screamed in pleasure, Shigaraki grabbing onto your rolling hips to slam you back onto his cock, allowing for his thick cock to hit deep within you over and over again. The angle and power he possessed with every thrust were almost inhumane, nothing your lonely heat filled nights could ever dream of recreating ever. Shrill moans and pleas drowned out the annoying commentary of your onlookers, Shigaraki’s chest still flushed against your back, his hips landing heavily on your ass that was at this point raised because of the mount beneath you. 

“My alpha,” you babble, eyes unfocused, hazy, and incredibly heavy as you stared at some point on the wall, overwhelmed with the feeling of Shigaraki’s hot cock pounding in you. “My alpha, such a good alpha. His cock is making my tummy feel funny, making my pussy feel so tight. Please fill me with your children, I’ll be a good omega to you and them, I promise! I promise — I — oh myyy goddd — I promise, alpha!!!”

Shigaraki puffs up with the praise, but he continued to fuck into you roughly, mercilessly, as if you were nothing more than the breeding whore omega that he had purchased you for. The wet slaps and satisfying squelches rang in the blazing heat room, the smell of the pleasured and heat insane omega saturating deeply within his nose, and in the other's nose, the prideful smell of a satisfied alpha.

Your spongy walls clenched and spasmed against his penetrating, pounding cock, sometimes even forcibly because, by god, it was hot when his cock would twitch within your womb, especially against your cervix.

“Fuck, you’re so damn annoying,” Shigaraki snarled into your ear, his teeth biting and scraping along your neck, and you wailed when his teeth dragged over the sweet scent gland on your neck. The one and only place for mating bites to go. His hand gripped your hair, tugging your head back so that you could feel his rough facial skin rub up against yours. “If you want me to fill you with my pups, you better be the best fucking omega on this goddamn planet.”

“I can be the best! I’ll be the best!” you cried, your ass shifting backward to meet his drilling hips. 

The delirious sensation of his cock rocking against your cervix slowly begins to inflate the knot on his cock, restricting his still barbaric thrusting as he made to move faster. He wanted you to cum before he knotted entirely within you. 

The pressure in your stomach is scorching and impossibly tight, and he takes another long stripe at your scent gland. You tremble with need, your fingers tearing into the wooden floors. You can feel the knot on his cock swelling up, catching onto the opening of your cunt with every successive cunt, and you begin to cry, shake, and tremble as the knot becomes too big.

Your eyes cross, your tongue falling out of your mouth as you babble his name. Your walls clamp around his knotted cock with the ferocity of a vice, and your body jerks violently as you cum hard around his cock. The slick essence of your orgasm slipping out of the few lasting places open before Shigaraki’s knot fills you out entirely. Despite his cock unable to move, the swollenness of his knot preventing him from moving out of you, Shigaraki still shoves his weight into his hips, the inflated knot stretching your cock out so widely, your vision went white, and you came yet a second time.

A small pop was heard, and suddenly with a rush of thick, hot, and heavy white cum exploded within your womb, his teeth sink around your scent gland, marking you — mating you. He filled you, filled you, and filled you. His cum wouldn’t stop until your belly was swollen with his hot cum, and he eventually fell off of you with a shaky, shallow breath.

You still remained on the mount, your eyes unfocused, breaths mumbling to your alpha, a promise to carry out every single pup he gave you and would give you. You were his omega, his good little omega, and you would never disappoint your alpha. Not now, not ever.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The next week, you opened your door with a broad smile, your usual clothes replaced with a dress Shigaraki had picked for you and a frilly white apron on as your agent was standing outside of your house, eyes wide, mouth gaped at the still bleeding mate wound on your shoulder.

“Ah, how funny!” you laughed, waving your hand as you sighed dreamily, your eyes fluttering at the thought of your alpha who was on a business call right now. “I’m actually going to be quitting! My alpha and I have many plans right now, I gotta produce as many litters as I can, being an actress would never give me this sort of meaning in life!”

“B-But, you’re doing so much?! You have so much to do! You can’t give up?!”

“Oh, my love, we both know that I look much cuter with a pregnant belly! Don’t worry,” you smile, taking your agent's hand, brightly smiling at her one last time. “I’m sure all omegas will eventually find their alpha so they won’t be so depressed and angry like I was!”

Your agent doesn’t get another word in.

You slam the door in her face, your hands already resting on your belly that you knew was already growing the life of your first litter of pups. It had been known the second Shigaraki filled you up anymore.

You were a good little omega, and your alpha needed you!

[angelicyoongie]

the crimson shell (II)

— pairing: jungkook x f!reader — genre: mermaid au, yandere au — w.c: 3.5k (drabble series) — warnings: mentions of death, mentions of drowning — notes: well, it wasn’t supposed to take four months to write the second part but here we are lol. still, mermaid jk works well for spoopy season too!! the next and likely last part of this drabble series will be inTEnse, so you better prepare yourself!

Part I / II / III / IIII

— summary: you had always found comfort in being at the beach, often spending hours just watching the waves lap against the shore. but unbeknowst to you – something had been watching you back.

You wake up with a gasp, your chest burning as you begin coughing up the remaining saltwater in your lungs. You stare down through bleary eyes at the pearly white sand beneath your fingers as your whole body heaves, your limbs shaking with exhaustion. You let out a choked cry as something wet laps at your toes, sending you scrambling further up the beach to escape it. The fresh water on your skin brings back memories of the night before, of how helpless and trapped you had been underwater, and how the ocean had judged you as unworthy and left you to drown – to die.

You roll onto your back, squinting up at the blue skies as you attempt to catch your breath. There’s no sign of the storm that threw you overboard, no dark ominous clouds looming on the horizon. Only an endless blue, stretching on infinitely. You groan as you push yourself up, your muscles aching and protesting as you test them all out to make sure nothing’s too badly injured. Your arms are blooming into hues of blue and yellow from where the ship knocked you around during the storm, but for a person that was thrown off the side of a ship and almost drowned, you’re surprisingly .. fine.

Maybe you have a guardian angel out there. The thought makes you snort.

You twist around, letting your gaze sweep over your surroundings. Although you can’t say it for sure just yet, you’re fairly sure you’ve washed up on a deserted island. Judging by how vast and empty the ocean is, and how untouched the beach and the vegetation behind you looks, you don’t think there’s a high chance of running into anybody else here. But even if you aren’t alone, is that really any better? You have no guarantee that the inhabitants of the island won’t just kill you on sight.

Suppressing a shudder, you try your best to will your thoughts away from all the horrible scenarios running through your mind. You'll just have to be extra alert until you’ve made sure you’re actually alone here.

Something digs sharply into your thigh as you shift your weight. You let out a gasp as you scramble to push your hand into your pocket, your fingers closing around the shell you had tucked away before the storm started. It’s still intact. You look down at it with wide eyes as you pull it out of your trousers, the crimson hue still looking as pretty as ever as you run your fingertips over the ridges. You have no idea how it managed to stay in one piece, but then again, you’re not sure how you managed to do that either.

“We must be lucky,” You mutter. You gently tuck the shell back into your pocket, dusting off the sand that’s clinging to your clothes as you gingerly get yourself up on your feet. You bury your bare feet into the cool sand, thankful that the sun hasn’t managed to warm it up just yet. There’s no sign of your shoes on the shoreline, so you think you’ll just have to resign yourself to the fact that they’re a lost cause. They probably won’t do you much good here anyway. You furrow your brows as you see something sparkle a little further down the beach, your curiosity getting the best of you as you make your way over on shaking legs. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, so you might as well indulge your whims and keep yourself entertained.

Your eyes light up in amazement as you realize what the object is; the fine layer of sand not managing to cover the sparkle properly. It’s gold. And real gold too, judging by how heavy the coin is in your hand. It doesn’t look like it’s been here for very long, so maybe it washed up along side you? You don’t think any of the other travellers were rich enough to carry it, but it’s not like it would be wise to flaunt it around either if they did have some money.

You tug at the chain around your neck, lifting the pendant up from underneath your shirt. The village crest looks almost burnt in the low sunlight, the edges turning black from the prolonged exposure to the ocean. You frown at the simple design.

Your initials are pressed into the surface alongside the name of your town, and the outline of a fish. You’ve always had an inkling that the pendant was never made from gold, that your village head was overcharging you for something you had to have to live in your village. Turns out you were right. Seeing it side by side with the real deal leaves no doubt in your mind that he’s skimming off the top for himself. If you ever get out of here, you’re going to give the village head a piece of your mind. You swallow thickly, tucking the pendant back under your shirt.

Right. If you get out of here.

Frankly, the silence on the island is unnerving. You’re used to the hustle and bustle of a busy town, and the only sound you can make out here is the waves gently crashing against a nearby cluster of rocks. It’s too silent. You can already feel the panic festering in your stomach, the emotion only growing stronger the longer you stay still to dwell on your predicament. You clutch the coin in your hand, feeling the smooth circle dig into your flesh as you tighten your hold. You’ll get out of here. But first – you’ll have to figure out how to survive.

You throw one last look at the terribly open ocean, lips pressed into a firm line as you turn your back on what will with no doubt become a horribly familiar sight. It’s with newfound determination that you start walking towards the thick vegetation, the sand underneath your feet giving away to grass the closer you get to the tree-line. You don’t need to look back to know that the vastness of the ocean is mocking you, that it doesn’t think you'll ever survive as long as it’ll take for another ship to sail past. It’s fine, you think. You’ve always had a thing for proving others wrong.

The island is surprisingly big. Judging by how high the sun has risen in the sky, and how the trees and underbrush continue to stretch on for as far as you can see, you don’t think you’ll be able to reach the other side before nightfall rolls around. It’s hard to tell, but you think it’ll likely take you around two days worth of walking to get to the other side. You let out a tired sigh as you rest against a fallen log, your feet bright red from the continuous walking. The ground is unexpectedly soft despite the variety of plants and grass growing here, but that’s probably the least curious thing about the island. There are no animals to be found here. Not even birds. Had this island only been a stretch of sand in the ocean, you wouldn’t have questioned it, but the thing is, this island is thriving. Logically, it should be bursting with some sort of wildlife. So far you’ve walked past a plethora of bushes so heavy with berries that should be able to sustain a whole array of animals.

As if that wasn’t enough, you even managed to stumble upon a deep pool of water that appeared to be fresh. Considering the island is surrounded by the ocean, by salt, it shouldn’t be possible. But somehow, it is. And that’s not even the weirdest part. The island is littered with gems and gold. You gave up hours ago on collecting them when your pockets became too heavy. You shake your head. This whole place is just bizarre, you’ve never heard of anything like this before. Jimin’s words did tickle the back of your mind, but you quickly brushed them off. There’s no way that this is the island he found, not when you still had one more week left to sail.

You push off the log, hoping to retrace your steps back to some of the more familiar looking bushes. You don’t have the luxury of being afraid of poisonous plants, not when it’s the only thing that might sustain you while you’re stuck here. Your stomach is rumbling obnoxiously by the time you make it back to the berries, and it’s with all of your self-restraint that you manage to hold back from finishing a whole bush in one go. You need to be smart and ration it so that it can last for as long as possible. You plop the last berry into your mouth, savouring the sweet taste as you begin the trek back to the beach. Despite not running into an ounce of life beside yourself, you can’t help but be vary of the parts you have yet to explore. So for now, you decide that the beach will serve as a good place to set up camp.

By the time you make it back to the beach, the sun is barely hanging on to the horizon. You squint against the fiery red, noticing a small lump resting on top of the flat rocks on the shoreline. A pang of joy travels through your body when you realize what it is you’re looking at. It’s a fish. It’s food. The fish is completely still, so the poor thing must’ve somehow jumped out of the ocean on its own. A voice in the back of your mind reminds you that the ocean is too calm, the waves to quiet, to throw the fish up on the rocks, but it’s quickly muffled by the sheer joy you feel of having something proper to eat. Who are you to question Lady Luck’s kindness after all?

You just count yourself lucky that you at least learned how to light a fire with minimal resources when you were younger. Once the fish is roasted and resting in your filled belly, it’s time to tuck in for the night.

You lay down as close to the fire as you dare, mindful to keep enough distance that any stray sparks won’t catch on your clothes. The island has grown chilly alongside the arrival of the moon, so you’re thankful for the extra warmth the fire provides. You empty out all the little treasures you collected into a neat pile, placing the crimson shell carefully on top of it. It’s strangely comforting to look at the flames dancing across the scalloped ridges, the gems and gold glittering in the low light. You keep watching until your eyes grow too heavy, exhaustion finally pulling you under into a deep sleep.  

It’s been three days, and the fish keeps appearing on the rocks like clockwork. You’ve taken to exploring the thick vegetation during the day, but there’s always a new fish waiting for you when you return to the beach. You would call the whole thing weird, but you’ve come to understand that most things on this island are. So, you quickly stop questioning it. But you shouldn’t have. That was your first mistake.

You shove a branch out of your way with a little more force than necessary, huffing in annoyance as you trek on deeper into the greenery. You’ve started to lose hope that you’ll ever get saved. You’ve run through every possible scenario in your head hundreds of times, but the heavy feeling in your gut tells you that it would only be foolish to hope. You’re not even sure that anybody knows that you’re missing.

“There you are,” You grumble under your breath as you finally spot the pool of fresh water, the large pond surrounded by beautiful orange flowers. You sink down to your knees in front of the body of water, eagerly scooping up the cold liquid to quench the dryness in your throat. The water is clear enough that you can make out the smooth stone lining the pond, but not enough that you can gauge just how deep it really is. The bottom is too dark, almost pitch black, and it always sends a shiver down your spine when you stare into it for too long. You’re about to take another sip when you swear you see a flash of red zoom past, your hands freezing above the water's surface. What if there’s something lurking down there?

Your eyes search frantically around the pond for another glimpse, but there’s nothing. You shake yourself out of your thoughts, scoffing at your own stupidity. It’s likely just another gemstone reflecting the light back up from the depths of the pool, nothing more and nothing less. You ignore the weak tremble in your hands as you rise back to your feet, your steps a little more hurried than usual as you begin the trek back to your beach. You must be starting to lose your mind.

When you return to the beach, there’s no fish waiting for you. You shrug it off easily, chalking it up to your luck finally running out. It was probably just a strong current that dragged some unsuspecting fish close to the island, and had enough force to throw them up on the rocks. Probably. It sounds plausible enough. With the absence of the fish, you just thank your past self for already having eaten some berries on your walk back, so that you won’t have to go to sleep hungry.

As morning rolls around, there isn’t a fish that catches your attention, but rather something else. Resting on the rocks is a massive pearl, the sphere so large your thumb and middle finger barely manage to meet when wrapped around it. The colour is mesmerizing. You roll the pearl around in your hands, watching as the deep red colour shifts into lighter and darker hues as you move it around. Come to think of it, haven’t you seen this exact colour before? You sprint up the beach to your little pile of treasures, carefully holding up the shell next to the pearl. They’re identical.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you twist and turn them around. How can a shell you picked up in your village match a pearl found over a week’s travel away? That’s impossible. You gently place both of them down on the ground, nibbling on your bottom lip as you turn around to face the ocean. A ripple in the surface catches your attention, but it’s too far out for you to see what could’ve caused it. A fish, you decide. That’s the only thing it can be after all. You sink down into the sand, running your fingertips along the smooth surface. It’s a pretty pearl – and you decide you’re going to cherish it just as much as your shell.

That's your second mistake.  

After you pick up the pearl, the fish miraculously return. In the following days there’s an abundance of fish greeting you on the rocks, some even showing up before you wake up. You can’t remember the last time you were so well fed. Not even your life back in the village kept you this sated every day. Maybe your fleeting luck has returned. Slowly, the days begin blending together as you keep exploring, picking up little treasures along the way and adding them to your ever-growing pile at the beach. It’s not much, but it’s keeping you sane.

You poke at the blazing bonfire in front of you, making sure that the fire is burning steadily before you venture down to the shoreline. Little gems keep washing up every now and again, so you’ve made it your nightly routine to go pick up those you can find. You halt as you reach the flat rocks nestled between the beach and the ocean, another ripple in the quiet surface a little further out making you curious.

Your third mistake.

You walk carefully over to the edge of the rock, peering down into the dark water. Dusk has started to settle in, but the last rays of light clinging on to the horizon are enough for you to notice something bright underwater. It looks like it’s leaning on a ledge in the rock, the item long and pale. You can’t really make out what it is – a long shell maybe? – but since you’ve already committed to picking up everything around the island, you might as well retrieve this too.

You get down on your knees, one hand curling around the edge of the rock for support as you lower your other arm into the cool water. You frown as fingers only graze over the top, not quite managing to reach it. Your arm is already drenched, so you figure it doesn’t matter if the rest of your blouse gets a little wet too. The fire will dry it quickly enough.

You lower your body further, your face nearly flush with the ocean as the last little push finally lets your hand finally close around the item. You smile, starting to pull yourself back up when something slimy wraps around your wrist, a harsh tug forcing your upper body down under water before you can even think to catch your breath.

Your eyes open in shock as the cold water suddenly surrounds you, and you swear you heart stops as the bubbles settle enough for you to see the creature in front of you. It has a human face, a handsome face, with long dark locks framing it, but the pupils in its eyes are unnaturally wide and blood red – and you can see your own terrified expression reflected back in them. Your eyes fly over the exposed skin of the creature’s torso and arms, your still heart dropping to your stomach as you notice that its skin starts transitioning into crimson scales around its hips, and that there’s a fucking tail where its legs should be. The pressure around your wrist tightens, and you snap your attention back to the creature’s face just as it opens its jaw to let out a series of clicking noises. It barely parts its lips, but it's enough for you to see the rows of sharp pointed teeth lining the inside of its mouth, a forked tongue moving around as it speaks. It’s a man, but it’s also not– it’s .. it’s a monster.

Your heart finally jumpstarts as your lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen, adrenaline shooting through your veins as you begin trying to pull yourself back up to the surface. The creature’s face seems to grow confused at your sudden struggle, another series of clicking noises leaving its mouth. A webbed hand comes into your line of sight, clawed fingertips reaching out towards your face. You’re sure your face will be mauled if they come in contact with your skin, so with newfound vigour, you finally find the last push of strength you need to rip yourself away from the hold around your wrist.

At the first breath of air, you scramble away from the edge of the rock, your trembling legs stumbling and folding underneath you as you race up the beach. You collapse against the sand besides your bonfire, barely hearing your own ragged breathing over the blood pumping in your ears. Your whole body freezes up in panic as you watch the creature’s head pop up over the edge of the rock, blood red eyes finding yours immediately. The low clicks that fill the air makes the back of your neck feel tight, your skin prickling in terror at how the noises seem like a warning. You don't dare move your eyes away until the creature sinks back down into the ocean, and out of view. You don’t know how long you stay there, warm tears streaming down your cheeks as you silently stare out at the calm water. You’ll never get away if that creature is out there.

It’s only when you’re sure that the creature is gone that you allow your attention to shift downwards, to the item still secured tightly in your grasp. You slowly open your hand to study it, eyes growing wide as you realize what it is.

A human jaw.

Choked sobs rip through your chest as you fling it into the bonfire, the smooth white surface even brighter in the midst of the flames. You furiously rub your hand on the fabric of your trousers, your stomach turning as the fire crackles louder around the bone. The gems, the fish, the bones, they wouldn’t have just ended up here alone. That creature must have brought it all here. It must have brought you here.

It dawns on you that you haven’t been lucky at all, no, instead you’ve only been surviving because the creature has wanted you to. Your fate is in the hands of a monster – one that seems furious that you ran away from it.

“Fuck,” you whimper pitifully, burrowing your head into your shaking hands. You have a feeling your time might be up.

a/n: hope you enjoyed the second part to the crimson shell! i would really appreciate a comment/reblog if you did! the next chapter will be the most spicy? disturbing? whatever you want to call it hhh. (ps. i’m not doing a tag list for this mini series!) as always, see you all soon and stay safe! and in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

[not-in-this-water]

So, I've only learned about shifting like a month ago I think. This is my first post, but I've been thinking about writing more about my shifting journey to help me figure things out. It really helps put things into perspective and how far I've come already!

Anyway since then I've tried different methods (haha I hate all of them, don't make me count I have ADHD and dyscalculia) and just been doing affirmations and visualisation -which is very easy for me since I do a lot of daydreaming.

Anyway, so much for the introduction.

I haven't shifted yet but for the first time the thought of shifting actually made it into a dream of mine and it was so super strange. I'm still not sure if it was actually a dream or actually a different reality. Because now that I'm thinking back on it it sort of felt like a dream but also not?

Let me explain: I woke up in a field on a sunny day, the sky was incredibly blue and without any clouds in sight. The field was on a soft hill and in the distance below stood a small and homely looking village.

My first thought upon opening my eyes was: oh my god I shifted! Now I couldn't feel the sun on my skin or the wind or really hear it at least the way I remember it which is why I still think it was a dream. But something about the whole experience and scenery was different enough to make me think that I shifted, so I’m not discounting it. It’s is very exciting that it was my first thought. It means shifting is actually making its way into my subconscious which is where it's supposed to be after all sort of.

There was another person next to me, sadly I don't remember who she was.

My next thought after thinking I shifted was to try and do a reality check which I usually never do in dreams. Either I know I'm dreaming because I have wings (yes I had wings in that dream (?) as well) or I don't know I'm dreaming. I've never ever done a reality check in a dream before. So I counted my fingers and pressed them against each other, just looking at my hands and they were real. Like I had five fingers on each hand and they couldn't pass through each other.

So I was instantly incredibly excited and was like "Hey omg I'm actually in a different reality I should totally try out what it feels like to fly for real!" Can you tell having wings and flying is a big deal for me? Lol.

But since I've never had wings before it was super hard! Unlike in all my other winged dreams I ever had before I was bad at flying, I couldn't even take off and I still remember how the strong wind tangled them and messed with the texture, making them all scruffy.

My wings were grey and blue with a bit of white, almost like dove wings just scruffier. Very cool.

My friend was laughing and running alongside as I tumbled over the field. Having big wings that catch the wind can put you really easily off balance. And the wind can pick you up like a plastic bag. So standing up was even hard!

I might also have been younger than I actually am, but again I’m not sure. Would explain my difficulty with my wings though. 

Eventually I sat down (it wasn't very long, maybe ten minutes?) and since I've heard before that you can close your eyes in your dr and not wake up in your cr I should test that. Sadly I ended up somewhere else I don't think I was awake. After that I had another dream about flying and wings but that was normal in the way my winged dreams behave and just overall a lot more dream like in quality (I also didn't know I was dreaming or had any strange out of dream thoughts).

So yeah, that  was incredibly cool and exciting, I don't know if this was a minishift or not, since in hindsight it didn't feel entirely real. But I know this brings me closer to shifting to my dr!I also know that sometimes you don’t remember your dr immediately or all the way so that could also be at play here. 

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 9: City Lights

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

A good night, for the most part. You search for peace amongst the stars but you find something else instead. I hate writing summaries. Lol.

A/N: Hope you're all doing well. Thanks for reading! I'll be busy on Sunday because it's my birthday, but I will still be updating~

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Afternoon became an evening spent with Cole, Allison, and Emily. You ate an early dinner, returned to the hotel, and found one of Johnny Cage’s movies to watch. You mostly laughed at it. “Gist of My Fist’ was a terrible name for a movie and the movie itself, while it wasn’t the worst movie that you had ever watched, was pretty up there. You had no qualms with bad movies. Watching it had at least prepared you for tomorrow if you had to use your arcana to persuade the actor into helping you.

When they were ordering room service and preparing another movie you said your farewells. It was late, you’d claimed, and you weren’t very hungry. You were socially exhausted, and you really weren’t hungry. So, it hadn’t exactly been a lie. It had been ages since you’d spent that much time with anyone outside of Kung Lao and Liu Kang in a social setting and it had drained you. You had forgotten how exhausting other people could be. They were incredibly nice, and you had become more comfortable around them, but you still needed to recharge your social battery.

That and you had to resist going to the bar for a drink.

Whiskey had been your lullaby nearly every night after Kung Lao had died.

Waking up next to Liu Kang had sobered you up but it had been days since then and your brain was so loud. A little drink would quiet it down. It was a bad idea, and you knew that but it didn’t mean you didn’t want to. The price of liquor at the hotel was enough to make you decide to think on it.

Instead, you decided to go to the roof where there was a garden setup for guests. At that late at night most people were leaving the garden, bothered by the nighttime bugs. You sat away from those who remained for some time, watching the world pass by below and the clouds moving over the ocean in the distance.

As time passed, you were left alone. You were both grateful for the silence and frustrated by the thoughts that immediately filled it. There had been a time where you’d been grateful to be alone and now it was torture. Raiden had been right to send Liu with you except that he was a big part of the reason that your thoughts were torture.

A pretty substantial part of why your thoughts were torture, actually.

What did anything mean anymore? You didn’t know.

Seated on one of the garden benches, you stayed silent for a long time. Once certain you were alone, you dared to do something that you hadn’t done since he’d died.

You drew Kung Lao.

He stood before you, tall, with a permanent look of smug satisfaction on his face. You walked around him and admired the details in his clothing right down to the misplaced thread on his favorite shirt. Then you stood beside him and watched the night sky. The stars were few and far between. There were too many lights in that part of the world to see the majesty of the night sky that you had admired only nights before alongside Liu Kang.

“I miss you.” You knew that the drawing couldn’t respond. It wasn’t real. Kung Lao was gone. You were alone. “I wish that I could talk to you. I wish I could tell you all the things that I made you wait to hear.” All you’d wanted was a conversation. A real conversation about what he thought marriage meant, about the fighting you’d done in the past few months. A moment for you to be honest about your history with Liu Kang.

Instead, he’d died and you’d never gotten the chance to say yes. You’d never gotten to understand what any of it had meant. You should have just said yes, damnit.

Liu Kang’s words were eating you alive.

Had your connection to him made you hesitate? He’d broken your heart and you’d gotten over him, sort of. You’d distanced yourself, at least. Now you were tearing yourself apart from the inside out because you were afraid it was true. What did it matter if it was? You would never know. Even so, you fixated next to the carefully crafted apparition of a man that you’d loved with your whole heart.

Nothing about this was healthy.

You were exhausted.

Stepping back from the drawing of Kung Lao, you lowered into a ready position. When you’d been angry with each other, bored, or you were frustrated, Kung Lao would spar with you. It usually ended up with you wrestling around laughing or in bed. Sometimes both. The drawing of Kung Lao did as you asked. It fought you and for a time it was soothing to keep up the action of something that you were good at.

You lost your balance on the stone and the ink caught you, wrapping its arms around you, and pulling you close against it. You admired his face and he smiled. He smiled because you wanted him to smile. Just the way that he used to. His hand cupped your cheek and you leaned into it, resting your hand over his.

Your eyes misted with tears. “I’m sorry, Kung Lao.” Time was supposed to heal all things but you weren’t sure that anything could do away with the guilt you felt. Closing your eyes, you tried to pretend that the hand wasn’t cold, dark ink. It was his warm and comforting hand. He would be there smiling down at you, telling you that you’d worried over nothing. You’d overthought it.

Then you were falling, your footing completely lost. Water pulled back from the shore, moving further and further away. It would come back tall and angry; it was a pattern you recognized. It meant you had to run but you couldn’t move. Hadn’t you been on the roof? The sand was hot beneath your toes and you were stuck. Your body was rooted firmly in place beyond your control.

The water rose in a wild roar, obscuring the sky with a sun that burned a brilliant red. You tried to scream, to warn others who might be in danger but there was no one. The air was suffocatingly hot, scorching. But as the wave grew closer, your stomach dropped into a tremendous pit and you felt sick. The air stunk of death and a wave of bodies soared toward you, towering high above. Winged creatures like giant bugs flew overhead through the dark skies. They were massive and you tried to get a better look, but the sun was so bright you couldn’t make out much of their features.

A dark figure stood before the wave of bodies surrounded by the roaring of souls. A hand grabbed your arm and turned you around swiftly.

Kung Lao.

Your heart stopped.

“You have to run, Y/N,” he whispered with such urgency that you swore it was really him. There was no way. It wasn’t possible! Before your eyes, his skin became sallow and sickly, deteriorating and rotting, cracked and filled with green mist. You fought his grip in a panic and pulled back. “Y/N…”

Your feet unstuck from the sand and you gasped, falling backwards. You braced yourself for the fall but instead you were saved by a pair of strong, inky arms. You grasped desperately onto the form and caught your breath. Your lungs ached as though they were being crushed.

The drawing of Kung Lao had caught you.

You buried yourself against the drawing’s chest and sobbed as you caught your breath.

This was not Kung Lao. Your grasp on the drawing tightened.

It was Liu Kang.

Panicked, you dropped the magic and collapsed to your knees out of breath and trembling from head to toe. You were clammy and dripping with sweat. Cursing under your breath you held your head in your hands. That hadn’t been a dream. The other night hadn’t been either. You should have known better. What did it mean? And what were you going to do about it? You had to talk to Raiden. He would know what to do.

This was the last thing that you needed right now.

Stumbling to your feet you made your way back to the garden bench just as the door opened behind you. Resting your elbows on your knees, you fanned your face and tried to will away the nausea left behind by the vision. It was already disappearing from your memory. You’d never been good at interpreting what your visions meant. They’d mostly made you sick.

Liu Kang stopped on the other side of the garden bench and avoided your eyes. “Oh.”

“I can go.” You needed a minute to be steady on your feet, but you’d had your time on the roof with the few stars.

“You don’t have to. I just wanted to see the stars.” He folded his arms over his chest.

“Too much light pollution. You can’t see much.” You pushed your hair away from your face and rested your hands on your knees afterwards. The world was still spinning. Liu was watching you and then sat next to you on the bench.

“Are you okay?” He made to rest a hand on your back but stopped himself.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re gray.”

“I’m tired. That’s all.”

“I haven’t seen you this gray since you first came to the temple, and you had…” He drifted off as if realizing exactly why you were that gray. You wanted to deny it until you could talk to Raiden, but your body betrayed you. You were too tired to fake it. Your fingers were tingling with numbness, and you were nauseous.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “I’m fine.”

“If you had a vision, you would tell me, right?”

“I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Y/N, don’t be unreasonable.”

“Do you have a reason to still be talking to me? Or are you just here to make tonight harder?” You didn’t mean to snap at him and immediately regretted it. You were feeling sick and defensive. Also, you had accidentally made him out of ink for the first time in years and wondered what that meant for your subconscious.

