#turned twenty might have traumatized her just a little bit.

[quietwingsinthesky]

essential to understanding millie to know that the devil himself activates her fawn fear response far less than either of her brothers has

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit. (and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction. 

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”. 

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides. 

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever. 

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit. 

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.” 

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–” 

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite. 

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though. 

And as for Tana Moon . . . 

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable? 

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact. 

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter. 

Even if it is legally salvage. 

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.” 

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.” 

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird. 

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.” 

“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it. 

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering. 

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.” 

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it. 

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head. 

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal! 

Normal. 

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off. 

Ew. 

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap. 

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually. 

Really definitely it’s a trap. 

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too. 

“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.” 

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically. 

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught. 

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on. 

She frowns. 

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with. 

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store. 

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week. 

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly. 

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures. 

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too. 

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics. 

Fuck that guy, seriously. 

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates. 

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts. 

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah. 

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks. 

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway. 

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah. 

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal. 

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point. 

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly. 

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?” 

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen. 

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all. 

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever. 

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . . 

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills. 

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious. 

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.” 

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing. 

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too. 

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed. 

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah. 

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it. 

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is. 

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to. 

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii. 

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah. 

Soulmate thing, he guesses.

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were. 

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.” 

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up. 

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.” 

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red. 

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses. 

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all. 

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?” 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.” 

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like��that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means. 

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether. 

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . . 

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like. 

So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman. 

One or the other, probably.

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman. 

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.” 

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over. 

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly. 

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?” 

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!” 

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either. 

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen? 

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else. 

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work. 

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end. 

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice. 

Hopefully it was, anyway. 

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right? 

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense. 

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses. 

Not a thought he’d really had yet. 

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses. 

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . . 

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority. 

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe. 

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute. 

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway. 

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe. 

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else. 

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.” 

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog. 

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again. 

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off. 

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward. 

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly? 

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six. 

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? 

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way. 

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout. 

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably. 

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none. 

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased. 

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them. 

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit! 

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best. 

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either. 

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway? 

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah. 

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little. 

Or a lot.

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary. 

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering. 

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face. 

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure. 

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe. 

Somehow. 

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. 

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again. 

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption. 

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse. 

Yeah. Definitely worse. 

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that. 

Jesus. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water. 

Well. Less worried, anyway. 

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore. 

Definitely camera next time.

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse. 

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway. 

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . . 

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird. 

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face. 

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?” 

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself. 

Maybe global warming or something, though.

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point. 

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering. 

Or flustering. 

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!” 

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly. 

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly. 

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this. 

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah. 

Something like that. 

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe. 

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination. 

Kissing him, maybe. 

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . . 

He could kiss him. That’s all. 

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back. 

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved. 

eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that. 

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly. 

Actually, he just fucking hates it. 

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk. 

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even? 

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.” 

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is. 

“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?” 

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.” 

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones. 

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping. 

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?” 

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.” 

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity. 

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete. 

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly. 

Why didn’t he do more research? 

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting. 

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order. 

“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats. 

“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”. 

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?” 

“I don’t,” Superboy says. 

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says. 

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure. 

“Ah,” he says. 

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . . 

“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.” 

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement. 

He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though. 

Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good. 

Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all? 

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?

[aria-i-adagio]

Writerly Thumbprint Tag

Rules: look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. what are five (or more!) narrative elements, themes, topics or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

This was fan. And fear not @atypicalacademic, I have arrived so you need not be alone in feeling pretentious. Tagging: @motherofqups, @hoochieblues, @hollyand-writes, @niffty24, @ankoku-jin (only if you would like, of course), and if you would like, but aren't tagged, feel free to play and tag me back.

Under the cut because someone is a bit wordy.

Have a little grief with your mourning? Yeah, yeah… severely traumatized teenager starts writing about death and twenty years later is still writing about death…trite… I get it, but at least it is more writing about living past death. The Opposite of Falling ended up being me working through a number of olds griefs and the sense that in many ways, the process of mourning and the right to grieve had been stolen from me. Dema (MC/apprentice) begins without even the knowledge of what she has lost, just an inchoate sense of grief. The rest is her process of digging through what is missing and climbing back out of the grave. Adrian (Hawke), on the other hand, is painfully cognizant of everything he has lost, and is tying himself into knots to avoid losing anyone else: haunting and ever-present grief. And in a third category, we have Evyn, who is ‘refusing’ grief and telling himself that it is necessary to ignore it in order to survive. (Which may be true, but eventually all debts come due.)