He smiled. You turned away and pouted. “I thought you’d been lying about having a temper to make me feel better.” You puffed up your cheeks in frustration. “I owe you another apology, I think.” He counted on his fingers, and you turned back to watch him. “That’s the third one this week, right?”

“You probably owe me more than one apology at this point.”

“Yeah, but how many times can I apologize before it becomes meaningless?” He was trying to joke with you, and you needed to try and unclench. It was bad timing, all of it. “I am though. Sorry, that is. Not about last night, well maybe about pushing you so hard but… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take any of this out on you.”

“I know.” Perhaps that was part of why it had hurt so badly. None of it had ever felt like your Liu Kang. “I’m sorry too. I handled it poorly.”

“I’ve been told that we’re grieving.” He clasped his hands before him.

“Yeah, that’s what we keep saying.”

“I had an idea.”

“Is this idea going to make us yell at each other? Because if it is then I would very much like the chance to reschedule.”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t think it will.” His brow furrowed into a line.

“Well, go for it, I guess. Idea away.”

“I’m grieving in my own way.” He shrugged but he looked weighed down and you felt guilty again. “Not well, obviously. And you’re grieving in your own way too. Also, poorly I might add.”

“I thought you said that you weren’t picking a fight.”

“I’m not.” He reassured you. “I thought that maybe we could try grieving together.” He was staring at you again, and you sighed heavily.

“I don’t know, Liu.” You could think of a dozen reasons why that was a bad idea and wouldn’t work off the top of your head. But it was the first non-confrontational thing he’d done in days. “He was your brother. You lost something like a limb. I love Kung Lao but what we had was different. Our grief is not the same.”

“Your grief is no less significant than mine, Y/N.”

“It is, Liu. You lost more than I did. I know what I lost. But it’s different. You lost so much more.” Your eyes were burning again. God, you were so frustrated with your emotions.

“And now I’m losing you too.” Liu spoke with a bite of frustration and then looked as if it was taking all his focus not to lash out. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

“I can’t fill the void that Lao left behind.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t even want you to fill the void that you left behind.” He held his head in his hands. You wanted to say you didn’t do that, he had pushed you away, but you also knew why he’d done it. This was a terrible mixed bag of emotions. If you said that then you would definitely end up fighting again. You held your tongue. “I miss you. I don’t need you to fill a void. I just need you.”

“Liu…” You hesitated and felt the guilt in the pit of your stomach again. But he was asking for something for himself, and you couldn’t tell him no. He never asked for anything for himself. He picked up your hand like it were something delicate and you felt your heart just aching. What would Kung Lao do if he could see you now? In your mind’s eye you could see him resting his hands on your shoulders and telling you it was okay. But that was just what you wanted to see.

“Don’t do that, Y/N.” Liu’s eyes were glassy too and he turned away. “You’re allowed to have feelings.”

“Isn’t this part of why we keep fighting?” You sniffled but didn’t pull your hand away from his. “You keep making assumptions about what I’m feeling. Saying things without thinking first. You have no idea what’s going on in my head, Liu Kang.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight, I promise.” Liu closed his eyes as if to try and recite what he would say so it wouldn’t come out wrong. He used to be so thoughtful. This really was taking a toll on you both. “I just know you well enough, or I think I do, to see that you’re beating yourself up for things that are beyond your control.”

“I…” You hesitated and then pulled your hand back. “Kung Lao…”

“Kung Lao loved you, Y/N.” Liu Kang said with a huff. Did he resent that he had? “He wanted you to be happy. It would crush him to see you now.”

“I know that, Liu. I know and… he would have wanted that for you too. You always put your needs beneath his and he let you without realizing, I think and…” You didn’t mean to say that, and Liu was staring at you in surprise as if he hadn’t realized that he’d been doing that either. When you caught his gaze, he turned to avoid you. You were playing an extremely dangerous game of cat and mouse. “It’s impossible to know what might have been, Liu Kang. To know how it would have turned out. What he would have wanted. No matter how I spin it in my head there is nothing to be done that can change the truth that he’s gone.” You spoke slowly and carefully, not wanting to escalate the sudden tension further if you could help it. It only ended one of two ways and both of those were destructive. “No matter what I tell myself… it doesn’t ease my guilt.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Liu was sounding bitter again and you held your head in your hands once more. You were still nauseous. This was the worst.

“I don’t have it in me to fight with you tonight, Liu,” you whispered. “I just don’t. Give me a day or two and we can be at each other’s throats again.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Y/N.” He turned to you again. “We need to talk.”

“I know but I’m not sure we can do that without fighting.” You closed your eyes. You sat in uncomfortable silence, a now common occurrence. Your stomach was in knots.

“Are you sick because you had a vision? Or are you sick with grief, Y/N?” His tone was soft as if he were trying to ask a hard question without making it sound like a confrontation. You whined.

“I had a vision, okay?” You confessed. “I don’t know what it means. I need to talk to Raiden. It’s already almost gone. I remember a beach. I remember… being stuck and then I fell and…” The details were like drops of soap in water. Impossible to catch once they’d been mixed in. “I’ll be fine. It had just happened when you got here.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I had dinner with Cole and his family.” You decided to turn the tables on him. “Have you eaten?” He looked affronted.

“I… no… ummm…”

“Pot, kettle, black.” You poked his shoulder, and he smiled a little. “Stop worrying about me. Don’t fixate on it. I’m fine. Raiden will figure it out when we get back.” You reassured him and then sat there together quietly again, unsure what to say. You did know one thing, at least. “You need to eat.”

“I ate earlier, just been since this morning.”

“I stand by what I said.”

“I’ll eat if you come with me.” He suggested. “We can grab a drink in Kung Lao’s honor and reminisce. Try that grieving thing together.”

“That’s a terrible idea.” You laughed as he looked instantly insulted. “Liu, us and liquor? Historically? Not good.” Liquor made the consequences seem less significant. It made you care less about what went wrong. It clearly made him a little bolder, too.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think about that.” He smiled a little. “No alcohol then. I just thought that it might make it easier to talk about the things that we are finding difficult to talk about if we had a drink.”

“Well, it would make some things easier but who knows how we’d feel about that tomorrow.” You wished, just for a brief second, that you remembered the night you’d had. You got all the trouble without any of the fun! You were sure that you’d had fun, but you couldn’t remember it, dammit.

“How about it, Y/N? We go downstairs to the bar, grab some food, no alcohol… we just… talk. Grieve.”

You considered it. You weren’t sure how that was going to work. You were in a place where the slightest thing could turn your conversation into an argument at the drop of a hat. But if you could find common ground to stand on then maybe it might make the rest of what you needed to say less painful.

“Okay.” You finally replied and Liu Kang seemed genuinely surprised.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. The truth is, Liu, that I miss you. This has been so incredibly trying and difficult for so many reasons. I swear though, if you make me cry again? I am going to punch you. No more slapping. Big ol’ punch. You will have a black eye to explain.” You didn’t think you’d actually punch him, but the threat was a little funny.

“Honestly, I am impressed that you haven’t yet.” Liu Kang stood and offered you his hand. “I stand by most of what I said though, even if I apologized.” He shrugged and you ran your tongue over your teeth and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Don’t start, Liu.”

Next Chapter >>

[sunnysviolin]

Broken Melody

Haha made myself sad......like actually really sad. Anwayyyyy yeah here you go. Why did I call it this? I just...yeah I was listening to Stand by Me, and it made me emotional (It’s the Darby Walker version if any of you actually listen to my music mindscapes lol) I discussed this with my bestie, and I have a ton more that can go into this, but this is just the start. uhhh TW: Death

Hero was born in a flash of fireworks all around the world. He is born as one year turns the next, not even a full five minutes after the clock struck midnight. 

He is born exactly on his due date, already punctual, a quiet sweet babe that gives one perfunctory cry and settles against his mother. On the back of his tiny right hand is a cluster of curling wavy music notes, all a soft grey. He was born before his soulmate. He doesn’t have to wait long, exactly three months later the colors fade in- soft purples and blues. Coincidentally their next door neighbor had her baby the same day. 

When they take over a gift to meet Mari a month later, both sets of parents know it’s not quite a coincidence. It’s fate. 

He doesn’t remember their first meeting, but his mother says he laughed loud and long and Mari squealed in joy merely at the sight of one another. Soulmates were confirmed by first touch, but apparently the two of them hadn’t needed it. They had been inseparable, unable to communicate, but knowing that together they were whole

When their mothers had tried to separate them, both infants wailed and wept. They had apparently had to wait until the two were deep in sleep before his mother could pick him up to bring him home. To Hero, there’s never been a day without Mari’s presence. 

In the mornings she is either the first thing he feels, or he gets the joy of sensing her come alive and the lackadaisical burn of her morning stretches. At night she is the last thing he thinks of, a quiet warmth on his hand, holding it as he drifts away, the press of phantom fingers settling him into quiet dreams. 

Finding your soulmate this early is almost unheard of. It’s rarer than rare, but to the two of them it’s just their life. It’s all they know. They’re aware they’re lucky, and everything is good. No one around them has ever seen such a strong bond. Most of the time the two of them don’t even need words, just side glances and a shared energetic connection. 

Mari loves to say that she knows Hero ‘like the back of her hand’, a joke that inspires more groans than laughs. Hero tolerates it and every time gives her a kiss over his mark on her. Their love burns bright and long, cool colored music notes lighting a soft fire under their skin. When he’s thinking in class, he can’t help but run his fingers across the mark, when she’s studying, she leans her head against it. 

There is no secrets between them, nothing hidden. It wouldn’t be possible to hide anything, not with a connection like that. Not with what they have. Until there is a secret between them. Something Hero had somehow missed. 

Hero is the first person to know Mari died. Before Sunny’s mind caught up with his body and he rushed down the stairs. Before Basil ran forward to stand beside his best friend. Before Mari was even fully gone. Hero knew. 

He and Kel had been laughing at silly ties. Kel was trying to convince him to wear something exceptionally stupid to his beloved’s recital, and Hero can’t help but indulge his little brother’s antics. They’re holding ties up to his chest and giggling when there’s a rush of unfamiliar anger in Hero’s chest. He pulls away from Kel, and he presses two fingers to his mark. 

Nothing. No response from Mari. Strange. Wrong. He presses again, the swooping feeling in his stomach growing. He waits. Nothing. Kel looks at him and asks what’s wrong. His parents stop their chat. 

Nothing. Just righteous anger. 

He’s never felt anything like this from his girl. She’s been angry plenty, she’s been sad, she’s been petulant. With a bond like theirs, he knows all of her different emotions, good and bad. But this is...overwhelming. 

Hero sits down on a nearby stool and stares down at his mark, his mind whispering something is Wrong. A momentary shock, a stabbing mirage of pain in his neck that makes his hands fly up to his throat as he chokes on nothing, and then emptiness. He had thought he felt nothing before but he was wrong. This was truly nothing. 

Hero flies past panic and straight into shock. His parents are walking forward, and Kel is standing next to him calling his name, but Hero can’t hear. He lets his hands slowly release from where they had been clutching his neck and looks down. 

His soulmark is black. Mari’s music notes, which had faded in and out of color in a watercolor ombre that reminded him of her piano playing, are black. Hero thought he knew what a black soulmark meant. It meant your soulmate died. That had always just been a fact. Black meant they were gone. Black was something to be sad about.

Hero wasn’t sad. Hero was confused. Nothing had prepared him for the reality, the ripped jagged edges of half of him being torn brutally away. He couldn’t understand it. Where were her colors? Her pretty purples to match his deep blues? Where was his girl? He couldn’t feel her, not even the anger which had come on so suddenly. He had never not felt her before.

His father is on the phone, talking frantically with someone, and his mother is holding his head against her chest, petting his hair over and over. He supposes she’s trying to comfort him. He can’t feel anything. He’s pretty sure he just died. He tries breathing, and he can, but it doesn’t feel like it works. He tries again, to the same effect. Hero out of the blue wonders if he will ever feel a real breath again. Maybe not. 

They get in the car and race out of the store. His father speeds, and his mother is saying something. He and Kel sit silently in the back, Kel staring at him with wide eyes. Hero can only look down at the black notes on the back of his hand. He hasn’t tried touching them, not yet. He doesn’t know if he ever will. Maybe if he doesn’t this won’t be real. They won’t actually be there. 

They get home to pandemonium. Police cars and ambulances and the eerie sound of Mari’s mother wailing as her father shouted elaborate curses at the officer’s holding him back. Hero’s father parks haphazardly in front of their house, and they all get out. 

Their parents send them into their own house with strict instructions to stay in the living room. Then they go to see if there’s anything they could do to help. Hero could have told them there wasn’t, but it wouldn’t really matter. 

Hero sits Kel on the couch and tells him not to move. Then he walks into their backyard. He walks in a daze out the door, past the patio that he and Mari liked to do their homework on in the Spring, towards the fence he and Mari peered at each other over sometimes when they felt like being silly. 

He would peer over now, and she would be looking back at him. His marks would go back to the way they were meant to be, and everything would be okay. She would be there in the pretty white dress she had chosen as her outfit for the night, the same dress he was choosing a tie to match to. She would smile and call him silly, and tell him that she knew him like the back of her hand and he knew her just as well. That she would never leave him, not ever. Hero stands on his tip toes and looks.

She’s under their favorite tree. Her toes don’t touch the ground. She’s in her pretty white dress. It is stained red. His girl is under their tree. Her arms hang limply by her sides as she sways in the wind of the October night. Her music notes are black. 

Hero already knew he had died right alongside Mari, but now he’s sure. 

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels

Member: L E E J U Y E O N

Genre: idk anymore, jealous boyfriend juyeon, fluff?? idk idk idk intense staring idk idk can you feel my breakdown through this LOL :D (i WILL cry writing this)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: there was absolutely NO WAY i could’ve gone to sleep knowing i just spent the last 4 posts going off about juyeon because it’s virtually impossible to ignore the fact that he’s a REAL person living in the SAME era as us like, aren’t we the luckiest people in the world UGH

p.s: requested? NOPE. 

“down for your love”

“난 늘 목말라 babe”

(this line literally translates to: I’m always thirsty babe)

(i did NOT know what this song was about until i searched up the lyrics I DID NOT EXPECT THIS TURN OF EVENTS LOLOLOL)

you hear the music begin in the earpiece stuck in your left ear. your head naturally jerks on beat and shifts along with the melody, your dance partner dragging his finger along your arm and leans into your ear. 

the crowd cheers and ‘hoots’ at the start, and you could hear jacob and kevin’s excessive screaming at the sight. 

you wanted to smile and bask in the attention, but the music blasting in your earpiece stops you and your muscle memory takes over. 

you’ve been preparing for this stage for so long; for the past three months in fact. you were in the school’s dance crew which was split into a dance-cover half and a self-producing half. 

your dance partner snakes his arm around your waist, turning you around and stroking your hair ever so gently. your gaze was sharp as your laid your eyes on his jawline and you caress his neck.

“sexy mama!” you hear kevin yell at the top of his voice as you turn around and allow the music to guide your body across the stage with your dance partner’s hands still all over you. 

other students were beginning to gather around, and the sudden realisation that you were performing in front of a potentially large audience of university students was so difficult to believe for some strange reason. 

what you don’t notice though, was your boyfriend being exceptionally quiet. he and his crew were standing at the base of the stage that was set up in the middle of the concourse. despite jacob, kevin and the other boys hyping the hell out of your performance, his lips were sealed shut and he stood still like a statue.

lee juyeon was fuming.

“yah hyung, it’s just a performance,” eric runs over to juyeon and pouts, hugging his torso. he finds it difficult to perform the act of affection when juyeon has his arms crossed extremely tight across his chest. 

but you were immersed in your own world on stage. 

while your boyfriend was in the self-producing half of the dance crew alongside your best friends kevin and jacob, you were stuck in the dance-cover part because it was undeniable that the 11 boys were all too talented to be in the same half as you. 

this was your first performance as part of the large dance crew, so everybody knew very well how much effort you’ve invested in it, how much time you’ve spent in the practise room with your dance partner. 

all you wanted to do was to show your best and deliver a performance you’ve worked so hard for, not caring about the extent of intimacy the performance was supposed to display. if you wanted to show a great performance, then acting and professionalism were the two key ingredients. 

that was what juyeon told you anyway. 

the music finally comes to an end, and you finish by wrapping your arms around hyunjun, allowing him to completely hide you from the audience standing at the the bottom of the stage. 

the other members of your crew and the boys erupt in loud cheers, signalling for you and hyunjun to turn and bow to the audience. you run off stage and watch as the boys head onto stage from the other side.

you were so excited to watch juyeon perform, because the last time you watched him dance, it was like walking into a whole new dimension. it was so difficult to choose only one member of his crew to watch because all they did was enhance each other’s abilities and talents. 

hyunjun grabs you a chair and a bottle, opening one for himself as he stands next to you. working on that intimate dance cover not only brought the two of you closer, but it made you feel like you gained a new best friend. 

naturally, you shift yourself so your butt only occupied half the space of the seat, and you pat on the empty half, inviting hyunjun to share the space with you. he looks at you with wide, questioning eyes, before you grab his arm and pull him down, forcing him to seat half his butt on it too. 

you watch carefully as the 11 boys on stage get into position, and you feel a surge of overwhelming pride when you see a ton of girls start to gather around. phones and cameras were out and about, and you catch a glimpse of a few girls focusing their views on your boyfriend. 

you smile widely, and hyunjun elbows you in the side.

“i know you’re proud but you don’t have to make it so obvious,” he teased, trying to stifle a laugh as he raised a brow at you. you pout playfully, elbowing him a little harder. 

the song starts and juyeon’s head jerks along with the starting beats. usually he’d be looking dead straight, killing all his fangirls in the process.

but this time round, though he was facing straight ahead, his eyes were off axis and staring straight at you. 

you get goosebumps, letting a prolonged “ohhhhhhhhhh” escape between your lips. you couldn’t help yourself as your face lights up at the eye contact, and the sight of all his fangirls dying around you was so gratifying. 

“yah!” hyunjun burst out into giggles, punching your arm. “you don’t have to make it so obvious! else his fangirls would totally swamp you!”

you laugh out loud, feeling your face burn up. there was absolutely nothing in the world that could make you jealous, not when you knew that juyeon’s strength in performance was his stage presence and his eyes. he was bound to get his own fanclub, you were just one of the lucky fangirls who ended up dating him. 

but over time, your aggressive screaming over the handsome boy faded into admiration, and he had to come to terms with the fact that it was terribly hard to make you jealous. you trusted him completely, so there was absolutely no reason for you to feel jealous despite all the girls drooling over him all the time. 

throughout the performance, juyeon shoots you looks and glares that sent chills down your spine, and with every passing moment, hyunjun gradually got annoyed with you spitting out “ooooooooh”s and “ahhhhh”s, even when juyeon wasn’t center.

“ah, can you shut up?” hyunjun snickers, pulling you into a headlock and ruffling your hair.

“또 다른 날 깨우는 밤”

you hear his voice through the sound system, and the only thing that comes to mind was: “wah, how long did they take to get this choreography down?”

hyunjun releases you upon processing the question, his smile never once leaving his face. both of you were so satisfied with the performance you gave, it was almost impossible to wipe the smiles off your faces. 

“i don’t know, there’s a reason why i’m in this half of the dance crew,” hyunjun snorts. before you could say anything else, two female students come up to hyunjun and asks for a selfie. 

you smirk at him, for a moment forgetting that your man was giving his all on the stage. 

the music stops and the now nearly all-girls audience begins screaming. the sharp, rumbling noise startles you, and you instinctively cover both your ears while hyunjun thanks the two girls who now each have a picture with him. 

“WHOO! SICK STUFF!” you and hyunjun stand up, throwing fists into the air and screaming all the names of the boys on stage. your eyes naturally find juyeon, who was now smiling at the audience. 

but strangely, his eyes didn’t look satisfied. it was so easy to read juyeon sometimes, you found it adorable.

you and hyunjun wait patiently by the chair you were just sharing as the boys come down and gather around you while the next group heads on stage. you give nearly all of them tight hugs, kevin and jacob especially giving you compliments on how believable your performance was with hyunjun.

“oh, you should’ve seen juyeon hyung’s face when hyunjun was nearly about to kiss your ear,” eric giggles with mischief and you laugh it off by gently pushing him backwards. you look at juyeon, who was circling the group and walking towards you.

“you did so well!” you exclaimed, throwing both arms in the air and over his shoulders. you had to tip-toe, thanks to his taller-than average height.

hyunjun grins at the other boys, giving them shoulder bumps and fist bumps while juyeon pats your head with a lack of emotion. but since you couldn’t see his face while you had your face in his chest, you don’t notice it. 

the crew spends the rest of the performance time screaming and hyping up whoever was on stage. you let sangyeon and hyunjae share the lone chair, while you stand between juyeon and hyunjun. 

you were so engrossed in the group that was performing on stage, all you did was yell and scream alongside hyunjun and kevin and jacob, never once picking up on juyeon being silent the entire time. 

the performance period ends, and everybody congratulates each other for the impressive performances that required both time and effort in the last few months. 

you wave goodbye to hyunjun and the other boys, juyeon following closely behind you as the you leave in the opposite direction from the boys.

“you were so good on stage, do you know that?” you grin widely, naturally wrapping your arm around his. he smiles emptily at you, his ends of his hair-sprayed blue hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat. 

you step back and admired him, who was still in his white and black outfit for the performance. you completely forget that you were also still in your slightly provocative outfit from your performance with hyunjun.

“yah... they really did it this time with that low-ass v-neck, huh?” you smirk at him, playfully pulling on the edge of his collar that dipped down so low between his pectorals. 

“what about you and hyunjun?” he laughs, but it wasn’t a laugh you heard often. you pick up on it, but you try not to show it on your face. “they also really ‘did it this time’ with your all-black outfit. why’d you agree to let them put you in a tube top and leggings?”

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and a smile of disbelief creeps up on your lips. you burst into giggles, grabbing his arm and interlocking your fingers with his.

“awww, is lee juyeon jealous?” you start to poke his upper arm and his chest where the v-neck was. “i let them dress me like this because of the performance! how were we going to sell that if we were dressed in pajamas?” 

“no, but don’t you think hyunjun was too close to you all the time? i mean, if you were in a bar and you simply closed all the gaps between the both of you, it’ll totally look like you two were hooking up,” juyeon looks down at you, a tiny pitiful smile left on his lips. 

you couldn’t help but to laugh again, nearly doubling over from the effort it took you to stop laughing. 

“you were the one who told me that acting and being professional was the most important ingredient of a performance!” you were so engrossed in making your point, you don’t realise you were already at the doorstep of his room where he stayed. yours was just a few floors above.

thank god the dorm building you were staying in was close to where all the events happened. 

juyeon glares at you while he pulls out his room key, and you do nothing but shake and twist on the spot. 

juyeon finally gets the door open and you rush in before him, throwing your bag on the floor, wanting to collapse on the ground because you were just so satisfied.

you turn around, wanting to invite juyeon to sit with you on the floor and do nothing but talk about the performance.

but you freeze with a desire to laugh on the inside when you see the juyeon you only recognised on stage closing the door behind him.

a laugh crawls along your throat and you purse your lips, trying your best not to break out into a giggling frenzy. 

“earth to lee juyeon?” you wave your hand loosely in front of him, but his eyes were looking at you like he did during the performance. it sent chills down your spine and you suddenly feel like you were one of his fangirls again, never mind the fact that you were actually dating him.

“uh... is anything... wrong?” you slowly start to back up, realising that juyeon’s completely lost his composure. juyeon doesn’t say a single word, but his eyes scream so many things that you had trouble reading him. 

you suddenly remember how powerful he was on stage, and on top of that, the fact that he knew how you felt seeing him on stage. 

“isn’t this a little unfair--” your voice gets stuck in your throat once you feel your back hit the cold, hard wall of his room. “you’re using your stage eyes and it’s unfair because you know i can’t handle them-- hnnng--”

you whine and turn away, feeling your heart mercilessly picking up its pace while juyeon traps you between both his arms. 

“that’s exactly my point,” his voice was low and rumbled through the air between you. you wince at the sensation of his breath on your ear. suddenly, your provocative outfit doesn’t do anything to feed your confidence. it’s almost like your stage self had completely combusted and disappeared off the face of earth, because you were face-to-face with juyeon. 

“i know i told you that those two things were important for a performance but i never expected you to go all out with them, especially with a provocative one.”

you lick your lips, still wanting to laugh from embarrassment. you were a mixture of intimidated and mischief, but right now, juyeon caging you was doing nothing to fuel your mischievous self. instead, it was completely killing it. 

“does that mean i can’t do anymore provocative performances anymore?” you finally gather the courage to look at him straight in the eye. though his eyes were now dark and piercing, he was still your boyfriend after all.

you wait patiently for him to respond, but all he does is crash his lips onto yours without warning.

you feel the heat from him radiate into your chest and stomach, and his hands were now on your bare waist where your tube top doesn’t cover. 

“you can still do provocative performances--” he huffs through kisses. “but you either do them with me, or you promise me you’ll do nothing that looks like a discount hook-up session.”

you laugh into the kiss, feeling his stage self slowly disappear as the kisses become lighter. 

“oh, i’ll gladly do a provocative performance with you, and you know what?” you pull away, brushing his hair aside and noticing your lipstick smudged on his. 

“i’ll gladly do one without an audience.”

[samwilsonsbabymama]

All the Things (Your Man Won’t Do) 18+

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black Reader

Summary: Everyone around you sees how crappy your boyfriend treats you. How long does it take for your old friend Sam Wilson to convince you that you’d be better with him?

Warnings: Crappy boyfriend, unfulfilling relationships, not cheating but persuasion, nothing too sexual

A/N: So I listened to All the Things (Your Man Won’t Do) by Joe and I got Sam Wilson vibes BIG TIME and I had to write this lol This is the version that I listened to, the above link is to the music video where I got some of my inspo from lol There’s no real difference other than the length of the song lol

Word Count: 2,500 ish

v2- I typed all of the texts out in this version so people can see them if they don't load on the other version. Sam is italicized and reader is bolded. I tried to separate them. Let me know if the format is messed up 💖

You stood at the counter, ringing up your last customer for the night. It had been a long but exciting shift. You’d gotten a chance to see an old friend of yours, Sam Wilson. You’d seen him on TV fighting alongside, and against, the Avengers. No one believed that you knew the Sam Wilson, especially your boyfriend. It was great seeing him again. You two talked for a while when there weren’t many people in the store, and you exchanged numbers, excited to catch up with him soon.

As you locked up the store, you thought about the good times that you spent with Sam in college. You knew how he had been planning on joining the military and you were glad to see that he was doing well for himself. 

You sighed in annoyance when you heard a clap of thunder over your head as you looked around. Your boyfriend was late once again to pick you up. You absolutely hated waiting around for him, and you hated it even more that he used your car while you were at work.

Deciding not to wait for him, you pulled out your phone and ordered yourself a Lyft when you received an incoming text.

Hey Y/n. It’s Sam.

It was good seeing you today.

Hey Sam!

Yeah, I really enjoyed seeing you as well 😊

You checked your Lyft’s location, noting that it was just around the corner. You shifted your weight onto your other foot as you waited when you saw the headlights from the car come around the corner. You adjusted your bag once again as the driver pulled in front of you.

“Y/n?” the driver asked when you opened the door.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, that’s me.” You slid into the back seat and closed the door. You were settling in when your phone buzzed again in your hand. Once you were completely settled, you unlocked your phone and opened your text stream with Sam.

I don't want to sound too forward, but I was wondering if you would like to grab a drink with me sometime? You know, catch up some more.

But, I understand if you don't want to.

I would love to catch up sometime!

Great! How does tomorrow sound?

Tomorrow sounds great! Though, I think I should mention that I do have a boyfriend. So this would be just as friends.

You chewed your lip as you waited for his response. You hoped that he still wanted to meet up. You spent the rest of the car ride trying to distract yourself from waiting for Sam’s reply, and when you made it home without hearing from him again, you were a bit upset with yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought up your boyfriend. Maybe he did just want to catch up as friends and you just ruined that possibility.

You let yourself out of the Lyft after handing the driver a tip and glanced up to your apartment. The living room light was still on, which meant that your boyfriend was home, he had clearly forgotten to come pick you up. Again. You rolled your eyes and trudged up the stairs and contemplated whether or not you wanted to argue about it or not. 

That decision was made for you when you walked through your door to find him laid back on the couch with dirty dishes everywhere.

“Damn, Ty!” you groaned then slammed the door. “You said that you were going to clean up!” you kicked off your shoes and began picking up the mess that he made.

“My bad, Y/n,” he mumbled without taking his eyes off the TV screen. “You know it was my day off.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah and I had to work all day! You didn’t even cook? Come on, Ty. You said that you would help out more.”

He waved his hand as if dismissing you and you made your way to the bedroom to get ready for bed. You wrapped your head up in a pineapple before hopping into the shower. Once you were done, you put on lotion and brushed your teeth. Ty had made his way to bed while you were in the shower and he looked to be sleeping already. You pulled back the covers on your side of the bed and flipped on your reading light and opened your book. You were halfway down the page when your phone buzzed.

You smiled when you saw Sam’s name on your screen.

I'm not surprised that someone cuffed you lol

Just friends it is then

Do you work tomorrow?

I'm happy to hear that. Yeah, I work tomorrow but I don't close.

I get off at 3. Where do you want to meet?

Have you heard of Pietro's Bakery?

YEAH! I love their cinnamon rolls!

I know the owner. Let’s meet there at 4?

Wait! How do you know the owner?

😅Friends from work

I'll introduce you.

Awesome! I can't wait to see you again, Sam.

Me too. Sleep tight, Y/n

Good night, Sam 😊

And for the first time in months, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

 Work was going by slowly for you and you kind of anticipated that it would. Whenever you were excited about something, time seemed to slow down.

You’d cleaned almost every aisle of the bookstore and made sure that all the books were facing the right way in the aisles that you cleaned. You’d fluffed pillows refilled coffee mugs of those that needed them and eagerly helped patrons that asked for help. You were intent on keeping yourself busy.

You’d looked at the clock for the millionth time and loudly groaned when you saw that it was only 1:30. You still had an hour and a half left of work.

You looked up eagerly when the chime above the door went off and crinkled your eyebrows when you saw Ty walk through the door. You watched as he scanned the room and make his way over to you when he spotted you.

“I need your car,” he said once he reached you and you rolled your eyes.

“Hey Y/n,” you said in a mock voice. “Can I borrow your car?”

“Hey, Y/n, can I borrow your car?” Ty repeated with a dry voice.

“Why?” your hand was on your hip as you waited for his response.

“Because I have to work late tonight and I’d rather not take a Lyft.” Ty held his hand out for your key and you looked him up and down.

“So how am I supposed to get home?” you said, your foot tapping with annoyance.

He shrugged, “Take a Lyft. Look Y/n, give me the damn keys, I’m about to be late for work.” 

You crossed your arms and pursed your lips, “That sounds like a personal problem.”

“Look, Y/n, I really don’t have time for this,” you could tell that he was becoming agitated. You fished your keys from your pocket and handed them to him, and he snatched them from you and turned to walk away.

“You’re welcome,” you mumbled. “Make sure you put some gas in it too!” you yelled at his retreating form.

“When you gon let him go, Y/n?” your coworker, Tanya, asked you as you walked back up to the front of the store. “The way he treats you isn’t right, and I know you know that.”

“Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t know,” you admitted. “I know he loved me once, but now I don’t know. Now I think he just sees me as… less. Ya know. Like, he barely touches me anymore, not even a hug. It’s like our relationship has run its course but neither one of us wants to be the first to say goodbye.”

“Wow,” Tanya dragged out. “Quoting Gladys Knight?” she chuckled. “Look, you deserve someone that’s gonna love you no matter what. Someone that worships you and brings out the best in you and Ty does not do that. He never did, and you know it. I say, be the first one to say goodbye, because you deserve way better than he can give you.”

You chewed your lip as you thought about what she said. Your three-year relationship with Ty was stagnant, and you couldn’t think of a time when it wasn’t. There was no fire, there never had been, and honestly, your fights weren’t even fights. He typically just sat there as you complained about his mess or that he forgot to come pick you up, something that happened way too often for your liking.

You groaned at your situation wondering how you managed to dig yourself into this hole.

You finished helping one last customer before you clocked out for the day. Now that you didn’t have your car, it would take you longer to get there. You decided to walk instead of catching a Lyft. You needed some time to clear your head before meeting up with Sam.

You window-shopped as you made your way to the bakery. You took in all the sales and wished that you could stop and partake in some retail therapy, but you continued on.

You made it to the bakery sooner than you had hoped, but you didn’t have anywhere else to go so you went in.

You walked to the counter and ordered yourself a cinnamon roll and found a seat in the corner. As you waited, you people watched the patrons in the bakery. Some were old, some were young, but many of them were around your age it seemed. Most of them came in with their families, and it made your heart hurt a little. When you were younger, you thought that you would be married with a couple of kids by now. You had plans after college, but for some reason, they didn’t pan out for you. 

You picked at your cinnamon roll for a few minutes before a shadow cast over you.

“You’re early!” Sam’s booming voice startled you.

“Hey, Sam!” you slid out of your seat and threw your arms around his neck. You melted into his embrace; it felt like you belonged here. Quickly shaking yourself from your thoughts, you pulled away from him and sat back down.

“I’m glad you came, Y/n,” Sam’s smile took up his entire face. That was one thing that you loved about him, his smile was infectious. You couldn’t help but to smile when he did, and his smiles were always genuine, never forced.

You two talked for hours, you didn’t even notice that the sun had gone down.

“Hey, Sam,” a woman with fire-red hair appeared next to your table.

“Wanda, hey, this is Y/n. Y/n, this is Wanda, she owns the place.” Sam introduced the two of you and you smiled as you shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” she smiled brightly at you. “I’ve heard a lot about you over the last few years, Y/n, it’s great to finally meet you.”

You looked to her in confusion before she continued, “He said that you’re the um, what did you say, Sam?”

“It’s not important, Wanda,” Sam said, clearly trying to get her to move on.

“That’s right, you’re ‘the one that got away’,” she winked at you with a smirk on her face before turning to Sam once again. “I’m going to head home, will you lock up for me?”

Sam nodded once again, “Good night, Wanda!”

You watched as Wanda walked away laughing to herself at Sam’s obvious discomfort. “Well, she’s sweet,” you commented once you heard the back door lock.

“Yeah, and a pain in my ass,” Sam grumbled. “Look-”

You cut him off, “So I’m the one that got away?” you chuckled.

He shrugged, “I had plans to come and get you once I got out but I was kinda messed up after Riley, then Captain America needed me, then the whole Thanos thing. I just wanted to be at my best when I finally did get to see you.”

“Sam, I have-”

“You have a boyfriend, yeah I know.” he scrubbed his face with his hands. “Can you tell me that you’re happy with him, Y/n?”

You remained silent, giving him your answer.

“We have history, Y/n,” Sam continued. “You know you’re mine, and you know I’ll do all the things he won’t do. I’ll do them for you.”

“You know I remember that night? And I know you remember it too.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as the images of that night flashed through your mind.

The two of you panted as Sam thrusted into you, his hips moving at a slow pace and your nails dragging down his back. He fit so well inside of you, like he was made for you. You’d lost count of how many times he’d made you cum already, but you could feel another orgasm stirring. He whispered in your ear, telling you how good you felt wrapped around him.

You’d imagined this many times before, but nothing, nothing, had prepared you for how he would actually make you feel. 

Sam’s hips began to move faster and his hands moved down to your hips to hold you into place as he fucked into you. Your breathy moans filled the air as he grunted in your ear. You’d never heard anything sweeter than the sound of his voice as the two of you made love.

In that moment, you imagined your life being filled with this. Coming home to Sam, loving him, and having him love you. That was something that you could get used to.

You snapped out of your thoughts when Sam squeezed your hand, a smirk on his lips because he knew what you had been thinking about.

“Y/n, he treats you like your nothing,” Sam said instead. “You’ve told me about all of the times that he’s taken your car and had you find your own way home. I wanna do all the things your man won’t do.”

You chewed your lip, “I hear what you’re saying, but-”

“What good is a diamond nobody can see?” Sam asked. Your hand rested in his as his thumb ran over your knuckles. 

You shrugged, “We’ve been together for three years. It just doesn’t feel right leaving him, ya know?”

“You’d rather spend the rest of your life unhappy?” Sam lowered his voice and leaned closer to you over the table. “Y/n, you know I can make you happy. You deserve it.”

“Sam I-,”

“You say you need someone to be there for you,” he interrupted you again. “To love you all night long

I don't think you have to look no further because I'm right here. And I'm ready to do all the things your man won't do.”

You locked eyes with him once more, and you saw nothing but sincerity there. Sam was your safe place. He was your home, and he was right. You didn’t have to look further. He was the one for you.

[mira--mira]

One obvious for the ask game. The main protagonist; Naruto Uzumaki and Izuku Midoriya.

@shiryusamarkanda it’s so nice to hear from you again! <3 

I totally didn’t forget to post this and had it fully finished in my drafts for days...totally. 

Naruto

What I love about them:

Naruto's a bratty kid who’s not afraid to speak up and challenge something he thinks is "wrong". This, of course, is part 1 Naruto. I actually like when he's a bit insensitive without being explicitly malicious bc its very fitting for his background/how he grew up but also gives him a clear path forward as he learns how to work as a team/starts to grow. It wasn’t exactly a smart move, but I really liked how he continued to challenge Zabuza in the Wave Arc saying “he’s still my enemy” after Kakashi told him to back off. This is all good and strong characterization that, to me, was more often endearing than it wasn’t. Naruto had goals and a purpose and in early Naruto that was still clear.

What I hate about them:

Part 2 (Shippuden) Naruto. There’s a lot that goes into this but the core deviation is getting away from the underdog story. In Shippuden Naruto is the son of the 4th, the Child of Prophecy, a reincarnation of the Sage of Six Path’s kid, makes friends with Kurama, and has the most OP power of the them all: Talk no Jutsu. What makes all of this even worse is Naruto went from a loveable bratty kid to an insufferable messiah figure. To be “perfect” his natural personality is shorn down until he’s only allowed occasional “stupid” mistakes rather than mistakes that emerge from his characterization. This also makes his ideological “wins” with villains...completely meaningless. Shippuden Naruto doesn’t really...have beliefs. He wants to be hokage and bring Sasuke back to the village. “Being hokage” was fine as a kid but I expected the progression into shippuden to be “what kind of hokage do I want to be?” This seemed natural bc we get in the Wave arc Naruto pushing against “what a shinobi is supposed to be: a tool” from Haku and declaring he’d make his own ninja way. Flashforward to the chunin arcs: hates Orochimaru for messing with Sasuke (esp when he eventually leaves to join him) and Neji for treating Hinata the way he did until he learned more about the Hyuga before declaring it wasn’t fair and you had to fight against fate and destiny. Tsunade’s arc was more about reemphasizing the village was something worth protecting and the Sasuke retrieval arc, while focused on Sasuke, at least kept up this theme. But these moments of growth are only alluded to in shippuden and by the time the war arc and ending come around...nothing changes. Naruto didn’t upset the status quo, he only maintained it. And once that ending was established it was a lot easier to go back and pick out exactly when his characterization started to fall through and the weird messiah figure took over instead. Part of this, imo, is the focus of his ultimate goal being “bring Sasuke back to the village” rather than understand what Sasuke is doing/why he’s doing it and then deciding to help him or stop him. 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

“You’re cute when you’re chubby” [in reference to the frog purse] 

I really love the quiet moments Naruto has and watching him live out his daily life. The frog purse is absolutely adorable and I love seeing it crop up time and time again. A close second is when Gai kicks Jiraiya in the face and, a short time later, offers Naruto the green tracksuit which he’s appreciative of. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

In Part 2 Naruto having a long-term goal alongside bringing Sasuke back to the village or trying to seriously think about why Sasuke does what he does and how that would potentially affect the plot. If I could go back to the very start, keeping the actual heart and intent of an underdog ninja story rather than everything turning into superpowered mecha/kaiju battles and aliens from space this is the big point that I’d want to address. In general, I really like fics that focus on training and give him a range of jutsu besides spamming shadow clones and rasengan variants. I’ve said this before, but if Naruto really wants to keep the “number 1 unpredictable ninja” moniker, learning a variety of small, diverse jutsu and using them in interesting/creative ways would be the way to go rather than spamming the aforementioned two. I also really like fics that buckle down and just go ham and create their own variety of jutsu, especially if it’s small practical jutsu rather than the latest and greatest OP Power #839281 kind of jutsu. 

What I would like to see less focus on:

The messiah figure. Talk no Jutsu. The obsession with having a morally pure hero in a world that routinely employed child soldiers and put them in war. I understand Naruto was a shonen manga first and foremost but like...this was the setting/world Kishimoto decided on having. However, I will say some fics take it to far on the other extreme for my taste, creating a edgy nihilistic Naruto that hates everyone and everything. 

Favorite pairing with:

Uhh...I don’t actually have a strong feeling for this one LOL. The most I’ve read has been SasuNaru (Sasuke x Naruto) because I’ve found really interesting set-ups. I like the ship and it does have a decent amount of backing in canon but it’s the little moments (or my ability to see possible little moments) that really make or break a ship for me. SasuNaru is all Big Declarations and I struggle to see how they’d actually settle down post Shippuden time into something sustainable. My favorite iterations of the ship is focused when they’re genin age and have a better relationship...but then I recognize that this is getting closer and closer to Hashimada. The other big things I run into with shipping Naruto with Sasuke is 1. Sasuke needs a shit ton of therapy/willingness to process his family related trauma and 2. Naruto needs a good support network/family outside of a romantic partner because it personally makes me uncomfortable to read ‘you’re my one and only’ (here being: I have no other friends, family, loved ones outside of you). It’s a ship that can work but it’s not my personal OTP.  

Favorite friendship:

Canon/OoT - Naruto & Sakura

I do have a softspot for fics where Naruto realizes his crush on Sakura is actually a desire to have friends/someone to care about him and then they do become close. In canon Sasuke was clearly the favorite of Kakashi (if chunin arc is kept the same/similar and he takes him away for the month to train) I really like Naruto and Sakura sticking together and trying to help each other. They’re both loud and can wind each other up but Naruto can help Sakura relax a bit from her rigid view of herself and she can help keep him on track/encourage him. 

NOTP:

Again, no real strong opinions here. Probably harems? I remember seeing a lot of those a couple years ago and I fundamentally dislike the harem so it will never be ‘done well’ to my personal taste. 

Favorite headcanon:

Naruto is smart, he just needs things to be explained in a way he can understand. 

I’m not a fan of ‘he’s the smartest person in the entire world’ trope but Naruto is creative, he created the oiroke jutsu before he graduated to genin and has a lot of stubborn determination. He’s just really bad at typical ‘book learning’ and traditional testing and he’s not a genius/prodigy like Sasuke or Neji.

.

.

Read line for BNHA manga spoilers

Izuku

What I love about them:

He’s such a smart kid and while he’s unsure/insecure about himself he still does his best. Honestly the premise of BNHA is amazing and I was so excited to watch this little quirky (heh) boy do his best and outthink heroes, utilizing his intelligence and knowledge of quirks. I really love early Izuku and how he has to approach situations from a different angle bc he grew up quirkless/can’t properly handle OFA. The sports festival arc remains one of my personal favorites and really showed his ingenuity. I also really love that Izuku is openly emotional, he cries, he gets super happy about things, he’s angry, he’s sad, etc.  

What I hate about them:

Why do stories insist on calling themselves “underdogs” when for a majority of the time, they’re not? Or not as much as they would be from the original premise? Look, TDP came about exactly bc BNHA was billed as ‘quirkless boy becomes number 1 hero’ it changed rapidly into ‘Izuku gets the strongest quirk but can’t control it’ and while I was...disappointed with that, it happened so quickly I wasn’t really upset. Fast forward to apparently OFA has...what seven(?) quirks inside it and I just...it’s frustrating. Even more the longer we go the more Izuku strays away from a character that is forced to use his intelligence and creatively outthink his opponents and instead becomes...I just have to hit him harder! The Muscular fight already inched towards this but the Overhaul fight just felt like Super Shonen Smack-down 728329. Which, isn’t an inherent problem, it just doesn’t match up to the expectations I had about BNHA I had at the start and how I hoped the series would go. For a character trait that I hate: Izuku is stupidly self-sacrificing. It makes sense with his character but he shoots beyond what is safe and reasonable and I wish there would be more internal emphasis on the question “is it better to save one person today if it meant I couldn’t save ten people tomorrow?” I think he’d choose the former or forsake the question altogether (we touched briefly on this during the overhaul arc with Eri) but I think it’s a serious question needs to be touched on (or I just need to go back and rewatch things again LOL) 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

See entire sports festival arc. I don’t really have a favorite moment because I love the entire arc and we get so much out of it. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

Quirkless Izuku. There’s already a lot of fics, but I really do love them. It deviates a bit, but I do like the creativity of giving Izuku his own unique quirk and then exploring what he can do with that/how it changes canon. Really I want Izuku to keep his original characterization and not trade his smarts for more punching power or deus ex machinas for quirks hidden inside of OFA. If OFA!Izuku is kept, I like story ideas where he still has to rely on means outside of his quirk. Preferably this is isn’t because he injuries himself so much, but I like toying with the idea that Izuku never gets OFA to All Might’s level so he really does have to make the quirk his own and still rely heavily on his intelligence and quirk journals to become the number 1. 

What I would like to see less focus on:

Quirks hidden inside OFA. Strength should have been enough, it was already billed as the most powerful quirk of all. I know this is a common theme for shonen stories, and I don’t mean to harp specifically on Izuku, but again the premise of BNHA was an underdog story. 

Favorite pairing with:

Tododeku (Todoroki Shouto x Midoriya Izuku) 

Friends to lover and battle couples lads, I am weak to them. I like the contrast between their personalities as well as origins (Shouto being the number 2′s (now 1) kid and Izuku from a quiet civilian background). At the end of the sports festival arc both of them are extremely well characterized and it’s easy for me to imagine how their relationship progresses from there and how they can support each other and help each other grow. It’s a very sweet and wholesome ship the way I write and read it and it’s v cute.

Favorite friendship:

Canon- Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochaco & Iida Tenya

I really like the core trio and think their interactions are really sweet. They balance each other out well and their friendship was immediately believable to me. I also like later when Tsuyu and Shouto start to get included in the group and out of the “main” core friends I’m endlessly entertained whenever Izuku and Tokoyami interact with one another. (This is also because I love my bird son, but you know.)

TDP - Midoriya Izuku & Ashido Mina or Midoriya Izuku & Hatsume Mei

Really, I love all of TDP’s kiddos interactions. Their chemistry is one of my favorite things about the fic and all the villain school kiddos meshed really well and had hilarious interactions. Mina and Mei are my faves but just barely. Mina came out of left field for the fic but she plays a similar role that Ochaco does in canon as a usual source of positivity (but unlike Ochaco with additional chaos). She’s Izuku’s first real friend even before starting HIVVE and wouldn’t hesitate to call Izuku her cousin as she views him as family. In return, Mina’s someone Izuku can completely count and depend on if necessary. Mei is...Mei. Izuku is her best “useful customer” and it’s actually terrifying how similar their thoughts are, just Mei has an (un)healthy dose of Hazmat’s insanity and her own business acumen added into the mix. They have slightly different fields of interest but are intellectual equals that work well together and that’s something new to both of them.

NOTP:

Bakudeku (Bakugo Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku)

It’s unhealthy. Unless it’s an AU that changes what the start of their relationship is like, Bakugo and Izuku will always have a toxic friendship to me and I can’t ever see them in a healthy relationship. Both of them have a lot to learn and I am of the opinion that Bakugo should get the opportunity to grow and become a good person and leave behind his past as a bully. However, I’m also of the opinion that no matter how good of a person a bully becomes their victim is never required to absolve them of past wrongdoings. Izuku and Bakugo were friends once, their relationship turned toxic, and now it’s in the interest of both of them to grow apart from one another. I even hesitate to really say they’ll be friends again because the early characterization of their relationship was so imbalanced to me, but for the right author and the right work I may see them being on good terms. It’s still a romantic relationship that I dislike. 

Favorite headcanon:

Crack headcanon? Izuku does have a natural quirk, the force of his tears is clearly superpowered 😂 Regular headcanon, (that is canon in TDP and kindaaa in regular canon(?)) when Izuku gets really engrossed in a super stressful fight he focuses on what will work rather than what is moral. It has...mixed results. 

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For the ask game. 

[just-jordie-things]

Jealous Much? - Peter Parker

word count: 2541 warnings: swearing summary: (y/n) is just a little bit jealous but Peter thinks it’s adorably unnecessary (a/n): this is really old lol

(y/n) was never really much for jealousy.  She trusted her boyfriend, she knew he’d never do anything behind her back, and even if he did he’d feel incredibly guilty about it.  It’s what made Peter Parker cute.  He was so afraid of hurting her feelings that it made his stomach twist up and he’d apologize profusely.  It happened just last week when they were supposed to have a movie night but he’d forgotten to but popcorn.

And of course she was never mad, how could she be? He was just so damn cute when he rambled on with ridiculous apologies and all she could do was smile and kiss him.

She was standing at her locker when the boy came up to her, smiling as soon as he’d seen her putting her things away.  The usual sleepy look on her face since it was seven in the morning, and he’d learned quickly she was not a morning person.

“Morning beautiful” He called, and she turned around to smile at him, allowing him to kiss her cheek quickly.  Public displays of affection made Peter nervous, but it was worth it to see her blush before looking down to hide her grin.

“Morning” She responded, her tiredness evident in her voice.  “How was patrol last night?” She asked him quietly before shutting her locker and holding onto the strap of her backpack.

“Nothing happened” Peter shrugged.  “Which I suppose is a good thing…” (y/n) giggled, shaking her head at him.

She’d only been dating Peter for a few months, but she’d known him since her and Ned met him in the first grade.  He had tried to hide his secret identity from her, but Ned found out first and couldn’t keep the secret to himself.  Though ultimately it’s what prompted Peter to tell the girl about his real feelings, and not long after the two of them became official.  And she’s never been happier.  But sometimes, the Spider-Man side of his life scared her to death.

“I’d say so” (y/n) replied, and Peter gave her that look.  That completely adoring one, where his eyes were swimming pools of hearts.  “You probably still got to bed late, huh?” She asked, looking over and seeing those eyes of his.  “What?” Her eyes narrowed just a little, wondering why he was staring at her like that.  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked again when he didn’t answer right away.

“N-nothing I’m listening to you” He shrugged innocently.  (y/n) smiled bashfully, and dropped the subject.  “But y-yeah I went to bed at like two in the morning”

“Jesus Peter” She sighed.  “Seriously, you need to pace yourself a little” Her voice was soft, so no one would hear, and so he didn’t feel like she was pushing him.

“I know” He breathed.  “Can’t help it” She smiled good naturedly at him, knowing he loved being a hero.

“Hey guys!” Ned came running up in between them, grinning happily at them both.

“Hey Ned” Peter said, giving him a slightly pissed off look for shoving him away from his girlfriend.

“Morning Ned” (y/n) said.  “Why’re you all perky?”

“The new girl!” He whispered yelled.  “Have you seen her?” He asked Peter, who shook his head.  “Oh dear God she’s hot- no offense (y/n/n)”

(y/n’s) brows furrowed, her head shaking slightly as she looked at her friend, but didn’t say anything before he started talking again.

“Her name’s Dana, or Diana, or something” Ned went on.  “And She’s gorgeous, like ten outta ten gorgeous”

“Cool” Peter mumbled, not really sure what to say.  “Is she nice”

“Don’t know, haven’t talked to her yet” He said.  “I’m hoping to, we have Chemistry together! I saw her schedule on Liz’s story so that people can be nice to her and stuff and man am I gonna be nice to her”

“Ned” (y/n) forced a chuckle, trying not to let on that her feelings were just  little bit hurt.  

“Go for it” Peter shrugged.

“Really? You think I could? I’m not like you”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked, clearly confused.  And if (y/n) was being honest, she didn’t get it either.

“You’re the one with the girlfriend” Ned shrugged.  “You know what you’re doing”

(y/n) held back a laugh.  Peter never knew what he was doing.

“What?” Peter still seemed confused, but they were already at class and Ned cut off the conversation.

“That’s her” Ned whispered, nodding his head to the girl in the back.

“Woah” (y/n) murmured.  Ned was right, she was hot.  “She’s gorgeous” (y/n’s) voice dropped, and Ned seemed to realize she was put down.

“Don’t be one of those girls” He said as Peter went in and sat at his usual seat.

“What?”

“The kind that thinks you aren’t good enough” Ned explained, before walking in.  (y/n) shook her head to get over it and came in to take her seat next to Peter.

“Everything alright?” He asked her.

“Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” She responded, clearing her throat and quickly trying to get out her Chem notes to et started in class and ignore the awkward feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“(y/n/n)-”

“Really, I’m alright.  Just tired as always” She said, glancing at him quickly then back to her papers.  Peter frowned, but didn’t want to push her so he let it drop.

“Alright everyone, get out your notebooks.  We’ll be taking notes and then running a quick lab” Their professor said, starting class off right off the bat.  (y/n) turned to look behind her at Ned, and behind him, Dana or Diana, she still wasn’t sure.

“Lab day” Ned said with a big grin.  (y/n) rolled her eyes, unsure why Ned loved labs so much.  Him and Peter always got so excited for them.

Notes went by relatively quickly, neither (y/n) or Peter talking.  She was using her ‘hardworking’ note taking to her advantage, avoiding any form of confrontation that could happen.  It was going fine until her phone buzzed on the desk.

[Ned] : oh no are u and peter fighting bc u haven’t talked

[(y/n)] : we’re fine

[Ned] : lies, why would u think he’d ever prefer some random girl over u

After that she put her phone in her backpack, turning to give Ned a look again.

“Miss (y/l/n)?”

The girl spun around, facing front again, her eyes wide as her teacher glared at her.

“Would you like to join the class now or are you in a serious conversation with Mr Leeds?”

(y/n) nodded her head quickly, cheeks blushing a bright pink in embarrassment as the class continued on.  Peter looked over at her, chuckling quietly.

“Same thing happened last week” He said, causing her to smile a little bit but she didn’t say anything.  This time not wanting to get into more trouble.

Once it was lab time, and she’d gotten her goggles on and ready to start ripping the tinfoil up to put in a solution, Peter was rambling about how he’d already known the observations that they were going to make.  He knew something was still up, because she still wasn’t responding much to him.

What had happened? Just that morning she’d hugged him and talked to him, and now it was like something had happened in a snap.  And of course he was worried and wanted to know what was going on, but he didn’t want to push her to open up either.  So he did what he id best and rambled about chemistry until eventually she cut him off.

“Peter!” She finally called out, looking over at him, being all cute in his lab goggles and his hair all messed up from them.  “I get it, the foil burns and the solution changes color” She chuckled quietly.

“Miss (y/l/n)”

Cursing silently, she looked back to her teacher after getting yelled at again.

“Mr Parker, back of the class with Dana for the day.  Miss (y/l/n) you’ll be working by yourself today since you can’t seem to focus on your own”

“Yes Mrs Adreille” She mumbled as Peter packed up his things and walked to the back of the classroom.  (y/n) turned around and watched as he got settled next to the new girl.

“Nice job” Ned snickered, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

She spent the entire last half hour of the class doing a lab all by herself, and listening to Peter’s distant laughter.  Kicking herself repeatedly her pencil nearly broke as she was writing down her observations.

But she’d never really been one for jealousy.

“I swear to God I swear to God” (y/n) grumbled to MJ as they got their lunches from their lockers together.  “She was batting her eyelashes Michelle, I’m gonna rip them out-”

“Okay breathe” MJ giggled to herself at the violent image in her mind.  Sweet, soft spoken (y/n) plucking out a girl’s eyelashes.  “Peter would never cheat”

“It’s not about cheating, it’s about some other girl hitting on my-”

She stopped speaking when she looked down the hall and saw her boyfriend walking alongside the girl she recently realized she despised.  Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared the girl down.

“Wow” Michelle’s eyes rolled.  “Will you chill? You and Peter have only been dating a couple months”

(y/n) didn’t respond.

“I mean seriously, what’re you in love with-” MJ gasped loudly.  “Oh, my, God”

“Shut up”

“No way”

“Don’t say anything”

“(y/n)!”

“Please don’t do this” The girl pleaded.

“You’re in love with Peter Parker? And I thought he’d be a virgin forever”

“MJ!” (y/n) scolded.

“Oh come on.  You’re being crazy.  Peter’s legit smitten by you, have you not seen the way he stares at you like you’re a goddamn piece of art? It’s. Cause.  He.  Knows  You.  Are.  Art” She clapped in between her words.  “Some random new girl isn’t gonna change that”

(y/n) still stayed silent as they walked into the cafeteria together.  Ready to sit through an awkward lunch time only to leave and complain to MJ again.  But again, she was greeted with a sight that made her blood completely boil.

“She’s at our fucking table” She practically growled out.  Michelle’s bows shot up in surprise from her words, not having expected such a volatile reaction from her friend.  “That’s it! Hold my lunch” She blindly handed her bag to Michelle, swiftly making her way towards where Peter and Ned were sat in their usual spots at the table, Dana sitting across from them.  His eyes found hers, his face brightening as she sat in the seat next to him.

“Hey (y/n/n) how was Calc-”

He was promptly cut off by her hands grabbing his face and tugging his lips down against hers.  A muffled sound coming from his throat but he kissed her back nonetheless.  Sure it wasn’t the first time she’d kissed him this passionately, but no one else had ever been allowed to see it.  His hands had set on her jaw, their lips still moving together in a spontaneous makeout session.

“Holy shit!” Ned exclaimed from next to them, while (y/n’s) hands ran through his tresses of hair and her tongue swiped over the seal of her lips.  “They aren’t stopping! Pete! Hey Pete! Take a breather man!”

(y/n) pulled away with a small smirk on her lips, her eyes holding a mischievous glint that Peter had never seen there, but at this point he was fairly certain he loved it.  His girlfriend straightened out his shirt and fixed his hair up all nice again, and wiped her lip with her thumb before looking over at the girl across the table.

“Who’s your friend Pete?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow at Dana, who was now staring between Peter Ned and (y/n) in absolute confusion and awkwardness.

“This is Dana.  Dana, this is (y/n), the girl I was telling you about” Peter introduced awkwardly.  He looked back to (y/n) wish raised brows and a pointed stare.  She smiled bashfully, her heart fluttering at the idea of Peter telling someone about her.  “Dana’s new here”

“Hi” The new girl smiled and waved nervously.  After (y/n’s) very public affection there was a tension left behind that made everyone shift in their seats.  “Nice to meet you, Peter sure talks a lot about you”

“You too” (y/n) squeaked, extending her hand and offering the kindest smile she could

“Anyways, I’ll see you guys another time hopefully.  I’ve gotta meet my boyfriend in study hall” She smiled sweetly before getting up and heading off.

“B-boyfriend?” (y/n’s) voice nearly failed her as she looked over at Peter.  Who still had that dumb look on his face.

“Yep.  Dana was telling me in Chem how she was excited her parents moved here because this is the school her boyfriend goes to, and now she can see him more often” Peter said, a cocky grin growing on his lips.  “And meanwhile I was telling her how lucky I was to have you at this school cause it would suck without you here.  Cause… well yaknow.  You’re the best” He shrugged simply, but his grin was still there.

She felt like an idiot.

“So, what was with the little show?” Ned asked, making (y/n’s) cheeks burn.

“Yeah (y/n/n) what was with the show?” Peter repeated.

“Shut up I was jealous” She mumbled under her breath.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it” Peter said.  She mumbled again.  “You’re gonna have to speak up hon-”

“I said I was jealous!” She snapped.  “Sorry! It’s just… Ned kept going on about her and then- I just got in my own head and-”

Peter cut her off, kissing her lips chastely.

“You silly girl” He shook his head, the biggest smile on his face.  “There’s no other girl in this whole galaxy I could love as much as you.  Much less some random chick that just moved here” He said.  And if she wasn’t already blushing, surely she was now.

“Can we forget it happened?” She asked hopefully, but Peter shook his head.

“Nope I don’t think I’m ever gonna forget it happened” He said, making her rol her eyes playfully.