Masks/The Fiction of Relationship Who knows you? Does anyone know you? And if no one does, is it because you never allowed your mask to slip? Or because they refused to see when it did? Both The Arcana and Dragon Age have been productive sandboxes to play with this theme. Dema questions at points whether she is real in any meaningful way or just artistry on the part of Asra. DA2, and then Inquisition, raises the question of just how much did Uncle Varric lie? Even within Varric’s narrative the distinction between the Champion of Kirkwall and the person of Hawke. And depending on how you read/interpret/ignore DA:I commentary the extent to which anyone in Kirkwall knew or didn’t know Anders. I’m diving further into this one with Evyn and Sindre, and the line at which the mask one creates for a purpose subsumes the authentic self. It’s going to be fun.

The Gospel According to Biff Have you read Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Jesus’s Best Pal (Christopher Moore)? You haven’t? Go read, my dear one. I’ll be here when you get back. This theme is about losing the person you love most, even as you still have them by your side. At first, to the cause they’re chosen, and then eventually to pastiche created of them in legend. Wondering if you did know them at all. Raging that these others who claim to love them know nothing at all of them (and will only consume them). Desperation to protect the beloved, but to turn them away from their path would be its own kind of betrayal. The protector is unable to save the beloved without destroying them in a different way. Adrian’s (Hawke) arc is where I am really digging into this theme, and it overlaps with both of the themes above. He’s twisting and turning to avoid experiencing anymore loss, and fighting against a mask that was crafted for him, along the questions about a mask he might have created in his own mind for Anders.

The Holy Fool/The Holy Innocent I am somewhat conflating two tropes here, and that is without getting into the various permutations of the Holy Fool in hagiography and literature. …But I’m not going to write that essay right now. The Holy Fool is in the world, but alien to the social structures and mores. In their displacement and confusion they ‘unmask’ the world as it is as not being inevitable, but as entirely contingent on the extent to which people participate in it ways. We don’t have to be cruel, or duplicitous, or greedy, or any other number of traits we tell ourselves are necessary to get by. I hope this came out in how I wrote Julian Devorak, who I really don’t think ever quite ‘gets’ the world he inhabits, and his alienation from it feeds much of his despair. (And if I ever follow up on my instinct to write the type of story Muriel should have gotten, Muriel is definitely holy fool material.) The Fool, however, is not the prophet, because the Fool’s central trait is their lack of understanding and their innocence. They couldn’t quite explain what is wrong if they tried, and it is through their existence as someone who doesn’t quite understand which challenges the status quo, rather than any positive action on their part. (Hi Rhys!) This same trait can also make the Fool quite frustrating to the people around him. (Again: hi, Rhys!) Of course, sometimes, the Holy Fool becomes self aware and begins to understand the world around them and actively engage in criticism or change. In which case we move to….

Anyone who Thinks God is on their Side is as Dangerous as Hell (“My angelic Aleksey will kill the tsar…”) This is, I think, largely construed as a negative trope, and I most definitely am exploring the negative side in ‘fml, the silly omegaverse bit grew out of control' project. In the real world, with the various concurrent rises of religiously flavored nationalism, it is clear enough how someone believing God is on their side (or letting their useful idiots believe god is on there side) is absolutely terrifying. Institutionalized religion is general the servant of the status quo, the regressive, and the oppressive. But the prophetic side of religion does not need to be inherently conservative or regressive. The prophet is directly engaged in attempting to transform society, and often to transform society in a way which brings about greater justice. (Points to the books of the Prophets in the Bible, that wonderful section of the Bible that conservative evangelical Christians really don’t like to talk about.) This engagement brings the prophet into conflict with the state, more often than not leading to their demise. The prophet, however, may need to kill the tsar. (Or blow up the Chantry, you know…)

So, as you can see, I do use my degrees in Theology and Counseling, just not for what I am supposed to be using them for.

I am also having way too fun incorporating overt GENDER FUCKERY into the current project. (Which will also apply the theology and counseling degrees.) But we don’t have time to unpack that right now.