“Yeah.  Me either” Ned grumbled.

“Fine” (y/n) sighed.  “I promise not to be stupid anymore”

“You’re not stupid, you were just being ridiculous” Peter chuckled.  “Really, I can’t believe you let that get to you” He said, shaking his head and cupping her face in his hands.  “Absolutely ridiculous” He said, kissing her again softly.  She held back her smile, very much liking all the affection she was getting.

“I love you too, by the way” She told him, happy to be able to say it without her voice stuttering and failing her.

“You’re cute, but you made that pretty clear” Peter snickered, earning a jaw drop from (y/n) and a smack on the shoulder.

“Yeah.  Very clear” Ned muttered, but the young couple ignored it, kissing softly again.  “Very clear!”

taglist: @writings-and-stuff @rofromtheashes @tomshufflepuff @steve-avengers-rogers @vibhati123 @dark-night-sky-99  @hollandhours @drakonwild​ @imofficiallyobsessed​ @fussy-and-a-writer-sometimes

xoxo ~ jordie

[jjba-hell]

Fate and Fortune

Part 5

Part 4, part 3, part 2, part 1

Content warning: Familial loss, Dissociation via PTSD, blood, injury, Dio’s nasty ass fleshbud and hinting/quick mention of assault

For the moots: @risottoneroo and some new followers (seriously like ya’ll make me so giddy (⌒▽⌒)) @fyre23 and @comeationmeerer

A/N: Aight time zones are strange and I might be a bit ahead but this piece is gonna be published a few hours before NYE for me so I consider this the final piece to a VERY cursed year. Thank you so much for the support on this series thus far, it means so much to me and don’t worry- I’ll be continuing it into 2021. TwT. Oh and Happy New Year ya’ll!

Don’t have the word count but it feels long lol

Vera turned the picture of Holy and her son around in her hands. Looks like Mr Kujo’s been out of the picture for a while. Maybe not legally but definitely socially.

“Stop being a creep.” Jotaro grumbled as he passed her in the hallway to the kitchen.

“Oh cut an orphan some slack, would you? All my baby pictures are court property.” She feigned sadness as she put the picture frame down and followed into the kitchen where they were cheerfully greeted by Holy who put two platefuls of eggs Benedict in front of them- with Jotaro sitting with three eggs and an extra serving of rice.

“Just shout if you want some more, Vera.”

Jotaro looked her over as if she’d materialized at the table beside him.

“Yes, my name is Vera.” She extended a hand out to him over the corner separating them. “Vera Astbury.”

“Astbury.” He frowned, taking her hand for a nonchalant shake.

She chuckled, opening the napkin over her lap. “Yeah I don’t think it suits me either but it’s what I got. Just stick to Vera though.”

They sat in comfortable silence over breakfast- not minding much as she enjoyed a cup of coffee over the newspaper.

“Can you even read that?” He asked after he finished the bowl of rice.

Her gaze shifted to him as he continued to scoff down a glass of water. “I’d rather not wait for manga translations to make it to the shelves where I live.” Was all she answered as she continued to read up about an excavation of 20 tombs in Egypt.

“Shoujen gets you that excited, huh?”

Fortune moved before Vera could quite catch her but she herself didn’t move. The butter knife met the table right between his fingers- Fortune’s faceless head staring him down.

“I’d suggest you rethink the sexist stereotypes you hold me to. Or at the very least keep those comments to yourself.” She said flatly, she wasn’t about to make him think he was getting under her skin.

Jotaro’s stand emerged and gave Fortune a hard shove away from his user- Vera feeling the phantom touch on her own shoulders.

She narrowed her eyes at him, sitting up straighter and looking him straight in the eye. “You wanna tussle, Kujo?”

Jotaro, admittedly, had a strange effect on Vera. Her usually calm and calculated demeanor seemed to slip around him, her temper flaring dangerously whenever he’d open his mouth around her. What was it that made her want to punch that stupid scowl off his face? It couldn’t be because she wanted to prove something to him, could it?

He only gave a disinterested ‘tch’ as he stood up from the table. “Don’t try it.”

Nope, she definitely wanted to prove she could floor him...

Avdol entered the kitchen soon after and without so much as a good morning, Jotaro was out the door- Holy running after him to see him off. Watching her beg him for a simple goodbye made her blood boil hot enough to put her own shoes on and feign a walk in the neighborhood.

Fortune tripped him up just enough for her to catch up to him and snatch his cap from atop his head.

“You’re a damn pest, you know that?” He grumbled as he knelt in front of her.

She swung the inner brin of his cap on her finger as she peered down at him. “I told you to quit the punk act with your mom.”

“Why do you care?” He straightened, his stand reaching for her but Fortune blocking the reach. Vera nonchalantly placed the cap on her head and started walking ahead of him. “Because I’d kill to have a chance to say goodbye to my mom.”

Soon as other students started coming into view, Vera tipped the cap off of her head, letting his stand grab it before it landed on the floor. She was off the path, heading back to the Kujo residence. Holy refused to let her help with any laundry and soon enough she was shooed into the same room as Avdol and Mr Joestar.

“Tea or coffee, Vera?” Avdol asked. She looked down at the traditional green tea alongside the little tin of coffee. A pick-me-up would have been nice, so she picked the coffee up and took a whiff to see if it would be worth it. The smell she got instead nearly made her cough.

She closed the tin immediately and looked at Avdol in confusion. “Are you testing me or something?”

“Why do you ask such a question?” Mr Joestar interjected, “ it’s so much less work than tea.”

Vera peered down at the nameless metal tin with disgust. “Mr Joestar, I would have to ask if that’s the best coffe you have because that... stuff... is only coffee scented.”

Beside her Avdol chuckled as he prepared the two cups that would hold their tea. “I suppose that was why you begged for ground coffee from home, Vera?” He spoke with a slight smile.

“Avdol, they were labelling the coffee grinder scrapings as ‘columbian roast’- it was daylight robbery!”

Mr Joestar chuckled, handing his mug to Avdol to prepare a cup of tea for him as well. “You have a fine nose for such things?”

Vera opened her mouth to explain but when the ominous shadow of Jotaro spilled into the room the conversation was forgotten. She and Avdol moved in tandem, clearing the room of the table and tea ceremony supplies to lie the redhead down on the floor.

“You said he attacked you-“ her gaze moved up from Jotaro’s head to his knee right in front of her. She forgot what she was saying as she let Fortune start healing his leg first but was called back to attention for the redhead. Mr Joestar revealed the ugly little fleshbud sitting on the guy’s forehead.

“Can’t you just extract it and heal whatever was hurt?” Jotaro asked over her shoulder.

“I move time and the healing process forward but the brain doesn’t regenerate. I could revert its state to what it was before the fleshbud but for that to work it needs to be removed.”

Jotaro bent down and held Kakyoin’s face while bringing his stand out. “I’ll extract it and you fix whatever I damage.”

“Wait, did you...?” Before she could even finish her sentence his stand was already reaching for the fleshbud. She brought her own hand to Kakyoin’s face, focusing her stand’s energy. The fleshbud shot two tentacles up into Vera and Jotaro’s arms, the subtle sting challenging her focus for just a moment. Vera focused Fortune’s energy into any damage being done to Kakyoin’s brain, forcing on turning the dial back. She spared a glance up at Jotaro, where the fleshbud was inching into his neck. Peering down at her own, she noticed hers wasn’t too far behind.

Kakyoin’s eyes shot up and instinctively Vera’s hand flew out to keep his eyes shut. “Not to rush but could you hurry it along?” She hissed at Jotaro.

The fleshbud separating from Kakyoin’s head sounded like separating Velcro to her. It flew through the air for a moment and like catching a wishbone between two people, Fortune and Jotaro’s stand grabbed hold of the two ends of the fleshbud and pulled. It bounced out of their grasps as it ripped in three and was finally finished off by Mr Joestar but definitely not by his stand- or maybe she was just seeing things.

Fortune’s dials turned frantically as they healed three people all at once, Vera bending down to check if the hole in Noriaki’s head was closing up.

The redhead looked between her and Jotaro and then asked the golden question... why did they save him?

Vera got up from kneeling beside Kakyoin, “I don’t know, morals, I guess?” She shrugged as she left the room to find the first aid kid, Holy stopping her in the hallway to listen to Jotaro’s answer.

His answer meant less than nothing to Vera but to Holy, she smiled and inclined her head in the direction his voice was coming from and smiling- almost as if to say “see what I mean?”

All Vera could do was smile and nod, pulling her back a bit to quietly ask for the first aid kid.

The next morning Vera got up a bit later than usual, the night before she had slipped out of her room for a smoke break. When she returned to her home she had slipped up a step and scraped up her knee.

She had only wrapped it in gauze before crawling back into her futon but waking up she realized it wasn’t just a simple scrape- she’d need to stitch it up.

So with a soft groan she got up, hopped through a shower and with wet hair still hanging over her shoulders slid Noriaki’s door open after her knock.

The first aid kit was left in his room and he was still asleep as she slipped into the bathroom he was given and sat down on the floor, knee propped up.

Over time she’d gotten used to patching herself up- the nurse at the boarding school got sick of her relatively quickly the first few months she was there, at the time she used Fortune for anything, especially to make sure teachers didn’t check for homework but that didn’t quite fare well when in turn, she’d end up with food poisoning or bloody noses.

Pain wasn’t much of a bother for her anymore- she’d poured enough hydrogen peroxide into open wounds to not flinch anymore.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” A velvety voice asked behind her as she wiped her newly stitched new clean.

She looked over her shoulder at the redhead in the doorway. A smirk spread over her face. “If you’re still sworn allegiance to Dio, I’m gonna have to politely ask you to give me a minute? I just closed this up.”

Kakyoin took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, about to say something when a commotion disturbed them both.

To her, it didn’t feel real. She felt like she was floating through the motions of finding the other three men in the kitchen with an unconscious Holy and then laying her down in her futon- concerned for her sake.

It felt like she was stuck, watching as Mrs Kujo strain against her own body to draw a single breath- behind her Jotaro and the others were finding to pinpoint Dio’s location but she had very little care for it at that moment.

It wasn’t until Jotaro gave her shoulder a light tap that she seemed to shake herself out of it. “Take a breather, outside.” Her gaze travelled up to meet his face, that same scowl on his face as always. “Might also wanna go wrap your leg up.”

True to his word, she was bleeding through her jeans. All she could do was nod and leave the room. Another hydrogen peroxide soak and this time she decided to busy herself with Avdol in the library.

“I never asked you this but, could you ever explain how you overcome your stand fever?” Avdol asked as she leaned against the entrance of the library. She moved closer, pulling the next books Avdol had his eyes on into her arms.

“I can’t really say. I heard a lot of voices while I was sick but in a sense... I’d say it was just my reluctance to die.”

“So- Mrs Kujo could survive that fever?” Noriaki asked from the doorway this time.

“Unlikely.” Vera and Avdol had answered in unison.

Kakyoin seemed confused by that answer. “But you just said-“

“Vera is the first of, close to a thousand cases I’ve ever seen to survive.”

She rolled her head back to peer at the redhead. “Not to sound too special.” Her attention returned to the stack of books she held for Avdol. “Not that I’d wish that fever onto anyone- except maybe Dio.”

“What does it feel like?” Noriaki continued to prod.

A groan left her lips. “You born stand-users, honestly. It’s the most accurate remake of being burnt alive- I haven’t been able to feel pain normally ever since.”

Avdol peered down at the note in his hand and then at the page of the encyclopedia. “Look familiar, Vera?”

Deadmatch.

“I had had my suspicions that he might have left Egyp but it seemed he stayed.” Avdol pondered with Mr Joestar, Holy still unconscious on her futon.

“So I’m going home.” Vera sighed quietly, bending down to feel over Holy’s forehead.

Kakyoin announced his help and when asked why, he spared a glance at Vera, saying “I don’t know- morals, I guess.”

They stayed one more night at the Kujo residents, waiting for the Speedwagon Foundation to arrive for Holy. She had once enjoyed a quick smoke break at the dead of night when once more she found herself face to face with Jotaro.

She pulled a cigarette from its pack and handed it to him. “I’m heading to bed.”

“No,” he reached his arm out to stop her leaving. “If you’re coming with us, you’re gonna explain some shit to me.”

Vera peered up at him, unphased, hand on her hip. “You got questions. And I got answers. Ask away.”

“Why don’t you just heal my mom?”

“I can’t cure curses. A stand fever is like immunity for life- I can move it forward or back but it doesn’t change your body’s ability to make a stand.”

“So why don’t you heal yourself?”

She shrugged, “I could but I’d rather take a stitched up leg over another assault case on my counselor’s case.”

The scowl on his face disappeared and was replaced by a slack-jawed shock.

“As hard as this will be, Jotaro, you’ll have to learn to trust me. I wouldn’t expect you drive without experience. In the same way you have to trust that I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

Jotaro dropped his harm back to his side, letting her stroll by calmly until he spoke again.

“At what cost?”

“I’ll deal with the costs-“ she turned to face him. “But uhhh I’d appreciate if you stuck around when I told you I felt unsafe.”

Jotaro didn’t say anything, only nodded before turning to light his cigarette and Vera turning down the hallway to bed.

[myownsuperintendent]

New Fic: “A Freshman Class to Watch”

Dana Scully, Monica Reyes, Samantha Mulder, and Diana Fowley complete their freshman year as college gymnasts. This is a wildly self-indulgent AU combining my two favorite fandoms, The X-Files and gymnastics. I hope I've made it comprehensible for the non gymnerds. Thanks to @scullys-right-eyebrow-txf for some help with the technical details (of course, any mistakes are my own). Also tagging @thefutureisporcelain as the only other person I know at the center of the XF/gymnastics venn diagram. The fic is rated T and is also here on Ao3.

.....

May

It’s Dana’s last JO nationals, which is still hard to believe. She knows it won’t be the last time she puts on a leotard, fastens her grips, salutes before the judges, and it’s not as though she’s not looking forward to college, to what comes next. Still, it feels like the end of something; everything feels like that, around this time. Last time running to her locker, last high school party, last time competing alongside the other girls from her gym.

She’s happy she can end it on a good note, though. She’s never totally satisfied with her own performances—there’s always something that could be better—but even she has to admit that everything goes well today, even bars, especially vault. She places fifth in her division, which is more than she’d hoped for, and she feels a flash of pride as she collects her flowers.

She sees Monica Reyes after the competition; they don’t live in the same city or train at the same gym, but they know each other pretty well by now, from running into each other here every year. She’s glad they’ll be going to college together, that she’ll go in knowing someone else on the team already. After training in the same place for much of her life, it’ll be nice to have someone familiar there when it comes time to make the switch.

“Hey, great job!” Monica says, giving her a hug. “You kicked ass out there today.”

“You did great too,” Dana says. “I love your floor.”

“Thanks!” Monica says. “Yeah, I was pretty happy. If only beam wasn’t a thing.”

Dana smiles sympathetically. “We’ve all thought that at some point.”

“Oh well,” Monica says. “Onwards and upwards. Did you see that college gym site? They said that we’re a freshman class to watch.”

“No, I can’t read that kind of thing,” Dana says. “It makes me too nervous.” She knows that’s weird—why should reading about gymnastics make her more nervous than actually competing? — but it’s true. She doesn’t like to think about people judging her, even if, as in this case, the judgment seems to be positive.

“Well, I think it’s going to be great,” Monica says. Someone calls her name then, and she turns to look. “That’s my coach. I’ve got to run. Text me, okay? And I’ll see you in a couple of months.”

“Definitely,” Dana says, and they hug again, quickly, before they go their separate ways.

She rides back home with her family, and they all go out for dinner that night, to celebrate. She keeps thinking about what Monica told her; she can’t help it. She wonders what the article actually said, if it was talking about her. It might not have been: there are plenty of other reasons they could be called a freshman class to watch. They have an Olympic champion, a world medalist. It might not have anything to do with her.

But she thinks about her vault today. She’d opened out at just the right time. Straight down the middle. Stuck it cold.

 .....

June

Monica’s texting with Dana, because she always seems to have her shit together, which Monica could really use. When are you going to start getting stuff for your dorm?

Probably not until August, Dana texts back. Not enough storage space in the house. But my mom’s already freaking out.

How come?

Not sure, Dana says. I’m the third. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.

LOL, Monica texts. Are you excited?

Yeah. I don’t believe it’s real yet, though.

Monica knows what she means. It’s strange to think she’ll be off to college at the end of the summer, after thinking about it for so long. She’s excited for a lot of different things—classes and dorm life and even dining hall food—but she thinks she’s excited for gymnastics most of all.

That’s funny in a way, because gymnastics won’t be something new: she’s been doing it since she was six. But everyone says it’s different in college, being part of a team, competing more for the group than for your individual scores. She thinks she’ll like that. She wouldn’t change anything about her time in JO—it’s always been the sport in which she’s felt at home—but sometimes she has been jealous of the girls in other sports, on the soccer team or the basketball team, who have a lot of friends competing along with them, who aren’t doing it alone. She likes the thought of being a part of something. She likes the thought that they’ve chosen her to be a part of it. She could be intimidated, when she thinks about the competition history of some of the girls who will be her teammates—in just two and a half months! — but, somehow, she’s not. They wouldn’t have recruited her if they didn’t think she had something to add. And she’s going to work her hardest to contribute to the team.

She wonders about it all a lot. Who her friends will be. When she’ll start making lineups. If they’ll ever want her to compete beam (she kind of hopes not, but then on the other hand you are supposed to stretch yourself in college). What she’ll use for her floor music—she wants to do something more fun now.

She texts Dana again. Do you think I could do a floor routine to whale music?

Um…what?

You know, whale music. Like whale sounds.

I know what it is. I just don’t know if you could do a floor routine to it. There’s no rhythm.

You’re no fun, Monica texts back, but she guesses Dana has a point. And she doesn’t know if she’ll get to pick her own music right away, anyway. Still, no harm in thinking about it. She spends a while scrolling through her phone, looking at her music selections, until it’s time to go to practice.

.....

July

Samantha didn’t think it would be a big deal, watching Classics. All that’s behind her now. But she had to leave halfway through, and now she’s in her bedroom, staring at the wall. She doesn’t know why it bothered her so much, but she does know that she’s mad at herself. Mad and worried. If she can’t even watch other people doing gymnastics, in a competition that has absolutely nothing to do with her, what is she going to do when she gets to college?

There’s a knock on her door, and she considers not answering; she doesn’t want to talk about gymnastics with her parents any more than she absolutely has to. But then she hears Fox’s voice calling, “Sam?”, and she relaxes. It’s just him. She gets up, shuffling over to open the door.

“You okay?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I don’t really know.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asks. She shrugs again, but she backs out of the doorway, and they sit down side by side on her bed.

“What if I suck?” she asks, eventually. She’s not sure it’s the main question, but it’s one of them. “What if I get to college and I just suck, and everyone’s like, ‘Wow, what happened to her?’”

“That won’t happen,” Fox says. “Since when have you sucked at anything?”

“Last year,” she says quietly. “Last year I sucked.”

“No, you didn’t,” he says. “You…you were having a rough patch.”

“Don’t,” Samantha says. She knows he means well, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Everyone had said things like that: that her performance last year didn’t mean anything, that she could get past it, that she could come back even better than she’d been at the Olympics. But they’d all said it like it was somehow her fault that it hadn’t happened yet. That she just needed to try harder, eat better, practice more, change her attitude. Stop being such a baby. Want it enough. She knows that’s not what Fox thinks, but it reminds her of everyone else, just the same.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, I still don’t think you sucked. Me trying to do balance beam, that’s what sucking would look like.”

She can’t help giggling at that. “It just made me think about last year,” she says. “Watching, I mean.” Classics last year was the first time she’d really competed since the Olympics, and it had been…well, awful. Three falls across her first three events. She had really wanted to scratch vault, the last one, but she hadn’t wanted to end on that note. She’d landed it, admittedly with a few steps back, but that still made it her best event of the night. No one had said, that night, that it was the punctuation to her elite career. But looking back on it, she felt like she shouldn’t have expected anything different—that she should have known, going in, that she wasn’t going to be at the top anymore and didn’t even want to be.

“I get it,” he says. “But college will be different, Sam. And I’ll still be around if you need me.” They hadn’t planned on going to the same college—they probably would have laughed at the idea if anyone had asked—but now here they are, if only for one year. She’s gladder about it than she’s willing to admit.

“I know,” Samantha says. “And I know college is supposed to be when you have fun. And remember why you fell in love with the sport and all that.” She can’t help sounding sarcastic. It was so long ago, when she fell in love with the sport. “But I just feel like everyone will be watching me. Come see if they broke the Olympian.”

“Maybe at first,” he says. “But not once people get to know you. Then they’ll forget you ever went to the Olympics. You’re not that special.” He elbows her.

He’s teasing, she knows—he really is proud of her, proud of what she’s done, sometimes more than she is herself. Still, she likes the idea of everyone forgetting she went to the Olympics. It’s hard to forget it herself, with the medals hanging up in the living room. She wishes that she could just remember the feeling—that beam routine, knowing she was on from the first second, the spins perfectly connected, the barani landed without a wobble—and forget where it happened and what it all meant.

.....

August

Diana’s packed. It’s something she’s good at—two world championships, three times at Jesolo, and three world cups (and that’s besides all the domestic competitions and training camps) will do that to you. The only hesitation was about whether to bring her medals, which she’s got arranged in a display on her bedroom wall, but after a minute she decided to go for it. She doesn’t care if it looks snotty; it’s not. She earned them. She didn’t practice five times a week, didn’t train that dismount day after day, didn’t tear her fucking labrum so that she could leave her medals at home and pretend she’s not anyone. She’s got two world medals on bars and two with the team and she earned every bit of them.

Her mom pokes her head in. “You’re packed already, Diana?”

“Yes,” Diana says. “Just finished.”

“And you have everything?” her mom asks. “Everything you need?”

“Yes,” she says. She’s always been very independent; she’s packed her own bag every morning since she was five, and she came back from her first day at gymnastics class announcing in a loud voice what kinds of leotards she would need and how often she was going to practice. Her mom tells that story a lot, but Diana sometimes thinks she’s kind of sorry about it, that she’d like to do more for her. Not that she’s one of those gym moms, thank God. Diana’s been really lucky there; her parents have always been the good kind of supportive. They’ve come to all her competitions, even the ones that were on the other side of the world, and waved banners with her name on them, and they’ve also made it completely clear that she could quit tomorrow if she wanted to. She’s never, never wanted to.

Her mom looks at the wall. “You took down your medals?”

Diana nods. “I’m going to put them up in my dorm room.”

Her mom nods too. “Dad and I are going to miss you so much,” she says, after a minute. “Well, you know that. But you’re going to do amazing things in college.”

“You’ll come and visit,” Diana says. “You can come to my meets. It’s not like I’ve never been away from home before.”

“Still,” her mom says, “it won’t be the same. But I am looking forward to watching you.”

She’s looking forward to it too, to this new field of competition. Everyone says NCAA is all about the team, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its stars. And Diana’s pretty sure she’s going to be one of them. She knows other people think so too: she read an article online, a couple of months ago, about how her cohort was a freshman class to watch. That has to have been because of her. The other girls in the class are two JO girls and Samantha Mulder, who—well, she was great when it counted. In the year it counted most, the Olympic year, Samantha was still all tiny and crisp form and 6.3 beam d-score, while Diana was all recurring injuries and low stamina and downgraded bars. Not that Diana has anything against Samantha, personally. The shoe could easily have been on the other foot. The shoe easily is on the other foot, now, because the last time she saw Samantha compete, she’d clearly entered the burnout phase, and she hasn’t been training seriously for a while, as far as Diana knows. And Diana’s ready. She’s healed and she’s been practicing and she’s ready to be a star in college, to make sure her gymnastics career ends on a high note. Because she’s in control of that.

She checks over her packing, carefully, and she zips up her suitcases. They’ll be driving down tomorrow, for a team training camp before classes start. She can’t wait.

.....

September

Dana’s parents dropped her off this morning (her mom cried a little, and her dad hugged her tight), and now she’s getting ready to head over to the gym. She’s redone her bun about five times. It’s silly, she knows. They’re just training; it doesn’t matter what her bun looks like. But this is her first day really on the team, and she wants to make a good impression, and she figures having a neat bun can’t hurt.

She checks her bag, too, where she’s packed her things, her water bottle and her muscle roller and some extra hair elastics. She can’t delay it any longer, she guesses, and most of her doesn’t really want to. So she heads out of her dorm, towards the gym building.

She’s left extra time, in case she gets lost, but it doesn’t take that long to get there. She pauses outside the door when she sees Monica coming toward her, also carrying a gym bag, also with her hair pulled back (ponytail for her). “Hi!” Monica says, when she gets close enough. “You get here this morning?”

Dana nods. “Yes. You?”

“Yeah,” Monica says. “I’ve just been unpacking a little. But I couldn’t really concentrate.”

“I know what you mean,” Dana says. She’s been trying to put her things away all morning, but there’s just too much adrenaline. “Are you…are you as nervous as I am?”

“Well, I don’t know how nervous you are,” Monica says, “but probably. But we’ve got to go in there, right? It’s not going to make a very good start if we just lurk outside the gym like weirdos. Plus, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about. I’ve seen you do gymnastics. You’re good!”

Dana has to smile at that. “Thanks. You’re good, too.”

“See, that’s the spirit,” Monica says. “We’re two good gymnasts, and we’re going to go in there and show them what we’ve got.”

“That’s right,” Dana says, firmly, and they walk into the gym side by side. She’s glad she has Monica with her. A team already.

Some of the upperclassmen are there already—Dana’s met a few of them, when she came here for recruiting, and she’s watched some of their meets, so they’re not entirely unfamiliar. There’s the girl who did the disco floor routine. There’s the girl who vaults an Omelianchik. And there’s their coach. Walter Skinner is one of the big reasons Dana wanted to go here, why she picked it over other schools. A lot of people say he’s strict, but that’s not something Dana minds, so long as he’s fair. She wants someone who can push her to be better, who takes the sport as seriously as she does.

He sees them as they come in. “Dana, Monica,” he says. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Dana says. “I’m really excited to be here.”

“Me too,” Monica says, nodding.

“You can join your teammates if you like,” he says. “We’ll be getting started in a few minutes.” They nod again, wandering over to where the other girls are chatting in the middle of the room. They stick together, still.

The door opens, and another girl comes into the gym. She’s shorter than Dana, which isn’t that unusual in the realm of gymnastics, but it’s something she notices anyway. Monica nudges her a little, but Dana knows who it is, of course. Samantha Mulder: she was on the last Olympic team. She won the gold on beam; Dana remembers her routine, its perfection, its precision. She knew Samantha was in their class, but seeing her in person is still a little bit exciting. She says hello to Coach Skinner and then makes her way towards the rest of them, slowly, looking a little shy.

Dana smiles at her. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Dana.”

“And I’m Monica,” Monica says. It’s all a little weird—are they supposed to pretend they’ve never seen her before?

“I’m Samantha,” she says. “Hi.”

“How are you so good on beam?” Monica blurts out. So they’re not pretending, apparently. “I mean, have you ever fallen? I’d be in a cast if I tried to do half the things you do.”

Samantha shrugs. “I just like beam, I guess,” she says, and then she’s quiet, fiddling with the end of her ponytail.

Other girls are filtering in, and Dana sees the last member of their class, Diana Fowley. She’s not as famous a face as Samantha, but you’d still recognize her if you’d been following gymnastics during the last quad: she went to worlds twice and medaled on bars. She clearly spent some time this morning redoing her bun too; it’s pristine, sitting secure at the back of her head. Her tank top and shorts match. Dana doesn’t know if she was trying to make an impression, but she’s certainly succeeding. “Hello, Samantha,” she says when she joins them. They must know each other already, from the national team.

“Hi, Diana,” Samantha says. Her voice is quiet; she’s fiddling with the ponytail again.

The last girls come in, and Coach Skinner, along with the assistant coaches, groups them in the center of the room standing in a circle. “Returning athletes, welcome back,” he says, “and new athletes, welcome. As always, I’m looking forward to working with you this year. I’m here to help each one of you achieve her best as an individual, but, more importantly, to help all of you work together to achieve our best as a team. We made the final round at nationals last year, and I’m confident that we can do it again this year. It will take a lot of hard work, but you’ll get out of it what you put in. What I ask is that you bring a willingness to work hard, to try your best, to be open to feedback, and to always help the team. In return, I’ll be here to support you in what’s best for your gymnastics. Let’s go get ‘em this year!” Some of the older girls whoop.

They do some introductions—Hi, my name’s Dana Scully, I’m from California, I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was five, and my favorite apparatus is vault—but they get into actual training pretty quickly. Dana likes that; she’s never been a fan of icebreaker games. She wants to get to know her teammates and make friends, of course, but she thinks she can do that better by working with them towards a goal. By knowing they’re all in this together, as they spread out around the mats, doing leg lifts and handstands and back tucks off blocks. She can tell she’s going to be a little sore tomorrow—she hasn’t really been practicing in the last couple of weeks, there’s been too much to do to get ready for school—but she doesn’t mind. She’s back in the gym, as part of a team she can contribute to, and she’s so glad about that.

She watches the other girls too; they’re doing a circuit as the last exercise of the day, and everyone has to complete it before they can go. Monica’s front tuck is high and powerful. Diana points her toes in the air and seems determined to stick every landing. Samantha looks at the blocks like they might be snakes, but her air awareness is like nothing Dana’s ever seen. She remembers what Monica told her at JO Nationals: them, a freshman class to watch. In this moment, as she cheers her teammates on, she fully believes it.

Dana looks around for the other freshmen after practice—it would be good to have people to stick with, she thinks, while they start trying to navigate campus. Diana’s gone before she can see where, and she doesn’t see Samantha at first either. But when she and Monica make their way out the door, talking about exploring a little, she sees Samantha trailing after them. “Hey,” Dana says, “you want to come with us? We were going to look around.”

“Yeah, I want to find food,” Monica says. “And maybe if there’s a store or something? There’s already stuff I need for my room.”

“I said I’d meet my brother,” Samantha says. “But he could probably tell us.”

“Your brother?” Dana asks. “Does he go here?”

“Yeah, he’s a senior,” Samantha says. They’re outside the gym now, and she points to a tall guy leaning against a tree. She’s really smiling for the first time since Dana’s met her. “That’s him.”

Samantha’s brother waves as they head towards him. He looks a little bit like Samantha—same eyes, same smile—but the height difference is almost comical. He’s got to be over six feet, and Dana doubts Samantha quite reaches five. Not that she wants to make fun; she’s used to being a lot shorter than the people around her. “Hi, Fox!” Samantha says. She turns to the two of them. “This is my brother, Fox.”

“Samantha, don’t tell him that,” he says.

Samantha rolls her eyes. “He hates his name so much,” she says. “So just call him Mulder. I’m allowed to call him Fox because it would be too weird otherwise. Anyway, these are Dana and Monica. They’re on my team.”

“Hi,” he says, smiling. “How was the first practice?”

“It was fine,” Samantha says. “We want to find out where stuff is. Will you show us?”

“Of course I’ll show you,” Mulder says. “What kind of stuff do you want to find? Library stacks? Anatomy lab?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” Dana says. “I have a class there next week.” They seem a little surprised from the way they look at her. “I’m pre-med.”

“Hey, that’s cool,” Mulder says. “We can swing by the science buildings. And then there’s a dining hall near them, if you want food.”

“We do want food,” Monica says. “Sounds good to me.”

So they set off across campus, the four of them. It’s turning into evening already, so Dana decides she’s made it: her first day at college. She hasn’t gotten lost, she hasn’t embarrassed herself, and she’s met people who are going to be a big part of her life here: her coaches, her teammates. Maybe her friends.

.....

October

Monica invited the other three freshmen over to watch world championships tonight; she’s always watched it with the girls from her gym, and she thinks it’s more fun in a group. Diana said she was busy—she’s made it clear she’s here to do gymnastics, not to make friends—but Dana’s there right at 7:30, popcorn in hand, and Samantha shows up a few minutes later. They settle around Monica’s laptop to watch. “I want to be her when I grow up,” Monica says, as they watch Oksana Chusovitina vaulting; she’s in her forties and still making finals when most gymnasts are long retired. “Just keep doing gymnastics until I die. That sounds awesome.”

“You don’t think you’d get tired of it?” Samantha asks.

“No,” Monica says. “Why would I? I love it. I mean, my body might give out on me before I get that far.” She can’t really imagine being in her forties, let alone what doing gymnastics would feel like then. “But even if I can just do some cartwheels, I’ll be happy.”

Dana laughs. “Maybe if you have kids, you can be on a team together.”

“Yeah!” Monica says. “Definitely.” She watches as Chuso’s score comes up. “Did you ever meet her, Samantha?” she asks. She knows they were at the Olympics together.

“Just for a couple of minutes,” Samantha says. “We weren’t in the same group or anything. She’s nice, though.”

“That’s so cool,” Monica says. “Seriously.” Samantha sort of shrugs, but she’s smiling a little bit.

On a break between subdivisions, she looks at her phone, wanting to see how scores are stacking up. “Hey, here’s an article,” she says. “‘NCAA Gymnastics Stars of the Season: Our Predictions.’ And it says—”

“Stop!” the other two say, almost at the same time. They don’t like following college gym sites, but Monica doesn’t see the harm in it, so long as you don’t take anything too seriously.

“Why do you always read those?” Samantha asks.

“I know,” Dana says. “I don’t want to know what a bunch of people online think about me!”

“None of us are in it, anyway,” Monica says. “It’s Diana.” She scans the blurb. “Four-time world medalist…flawless lines…do you think Diana wrote this herself?” She laughs.

“I think it’s kind of hard for her,” Samantha says, quietly. “Doing so well and then getting hurt before the Olympics and having to start all over. I think that’s hard.”

Samantha has a point, she knows. That can’t have been easy, and if Diana’s kind of standoffish, kind of full of herself, maybe it comes out of that. Besides, they’re teammates; they should be on the same side. “You’re right,” she says. “I shouldn’t make fun.” She clicks out of the article.

“Besides,” Dana says, “she is really good. I wish I could do bars like that.” She shakes her head. “I hate bars.”

“Why?” Monica asks. “You’re pretty good at them.”

“I guess,” Dana says. “It’s been a process, though. I actually…I had to redo level five because I couldn’t get the routine.” She lowers her voice when she says it, as if someone might be eavesdropping, looking for scandalous gossip about the level five bar routine.

“Well, you obviously came back strong,” Monica says. “No shame in that.”

“Still,” Samantha says. “I get it. That’s hard too.”

“It’s just never natural for me,” Dana says. “I wish it was. And it obviously is for Diana.”

“We can only do what we can do,” Monica says. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses, right?” She turns back to the screen, where the next subdivision has started; a gymnast is vaulting a Cheng. “Like I could never do that. But I’ve still got some things going for me.”

Dana smiles then, and they keep watching.

.....

November

It’s two months into the semester, and Samantha decides that, all in all, things aren’t going so badly.

Her classes are pretty good. She was worried about them being hard, but she’s found she can keep up. She was worried about people recognizing her and asking questions, but so far that hasn’t happened much either; maybe it’s been long enough since the Olympics, or maybe people just don’t watch gymnastics as much as she thought. It probably helps that she never had her face on a cereal box or anything like that, thank God, thank God, thank God.

But even gymnastics…she’s liking it a lot more than she’s liked it in years. She’s only really training bars and beam for now, although she’s played around with a couple of floor passes. (She doesn’t think she could get anything more than a full twist around now on vault, and they’re already got plenty of those.) Her sets are a lot simpler than what she did in elite, and sometimes she misses some of the moves that used to be a part of her, but mostly she likes it. And Coach Skinner…he’s serious but he’s never mean. He doesn’t yell at her if she misses a dismount. He doesn’t ask her if that means she doesn’t care about it. He doesn’t say that maybe she doesn’t belong in the gym.

And she likes having a team, a real one, where they’re all working together and they all know they’re part of it. She likes having the other girls cheering for her, and she likes cheering for them too, likes dancing on the sidelines when they practice floor routines. She’s got friends here, she thinks.

She spends the most time with the other freshmen, and she likes them, especially Dana. She thinks they have the most in common, especially in the gym: they’re both serious about it, but it’s not the only thing in their life. She doesn’t think she’d ever want to be as competitive as Diana is, all the time, and she doesn’t know if she could ever have as much fun as Monica seems to, even here. But she can take pride in a skill well done, can love the feeling of flying. She thinks Dana’s like that too.

The two of them hang out outside of practice a lot. Sometimes they work on their homework together; Dana’s really smart, and she’s good at explaining things that are confusing. Sometimes they go off-campus to explore. “You know what sounds really good?” Dana says one Saturday afternoon. “Actual pizza. Not from a dining hall.”

“You want to get pizza?” Samantha asks. She’s not used to being invited to that kind of thing, not when she’s training, which is basically all the time.

“Yeah,” Dana says. “If you do.”

Why not? She’s in college now. Her parents and her old coaches can’t tell her what to do. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll ask Fox. Maybe he knows a good place.”

He does, and they go, the three of them, to a place that’s a complete hole in the wall but has some of the best pizza she’s ever eaten. The whole time they’re there, they talk and laugh. She’s with two people who she likes spending time with. She’s doing something she wanted to, because it sounded fun. She’s not dreading having to be back in the gym on Monday. It almost doesn’t feel real, but she tries her best to trust it.

.....

December

There’s about a month until the season starts, and tonight they’re having an intrasquad competition, blue versus red. Diana’s on the blue team, and she’s doing the all-around; she knows that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll make all four lineups in actual competition, so she’s using this as an opportunity to show that she should, that all of her skills are clean and consistent. She deserves to be out there, come January.

It’s not as crowded as she assumes it will be during the season, but there are some students there to watch. Coach Skinner is very big on trying to replicate the conditions of competition, even in an event like this that doesn’t count towards anything. That works with Diana’s mindset. There’s no point in doing things you aren’t going to take seriously.

They start on vault. She’s gone down to the full for college, at least for now; she’s grown since she last did the double, and it’s hard to get around. And the blind landing on the one-and-a-half is trickier than it looks. She’s hoping she can work up to it eventually, but even now, she thinks they could still use her, even without a ten start. Her full is very clean, and when she lands it solidly, there’s basically nothing to take. She lands it solidly tonight, and the other girls on the blue team cheer. She keeps her eye on the other fulls. They all have something to take away.

But she’s been looking forward to bars the most. She knows it’s where she can shine, and so it’s where she feels the happiest, the most solid. Her routine’s a lot simpler now, but she’s trained a couple of her favorite moves; she’s got her half-twisting shaposh in the routine now (she’s not about to jump to the high bar like an eight-year-old, come on). She goes over it in her head while she waits. Samantha’s the last one to go before her, on the blue team, and her routine goes pretty well, until she stumbles out of the dismount. She looks upset, afterwards, and Diana pats her on the shoulder, but she’s not really thinking about it. And she’s not paying any attention at all to the senior who’s going for the red team, because it’s about to be her turn.

Diana’s heard other girls say that she thinks she’s perfect. Girls at her gym back home, and girls on the national team, and even girls here already. Here’s the thing, though: she doesn’t. She knows what her weaknesses are, and she knows when she’s fucked up. She’d never say it to anyone, but she wouldn’t have picked herself for the Olympic team either. She would have been right for it once, only the year before, but by then other girls were better.

But all that means she knows when she’s doing well, too. And she knows, tonight, that she’s on: that her toes are pointed, that each transition is smooth, that her release is high and that there’s no way she’ll miss the catch. And when she comes in for the dismount, her feet are not about to move. She doesn’t need to hear them screaming for her. She doesn’t need a score. It feels for a minute like she’s back at worlds again and they’re about to put that bars medal around her neck. She thinks she might cry, if that weren’t totally ridiculous.

You’ve got to put each event behind you to go on to the next, Diana knows, so she thinks about beam and then about floor. They go well too. She thinks she’s made her case. Coach Skinner says, “Good job, Diana,” as they head out of the gym, and he’s not what you’d call an effusive guy.

She’s forgotten about the other girls, who are chatting around her as they change. As far as she’s concerned, this was her night. Again. Finally.

.....

January: Week One

She’ll be competing as a college gymnast for the first time in less than half an hour, and Dana is both extremely excited and extremely nervous. It’s a home meet, and she can’t decide if that makes it better or worse; they’ll have more support, but there will also be more people to see if she messes up.

Coach Skinner put her in the all-around, which surprises her. She’s confident about vault and floor, and beam is beam but she feels all right about it, but she’s very nervous for bars. As she fixes her hair one last time, she gives herself a pep talk, reminds herself that she’s being silly, that she’s put extra work into bars for years just so that it won’t go wrong. That this is not like that time in level five, that she’s gotten a lot better since then, that her issue with bars is one of confidence, not skill. She still wishes Coach Skinner hadn’t picked her, but she knows they need her, that it’s not their strongest event as a team and there aren’t that many routines to choose from. You just need to hit, Dana, she tells herself. No one’s asking you to get a ten. It’s your first college meet and you’ve got to enjoy it and stop psyching yourself out.

She wonders if she put on too much face glitter. Or not enough face glitter.

She turns to look at the other girls in the locker room. Most of the upperclassmen seem to have their getting ready rituals; they’re excited for the season to be starting, of course, but they already know what they’re doing in a way that she doesn’t. Monica has her headphones on and is bouncing on the balls of her feet, but she’s smiling. Diana’s sitting down with her eyes closed; she looks calm, like she always does. Samantha is clinging to her bag like it’s the only thing between her and death, and she looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Are you okay?” Dana asks her.

“I’m…I get really nervous,” Samantha says, her voice so quiet Dana can barely hear it.

“We all get nervous, I think,” she says gently. “But it’s going to be fine. You’re great at this. Your beam is so beautiful.”

But Samantha shakes her head. “I haven’t even competed since last year,” she says. “I’m not going to be any good. I’m going to let all of you down…”

“You’re not going to let anyone down,” Dana says. “We’re a team. We’re here to lift each other up.” She knows a lot of people think that kind of thing is cheesy—Melissa always used to roll her eyes, when she’d hear Dana say that. But she really does believe it, and she wants Samantha to believe it too.

She doesn’t seem to. “I shouldn’t even be here,” she says.

“That’s not true at all,” Dana says. “And it’s only the first week. We don’t have to be perfect.” She’s worried about Samantha, though; she looks terrified. “Do you want to talk to Coach Skinner?”

Samantha shakes her head. “No,” she says, her voice still small.

“Maybe we could do some breathing exercises?” Dana says. She doesn’t know if it’ll help, but she figures it’s worth a shot. “We used to do them before competitions at my gym back home. They can really calm you down. Does that sound okay?” Samantha nods, after a moment, and they sit down across from each other on one of the benches. “All right,” Dana says. “Copy me.”

She breathes in, holds it, breathes out, counting all the while; she sees Samantha doing the same, after a moment. It’s time to march out after a couple of minutes, but Samantha doesn’t look quite so scared, and she murmurs, “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Dana says. “Here, we can walk out together.” She keeps an eye on Samantha while they’re waiting to start. She’s not thinking about her own nerves anymore, not much anyway.

She’s fourth in the vault lineup, after Diana, who lands her full with just a small hop. “Great job!” Dana says to her, as she goes up, and Diana nods. And then it’s her turn.

She’s done this a million times, and she loves vault best. And everything feels right today, starting from the run. Her block is good, and she can tell she’s on in the air, opening out for the landing after one and a half twists. She has to take a step at the end, but only a little one.

The other girls are cheering for her, running to give her hugs and high fives. Monica’s first, shouting, “That was amazing!” Dana’s a little nervous waiting for her score, but mostly she’s happy. And when they show the 9.95, Monica screams and hugs her again. She doesn’t scream herself. She almost can’t believe it.

She’s not as worried as she was before the meet when they go to bars. She takes a few more deep breaths before she goes up, reminds herself how many times she’s hit her routine in practice. It goes fine, not as well as her vault, but for her it’s a good bars routine. And everyone cheers for her again, and it’s hard not to feel happy about that, even before she sees the score. 9.85. She thinks she must be hallucinating for a second, but there it is up on the screen. She knows NCAA scoring is looser than J.O., but still!

She cheers for the other girls too. Samantha looks scared again, when she’s about to go up, and Dana squeezes her shoulders. “You’re going to be amazing,” she tells her, and Samantha manages a smile at that. And she hits too, coming off the mats looking stunned and relieved. Diana’s the last to go, and she’s almost perfect. Dana wishes she could fly like that on bars, everything looking effortless.

At the halfway point of the meet they’re in the lead, and Dana’s happy as they move over to the beam. Coach Skinner talks to them as they warm up, giving them last-minute reminders. “Don’t rush your turn, Dana,” he tells her, and she nods. Now that she’s gotten through bars, she’s feeling a lot more confident. Beam can be unpredictable, but it doesn’t scare her. She knows she can hit for the team, if she just concentrates and does everything like she did in practice.

She takes her time setting up for the turn, like Coach Skinner told her. She snaps her arms down so that she doesn’t wobble when she lands the acro series. When she lands the dismount, her feet don’t move.

It’s a 9.9 for her beam, and she’s thrilled with that, but she’s more worried about Samantha than she is about herself at this point. She’s looking pale again, and a lot of girls from the other team have turned around to watch. Dana can’t blame them—she wouldn’t want to miss one of Samantha’s beam routines either—but she doesn’t think it’s helping. “We’re a team,” she says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not worried about you, Samantha,” Coach Skinner says. “Don’t worry about anyone else.” That seems to do something, because Samantha nods and draws herself up a little straighter. She walks up to the beam and salutes.

The thing about Samantha is this: she has a quality of movement on beam that none of the rest of them have. They probably won’t ever have it, no matter how much they practice. Dana can’t explain what it is, exactly. But it reminds her of something Melissa said to her once, after one of her meets. “I don’t get how you do all this stuff,” she said, “and you don’t feel like it’s freaky. It’s just like walking for you.” Dana hadn’t known how to answer her then, but now she thinks she knows how Melissa must have felt, because what Samantha does is different, somehow, even when they’re doing the same skills. She looks like beam is what she was meant to be doing. It’s not a question of being perfect, even: she has a big wobble after her side aerial, and even when she’s saving it, she still looks like that.

They mob her when she comes off the beam, with hugs and cheers. “You were so good,” Dana says. “So, so good.”

“I wobbled—”

“Fuck wobbling,” Monica says, and even Samantha grins at that. “That was amazing.”

“Pretty great,” Diana says; she’s been in her own world most of the meet, her face concentrated, but now she’s smiling too.

Floor is last. Dana’s already realized how different competing in college is—a lot more screaming—but floor is something else again. The crowd claps along to all their music, and they all do each other’s moves. Monica’s routine is going to be a big hit, she can already tell; the music is insanely catchy, and she knows how to perform, how to get everyone on her side.

Dana’s own routine isn’t as flashy, but she loves the music they’ve chosen: it’s a big band piece, “Beyond the Sea.” She hits the tumbling passes cleanly, remembers to smile, ends with a little shimmy. And then it’s over. She’s hit four for four in her first college meet, and her score comes up, 9.9, and that’s it, she’s done for today.

But she’s not, quite. Monica’s tugging on her arm. “Dana, you won the all-around!”

“What?” She looks around for some confirmation. She wasn’t adding up her scores over the course of the meet; there was too much going on.

“Yeah, look!” Monica points to the scoreboard. “Not bad for week one, huh?”

“I…is that real?”

“Of course it’s real,” Monica says. “You think they put fake stuff on the scoreboard?” She’s smiling as she hugs Dana. “You deserve it. You did awesome today.” The other girls are hugging her too, congratulating her, but she still can’t quite take it in. It’s not that she’s not happy or proud. It’s just that she didn’t expect it at all.

And she guesses she’s not the only one who didn’t expect it. Diana says, “Congratulations, Dana,” in the flattest voice she’s ever heard, and the expression on her face can only be described as scary.

But Dana wants to be nice. “Congratulations to you too,” she says. “Your bars, they were amazing.” Diana’s 9.95 was the highest score on bars for the meet, and that’s something Dana wishes she could do.

“Thanks,” Diana says, her voice still flat. “It helps to have difficult moves, I guess.” Dana tries to figure out if that was meant as an insult—she’s pretty sure it was—but Diana’s already moving away, so she decides to leave it, not to respond.

It’s not worth it. She’s too thrilled anyway, too filled with adrenaline, too eager to see what the rest of her college career holds. It’s started on a high note. She thinks she can keep it there.

.....

January: Week Two

They have their first away meet this week, and Monica is excited. It’s at Utah, which has a huge stadium, and a lot of people come out to all of their meets. Monica already knows that she can thrive off a crowd; sure, it’s not a home crowd this time, but she doesn’t think that’s going to stop her.

The only downside is that she’s rooming with Diana, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to be a super fun time. They’re only here for one night, and Diana’s already arranged all of her hair products in height order on the edge of the sink. What is the point?

Still, it doesn’t really affect her, she guesses. She’s lying on her bed, reading on her phone, when Diana looks over at her. “What are you doing?”

“Reading,” Monica says. “College gym site. Got to find out what they’re saying about us, you know.” She smiles, so that Diana can take that as a joke if she wants to. She knows that Dana and Samantha hate it when she does this, that they won’t let her read anything out loud.

But it seems like Diana will. “So what are they saying?”

“Well, they put this as one of the top meets for this weekend,” Monica says. “Both teams had really strong opening weeks…oh, and they say that Dana’s one to keep an eye on.” She watches Diana as she says it. She knows Diana’s mad about the attention Dana got last week; she hasn’t said anything during practice, but she’s not exactly subtle.

“Sure,” Diana says. “Of course.”

Maybe it’s not a good idea to piss Diana off the night before their meet, but Monica’s never been a particularly cautious person. “Why are you mad?” she asks.

“I’m not mad,” Diana says.

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not,” Diana says. “That’s so juvenile. I just think…they’re really ready to throw out the high scores for the 10.0 vaults, aren’t they? Even if they’re not perfect.”

“First of all, you’re bullshitting me,” Monica says. “And second of all, even if that’s true, why is it a problem? Dana’s on our team, the last time I checked. So it’s good for all of us if she does well.”

“I never said it wasn’t.” Diana’s not looking at her.

“And besides, she deserves it,” Monica says, because Dana’s her friend, and because it’s the truth. “She’s really, really good.”

“She’s fine,” Diana says.

“Okay, be bitter,” Monica says. “Again, reminder that this is a team sport.”

“It’s not really,” Diana says. “It’s a fake team sport.”

“Maybe when you were in elite,” Monica says. “Not here.”

Diana sighs. “Look, I just see it differently, all right? And there is an individual part, even here. If we want to make lineups—”

“You’re still going to make lineups,” Monica says. “I really don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Diana’s looking at her now. “Do you even care?” she asks. “About how you do, I mean. Not just this rah rah we’re a team shit.”

“Of course I care,” Monica says. “But I wouldn’t, like, break any of your legs. And I don’t care that I’m not in the bars or beam lineups, because I know other people are better there.” Diana’s looking at her like she’s insane now, so she goes back to reading. “They did shout out your bar routine,” she says. “That ought to perk you up.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Diana says. “Earlier this week.” Of course she did.

But at least Diana’s willing to discuss online coverage with her. “Did you see the American Cup announcement?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Diana says. “It wasn’t really surprising. She did get the silver at Worlds.”

Monica nods. “Yeah. I just wish she’d get a more interesting floor routine.”

“I wish ninety percent of people would get a more interesting floor routine,” Diana says, and then Monica’s laughing, she can’t help it. And Diana smiles at her, just for a minute.

.....

January: Week Three

Samantha’s still getting used to competing again. She was sure something awful was going to happen, the first week, but it didn’t. It didn’t happen the second week either. But this week, the third, she’s off on her beam series and there’s no chance to save it. She barely gets half of one foot on the beam before she’s falling.

She takes a deep breath and gets back up to finish, but the damage is done. She’s let the team down. She doesn’t know what Coach Skinner is going to say. He’s never yelled at her before when she made mistakes, but that was in practice: there’s more at stake when you fall in a competition, where everyone can see.

“Do you know why that happened, Samantha?” he asks her after the meet.

Maybe she’s supposed to say that she wasn’t trying hard enough. But she thinks she was. “I was trying,” she says. “I swear.”

“I know you were,” he says. “I meant, do you know what was off technically?”

“Oh,” she says. “I think…I wasn’t straight when I took off for the back handspring.”

“That’s what I think too,” he says. “It happens. I just wanted to make sure you understood, so you can try to check for that next time.”

She nods. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “That’s why we have a whole season. So you can keep getting better.” She nods again. She doesn’t know what to say. She tries to imagine her coaches back home saying that to her. She might as well imagine that she’s suddenly seven feet tall.

Dana’s waiting for her outside. “Hey,” she says. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Samantha says. “I’m sorry I fell. But Coach Skinner was really nice.”

Dana hugs her. “The rest of the routine was beautiful,” she says. “And your bars.”

Dana’s always so sweet, so kind. She was worried that people might only want to be her friend here because she went to the Olympics, even though that might be kind of a conceited way to think. But she thinks Dana just…likes her. And that might be the thing she likes most about being here so far.

.....

January: Week Four

Competing every week has been different, but Diana feels like she’s into the rhythm now. In some ways, she likes it more. She’s always been at her best in competition; she’s not one of those girls who trains well and then chokes. She likes attention, which she knows some people would say is a bad thing, but she doesn’t agree or care.

Actually, she thinks she should be getting more attention, although that’s not something you can really say. Aside from her bars, she hasn’t been as much of a standout as she expected here. Beam’s probably her second best, but it’s hard to stand out on beam when you’re on the same team as Samantha. She gets that, because Olympic champion and all, but she couldn’t have predicted Dana. Dana’s been outscoring her on everything but bars, week after week, and it’s maddening. And the worst part is that she always acts so damned surprised about her scores. At first Diana thought it was an act, but now she’s beginning to think it’s real. She can’t decide which possibility pisses her off more.

But in college they’re supposed to be all about the team. So she’s supposed to jump up and down and scream every time Dana gets another 9.975 on vault. Ugh.

She keeps working her own routines, of course, but there’s a closed ceiling here; it’s not like in elite where she could keep adding difficulty. As long as the routine starts from a 10, they’re all evaluated on the same scale. So there might be a limit to where she can go, and she doesn’t like that idea. It makes her think of Olympic trials all over again, of coming in knowing she wasn’t going to get there.

So maybe she’s not smiling and screaming after this meet as much as everyone else is, even though they won. She doesn’t think anyone would notice, or care, but Coach Skinner beckons her over as they’re leaving the arena. “Diana. Is everything okay?”

She can’t put it exactly as she’d like to, of course; she could pretend she’s tired, but she wants to be straight with him. “I just want to be better,” she says.

He looks at her for a moment. “You did very well today.”

“Not as well as I’d like,” Diana says. “Is there anything you think I should do to train differently?” He is her coach, after all; that’s what he’s here for.

“I’ve been happy with how you’re doing,” he says. “Is there something in particular that you feel isn’t working for you?”

“It’s not exactly that,” Diana says. “But I’d like to focus on correcting my problems, so that I can score higher.” For the team, she thinks about saying, but she doesn’t think she can pull it off without sounding fake.

“Everyone has room for improvement,” he says, and his voice sounds careful, “and I’m happy to work more with you this week, if you like. But you need to remember that it’s your first year here, Diana. And it’s only our fourth meet. You shouldn’t necessarily expect to be getting top scores right away.”

She doesn’t know what to say to him. She knows she’ll sound like a jerk if she says she wants to be the best on the team. “I think I’m just very competitive,” she says, finally.

“And that can be a good thing,” Coach Skinner says, “if it helps motivate you. But you don’t want it to take over your headspace, either. You should be proud of your work, Diana. You’ve been very consistent this season. You’re going to be someone we can count on.”

She knows he means it, and she is pleased, even if it’s not everything she wanted. “So we can work some more this week?” she says. “I think there are things I could refine on beam, especially.”

“I’m happy to work with you,” he says. “But think about what I just told you, all right?”

“All right,” Diana says. “Thanks.” And she picks up her gym bag and turns and goes.

.....

February: Week Five

“Wow,” Diana says to her after the meet, when they’re back in the locker room. “Way to go out there.”

Dana doesn’t say anything, but Monica does. “What the hell, Diana?” she says. “We’re a team.”

Diana shrugs. “Well, then, it would be great for the team if people could hit when they needed to.”

“The point of being a team is that we lift each other up,” Monica says. “So it doesn’t matter if one person falls. Like it’s completely possible for someone to never fall.”

“There’s falling,” Diana says, “and then there’s losing your shit all over the place.”

“Look, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Monica says; her voice is getting louder now, and this is becoming way more of a thing than Dana wants it to be. She already feels bad enough. “Do you think you’re helping? How would you have felt if someone said that to you after Olympic trials?”

There’s a silence, and Dana feels like she has to say something. “Guys, please just stop it,” she says. “Monica, it’s fine. I did mess up.”

Everyone ignores her. Diana’s gone pale. “You little bitch,” she says to Monica. “You little bitch!” Dana’s never heard her sound so upset.

“Okay, okay.” It’s Karen; she’s one of the seniors. “You both need to cool down. It’s not okay for you to be talking to each other like this.” As she turns to Monica and Diana, Dana finishes changing as quickly as she can. She wants to get out of here.

She doesn’t want to keep thinking about the meet, but of course she can’t help it. She had a good vault, but everything went wrong with bars. She missed a hand on her transition to the high bar and fell, and then…well, she just couldn’t get out of her head about it. It made her think about all her old bars nightmares, and the rest of the routine, after she got back on, wasn’t much good either. And the more she tried to shake it, the more it lingered. She fell on her turn on beam, and then she sat the dismount. After that, Coach Skinner pulled her from the floor lineup. He did it nicely, saying that he just wanted to make sure she was okay, and after the meet was over he pulled her aside and talked to her about focusing on the mental game and putting this behind her. He told her he knew she could do a great job again for the team next week. He was saying all the right things, but she couldn’t take in any of it. At least she didn’t cry.

She might cry now, though, she thinks as she leaves the locker room. Just go back to her room and cry for about an hour.

She didn’t see Samantha leave, but she’s sitting on the wall at the end of the path. “Hi,” she says, as Dana comes up to her. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Dana says. “I feel so bad about today.”

“I know how you feel,” Samantha says. “It’s so hard, when you don’t have a good day.”

Dana nods, sitting down next to her. “Bars is just so hard for me,” she says. “Even when I hit, I don’t feel good about it. And when I mess up…I just can’t bounce back. But I should be able to. I know it’s all a mental thing. But I…” She trails off. “It’s hard. And I let you all down.”

“No, you didn’t!” Samantha says. “No one’s mad at you.”

“You heard Diana,” Dana says.

“Well, I’m not mad at you, anyway,” Samantha says. She puts an arm around Dana’s shoulders. “I still think you’re great.”

“Thanks, Samantha,” Dana says. It does help a little, hearing that. “I’m just…I’m mad at myself, I guess.”

Samantha nods. “I know what that’s like,” she says. “The mental part really is the hardest.”

“Yeah,” Dana says.

“Gymnastics really makes you hate yourself, sometimes.”

That’s not exactly what she was saying. She hopes Samantha doesn’t think she’s making this into more of a thing than it is. “I don’t…hate myself,” Dana says. “I’m upset with myself, yeah. But I’ll be okay.”

Samantha’s hugging her knees. “When everyone’s expecting you to be good,” she says, “and you just don’t have anything that day, and you know you’re disappointing them…that’s the hardest.”

Dana doesn’t think Samantha’s talking about her falls today, anymore. “It’ll be okay,” she says, for both of them. “I’ll practice a lot this week. Work on the mental stuff. And it helps, knowing you’ve got my back.” Samantha smiles at that. “I don’t think I’ve really disappointed anyone.” She’s not sure she totally believes that, but she thinks it would be good for both of them to hear. They sit together for a little bit longer, not talking.

.....

February: Week Six

Monica knows she should apologize to Diana. She wouldn’t want anyone bringing up things she’d messed up, especially things that were important to her. And gymnastics is one of those things, for both of them, even though she knows Diana thinks she doesn’t take it seriously. She likes to have fun, sure, but that doesn’t mean she won’t give everything she has to perfecting a skill. They’re not so different, in that way. And she knows she was mean, even if Diana was mean to Dana first.