[stampstamp]

Finished re-reading F*shigi Y*gi part 1 and the first and final arcs still spark joy so I'll keep my collection but volumes 9-11 were so frustrating that I'm gonna roast them a little under the cut (and be a bit critical of other aspects that don't hold up 30 years on)

Major spoilers and references to SA in the series under the cut! (And it's a super long rant!)

The dip in quality from 9 onwards was such a shame! The plot just turns into various enemies trying to rape the 15-year-old protagonist for three volumes! Not to be a pearl clutcher but Watase says the target demographic is middle school - junior high students and there's just a whole arc where:

It's implied that Nakago raped Miaka. It's later revealed he didn't manage to penetrate her and everyone is like 'oh phew! 😄' and her traumatic nightmares about her memories of him stripping her and pinning her down before she fainted just stop. 🤦

Also, in the author note alongside that part Watase comments that things are getting dark but points out that we've just learned that Yui didn't actually get raped by strangers so it's not all bad. Mate, your protagonist is being assaulted?? We can't take much solace in that revelation right now!

Then there's a bit where Amiboshi climbs on top of her while she's sleeping naked and kisses her without her consent (his parents had drugged her).

Meanwhile, Soi disguises herself as Miaka and tries to seduce Tamahome. I know it's a product of it's time but ughh the way Tamahome almost getting raped is handled so differently to scenes where Miaka is assaulted - it's awful. And there's also a 'gag' parody page where it replicates the scene where Tamahome found Miaka after she's been assaulted by Nakago but makes it look like one of the gay characters had raped Tamahome.

After his comrades have failed to take her virginity and stop her from summoning Suzaku, Tomo, who Watase confirms is gay, also tries to rape Miaka. 😑

In the last volume, Watase shares the ideas that there wasn't space for and they were so good 🥲 maybe you could have removed one of the SA scenes or one of the twenty times Miaka or Tamahome breaks it off and runs away to protect the other?

I used to like the author notes but this time they kept rubbing me the wrong way. Watase would say things like 'too bad we HAVE to spank our tiny terrier puppy to discipline it 🫤' or share racist travelogues about trips to China.

But it's kind of funny that in the author notes, Watase hinted at shipping Tamahome and Nakago 😂 never really gushed about how much she loved Tamahome/Miaka as a ship though. I quite like Keisuke/Tamahome as a ship - they got on well.

I was thinking about ranting about how Nuriko is handled but that's hard because 1. 90s 2. Another culture 3. Watase later came out as X gender so the offensive character notes were probably well intentioned and might be regretted now? 4. The translators had to do the usual thing of deciding which pronouns the character that's almost certainly trans would use, while also translating jokes that implied Nuriko is simply crossdressing for funsies and deciphering whatever the hell happened in vol 8 where Nuriko decided to be cis and in love with Miaka for a chapter or two.

I started shipping Tasuki and Nuriko this time and I was delighted to see 20 whole fics on AO3 but almost all of them misgender Nuriko. Maybe the anime subbers used different pronouns or Nuriko's backstory was different in the anime? Watase said someone did a Tasuki/Nuriko doujin and they wanted to read it. Same!

I used to think I wasn't attached to most of the Suzaku warriors beyond Tasuki because I'd re-read the first few volumes way more times than the rest but Watase really didn't give the others much to say or do! 😬 I feel sorry for the fans of Mitsukake(?) Apparently there were lots of Hotohori fans but I always found him creepy; despite his gentle actions, he never seemed to listen to Miaka's wishes. Yandere behaviour. Lucky for me he wasn't in it much (I also feel sorry for his fans lmao)

Forgot how much character death there was towards the end. It's impressive that Watase included characters from the Genbu and Byakko arcs decades before they were written IRL. I don't think I'll read those since FY suggests they ended badly? I wonder if much was retconned.

[squapejuice]

basically the rundown for my wol!au is

xavier is the warrior of light

vanille is their childhood friend and companion and literal, actual soulmate

Basically everything that happens in their main timeline also happens in this timeline but the wol stuff happened too. So more or less people come to view them as co-wols sort of, but the one with The Title and The Esteem (important) is Xavier.