So she’s glad when she gets to practice early on Monday and sees that Diana is early too. “Hey, Diana,” she says. “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry for what I said to you on Saturday. I was being a jerk.”

“Yeah,” Diana says. “Okay.”

That’s not much of an answer. “I really shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“I said okay,” Diana says. “So you can feel better about yourself now, all right?”

“I’m not trying to feel better about myself,” Monica says, even though maybe she is, a little.

“Then just drop it, okay?” Diana says. “It’s not something I love discussing. If that wasn’t obvious.”

Maybe she should just drop it. Instead, she finds herself saying, “You shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“Oh my god,” Diana says. “Are you my therapist now? I’m not ashamed.”

“All right,” Monica says. She’s had about enough of this. At least she apologized. Diana hasn’t apologized to Dana, as far as she knows. “I’m sorry I started this, okay? I just wanted you to know I was sorry. We’re a team, and we shouldn’t be tearing each other down.” Diana rolls her eyes and goes back to stretching, and fortunately Monica doesn’t have to push things any further, because Dana and Samantha show up then.

“Hey!” Dana says. “How’s everything going?” She’s not really looking at Diana.

And Diana’s not looking at her either—she’s looking at her own feet—when she says, “Hey. Sorry if I was too much on Saturday. I get really competitive.”

It’s not what Monica would consider much of an apology, from anyone else, but she’s surprised Diana’s giving Dana even that. Dana’s surprised too, if the look on her face is anything to go by. “Okay,” she finally says. “Yeah, it wasn’t very cool of you. I didn’t need you to tell me I’d messed up.”

“Well, okay then,” Diana says, still not looking. “I won’t.”

“Well, good,” Dana says. And they stand around a little awkwardly until Coach Skinner appears and practice starts.

.....

February: Week Seven

Samantha was happy yesterday.

She was happy because she was on beam, and sometimes she can forget about everything else when she’s there. This was one of those times. Her double turn was steady. She flew through the side aerial and both of the layout step-outs. When it came to the part of the choreography where she smiled and winked, it felt like a natural expression of how she was feeling. She stuck the dismount.

The other girls screamed and hugged her after she saluted. And then they did it again when her score came up. A ten.

It might sound silly to a lot of people, but she couldn’t remember being happier in gymnastics. Not even when she won her gold. Because there weren’t people screaming and hugging her then. Dana even tried to pick her up, which was pretty silly, because Dana’s barely taller than she is and they almost fell over. But they just started laughing then. And Coach Skinner patted her back and said, “Well done, Samantha.” And she could see Fox waving to her from the stands.

But that was all yesterday. This morning there was an article about the meet on the school website. She wishes the article didn’t have a picture of her at the top, and she really wishes it didn’t call her “Olympic gold medalist Samantha Mulder.” She’s not sure why she wishes it, because it’s true, after all, and they do cover all the meets, and it makes sense for them to talk about her getting a ten, because that’s important in gymnastics. But she doesn’t like people looking at her, thinking about her, expecting things of her. She wants this to be for her and her team, not for everyone else.

So she was already feeling weird about things, and that was before she opened her email. Before she saw the message from her parents. They saw the article and they’re glad she’s working to her potential here, because it really would be a shame to keep throwing everything she’s worked for away, after all the time and money they spent on her training. There’s no reason you can’t still be the best, Samantha. Being tired or upset or so sick of it all isn’t an excuse not to practice, Samantha. Bring home only the gold for us, Samantha.

This is the first time they’ve emailed her since January. She hates reading their emails, so she doesn’t know why she’s upset about that now.

She sits on her bed and hugs her knees. She doesn’t even feel like crying. She doesn’t even feel like anything.

She’s not sure how long she’s been sitting when she hears a knock on the door. “Who is it?” she calls.

“It’s me.” Dana’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“Okay,” she says, her own voice tight. “The door’s not locked.”

Dana pushes the door open. “Do you want to get dinner with me and Monica?” she asks. “We thought we could—hey, are you okay?” She crosses the few steps of the dorm room, looking concerned. “You look really upset.” Samantha tries to answer, but she can’t. “What’s wrong?” Dana asks, and her voice is gentle, and Samantha starts to cry.

Dana doesn’t ask anything more right then; she just puts her arms around Samantha and lets her cry. “I’ve got you,” she says. “Let it out. It’s okay.” Samantha wishes she’d had a friend to say that to her before. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dana asks, when she’s mostly stopped crying.

Samantha tells her about the email. And about how it’s not just the email, how it’s years of things like that. Of her parents only caring about her winning. Of her coach forcing her to keep going when she didn’t have anything left. “I really…I hated it so much at the end,” she almost whispers. She doesn’t look at Dana when she says it. She hasn’t even told Fox this. “I just couldn’t…I couldn’t be good anymore and I knew people were going to be so mad at me.”

“Is that why you said that to me when I fell?” Dana asks. “About hating yourself?”

“Yeah,” Samantha says. “I didn’t mean you should hate yourself. It’s just that’s how I always felt.”

“You know,” Dana says slowly, a little cautiously, “you know you shouldn’t have to feel like that, right? That it’s not right how they treated you?”

“I guess I know it,” Samantha says. “Like when you say it, it makes sense. But it’s hard to stop feeling it.”

“I’m sorry,” Dana says. She’s still hugging Samantha; she hasn’t let go.

“And I know it’s better here,” Samantha says. “Coach Skinner’s so much better. I guess that’s why I got upset. I thought I could like gymnastics again here, you know? And then their email…I’m worried everything is going to be the same.”

“It won’t,” Dana says. “We won’t let it.”

“How?” Samantha asks.

“Well, first,” Dana says, “we’re going to set up your email so that everything from your parents goes into a different folder. And you don’t ever have to look at it, if you don’t want to.”

“You can do that?” Apparently, she can. Samantha sits and watches her.

“And now,” Dana says, closing the screen triumphantly, “we’re going to meet Monica for dinner. And we’re going to get pizza and laugh.”

So they do that too. And Dana hugs her again at the end of the night, and she says, “You can always talk to me, okay? Text me any time.” And Samantha thinks about that for a while, before she falls asleep.

.....

February: Week Eight

They have an away meet this weekend, and it’s near Diana’s hometown, so her parents are coming. They haven’t seen her compete live in college yet, although she knows they watch every meet on TV. Usually, they call her up afterwards to tell her how proud they are. It’s a little embarrassing, but mostly she’s happy about it.

“My parents are coming to the meet tomorrow,” she mentions in the hotel the night before. She’s rooming with Monica again, and Samantha and Dana are in their room too right now; she did not ask them to come over, but Monica apparently did, sometime when her guard was down.

“Oh,” Samantha says. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” Diana says. What a dumb question. “Why would I be? They’ve seen me at worlds, so a meet like this isn’t suddenly going to intimidate me.”

“It was just a question,” Dana says; she’s painting Samantha’s nails and not looking at Diana. “You don’t have to be snotty.”

“Who says I’m being snotty?”

And Dana turns around and looks at her now. “A meet like this,” she says, putting on a voice that is, in fact, snotty but that isn’t what Diana sounds like. “We get it. You’ve been to worlds. You think elite is better than NCAA. Well, no one’s forcing you to be here if you’re too good for it.”

She didn’t expect that from Miss Good Girl Dana. “Wow,” Diana says. “Jealous much?”

It’s a dumb comeback, and she knows that as soon as she says it. “No, actually,” Dana says. “I was completely happy in JO. I’m just tired of you having an attitude with the rest of us.” Samantha’s looking away, as she always does at the faintest sign of conflict. Monica’s watching them as if she’s waiting for the scores to come up.

“I’m just a very self-motivated person,” Diana says. “I don’t need to be in a screaming lovefest to succeed.”

“Oh, of course,” Dana says. “And that explains why you take it out on us when you’re not happy with how the meet went.” Her face is turning red. “So if I fall, that’s something to lord over me, and if I do better than you, that’s a reason to freeze me out. For someone who doesn’t care about these meets, you sure seem to care when you don’t have the top score.”

She can’t let Dana rattle her. “Yeah, it’s a sport,” she says. “So, you know, I care about my scores. I’d rather do that than your fake ‘Who? Little old me sticking a vault?’ routine.”

“I’m not fake,” Dana says. “I’m just happy to be here. I’m sorry if you think that’s awful.”

Diana rolls her eyes. “That’s cute. Really.”

“But I don’t know why I thought I’d get through to you,” Dana says. “If all you care about is yourself, I guess that’s just the way it is.” She turns to Samantha. “Want to go back to our room? It’s kind of late.”

“Sure,” Samantha says, and they go.

“Wow,” Monica says, when they’ve left. “That was…something.”

“Whatever,” Diana says. “I know you’re on Dana’s side.”

“You have this whole thing about sides,” Monica says. “I’d like it if we could all be friends, actually. Believe it or not, I think things would be more fun that way. For you, too.”

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take for all of you to get it,” Diana says, “but fun is not my number one priority here.”

“Okay,” Monica says. “It’s not worth us arguing.”

“You’re right about that,” Diana says, and they don’t talk much more before they get ready for bed.

She sees her parents in the stands when they march out the next day—they’re kind of hard to miss, because they’re waving a giant banner that says GO DIANA! on it. It’s goofy, but she stands up a little straighter at the sight.

It’s a good meet for her, it really is. Her best bar routine of the season yet: a 9.975. The ten so close she can almost reach out and touch it.

And then the ten is there, in the next rotation. You don’t even have to wait for the scores to come up to know. Everything is perfect from the first step of Dana’s vault run: her block is straight on, she’s laid out all the way in the air, she gets so much height, and her feet don’t move on the landing. Diana loves her sport because when it’s done right, it’s beautiful. This is one of those beautiful moments.

But she stands frozen, with her hands at her sides, when the ten does come up and everyone else is screaming and cheering and hugging Dana. She can’t even make herself clap or smile or do something, anything, that makes it look like she’s a team player.

She sees her parents in the stands again, their banner still flying high. She knows this won’t make them any less proud. They’ve seen her be second best before, and they’ve celebrated her silver medals as if they were platinum. No, it’s Diana who’s less proud. No matter what the other girls say about NCAA and elite, there is a difference. There’s a difference between coming second behind Aliya Mustafina, who was the most decorated gymnast at the 2012 Olympics, and second behind Dana Scully, who’s spent her whole life in some rec gym. And there’s a difference in what it’s doing to her mental game. When she concentrated on herself, it used to be a good way, one that made her work on perfecting her skills. Now it’s just in a way that makes her stew.

She can see Coach Skinner watching her; he’s probably going to pull her aside later, going to talk to her about her attitude. She can’t even blame him for that. But she turns aside, and stretches for beam, and doesn’t look back at him.

.....

Week Nine: March

Dana doesn’t go to church every week now—she knows her parents wouldn’t be thrilled, but college is just so busy, and sometimes she’s exhausted and can’t get up on a Sunday, especially if they’ve just gotten back from a meet. But she goes this morning, and when she’s praying she thinks about gratitude. Her season’s gone so well so far, and even though she knows that’s probably not God’s number one priority, in the grand scheme of things, it means a lot to her. She still finds it hard to believe, though. When she came here, she wanted to do her best, but she wasn’t expecting to be a star. And now she’s freshman of the week for the fourth time. She knows Diana thinks she’s fake for being surprised by it, but she honestly is. She wants to let it sink in, though, so she can really feel all the gratitude it merits.

When she’s back in her dorm room, her parents call her. They congratulate her on being freshman of the week: she can tell they believe it, that they’re proud. She’s glad, because they’ve always supported her in gymnastics, even though they’ve never really gotten past referring to the individual skills as jumps and flips. (Mulder knows the name of every skill Samantha does. Dana’s very impressed by that.) She’s just finishing up the call when Monica and Samantha arrive; they’re all going to get lunch together.

“My friends are here,” she says into the phone. “Thanks so much for calling, though.” After they say goodbye, she turns to the other girls. “I was just talking to my parents,” she says. She feels a little guilty saying it to Samantha, even though she knows it’s not her fault that Samantha’s parents are awful about things.

“Mine called me this morning too,” Monica says. “They want to know what I’m eating and if I have a boyfriend.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know where I’d find the time.”

Dana laughs. “Yeah,” she says. “Anyone we’d date would have to be right there in the gym.” She’s thought about it herself, having someone special, but for now she likes being with her friends in the gym. She likes getting to know all the people she’s met.

“I guess some people manage it,” Monica says. “There are those gymnast couples. And I heard there are a ton of hook-ups in the Olympic village. Is that true, Samantha?”

Samantha looks thrown. “Um,” she says, “I was fifteen.”

“Good point,” Dana says.

“And I don’t really…” She’s fiddling with her ponytail, which she used to do almost constantly at the start of the year, so she must be nervous about something. “I don’t actually like boys.”

Dana hugs Samantha right away, because she wants her to know that she has nothing to be nervous about. “Thanks for telling us,” she says.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Monica says. “Now if I ever do find the time to get a boyfriend, at least I know you won’t try to steal him.” She grins at Samantha.

Samantha smiles too, for a minute. “I hadn’t told anyone except Fox before,” she says. “It’s actually…it’s part of the reason I didn’t want to go pro after the Olympics. I didn’t want to be public and have to hide myself like that. And I wouldn’t like all the attention you get, anyway.” It’s completely obvious, if you’ve known Samantha for more than five minutes, that she’s not the kind of person who likes attention, but Dana doesn’t laugh.

Instead, she says, “I get that. You can always talk to us, though. Right, Monica?” Monica nods. “Let’s get lunch.” And she winds her arm through Samantha’s, as they walk downstairs together. She’s grateful for this, too.

.....

Week Ten: March

Monica can’t believe the season is this close to being over. She feels like she just got here. She’s happy with how she’s been doing—she’s in the floor lineup every week, and usually in the vault lineup—but there’s still stuff to keep working on. In terms of her skills, of course, and she likes how Coach Skinner helps them with that, how he works with each of them as an individual. He doesn’t expect her to stick every vault like Dana or swing bars like Diana or have Samantha’s spooky sense of where the beam is every time—he just expects her to keep getting better at what she can do.

Which brings her to another thing she wants to work on: getting Diana to see that so that things can be less uncomfortable at practices. She thinks Coach Skinner must have talked to Diana after their away meet two weeks ago, because she’s been pretty subdued since then; she’s not what you’d call friendly, but she hasn’t lobbed any additional insults at Dana, and she did clap for everyone’s routines last week. Maybe Monica should leave it there. She doesn’t know herself why she wants to get Diana to be friends with the rest of them. Except that she feels like you can do both—try to be the best you can be and still see your teammates as friends instead of direct competition—and that college is the place to do it in. She doesn’t like to think about anyone having a bad time here, and she thinks that Diana is, even if her way of dealing with it is making it a bad time for everyone else too.

So she runs to catch up with Diana after practice. “Hey,” she says. “What are you up to tonight?”

Diana raises an eyebrow. “Why are you asking?”

Monica tries for charming. “Because I need some company to save me from having to study.”

“Why don’t you ask Dana and Samantha?” Diana says. “Don’t you always eat dinner together?”

Is Diana jealous of that too? “You could come,” Monica says. “If you wanted to.”

“I don’t,” Diana says. “And anyway, I doubt that invitation comes from all three of you.”

She probably has a point. “Well,” Monica says, trying another tack, “I was going to watch the Stuttgart world cup, since we missed it yesterday. You want to watch?”

“I already saw the results.”

“Well, it’s still fun to see the routines,” Monica says. “Don’t you think? Come on.”

Diana’s clearly unsure; maybe this isn’t worth it. But then she says, “All right. If you want,” and that’s something.

They settle down to watch it on Monica’s laptop. “Do you know any of them?” Monica asks.

“Yeah, I’ve met a bunch of them,” Diana says. “I don’t know them that well, though.”

“That’s still really cool,” Monica says. She doesn’t share Diana’s belief that elite is the only worthwhile form of gymnastics, but that doesn’t mean she can’t fangirl.

Diana seems to pick up on this logical inconsistency, though. “So you think I’m too snotty about having gone to worlds,” she says, “but that’s still the reason you want to hang out with me?”

“I didn’t say you were snotty,” Monica says.

“You didn’t exactly defend me either,” Diana says.

“Well,” Monica says, “I do think it’s kind of a big deal to you. Maybe bigger than it needs to be, here. But that’s not the reason I want to hang out with you. I just…I like to be friends with the people I’m in the gym with.”

“Okay,” Diana says.

“And I don’t mean you shouldn’t care about what you’ve done,” Monica says. “I think it’s awesome you can do all this kind of thing.” She gestures towards the screen, where one of the gymnasts is doing an impossibly packed bar routine, transitions and releases all back to back. “I know I never could in a million years.”

Diana’s fiddling with the zipper on her bag. “But that doesn’t matter here,” she says quietly. “Knowing how to do bigger skills…that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t not matter,” Monica says. “I mean, it’s not as important, sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still cool that you can do it. It doesn’t mean…” She pauses, trying to figure out what she actually wants to say. “I don’t know why you get so upset when Dana does well. It doesn’t take anything away from you.”

Diana’s so quiet for such a long time that Monica’s sure she’s really put her foot in it. But she tries to give Diana space. She watches a French gymnast stick her dismount. She listens to the commentators opine.

“I thought I’d do better here,” Diana finally says.

“You do great,” Monica says. “You’re our best on bars by a lot.” She might have thought, earlier in the year, that she was stroking Diana’s ego unnecessarily by saying that, but now she’s beginning to think her ego isn’t as big as all that.

Diana shrugs. They watch the meet.

.....

Week Eleven: March

It’s almost the end of the regular season—next week is conference championships, and then regionals, and then nationals, if they make it, which Samantha thinks they will. Of course nothing’s sure, but they’ve been ranked in the top six pretty consistently.

She’s reading in her room, the night before their last regular meet, when there’s a knock at the door and she gets up to open it. It’s Fox. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi, Sam,” Fox says, and she can tell something’s wrong. He’s worried about her. “Did you know Mom and Dad were coming tomorrow?”

She stares at him. “No.”

“They called me just now,” he says. “They want to come see your meet. They said they’d emailed you, but you hadn’t answered.”

The filter Dana set up. Her throat is dry. “Why?” she asks. “They don’t really want to see me. Not really.”

“Look, I can try and head them off,” Fox says. “Meet them tomorrow and take them somewhere else. They won’t be there if you don’t want them to be.”

He’s always done everything he can to protect her. That’s why she feels safe and happy with him. That’s why she wants him at the meet tomorrow, cheering for her, not off somewhere doing diversionary action with their parents. “No,” she says. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But Sam—”

“I don’t want them to think they can control how I feel,” Samantha says. “They’ve already done enough of that. They’ll come and I’ll compete like it’s any other meet.” She doesn’t know if she can really do that. It sounds nice, but she doesn’t know.

He’s quiet for a minute, and then he bumps his fists against hers. “I know you will,” he says. “You’re the toughest person I know, Sam.” He means it, and that means something.

She and Dana sit together in the changing room before the meet, the next afternoon; she’s told Dana her parents are coming. “You okay?” Dana asks, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah,” she says. “Let’s just…let’s pretend it’s a regular meet.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” Dana says, widening her eyes. “What are we pretending? There’s nothing special about this meet.” And Samantha has to laugh, and she feels a little bit better. They do the same breathing exercises they do every time, and she concentrates on her breath, in and out, in and out. She remembers how nervous she used to get every time she competed, how fast her breath and her heart would get, how she always felt like she was about to throw up. Even at the Olympics. Sometime this year, that stopped. And she won’t let it start up again today.

She waves when they announce her name—she still doesn’t love that part, and probably never will, but she can get through it. She sees Fox in the crowd; he waves back. She doesn’t look for her parents.

The waiting through vault can be tough, so today she concentrates as hard as she can on watching the other girls and cheering for them. They have a good rotation; Diana and Dana both stick.

She tightens her grips before bars, making sure everything’s all set. And then she salutes and she goes, before she has a chance to think about anything. She has a close catch on the tkatchev and a couple of steps on the dismount, but she makes it through. That’s what matters. Doing her best and making it through. She knows why she had those mistakes, and she can work on them before next week. The other girls hug her anyway. It doesn’t mean she’s a failure or she wasn’t trying or she doesn’t belong on this team.

Dana hugs her before beam, but she’s not nervous about that, really. Beam’s always been for her, no matter what. Even when she hated everything else, she felt all right during the ninety seconds she spent up there.

She flies through her routine. Her feet are hitting the mat before she knows it, solid, unmoving. She doesn’t look at the crowd afterwards, just the other girls; she barely looks at the scoreboard either, until the ten comes up and they all scream.

After that, it’s easy: watching the rest of the girls on floor and doing their choreography and shouting her lungs out. Because she’s one of a team. And that’s why she had a good meet today, not because of anyone who told her she wasn’t good enough.

“Great work today, Samantha,” Coach Skinner tells her afterwards. From the way he’s looking at her, she thinks he’s not just talking about her scores: he’s talking about her mental game. She doesn’t know how he knew something was bothering her today, except that he’s a good coach and he doesn’t miss much.

She leaves with Dana, arm in arm, and Fox is waiting outside. “Hey,” he says, smiling. “You did pretty good today, Sam.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I thought so.”

“I saw Mom and Dad by the parking lot,” he says, “if you want to sneak out in the opposite direction.”

She thinks about it. A part of her wants to say something to them, defy them; a part of her wants to let her gymnastics do the talking and not waste any more mental energy.

Dana’s looking at something on her phone. “Monica says we’re getting pizza.”

That settles that. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Samantha says, and they head back around the gym to meet Monica, away from the parking lot.

.....

Week Twelve: March

Conference championships are tomorrow, and tonight they’re settled into their hotel rooms. Diana’s rooming with Monica again, which she’s used to by now.

“Here’s an article,” Monica says. “Conference championship previews. And what they mean for the future.”

“They don’t really mean that much,” Diana says. “Just bragging rights.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I love bragging,” Monica says, grinning. “Besides, it helps build up our reputation.”

“True,” Diana says. “What else does the article say?”

“It talks about the different conferences,” Monica says. “Predictions for the teams and the individual events. That kind of thing. You want to hear?”

She’s already leaning over to look at Monica’s phone—she wants to know if they think she might win the bars title—when she stops to think. “No, actually,” she says. “It’ll happen however it happens.”

“Oh, man,” Monica says. “Don’t say you’re leaving me alone in the world of feverish internet gymnastics gossip. Dana and Samantha already won’t read it.”

“Maybe they have a point,” Diana says. “It just makes you get in your head.” She’ll start thinking about whether she could win bars. She’ll start thinking about other girls who are mentioned in the article, and if they could beat her on bars, and if they’re actually better than she is.

Monica watches her narrowly, but she doesn’t ask her again. She starts talking about an essay she has to finish, instead.

They start on beam, the next day, which means bars will be last. Diana’s glad about that, because the scores will build—everyone knows it happens, even if they claim not to—but then she tells herself not to think about it. The judges will do what they do, but she’s in control of whether she hits. Besides, there are three other events to go before that, and she needs to concentrate on those. On everyone, not just herself. Coach Skinner told her that, when he talked to her a few weeks ago. That she should try to be present when the other girls were competing, to think about all of their performances as making up one whole.

It doesn’t come naturally to her, and it probably never will, but she’s going to do her damnedest to master it. If that’s what she needs to do here. If it can help her.

She tries to concentrate on the details of their routines. What they do that she could learn from. What they do that’s different from her own style. She tries to think of cheering for them, of doing their floor choreography, as part of that whole.

She tries really hard, when Dana’s launching herself off the vault table, up and up and up, to keep thinking that way. To think of it as something beautiful. To mean it when she yells, “Yeah, Dana!”

When it comes to bars, she goes through her routine in her head one last time. And then she’s up, flying from bar to bar, hitting her handstands, keeping the rhythm, pointing her toes. Sticking the dismount before she knows it. Bars is so fast, so much a part of her muscle memory.

The other girls clap and cheer and hug her, like she’s been doing for them. Dana smiles at her and says, “Great job.” She probably wants to mend fences. That’s very like her. But Diana smiles back while she waits.

She’s spent the whole meet trying to think about the team, not just about herself. It’s hard to keep doing that, though, when her ten finally—finally—comes up on the scoreboard.

.....

Regionals

They’re a host site for regionals, which Dana’s really happy about. It means it’s close enough for her parents to drive up, and she’s looking forward to having them see her compete with the team. Besides, it means she doesn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to get to the airport or deal with jetlag and an unfamiliar room and an unfamiliar gym.

She is kind of nervous, though. So far, the season’s gone better than she could have dreamed, but regionals means a lot more than any of the meets they’ve had so far. It’s sudden death: if they don’t finish in the top two here, they won’t be at nationals. She doesn’t want to have a repeat of her mid-season bars disaster. Nor does she want to start thinking about it, in case it throws off her mindset and becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

She’ll go over to the gym early, Dana decides, and sit there and do some deep breathing. It’ll help her to be in the space. To remind herself that this isn’t anything new, that she’s done it a hundred times.

She’s so early she isn’t even sure she’ll be able to get into the locker room, and when the door does yield to her touch, she’s sure she’ll be the only one there. But she’s not. Diana’s sitting in front of one of the benches, stretching.

“Oh,” Dana says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Diana says. “Decided to get here early?”

“Yeah,” Dana says. “I thought it might help calm me down.” She doesn’t know why she’s giving Diana that. She hasn’t been as much of a pill the last couple of weeks, true, but Dana’s still not sure it’s a good idea to show her signs of weakness.

But Diana just nods. “Makes sense,” she says. “I like to get warmed up early too. Plus my roommate’s boyfriend came over and they were dropping hints they wanted me out of there.”

“Awkward,” Dana says.

“You got that right,” Diana says.

This is awkward too, Dana thinks, as she sits down. It’s not easy to think calming thoughts with Diana right there in front of her.

“How are you feeling about the meet?” Diana asks her.

“Pretty good, I think,” Dana says. Even though she just said she wanted to calm down. Maybe Diana won’t notice the inconsistency. But Dana doesn’t think she misses much.

She doesn’t expect the response she gets, though. “I get if I’m…if I’m not exactly making things easier for you,” Diana says. “I haven’t been at my nicest here. Especially to you. I get competitive, and you were doing so well, and…well, that’s not an excuse. Anyway…” She’s still stretching, and she holds it for so long that Dana wonders if she’s ever going to finish her sentence or if they’re just going to spend the rest of their lives in suspended motion. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Dana says. She could be cold now, but what would be the point? She wants to get along with the other people on the team. She doesn’t want to waste time thinking about rivalries and grudges. “Thanks for saying that.”

“You’re a really good gymnast,” Diana says. “Your vault especially.”

“Thanks,” Dana repeats. “So are you. I wish I had your bars.”

“Yeah,” Diana says. “Put us together and we’d be the next Simone Biles.” She starts laughing then, and so does Dana. She doesn’t know if she’s heard Diana make a joke before. “So are you nervous for today?” Diana asks.

“Yeah, kind of,” Dana says. “The whole all or nothing aspect. What about you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get that nervous anymore,” Diana says. “We’ll show them what we can do. We’re not the top seed for nothing.”

She’s acting a little cocky again. But cocky about the team, not about herself, and somehow that makes all the difference.

.....

Nationals: Semifinals

Nationals is different, Monica can feel it. It means being up against the best of the best, with every step counting. No room for error, she finds herself saying in her head. She’s not usually a no room for error kind of person, but the atmosphere can really get to you.

At least she’s not worrying about the individual titles. The semifinals are where those are determined, and she knows some of the girls on the team could definitely contend, but she’ll just be going out there and doing her thing. Performing her heart out on floor. She likes being a star for those ninety seconds and being part of a unit for everything else.

They’re starting on bars, which means Monica has to wait through two rotations to do anything, but she thinks it’s a good thing on the whole; they’re getting what’s probably their weakest event out of the way. The first routine goes smoothly; Dana, up second, is working well too, until she loses her legs in a handstand and goes over. It’s not technically a fall, but she has to take an extra swing, and she doesn’t ever really get her rhythm back. She looks frustrated with herself as she comes off the podium.

“Shake it off, Dana,” Coach Skinner says. “You fought through. Concentrate on the next routine.”

“We’ve still got the rest of the meet,” Monica says. “Don’t beat yourself up.” She squeezes Dana’s arm.

Samantha, who’s already got her grips on, bumps her fist against Dana’s. “We’ve got your back,” she says. “Right, Diana?”

“Right,” Diana says. “We’ll go up and hit, and while we’re doing that, you be thinking about how you’re going to knock us out on beam.”

“Thanks, guys,” Dana says, softly. Monica holds her arm while they watch the other girls’ routines. Samantha’s is quick and tidy. And Diana’s is as gorgeous as ever, her transitions and releases and pirouettes all pristine.

On to the next rotation. Dana draws herself up before her beam routine. “I’m going to do this,” she says, and Monica knows she’s thinking about that meet in February, when she missed bars and then missed beam. “I’m going to hit for all of you.” And she does. It’s one of the best beam routines Monica’s seen her do, actually; everything looks incredibly secure. By the end, she’s really smiling.

Samantha’s the star of the show here, of course. Monica watches her compete every week, not to mention all their training sessions, and she never gets bored with it. You can see, watching her, why Samantha was a champion. Why Samantha still is a champion. There’s a little step on the landing, but Monica honestly doesn’t see anything else wrong. She guesses the judges don’t either, because Samantha comes up with one of the top scores of the meet.

Now floor. She huddles with the other girls as Coach Skinner gives them some last words of encouragement. She cheers and does the choreography for the first four routines. And then she’s up.

There’s nothing like doing gymnastics before a crowd this big and hyped up. And within the world of doing gymnastics, there’s nothing like doing a floor routine. Monica can feel the adrenaline threatening to overtake her; she concentrates on making it work for her, on keeping the tumbling passes big but not out of bounds, on selling her routine to the hilt. She feeds off the music, off her team, off the audience. She knows she’ll remember this.

The other girls hug her afterwards, and she’s happy with her score when it comes up too. It’s funny to think that she’ll only do this particular routine one more time, tomorrow, if they make the finals. But it’s exciting, too, to think that she’ll have a new routine next year. Maybe one she’ll love even more than this.

It’s time to concentrate on vault, though. Monica’s glad she’s gotten her adrenaline out, because vault’s over so quickly that it doesn’t give you any time to course correct. She’s third in the lineup, and she’s going before she knows it. She takes a step back on the landing, but all in all she’s pleased.

Dana’s their anchor, and her face is set, determined, as she stands at the end of the runway. From her beam and floor, it looks like she hasn’t let the mistake on bars get to her, like she’s in a good frame of mind. Monica’s glad about that, because Dana can stick the crap out of a vault when she’s on, and that would be good for them tonight. Mathematically, they’re already into the finals, but it never hurts to make a statement.

It’s a statement. High and huge and stuck right down the middle.

Four of the judges give her the ten; two of them go with 9.95, for some incomprehensible reason. “Oh, come on!” Monica shouts, but Dana’s so happy that she’s jumping up and down, and it is the top vault score of the whole meet, so she might as well let it go.

She cheers for them all during the medal ceremonies, even though she’s exhausted at this point; when the competition’s over, it really hits you. And they’ll be doing it all over again tomorrow. She may be exhausted, but she can’t wait.

.....

Nationals: Finals

When she’s getting ready for finals, Samantha remembers how she felt getting ready for team finals at the Olympics. How she was sure she was going to throw up. How she was terrified she’d make a mistake. How she felt all wrong in her red, white, and blue leotard, and how sweaty her hands were. How she felt so alone—the other girls on the team were nice, but they weren’t her close friends. She didn’t have any of those, in the gym.

Tonight she’s wearing a green and silver leotard, and she feels all right. Monica is insisting that they put a truly outrageous amount of glitter on their faces. “It’ll hype us up,” she says.

“It’ll get in our eyes,” Dana says. “You want to be the girl who missed a catch because she was trying to blink away glitter?”

“I’ll never be the girl who missed a catch,” Monica says, “because I don’t compete bars like you suckers. Can’t miss a catch if you never try.”

Diana is spraying her hair into place. “Give me a little bit,” she says, and she smears it on her cheeks. “Not bad. We could do something to match with eye shadow?”

“Now you’re talking,” Monica says. “See, Diana gets it.”

“Will you put some on me?” Samantha asks, and Diana does her eyeshadow carefully, in the same colors as their leotards. When they look into the mirror, once they’re ready, they all match.

Dana takes a picture. “You think we can win this thing?” she asks, softly.

“Well, I was reading,” Monica says, “and statistically, if we have our best floor of the season…”

“Oh my god,” Diana says. “Stop trying to make this a thing!”

“I think we can win it,” Samantha says. She can tell the others are maybe a little surprised, from the way they look at her. “No statistics. Just my feelings.”

“I think Samantha’s right,” Dana says, and she hugs her.

“But even if we don’t win,” Samantha says, “we’re…we’re going to kick so much ass!” Now they’re definitely surprised, no doubt about it. But Monica whoops, and so does Diana, and then they hurry out of the room, because it’s time for the last team gathering, for a final talk from Coach Skinner.

“I’m very proud of how you’ve all performed this year,” he says. “We had a lot of new contributors on our team, and you’ve all stepped up and taken on new roles. You’ve made yourselves an indispensable part of the team, and we’ve had some great achievements.” His face is serious. “That said, tonight those achievements are behind us. It’s time to build on them, yes, but it’s also time to set new goals. You can’t coast on the past—you’ve got to leave it all on the floor.” Samantha clutches Dana’s hand. The past is gone, she thinks. “Know your routines. Know yourselves. Know your team. I know what you can do—now show everyone else tonight. We can do this.” They all nod seriously. It doesn’t seem quite the time for whooping.

They whoop afterwards, though, when the seniors lead them in a cheer. Samantha looks at the other girls’ faces: they look nervous but excited, determined, ready to leave it all on the floor. She takes a deep breath before they march out.

She knows she has Fox in the audience, which makes a difference. He asked her if she wanted him to come, and she said she did. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed: he’s the only spectator that she really wants or cares about. But everything else is different.

They’re starting on floor tonight, which means Samantha’s beam will be the final routine for the team. She used to hate waiting more than anything, always feeling like she was about to jump out of her skin. It’s still not her favorite part of a meet, but it’s better now. She has the other girls’ routines to watch and cheer for.

Floor goes well. She does the choreography on the sidelines: Diana’s fluttering arms, Dana’s shimmy, Monica’s salute to the audience. She thought the semifinals were exciting, but tonight’s even better, each girl selling her routine with everything she’s got.

On vault, they don’t have as much difficulty as some of the other teams: they’re using two Yurchenko fulls, but they’re both solid tonight. After that, Monica does well with her tsuk, Karen sticks her Omelianchik, and both of the one and a halfs are good, especially Dana’s. She always seems to know where the ground is.

At the halfway mark, they’re in second, but things are close. That’s another thing she’s had to get used to here—every routine being graded on the same scale, without the big difficulty gaps that were there in elite. At first it made her nervous; it was so much easier for one mistake to be costly. But now she doesn’t mind so much.

“Keep it up, everyone,” Coach Skinner tells them. “Nice and easy. Like in practice.” He stops to talk to those of them who are putting on their grips, getting ready for bars. “You ready, Samantha?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

He almost smiles at her, although he’s not really a smiley kind of guy. “I know we can count on you,” he says. She would hug him, if they weren’t in the middle of touch warmups.

She doesn’t love bars the same way she loves beam, but she likes having it come first, something to steady her. She squeezes Dana’s arm while they’re waiting. “You good?” she says.

“Yeah,” Dana says. “Thanks. I’m good.” She smiles at Samantha. And then it’s time to scramble off the podium—the rotation is starting.

The three routines before her are clean; she’s never seen anyone look as relieved in her life as Dana does, coming down from the podium. Samantha steps up then, pictures her routine one last time, salutes, and goes. It feels so quick, but then she’s done, and she’s hit, and the other girls are cheering. She hugs them quickly, before taking off her grips and walking to the side of the arena, where she can think about beam. She throws a back handspring. She wants to keep loose.

She still watches the last two routines, though. Diana’s is beautiful; two of the judges give her a ten. They’re still in a close second, going into beam.

“Do what we all know you can do,” Coach Skinner tells the six of them when they’re in the huddle. “Don’t think about the scoreboard. Think about the beam.” The one thing she’s never had trouble with.

Samantha couldn’t tell you much about the five routines before her. She thinks they go fine, because she doesn’t hear any gasping or groaning, but she’s busy concentrating. She doesn’t look at the scores—she doesn’t want to know what she would need, if it’s close enough at the end. Dana bumps fists with her before she goes up. “You’ve got this,” she says. “We all know you do.”

Her routine is almost over early; she can feel she’s off as she’s coming in for the landing at the end of her series, and one foot is almost off the beam. But she saves it, somehow, gripping with her toes, even though she has to wave her arms a few times. She takes a deep breath and slows down her choreography a little, to give herself the chance to refocus. Then the double turn. Then the side aerial. She’s moving smoothly now, and she’s able to smile, to look out at the judges and the crowd. She doesn’t see Fox—there are so many people—but she pretends she does, that he’s right at the spot where she’s looking. She sets up for the dismount then, and that’s on, high and stuck.

And then it’s over. She won’t be competing again as a freshman, but the other girls are hugging her, and she looks at the scores again, to see hers come in. They’re second. It’s so close. She has to wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t had that check on her series.

But Coach Skinner pats her shoulder. “Good job, Samantha,” he says.

So she stops wondering. She jumps up and down with the other girls, instead.

.....

Afterwards

Diana feels a little flat; she always does, after a big competition. They were up late last night, celebrating, and now they have to fly back to school. She finished early, and now she’s helping Monica stuff things into her bag.

“Want to see what Dana and Samantha are up to?” Monica says, when they’re done.

“Sure,” she says, and they go over to their room. They’re almost done packing too. Dana’s wrapping her first-place vault trophy up, with an almost tender look on her face.

“Enjoy it,” Diana says, teasingly. “Because I’m going to train a one-and-a-half this summer, and then it’s over for you.”

Dana looks startled for a second—maybe it’s too early to say mean things to her as a joke—but then she laughs. “Thanks for the warning,” she says. “I’d better start working inbars. Beat you at your own game.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Monica says. “You’d think you’d want a break, right? But I actually can’t wait to get back in the gym.”

“Yeah,” Samantha says. “I think I’ll actually like off-season training this year.” She’s not going home, she’s told them; she’s staying out here with her brother, at the apartment he’s getting, and she’s going to train in the university gym with Coach Skinner. “But I’ll miss you all, though.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Dana says, hugging her. “But we can chat.”

“Are you actually going to train a one-and-a-half, Diana?” Monica asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Diana says. “I don’t really think I’m going to threaten Dana. But it’ll be good for the team.” She can’t believe she’s saying that and meaning it. “How about you, Dana? Actually going to work inbars?”

“No thanks,” Dana says. “But I do want to work on cleaning some stuff up on bars and beam. And thinking about what I might do for my floor routine next year.”

“Definitely,” says Monica. “I want to do something really different from this year. And I want to get my vault more consistent.”

They all look at Samantha. “I want to train floor,” she says. “I’d like to compete it next year. I’d like one of those routines like the Dutch have.”

That’s surprising. Samantha’s elite routine, the last time Diana saw her, was basically still a junior routine: dependent on being tiny and cute. Samantha’s still pretty tiny and cute now, even though she’s eighteen, and Dutch routines are known for being elegant and dramatic. It doesn’t seem like a natural fit, but she can tell it’s something Samantha really wants, so she says, “Go for it.”

“Hell yeah,” Monica says. “That’d be awesome.”

“It’s a great idea,” Dana says. “Something really different.”

They’re quiet for a minute, and then Monica says, “Look at us jumping ahead already. We literally just finished the season. And we’re the second best in the nation!”

“Yeah we are,” Diana says, and then they’re quiet for another minute, to take that in. Dana finishes wrapping the trophy and puts it in her bag.

“And we’re only losing three routines next year,” Monica says, “which is a lot fewer than most teams. I was reading online—”

“Stop,” Dana says.

“You literally never stop trying, do you?” Diana asks.

“Nope,” Monica says. She’s grinning.

“We’d better go,” says Samantha. “We don’t want to be left behind.”

So they head down to the lobby, to join Coach Skinner and the rest of the team.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 24

Warnings: mentions of depression, death, grief, sad Tyler, a tad of smut

Tagging: @thunderintheshadows  (although you read this already over on Ao3 lol), @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud

The meeting is scheduled for one pm. Held in one of the hotel's smaller conference rooms; Nik hosting from Colorado through a secure satellite feed arranged by the FBI. At Esme's insistence, she'd sought out Mark's help, who in turn, had agreed to lend his assistance as long as it was kept strictly 'off the books'.  Neither Tyler or Yaz made aware; a need to know situation that Nik was certain they didn't need to know. Not at this particular time, anyway. She'd also managed to convince the hotel management that the team -she'd spun a story about them providing private security for some of Ireland's elite- needed a meeting room for 'strategic purposes', and a hefty money transfer had been sent to them to ensure both their cooperation and their silence.

Yaz arrives last; arms and hands loaded down with bags of food and drink for lunch, along with his laptop and iPad.

“You went back to that coffee shop, didn't you,”  Tyler grins, recognizing the logo emblazoned on the front of one of the paper bags. “Was she there? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?”

Esme sits alongside of him, their thighs touching under the table. The need for closeness...both physically and emotional...is overwhelming. On both their parts. As if something or someone was just waiting in the shadows to snatch them away from one another.   Bot are nervous. Anxious. All of the missing information, the complexities of the case, the uneasiness that comes with being in an unfamiliar place and not knowing exactly who your enemy is. All mixing together to create a brutal and punishing force. All jobs come with their share of danger. With the unexpected twists and turns that jumped out at you without a moments notice. Always having to think three steps ahead of you; always wanting to ahead of your foes so you could take them by surprised, not vice versa. But this was different. The trouble had started before they ever set foot on Ireland soil.  Danger could be lurking around every corner; in every dark alleyway or doorway.  

She is feeling it more than the others. It's been almost six years since she'd last been on a job.  She had thought that that part of her life was behind her. More than content to give up the almost nomadic lifestyle in favour or a quieter existence. Quite enjoying the routine and the familiarity that comes with being a stay at home mother and a housewife. It sounds old fashioned; the solace found in taking care of a house, in cooking dinners and doing laundry and other various chores, in keeping a husband happy and satisfied, in spending time with her children and loving on them as much as humanely possible. But after years of never forming true bonds with anyone and never having a stable place to live while running from her demons,  being a spouse and a parent turned out to be exactly what she'd needed.  She'd needed normal. Or at least their version of normal.

At the mention of a girl, she glances away from her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys; in the midst of sending an instant message to Ovi. Both he and Chloe were in constant contact. Always letting her know what is going on at home. Whether it be sharing stories about what the kids were up to, asking questions about things like favourite foods and things that would provide comfort when the little ones were emotional over the realization that both their mom and dad are gone,  letting her know that things felt safe and secure and there had been no suspicious activity or threats. At least not yet.

“She was,” the grin that spreads across Yaz' face is enormous as he arranges the food and beverages in the middle of the table, then busies himself with setting up the tech needed to hold the meeting. They're running on Nik time, and her time -in her eyes- is extremely valuable and she expects others to recognize and abide by it.  “Her name is Anna,” he says. “Anna O'Brian.”

“Oh how adorably Irish,” Esme quips. “Is she legal? Did you ask to see her driver's licences this time?”

Tyler gives an amused smirk.

“You're getting just as bad as he is,” Yaz complains, nodding in the other man's direction. “He's rubbing of on you.”

“She likes when I rub one off on her,” Tyler says, and then winces when his wife grabs a hold of what little excess fat he has above his hip and pinches as hard as she can.

“What?” he asks innocently.  And when she huffs in disgusts and turns her attention back to the laptop, he playfully nudges her in the ribs with his elbow.

“You're disgusting,” she replies. “I can't believe you even said that.”

Yet at the same time, she can recognize the remarkable transformation -one of many- that he's gone through over the past five and a half years.  He's no longer on guard twenty four seven; he's able to relax and actually live in the moment. No longer constantly haunted by the horrible decisions of the past.  Comfortable enough in his own skin...his new skin...to not only let others in, but to be like everyone else.  Sarcastic,  humorous, finally content in his own skin.  Yet when it's time for the seriousness of a situation to kick in, he will be back to all business.

He'll be the old Tyler again. A transformation so quick and subtle that its as if the new one never even existed.

“I read it's supposed to be good for the skin,” he reasons. “It's probably why you look as young as you do. Like a natural moisturizer.”

“You've got serious issues,” she huffs, and then yelps when he grabs a hold of the back of her knee, squeezing lightly and the proceeding to tickle her mercilessly. “Stop it!” she orders in between the laughing and the hiccups that soon make an appearance. “What is wrong with you? Tyler! For fuck sakes! You're going to make me pee myself!”

“You too make me sick,” Yaz declares, when Tyler finally relents; smiling and winking at her, running a hand over her hair and then pressing a kiss to her temple.  “It's gross. The way you two are. All happy and in love and shit. It's been almost six years. Shouldn't you hate each other by now? Isn't this when things go south and you just stay together for the kids?”

“Oh there's days,” Esme says. “Where he is walking a very thin line. Believe me. He's too scared of me to push things too far.”

Tyler nods in agreement. She holds all the power.  It doesn't matter that he's a foot taller or ninety pounds heavier.  He knows when to just shut up and tow the line.  “Then she gets over it when I hate fuck her,” he grins. “She's  relatively harmless after that.”

She sighs in exasperation. “So who's this girl, Yaz?” she asks, as she returns to composing her message to Ovi.  “Waitress? Bartender? Stripper?”

“Speaking of strippers,” Yaz grins. “Tyler...remember that red head in Russia. The one that kept rubbing her massive...”  he gestures to his own chest, mimicking breasts. “...in your face.”

“Oh my god I do not need to hear this!” Esme makes a dramatic gagging noise and places her hands over her ears. “I want to remain oblivious to what he was up to before I met him. Those days didn't exist! I want to pretend they never happened!”

“She had a massive girl boner for your man. She did these things for free. She probably would have given him money for letting her.”

“Yaz...” her eyes are narrow as she glares at him. “...I will punch you in the throat, I swear to God.”

“You remind me of her,” he continues. “With the new hair. Only your boobs are real.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyler frowns, and smacks the younger man upside the head as he gets up to grab food. “Don't talk about my wife's body like that. Don't cross that line, mate. Don't make things weird.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Esme grins.

“Slightly tarnished and dented armour,” Yaz suggests to her “You like that one? Give me that one. Are you impressed by me?”

“I'll both accept it and allow it,” she nods. “I'm going to write that one down so when I get down to writing my book entitled 'Shit Yaz Says', I can include it. So who is she? This girl? Don't leave me out of the loop.”

“A waitress. At a place we went to the other day. She gave me her phone number and I wanted to go in and apologize for not calling her yet. I even brought her flowers.”

“Nicely done,” Tyler nods his approval.  “You've been taking notes.”

“We're going for drinks tonight,” Yaz excitedly bounces up and down on his heels, like a little kid that just found out the Tooth Fairy now gives out twenties for a molar.

“Drinks?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “So that's what kids call it these days. Just call it what Tyler does. Studying.”

“For the record, I did not start that shit,” he places two plates of food on the table and slides one towards her. It's weird in a way; how you get to know someone so well that you know exactly what they'll eat, and be appreciative of even the small gesture of getting it for them.  “I did not call it studying. Ovi said he and Chloe were studying.  I just took it from there.”

“Tyler is a huge fan of studying,” she continues, briefly pressing her shoulder into his when he sits down, giving him a smile of appreciation.  “He likes to study alone.”

“That is not what I said. I said if I have to study alone, I will. Not that I enjoy it. Just that it needs to be done sometimes. What are you supposed to do when your study partner gets a lot of headaches or doesn't feel well?”

“Excuse you, but when was the last time you heard any of those excuses from me? Months. Declan was still a tiny little thing.”

“You two are both fucked,” Yaz declares, and then adjusts the blinds covering the window; so there isn't too much sun streaming into the room and preventing them from seeing the smart board that Nik will appear on.  “T minus six minutes. You guys ready for this shit? It's going to get weird, isn't it. Even more weird than it already is.”

“I have been eating at the buffet of strange all day,” Esme declares, then fills him on everything that has taken place since she'd opened up her eyes first thing in the morning. The strangers outside the hotel room; the nervous shuffling of feet and harsh whispers.  How'd she attempted to glimpse a glimpse of them but had been just a few seconds too late. About the housekeeper insisting that no one was staying in the room that Esme had seen...with her own two eyes...the couple emerge from.

“Hmmm...” Yaz says in response to that piece of information, then looks at Tyler from across the table. Pointed stares. Tyler's eyebrows shooting up. So much communicated between them without even needing to use words.

She launches into what she knows about the Buckman family; no hands on knowledge, but history with colleagues that had gone toe to toe with them and had somehow managed to survive.

“They're not a family you want to fuck with,” she says, as she sips from a bottle of water.  “This is Amir Asif on steroids. I'm not even joking. If you thought Dhaka went to shit, this has the chance to be a hundred times worse. If this blows up in our faces, it's going to be damn near impossible to get those kids out. Not when it's just one person doing the heavy lifting.”

“You think we need more help?” Yaz asks, and when she shrugs, he addresses Tyler.  “You think you need more help? You're the one actually going in.  How are you feeling about the chances? Or being able to get both of them? Two kids plus yourself? Do you think you can get all three of you out?”

“I'm fine with it,” Tyler replies. “I'll be okay. I can handle it.”

“Realistically what's the chances?” Yaz inquires. “That you can successfully get two kids out at once and go up against anyone coming at you? It isn't going to be as easy as just walking in there and grabbing them and taking off. There's going to be resistance. Big time. You think you can handle two kids plus all the other shit being thrown at you?”

“I think you need to let me worry about all of that and let me do my job.  How many extractions have I done? Tons.  Yet you think I'm some kind of rookie just walking in there blind? I know what I'm doing. I can handle getting two kids out.”

“And yourself?” Esme speaks up, not looking away from her laptop.

“We're not talking about that right now. This is about the kids.”

“Your life is just as important,” she gently argues. “Whether you think it is or not.”

“The job is a success if the kids get out,” he counters. “It doesn't matter if I do or not.”

“It matters to me. And to your kids.”

“Maybe we need an extra set of hands,” Yaz suggests. “Someone watching your back.”

“I don't need someone going in with me. What I need is people leaving me alone to do my job. I work better alone. I'll get the kids out. No matter what it takes. That's all that matters. Getting to them and getting the fuck out of there. I've done this before, remember? Have either of you gone in and done the bloody stuff?”

“That's not the point,” Esme says. “How many extractions have you done where you've had two people to get out?”

“None,” he admits.

“Exactly,” she huffs. “What harm does having back up do?”

“It's messy enough with just one person. I don't need someone all up in my ass questioning everything I do. I work alone. I've always worked alone.  So just let me go in and do what I have to do. I'll have it under control. You need to trust me.”

“Two kids, two people,” Yaz reasons. “Would make it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Neither of you are listening to what I'm saying. I run this part of things. I call the shots. Not you. And not you,” he gives Esme's thigh a squeeze under the table. “You have to just back off and let me do what I do.  You want things to run smooth? Or as smooth as they can? Then keep other people out of the way. That's all I ask. Please...” he presses a kiss to her temple. “...trust me. Just trust me.”

“Fine,” she relents.  “But I don't like this. I don't like any of this. Two kids plus yourself? While trying to out run and out gun whoever is going to try and stop you? There's no Saju busting his ass to clear a path. There's no Nik and the team providing tactical support. There's no  G to act as a sniper like he did in Dhaka.”

“You were a sniper,” Yaz points out. “In the corps.”

“I was not a sniper. I merely acted as one from time to time.”

“But you still did it,” Tyler says. “When you had to.”

“Oh hell no. You two are not putting this on me. I came here to help with intel. That's it. That is as far as I'm going. You two are not dragging me down into some fucked up rabbit hole because one of you is too stubborn to ask for outside help and the other just puts his tail between his legs and agrees to whatever the first  one says. No. I'm not doing this. I won't do it.”

“You've got the experience,” Yaz continues. “And I trust you. Tyler trusts you.  You can handle it. And we don't have to drag more people into this. Your intel stuff will be down by then, right? So why not stick around and help out? Better than bringing in outsiders, don't you think?”

“And you agree with this?” Esme address her husband. “You think this is a good idea? Getting me even more involved in this than I already am?”

“I trust you,” he says.  “If there's anyone I want having my back...”

“This is fucked!” she cries. “You're both insane. What in the actual hell is wrong with the two of you? Where did all the common sense go? Both of you used to have tons of it and now it's just gone. It's disappeared.  How does any of this make sense? How do I go from being the intel person to suddenly being tactical back up? Explain to me where this all went wrong.”

“You don't have to actually go in,” Tyler explains. “Just be there. Like G was in Dhaka when I went to see Ovi's captors.”

“Just be there in case you're needed,” Yaz adds. “You know this is going to go to shit. They're going to have a lot of fire power. And Tyler can't get those two kids and himself out of there and be one hundred percent effective when engaging. It's impossible. Not with two little kids tagging along. Just hang out. Find a nice high perch somewhere. Wait and see if you're needed.”

“This is crazy,” she runs her hands over her face. “This is just all so crazy. What are the chances of any of us actually surviving this?”

“Did you make it out of Dhaka?” Tyler inquires. “Did I not find a way to keep you alive? To get you across the bridge?”

“That's not the same thing and you know it.”

“I'll get you out of this too, ” he says. “I promise.”

****

“Talk to me,” Nik says in trademark fashion.  “Who has information?”

“Esme knows the Buckmans. ” Yaz speaks up, and his sister arches a quizzical -yet extremely interested-  eyebrow.

“I don't know them. I know of them. There's a huge difference.”

“What do you know?” Nik asks.

“I only what I've heard through the grapevine. In the circles that I travelled in. Word gets around. Especially about families like that. The old man was killed ten years ago. Everyone suspected it was a hit, but no one every really knew for sure. It was all hearsay. Water cooler chatter.  And I saw his file. His rap sheet was enormous. There were charges on there that should have had him rotting away in jail. Yet he always found a way out of and around things.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“They were back then. When the old guy was running things. I've been out of this for five years, Nik. I'm not exactly up on all the gossip. They were powerful. Probably the most powerful crime family out there. But they were quiet about it. Always flying under the radar. But people knew about them and people feared them and that was enough. They had access to all kinds of shit. Money can buy you a lot of toys. Extremely dangerous and scary ones. So if the daughter really is running the show...”

“She has the same kind of resources and money available to her,” Nik concludes.  

“And the pictures,” Esme taps her fingernails on one hand against the tabletop as she speaks, using the other hand to bring up the photos of Heather Buckman on the laptop. “The ones someone gave to Tyler. The ones with the kids are very real. There's no doubt about that. You can't fake that kind of terror in someone's eyes. Especially kids. But the wife? Those are not real, Nik. It gets more and more obvious every time I look at them. First of all, it makes no sense to keep mother and kids in two different spots. That's two separate places you have to constantly man and monitor. Second, she's only been given a minor working over.  Nothing like the kids. The hair was a nice touch, but it was too much.  Too much effort into trying to make something look real.”

“Any way of figuring out where she or the kids are being held?”

“Based just on those pictures? No. There's thousands of places that could look just what it's in the photos. Without actually narrowing down locations, it's impossible. What's the chances of going into McMann's house?”

“I can get you into anywhere you feel the need to be,” Nik confidently declares. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm not even sure to be honest. But maybe there's something there that can give us some sort of clue. It's a long shot. But...”

“I'll arrange it and contact you. In the meantime, I have a couple places for you to check out. I want you go in and ask some questions. Tell them that you're a journalist from over the pond that received an anonymous tip that there's trouble brewing between the IRA and a New Zealand crime family. That should be enough to loosen some lips. Charm them. Get them to warm up to you. Flirt with them if you have to. Pull out all the stops. I don't care how far you have to go to get information. Just get it. I'm sending the address to your SAT. It's a bar in downtown Belfast. Owned by an active IRA member.”

“She's not going alone.” Tyler speaks up. “No way. Not into something like that.”

“You tag along but you stay outside,” Nik says. “I don't want you in there. They'll recognize you when they see you and we can't have the two of you being connected in any way.  Stay across the street. Or somewhere they won't spot you. But no more than a hundred yards away. Make sure you're armed. Just in case.”

“She should be armed too,” he suggests.

“They'll make her for sure. We can't take that chance. She goes in alone and does what she needs to do. You stay outside and keep an eye on things. You only go in if things go to shit and you have no other choice. Understand me?”

He nods.

“I have someone coming to meet you. He'll be there between six and nine pm, you're time. He's from Dublin. He's reliable. He's bringing you some more ammo and some weapons. He's on the up and up. You can trust him. Have you talked to McMann? Does he know that you're onto him?”

“I'm meeting with him tomorrow morning,” Tyler says.  “He wants to talk. See where we are at with things. To be honest, I want to fucking strangle him.”

“Well try not to. I know you're pissed. And I understand it. But you should let him know. That you know everything he told you about his New Zealand extraction was a lie. Maybe if you lose it on him it will get him to talk. He knows more than he's letting on. Maybe seeing you pissed will scare some sense into him. Tell him everything. About the pictures. About the threats against your family. Lean on him and lean on him hard. As hard you can without physically hurting him.”

“I vote that Tyler at least gets to throw one punch,” Yaz pipes up. “To the throat. Nice and hard.”

Esme nods in agreement.

“Yaz,” his sister address him now. “I've got someone meeting up with you with some new technology. High tech. Ways that we can all communicate without it being noticeable. Ear wigs, bugs, things like that. Inconspicuous. The old radios won't cut it. Too noticeable. I'm sending you his information and you can reach out to him and arrange something.”

“Where are we at on this Erin girl?” Tyler inquires. “The one that showed up at my room.”

“I've done all the digging I can do,” Nik replies. “There is no Erin Ferguson in Belfast that matches her description. I don't know if Esme would have more luck.”

“I can try,” she offers. “But there's only so much I can do. Without facial recognition software and other high tech shit like that, my hands are pretty well tied. I can see if there's any security footage of her entering or leaving the hotel and maybe I'll get lucky with image search on google. But that's a big 'if', Nik.”

“See what you can do. I'm not expecting miracles.”

“How's things there?” Tyler asks.  

“There's been no sign of anything even remotely suspicious. No threats. Nothing. But I'm going to stay here and keep the detail I have. Ovi and Chloe are handling things. The kids are happy. Calm. Well, as calm as they can be. You know what you're kids are like. Calm doesn't exactly describe them well.  But they're fine. They miss you guys.  I didn't realize how much they look and act just like you, Tyler.  It's kind of unnerving. Scary even. You have some seriously strong genes.”

Esme nods in agreement, and he gives her a wink and a smile and takes her hand under the table.

“We've come up with a plan,” Yaz informs his sister. “When it comes to tactical support. For when it comes time for Tyler to get the kids out. It's going to be hard. Juggling two kids and fighting back. Because you just know the shit is going to hit the fan and they're going to come at him and they're going to come at him hard. With everything they've got.”

“What kind of plan?” Nik asks.

“Esme can do it. She has the experience. She can just find a place to watch and wait from.  If things don't go wrong, then that's all she'll have to do. Watch. If things do blow up...”

“And they will,” Esme speaks up. “Because if Dhaka as bad as it did, this is going to go a hundred times worse. And that's being fatalistic. That's being realistic. These people? They're capable of bad shit. Horribly bad shit. They make Amir Asif seem tame in comparison.  Dhaka was a shit show.  This is going be Dhaka on a massive dose of steroids.”

“But will you do it?” Nik asks.  “Can you do it? Because I think we all understand if you can't.”

Esme sighs, pushes her hair behind her ears.  “I can do it,” she confidently.  “I don't want to do it. But I will.  Only because it's Tyler.”

****

They make love. The drapes drawn across the window; rays of sunlight poking through the small gaps in the fabric. His hands on her hips as she straddles him; guiding every slow, deliberate movement. Sex has always been what they do. A coping mechanism. The most pure yet raw way of experiencing the deepest and most primal form of intimacy.   Driven out of need and desperation; fuelled by worry and stress and the fear that each time may be the last.  So many unknowns lying ahead of them. The future suddenly terrifying unstable.

When she comes undone -nails scrapping painfully down his chest, his name exploding from her lips- he gives her little time to recuperate. One strong arm wrapping around her waist and throwing her down onto her stomach, legs flat against the bed, a knee pushing her tights apart before settling himself between them. Pausing long enough to run the tip of his tongue all the way down the length of her spine; eliciting a whimper from her, her entire body trembling from both the new sensation and the aftermath of her powerful orgasm.  His hands running over her shoulders, fingertips grazing over her ribs and down to her hips, once more gripping them tightly as he pushes into her. The friction intense; the press of her body against the bed, the tightness of those barely spread legs, his hips sinking as far into her as they possibly can. A low, feral growl erupting from within his chest as he bottoms out inside of her.  Dropping his head, longer strands of hair brushing against her bare skin as his teeth nip at her shoulders and the back of her neck. Holding back as he revels in the sensation of being so deep inside of her, until her hand is lifting up and blindly grabbing at his hair; a clear indication for him to continue.  And he captures her hand in hers, holding her arm above her head, pinned to the mattress as he pulls out entirely and then slides back in with such force that it pushes her body up the body and causes her to cry out into the pillow underneath her.

His control is non existent. He'd felt it slipping away inside that conference room.  Everything was going to shit and he knew it.  The disaster was inevitable; looming on the horizon like some dark, threatening cloud that you can't possibly outrun.  Things have already gone so wrong. The worry and the fear are already overwhelming. The stress all consuming. And he is physically channels those emotions; using her body as a way to relieve some of the burden.  Bruising, painful thrusts that have her whimpering and crying out, his name repeatedly tumbling from her parched lips.  Her nails digging into his fingers with enough force to break the top layer of skin, her other hand grasping at the sheets below.  And he kneels above her, free hand sliding between her and the mattress, fingers pushing past her sopping lips to find her clit.  Slowly rubbing at it until the second orgasm hits; tears streaming down her face, his name being screamed loud enough for anyone in the hallway or adjacent rooms to here.  Continuing his ministrations until she's coming a third time; her eyes wide, delirious sounds escaping her. Fucking her until she can't quite possibly can't handle any more; both hands biting into her hips as he pushes his pelvis against her ass  and empties himself inside of her.  Sweat dripping from his brow, the droplets glistening on her bare skin.

Afterwards they rest.  Letting their bodies settle.  Their minds absorb -and fixate- on all of the information they'd be given early.  He lays on back,  a forearm over his eyes, a hand on Esme's hip as she naps on her side, ass tucked against his hip.  He hears her stir; the long, soft sigh that she releases, followed by her quiet, sleepy voice.

“Tyler?”

He switches positions, rolling over onto his side; front pressed tightly against her back. The hand that was on her hip now coming to rest on her shoulder; palm gliding all the way down her arm, fingertips passing over her wrist and down onto the top of her hand, then retreating and sliding back up again, until his hand settles on her ribs.  

“Yeah?” he asks, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Are you okay? You seem...I don't know...different. Distant. Ever since the meeting with Nik.”

“I'm fine,” he assures her. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Lots of things.  About us.  About you.”

“Bad things or...?”

“I'm just worried,” he admits.

“About?”

“You.”

She brings her arm across her body and places her hand over his, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t want you going there,” he says.  “To that bar. Alone.”

“You’ll be outside. A hundred feet away.”

“Outside,” he stresses the word.  “You’ll be inside. Alone.”

“I’m only going in there to ask some questions,” she reasons. “See if I can’t lure them in. Get them to talk. Or send me in the direction of people who will. What do you think is going to happen?”

“They’re IRA,” he reminds her. “They’ll be armed. What if they make you?”

“They won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

She sighs, slipping her hand out of his and then rolling over to face him. Their heads sharing the same pillow, the ends of their noses practically touching.

His hand moves to her thigh now, stroking it softly.  

“Remember in the elevator?” she asks. “When that kid was armed and I was freaking out? And you said you weren’t some rookie?”

He nods.

“Well neither am I. This isn’t the first time I’ll be doing this. I spent years going into worse places. Mingling. Being accepted. Getting people to open up to me. I’ve deal with some pretty scary, hard core people and not once did I ever get made. You need to trust me, Tyler.”

“I do trust you. You’re my wife.  I trust you with my kids, don’t I?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m not talking about the trust that comes with sharing a life together. Sharing a bed. Sharing children. I’m talking about the trust that comes with the job.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not in the job. You never have been. And I don’t want you to be.”

“Then why am I here?” she challenges.

“Because I need your help.”

“Which means I’m in this. Whether you like it or not. You brought me into this, Tyler. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of a house and give you babies and raise those babies. That is what you wanted. You made that clear as soon as we got married. You wanted a housewife. You wanted someone to give you kids. You wanted a family. You wanted everything your mother was and then some. And I went with it. Because I knew it was what you needed. I knew you needed that normalcy. That if you were going to successfully balance the job and a regular life, that you needed things a certain way at home. And I’ve given you that. Or I’ve tried to, at least.”

“You have. You know you have. And you know how much I love you. How much I love my kids. How much I love our life. And you’re right. I did need all of that. I still do.”

“But I had a life before you. I had a life before all of this. Before marriage and kids.”

“I know.”

“And it bothers you to even think about. You hate thinking about what I was like before you. But this was my life, Tyler. Before you ever existed in it. I lied to people. I conned them. I made them trust me. Then I let other people…people like you…destroy them. And I was good at it. Damn good. Other mercenaries trusted me. So why don’t you?”

He regards her intently, drawing in a long, shaky breath, teeth grazing against his bottom lip. “Because it’s different.”

“How? And I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m genuinely curious. How is it different?”

“Because you weren’t married to any of them. I’m your husband. The father of your kids. They didn’t have any ties to you. I do.  I love you. And I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“You trusted me in Dhaka,” she points out.

“Dhaka was different.”

“How so?”

“Because it fucking was,” his last shred of patience finally snaps, and he hates himself for it.  How he doesn’t have a logical and sound explanation for why he feels the way he does. “Things were different then,” he attempts, and rolls over onto his back, running his hands over his face before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “We were different then.”

“We were just fucking then, you mean. Back then, I meant nothing to you. I was just some desperate and lonely girl. A warm body for you to occupy yourself with. It was easier for you that way.  To just let me do what I needed to do because I meant absolutely nothing to you. It wouldn’t have mattered back then if something happened to me.”

He gives a derisive snort and shakes his head, then reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You meant something. Even then. I don’t know what it was.  I can’t explain what I felt. I just know I felt it. I just know you meant something. Stop tying to fucking psychoanalyze me all the time. I know what I felt. About you. About what was happening. I shouldn’t have to explain it.”

“It was sex, Tyler. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it. That that’s all it was.”

“That’s not all it was.  Maybe it started out that way.  Maybe that’s all I wanted at first.  But it changed, okay? Some time in those five days. I don’t know when or how. Just that it did.  I knew I wanted more from you.  That we could have something fucking amazing if we actually tried.  If we trusted one another enough to try. And we were so close. So fucking close. To getting that. To getting to that boat and never looking back and just seeing where things took us.”

“Do you regret the path we had to take to get to where we are now?”

“I don’t regret anything. Do I sometimes wish things were different? That things didn’t go so wrong in Dhaka? I wish that all the time. That we just got across the bridge and got the fuck out of there. But we didn’t.   Things happened the way they did. We can’t go back and change that. Do I wish we could have had more time to get to know each other? Before we found out we were having a baby and decided to get married? Yeah. Sometimes I do wish that. Only because I think it would have been better for you.”

“Tyler, I have you. I have our kids. How much better do you think I need things to be?”

“I don’t mean better in that way. I mean…I don’t know…easier…” he swallows half the bottle of water, and she plucks it from his hand and finishes it before pushing herself up onto her knees and shuffling towards him.  “…don’t make me talk about these things. Please. Just don’t.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assures him, as she straddles his lap, a gentle smile on her lips as she pushes her fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp before resting clasping her hands together at the nape of his neck. “What are you so scared of?”

“Nothing. I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t want to talk about shit like this. This isn’t me. You know that.”

“I think it is. Deep down. I think you need to talk about these things or you wouldn’t bring them up in the first place. Talk to me…” she pecks his lips, then rests her forehead against. “It’s okay…you can do this…you can be this way with me…you know that…”

He sighs, eyes closing as his palms run along her thighs, over her hips and up her back. Stopping briefly at her shoulders; fingers pressing into the flesh before his hands slide back down again, coming to rest of her sides.

“It’s okay…” she repeats. “Tyler…look at me…”

He opens his eyes. Brilliant blue locked on chocolate brown. And in that moment, Esme realizes that in almost six years, she’s never seen him like this. Not even when he was in the hospital fighting to not only heal, but to regain some sense of control over his life. Looking so confused and lost. Worried.

Vulnerable.

This big, strong and seemingly man for once wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Tyler…you can say it. Whatever you need to say. You don’t have to do this. Keep things from me. Please. Just tell me. Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I think you hate me. For making things so hard on you.”

She blinks. “What?”

“For having to make the decisions you did. For having to give up your life. The job.  Everything changed when we met. Everything changed once things went to shit on that bridge. I changed. So did you. And you could have just walked away afterwards. But you didn’t.”

“Because I didn’t want to. Because I wanted to be with you. You didn’t force me to stay. I stayed willingly.”

“But things were hard. They sucked. Huge. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you did. Hear the things you did. You should have just left. When I was in the hospital. You should have just walked away. And sometimes I wonder if you wish you did.”

“Not once have I ever wished that. Not once have I ever hated you. I don’t regret giving up my life for you. Did it suck sometimes? Did I hate seeing you like that? Did I feel like shit because I couldn’t help you more than I already was? Did I hate seeing you in pain and suffering? Of course I did. I hated the circumstances. Not you.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving hers, searching for even the smallest hint of regret.

“Do I sometimes wish none of that ever happened? That things never went wrong in Dhaka? Of course I do. I wish every day that you didn’t have to go through what you did. That you didn’t have to suffer like you did. All those months of rehab and all the pain. I would take those away in a heartbeat and you know I would.  But everything else? Finding out we were having a baby? Deciding to get married? I don’t regret any of that.  I mean, you’re a pain in my ass…”

He gives a small chuckle.

“…but I don’t regret marrying you. Or having your children. And I’ve never hated you. Not even during our worst fights. When you’ve said some brutal and hurtful shit. Not even then. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I meant what I said. That there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But you need to trust me, Tyler. You wanted my help. You brought me into this. And now you have to trust me to do what I need to do. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t lose you,” his voice is barely above a whisper, those eyes still locked on hers. “I just can’t. You always talk about how scared you are to lose me. But I’m just as scared as you are. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t do this by myself. Take care of four kids. I just can’t.”

“Yes. You can. You would do it because you wouldn’t have any other choice.”

He shakes his head, finally turning his face away from her when the emotion becomes too much to handle. The rawness of the situation. The blatant, heart breaking honesty.

“You’re stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for,” she says, and presses a kiss to his temple.  “You’d be okay. And so would the kids.”

“I don’t…” the tears are hot and bitter as they trickle down his face.   “….can we not talk about this….please…I don’t want to talk about this…”

Placing a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, she lays on hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to rest it upon her shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispers, and then clings to her, arms wrapped tightly around her slender body. “Please…” he begs, barely able to get the words out. “…don’t make me talk about this…”

She tightens her hold on him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the fingers of her other hand pressing into his scalp. “It’s okay,” she assures him.  “It’s okay, Tyler. I’ve got you.”

Those words hit with tremendous power.  And he surrenders. Finally giving in to all the fear and the worry.

His entire body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs.

[realbluntchristian]

My Testimony

My name is Kayla Path, I want to start with sharing my testimony so everyone can really get to know who your dealing with.

I thought my family was “THE COOL” Family all throughout my life until summer of 2013 right after I graduated High school. we were the hang out house for all our friends. We were constantly involved in sports due to us three children. Always busy but always having a good time! Tons of Friends who we love, our family is not too big. Summer of 2013 our household flipped and the Demons came into full attack on our family. This Godly man in my life, my dad, struggled with addiction and bipolar disorder. Our family was finally starting to take the heat of these struggles he had publicly. IT WAS HARD!

It was hard watching my mom go through verb abuse on the daily.

It was hard watching him lead my younger brother down dead end roads.

It was hard being happy when he was not.

It was hard waiting up for him just to make sure he was “ok”.

LIFE WAS HARD!

We love our dad so dearly but the time came where we could not stay, it was starting to get really heated in the house.

On May 2nd, 2017 My Dad committed suicide.

Our family was broken. My 16 year old brother found him. You don’t really know how to prepare yourself when life throws you this kind of curve ball.

THIS IS WHERE I FOUND JESUS!

The days that followed my dads death were tough but I leaned into the only guy I knew could heal my families heart. He gave me the strength that was needed in order to lead my family out of such a dark place.

Praise God he has broken our chains! My dad is in a much better place now! Our family now has room to grow!  My dad was not there on my wedding day, to walk me down the aisle. Though he’s in a place so much more significant.

The year that followed Dads death were a crucial part in developing my walk with God. I received a “She Reads Truth Bible” from a friend to help start the healing process in my heart. I was a stay at home mom so I had all day every day to study and gain clarity on the specific season I was in and how to respond to the mixed emotions. Within months God helped bring me healing/ understanding to not only myself but also to the hurting community my Dad left behind with no answers. This is where my ministry took off.

Sometime later, I had grown adults and kids flocking to me for answers regarding God, Death, and Salvation. This is where I started studying my Spiritual Gifts and how to use them to better my communication with those God was sending my way. My Faith started getting deeper.

When 2018 hit I was full throttle into where God was calling me. Each day learning more and more about who I was created to be and what is needed of me to serve others in life. Then the Dangerous Prayers started to flow from me. I was asking God to shake my life and make my heart more like his.

My relationship with my Fiance was failing, miserably. I was so focused on running full speed with Jesus that I started to neglect my relationship with Tony. Red flags I should have noticed, walls he started building to keep me and my faith at a distance due to intimidation. I started taking the reigns in all things that came with planning our wedding without even thinking to put time into my unequally yolked relationship. Then the Red Flags started becoming unavoidably obvious for me and those around me.

During this period I was pressing into my studies hard trying to figure out how I could make marriage work. Divorce was not an option for me. Through this process, God was showing me what a Man of God looked like and how that the man I was about to marry was not it. Then came the tug on my heart to cancel my wedding that was 3 months out. Once the conviction hit, things started getting worse. Tony was coming home extremely intoxicated from bars, talking down to me like I was a child, entertaining other women to the point of cheating, etc. I kicked him out knowing that the day of my wedding I would not be able to walk down that isle with a smile on my face. I also am the type of person where I suck at faking it till I make it. Not me. Not going to happen.

I started my healing process all over again. It got to the point where the feeling of betrayal was such a common feeling that was inflicted by men in my life. I was crushed. It did not take long for me to give the relationship back to God. I was so tired of trying to control a battle that was never mine to fight in the first place. I asked God to make it REAL BLUNT, make your will known to my heart if I am supposed to be fighting for this marriage father. I asked God to be straight forward and came to the conclusion I need to ask him to fire Tony from his current job, current environment, current community, current place in his life. To me this was the only way I could possibly work on bettering our relationship if that’s what God wanted for my life.

2 DAYS AFTER THAT PRAYER guess who shows up at my door in tears because he just lost his dream job… I kid you not it was Tony. I invited him in and gave him my new set of standards. Explained to him that what we are from here on out is nothing without God being in the center of everything we do including us and our relationship. I explained to some of our close friends what God had just done for us and asked them to come alongside Tony and I with encouragement and love. We lost some close friends because of us deciding to work on things. It was hard, but it was God. He was creating a new relationship for us and our family.

Fast forward to 2020. We were finally married in May of 2020 (cinco de mayo). We now have 2 beautiful Boys to add to the Path clan, Harlin and Clayton. We left California and moved to Arizona because that where God called us. Things are finally starting to look up! At least that’s where we are at currently lol.

If my years of pressing and studying help bring those around me closer to Christ, I know they will benefit more of you out there. Here is where I keep my studies and experiences. I’m always open to communication and I am not worlds away. Reach out if you feel called. I look forward to hearing from you guys!

Grace and Peace,

Kayla Path

[danahmbisyosangdoktora]

Wow, I’m ten months behind in this supposed “drama list” ??? LOL why did I even try? I should just accept the fact that I am no longer capable of maintaining this blog. Just kidding! Of course... I still have to do this! 

Here’s the many dramas I have watched for the past months I’ve been... away... and working (wew! you know, I’m employed *winks*... but can still watch ofc ofc #asiandramaislife)

NOTE: I’m not gonna include the plot anymore because it takes so much characters and effort. Also I don’t have much luxury of time to rephrase each of them (because we don’t tolerate copy-paste here). I mean I only get them from Wiki! Anyway...

FEBRUARY Let’s Fight Ghost Rating: ★★★★☆ | Moderate plot Country: South Korea Genre: Horror, Mystery, Romantic Comedy No. of Episodes: 16 Thoughts: Watched this because of my number one bae, Kim So-hyun!!! This has been on my list since time immemorial but only decided to watch it this year and month. This is a breather from my usual high school drama (because I so dig this theme/genre) since it includes some uh, supernatural elements. Over-all, it was wrapped up nicely and the drama is such a good mix of different... flavors, be it horror, mystery, romance and comedy... I must say. Finished Watching: February 02, 2019 

Witch’s Love Rating: ★★★☆☆ | Light plot Country: South Korea No. of Episodes:12 Genre: Romantic Comedy, Fantasy Thoughts: I LITERALLY WATCHED THIS BECAUSE I SAW A CLIP ON FB AND THOUGHT THE LEAD ROLE GUY WAS CHANYEOL!!! #clown. It’s my first time to see Yoon So-Hee in a lead role. The last I saw her was in the Ruler: Master of the Mask. The drama is cute! I really ship the main actors!!! It’s kind of confusing in the middle but soon, you’ll get a hang of it... or is it just me?  Finished Watching: February 07, 2019.

SKY Castle Rating: ★★★★★ | Heavy plot Country: South Korea No. of Episodes: 20 + special Genre: Satire, Drama, Black Comedy, Family, School Thoughts: I HAVE NEVER SEEN A DRAMA THIS HEAVY??? Maybe it’s just me?? Coz this is the first time I shifted from the usual mood and age of the actors I watch??? I’ve only been seeing tweets about this drama during it’s airing that said “it’s a must-watch” and the like so I literally got curious and watched it. I don’t remember how exactly I felt during the earlier parts of the drama but I’m sure I never dropped it/delayed it until I was able to keep up with the weekly release of episodes. It’s a total page-turner if it is compared to a book. I really like how it was able to portray the side of education that most people with not-so-obsessed-with-merit-parents don’t understand; the manipulation, the strict competition and the emotional impact it brings to the family ganoin. I love how each family has their own issue and how it all got twisted together (I’m that obsessed with angst). It could really be just me because it’s my first time but I totes recommend!!!!!! Finished Watching: February 11, 2019

On Your Wedding Day (Movie) Rating: ★★ ☆☆☆ | Light plot Country: South Korea Genre: Melodrama, Romance Thoughts: Meh. Just kidding! I watched this during one of my night duties together with my workmate. She was actually the one who’s watching, naki-panood lang ako lol the plot really didn’t appeal to me... or because my attention wasn’t on it full time because I remember we stopped for a moment because I had to work hehe anyway, as someone who fancies... tragedies, it’s nice to see a drama which deviates from the usual happy ending of lead roles.  Finished Watching: February 20, 2019

MARCH Hwayugi Rating: ★★★★☆ | Moderate Plot Country: South Korea No. of Episodes: 20 Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Horror Thoughts: I remember watching this because I was in the mood for a supernatural theme.This has been on my list since its release too but only found the mood to watch this month. It’s the right amount of every genre, I love how it turned out. I watched this alongside four other dramas hahaha la lung, just to put it out there. 

I wasn’t able to note what date I exactly finished this though.

Romance is a Bonus Book Rating: ★★★★☆ | Light plot Country: South Korea No. of Episodes: 16 Genre: Comedy, Romance, Life, Drama Thoughts: Watched this when it’s on-going because it’s my number one oppa and nation’s boyfriend, LJS! I was actually surprised he was paired with a noona but ofc ofc, he was able to carry it. I was kilig the entire time! This is actually very close to my heart; aside from it being the last drama of LJS before enlisting, he was actually a Chief Editor!!! He’s really out there outdoing the man of my dreams by taking all roles/professions I like for my man and myself be it a journalist, a doctor, a lawyer/prosecutor and here, an editor. It’s actually not that deep? It focused on how one found love in the middle of career development and adulting. I really admire Jong Suk’s character here because he’s not the type to shove his feelings to the woman and respected whatever decisions she has. Finished Watching: March 29, 2019

Cart (Movie) Rating: ★★★★☆ | Moderate plot Country: South Korea Genre: Life, Drama, Family Thoughts: This was just one of my ‘catching-up-with-EXO-dramas’ moment. Okay, I cried. The plot isn’t perfect but it’s super powerful, it was able to speak volumes. It’s not enough (for a movie) but it was able to talk about the struggle of the working class and was able to show the wicked side of employers and how the upper class together with the media and the government handle situations such as workers’ protest. Just a little eye-opener to those who can’t seem to understand this matter. Finished Watching: March 29, 2019

JUNE Criminal Minds Rating: ★★★★☆ | Moderate plot Country: South Korea No. of Episodes: 20  Genre: Action, Mystery, Detective Thoughts: I was randomly watching tvN via SKY Cable (yes free promo) when I stumbled upon its episode 12. My mom joined me and we got hooked and curious, she asked me to search for the drama so we can watch it from the start. I think this was the first time that I watched an investigative drama. Not sure if Terius Behind Me and Strong Woman Bong Soon count so this was probably a first. Also, based on my little research, there are cases incorporated in the drama that actually happened in real life in Korea. I really love this! Finished Watching: June 09, 2019

Her Private Life Rating: ★★★★★ | Light plot Country: South Korea No. of Episodes: 16 Genre: Comedy, Romance Thoughts: I HAVE NEVER RELATED TO A DRAMA SO BAD AS I DID HERE!!! Of course, it’s a fangirl’s story!!! This was a bit anticipated by stan twitter and I’m one of them. Watched this while it’s on-going. Although the fangirl life was put aside in the middle of the plot to give way for the romance, I was glad someone thought of making a drama out of a fangirl’s perspective. I must say, Deok Mi is one hell of a fangirl! I can only dream of being on her level. Of course, that’s understandable because her character is a masternim.

To conclude my thought on this drama in two words: SANA ALL! Finished Watching: June 10, 2019

Put Your Head On My Shoulders Rating: ★★★★☆ | Light plot Country: China  No. of Episodes: 24 Genre: Youth, School, Romance, Comedy Thoughts: My coming-of-age and high school romance fix! This was one of the many “Facebook made me watch this” because again, I saw a clip of this drama on FB and got curious so I watched it! Haha I seriously can make a list of this sort though. I was lucky to be able to catch it while it’s on-going hahaha so much for #TeamOnGoing. It’s cute, tamang kilig ba. Finished Watching: June 21, 2019

It’s not a lot because I only watch whenever I’m off duty, whenever I get off from work or whenever I can squeeze it during work hours while waiting for blood work he he he 

Some people ask how I manage watching this lot. 

Answer: just watch a lot. 

The past months, I realize I’ve been watching a minimum of five dramas at the same time. Since most of the dramas I watch are all on-going, it’s not that hard to watch all of them. I watch either which ever drama updates first or what I feel watching first. Actually, each drama has their own schedules naman... one drama I watch either updates on Wed/Thu, another Thu/Fri then one on Fri/Sat and so on kaya it’s really not that hard. It’s also the reason why I get to watch completed dramas because each episodes only run for maximum of 1 hour and 30 minutes so let’s say, 4 on-going dramas with 2 episode-updates wont really take a day for me to finish. Remember, we have seven days in a week! So while waiting for the on-going dramas to update, that’s when I watch the completed ones. I only mentally schedule my on-going and completed dramas so I can watch them all equally and just in time when I can still retain what happened on the last episode I left off. Pero there are also times when I like the completed drama so much, I finish it in two days. I stopped finishing dramas in 24hrs because I have commitment issues, ayoko yung iniiwan ako agad cHAROT HAHAHA ANUDAW 

Anyway, ayun lang naman! Let’s see each other again for the other half of this year’s Drama List!

[florida3exclamationpoints]

Hey fam here's a deep dive of AoS 7x04 including justification of the time travel by a branching timelines believer and lots of Peggy Carter love & appreciation

I definitely feel better about this whole situation now that we've seen 7x04 than I did when we just had the preview. But still. Ughhhhhh I'm just. Conflicted.

They're not sticking to Endgame's time travel rules at all and ik some people didn't like Endgame's time travel but I don't really have issues with it. And even still there's the debate of whether or not Steve (does this debate expand outside Steve arguments? Idk but you get it) is in a branched timeline. Personally, I think he is. For people who think he's not, Shield's time travel, especially with Sousa, is probably easier to take. But for a while I was willing to go with the theory, my own theory idk if it's been mentioned here or not, that since they're using a different time travel method in AoS, and one that was invented by space robots Chronicoms, then they have different rules that limit them to a looped timeline. But now, idk does bringing Sousa into it disprove that?

So he was supposed to die. That's in the history books. They saved him. Which means we're in a loop that can be altered. Ok fine, but that's only because we're using Chronicom time travel. Tony Stark time travel still created branches. So what branch are we in? We have two choices right? Timeline A, which we see throughout the entire MCU, and timeline '49 B, the one Steve created when he went back to Peggy. If it's in the history books that Coulson and the team read that Sousa died, I would assume we're in timeline A. But where's Peggy? Personally I'm not the biggest peggysous stan (basically I ship steggy and in timeline A where she can't get him back, as long as she's happy I'm happy. If that means Daniel, great.) but I'm sure those who are aren't super happy with Shield basically confirming that they didn't make it. I'm sure the only reason they did that was to be able to pull him out of 1955 so I'm not really mad at it. If they had just had him pop in real quick in the 50s and left him there I would have rathered they leave it ambiguous but since that's not what they did I'm not too bitter.

Anyway, I saw a close up of the fake id they made for Jemma when she was undercover as Peggy. It listed her rank as 'agent.' You could say that's a prop mistake but I also noticed that no one has referred to her as 'director.' But she absolutely should be. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Peggy was the first director right? That's always what me, my brother, and my dad, aka everyone in my household who are Marvel fans, thought and we're pretty sure they said it at some point somewhere. And in the Agent Carter one shot (which admittedly has a lot of continuity issues anyway but i think the principle of it stands) Howard said about Peggy "tell her she'll be running Shield." I've always gotten the impression that she was director from the time Shield launched. If someone could give me solid proof that she was or wasn't I'd appreciate it. But as long as there's no proof I'm assuming that she was. That's what I'm going with in the rest of this post anyway lol.

Overall im just confused as to what the writers think they're doing lol. From what I've seen, they started shooting season 7 two months before Endgame premiered so it was written even further before. That sucks because at the time of the writing they didn't know they had all of this to deal with. At least I assume they didn't know bc it seems like there's no communication behind the scenes since no one got dusted before and now we're messing around with time travel. But I also wonder if Endgame hadn't premiered by the time they were shooting the 50s episodes. I have no idea though. If it had, were there changes? Did they have to take out mentions of Peggy, or did Enver maybe act it with the Steggy ending in mind? Because I personally don't want the writers or anyone thinking that Steve was always in a loop therefore this season is jumping around in the same loop and Daniel was left by Peggy for Steve. I can deal with a looped timeline in AoS bc of the Chronicoms and them being in a loop of timeline A but I'm gonna be annoyed if they try to imply that that's not what's happening. But again it was written before Endgame came out so I don't think they'll really go that far.

This is what's really annoying me. Do they seriously think Peggy's not director? Are they saying Peggy's not director? Because they want me to believe that Daniel noticed that Shield had been infiltrated by Hydra and Peggy didn't and then one of three things happened. 1. He told the CIA but not Peggy, 2. He told Peggy but she didn't believe him, or 3. He told Peggy and she looked into it but didn't find anything. I take issue with like all of that. In scenario 1. Daniel Sousa personally knows the Director of Shield and, regardless of any awkward breakup they may of had, doesn't tell her that her government organization may be hijacked by freaking HYDRA? In scenario 2. The Director of Shield is told by the Chief of her LA branch and an agent that she worked alongside for a considerable amount of time that her government organization may be hijacked by Hydra and she doesn't listen to him, because, what, they had a messy breakup? In scenario 3. The Director of Shield, Margaret Elizabeth Carter, has reason to believe that Shield is infiltrated by Hydra, she investigates, and finds absolutely nothing out of the ordinary? None of those sound even almost reasonable. So are they not mentioning that Peggy is director because it makes Daniel's storyline more believable and convenient or am I missing something? I've lost hope that she might make an appearance but I'd appreciate some Director Carter content even in passing mentions or at least tell me who the Director is if it's not her.

Also, Daniel's death, real or not, is gonna hurt her really bad and I'm not a fan of that. I'm glad I didn't have to watch him die and I'm excited to see more of him but it's really gonna mess with Peggy. We've already seen her struggle with feeling like everyone she gets close to dies and even though at this point she's married and maybe has kids, that doesn't take away from what they had in Agent Carter, that goes beyond the romantic and into the fact that he was one of the few men who showed her even the smallest amount of respect. It's gonna hurt her and I don't like when she's hurt. Also also, I don't care about whatever Coulson said about his death being ruled an accident, Peggy is a critical thinker and 100% would have looked into it. Especially as the Director of Shield if I keep saying that maybe AoS will hear me or it'll become canon lol she wouldn't let that slide.

Basically what I'm saying is: I can talk myself into the time travel making sense, I just did lol, but while I love Daniel and getting to see him again and continue to see him in the coming episodes, it stretches the imagination a bit too far concerning Peggy and his dynamic with her. Either that or I have to be to ticked off at the writers for not knowing that Peggy is director in 1955. Or I have to be ticked at the entirety of Marvel for not making Peggy director as soon as the thing was up and running. But. That doesn't mean that this hasn't been a good season so far, it's been pretty great. And I'm very excited to see them in the 70s. And to see Daniel in the 70s. And to see my man Enoch make another appearance. I have my issues but I'm still highly enjoying all of this absolute tomfoolery sldjskdjksksjk that is all