Xavier had flings with OG Minfilia and Y'shtola. And basically every other adult woman in the plot. Some went far, some didn't. Dynamics in Heavensward changed slightly because Xavier *is* Ishgardian and nobility at that, so it was actually Vanille, who was lowborn, doing most of the negotiating with Hilda & co. It was Vanille's genuine and deep love for Xavier that convinced her to help them out.

Xavier unfortunately knew the Fortemps squad and Aymeric and Francel before going to Ishgard. The whole "oh we can't go yet we need to get permission" didn't really apply to either Vanille or Xavier because they're citizens, they can come and go as they please, but they still hung out with Alphinaud and Tataru since Xavier's rank wasn't high enough to pull those kinds of strings. Xavier's reputation as a playboy actually kind of hurt them through the whole expansion lmao. Thank god they were infertile at the time because there are so many rumors of them having bastards kicking about that they don't really do anything to discourage (citing eorzean streisand effect).

I think Xavier's family are a little bit weird about it. The whole thing with their abusive mother is still a thing and their dad couldn't be more proud but their cousins and uncle are kind of a big ol question mark? Glynnis is of the clergy and would definitely press against the wol, vyncent was just a knight and couldn't be bothered, and ayula is the paper pusher. Their uncle? Horrible man. All but ayula and their dad and vyncent might have gotten in their way. Needless to say though their deeds probably rocketed their House to some form of fame.

Being forced to dance with Emannellain at a ball once as a tween is actually specifically the reason it took Xavier to their mid twenties to realize she was actually bi. Tfw you turn a girl off so hard she thinks she's a lesbian for a decade.

Stormblood mostly followed canon. Shadowbringers let Xavier deepen the connection with Y'shtola and she formed a polycule with her and Vanille. This is when Vanille would be moving on from being a conjurer to developing her own art. I think Vanille and Y'shtola would be good friends, maybe friends with benefits and slowly deepening a connection after the polycule starts.

Endwalker? Well, needless to say the bodyjacking Zenos pulled was actually quite traumatic for Xavier as a person who actually has dysphoria and a very fraught connection with their own flesh, so she actually needed time to recover after that before storming the tower of babel.

Ultima Thule? Vanille walked with them to the end. She didn't sacrifice herself. One might think this cheapens the experience, but remember - they're soulmates. They've found each other in every single life, across every single incarnation and shard, and were together in their unsundered lives too. Their lives are deeply intertwined on an almost metaphysical level. If anyone deserves to walk to the end with the wol and share in the pain, heaviness, and agony, it's someone like that.

[hankwizard]

Pieces Of Media I Consumed Recently

because i have accepted i cannot, for the life of me, do this in an organized fashion lol

CHAINSAW MAN('s anime)

I read the manga obsessively the moment I heard the premise. I grew up in the era of self-referential, masturbatory, whedon-istic media where no show or comic could just be unapologetically itself without getting weird and "haha isnt it DUMB we're making this?" the whole time. A manga about a guy turning into a chainsaw that is absolutely about a dude who turns into a chainsaw fucking appeals, okay?

Anyways. This is about the anime. The anime almost feels like a film at times- the characters move very.. Realistically. Very on model, which worked in some ways but made it a bit less expressive in others. It didn't have the punk charm of the manga, but otherwise? Steller presentation. I like how the anime further emphasizes that Denji is a kid- giving him more childish mannerisms (such as the infamous scene with himeno) that really hammers home the point of his character- that he's just a manipulated kid who wants some kind of normalcy and, most of all, love.

CHAINSAW MAN('s manga. part 2)

It makes me feel like the absolute joker watching how well thought out Asa is as a protagonist. Traumatic experiences can strip us of our identities- make us feel like all we've done is survive, and therefore, that's all we can do, so watching Asa fret over being a bore and be unable to connect to others without worrying about how things will crumble down is just a delight. I love her. Denji is also great so far! He's just so tired. This part's art has so much subtle improvement and once again Fujimoto is delivering bangers. Yoshida is never beating the yaoi allegations.

FEAR AND HUNGER: TERMINA

The fun thing about autism is that it forces you to enjoy things in the most "yeah this is my life now" of ways, which is fine when your interests are something normal you can explain to people like "dungeons and dragons" or "sailor moon" and not Termina, a game that makes you genuinely debate not if you should sever your enemy's leg, but which one.

Termina is crazy. A survival horror rpg where death is punishing, limbs can be lost AND trans women can do necromancy? It's great and it's terrifying. There's literally an entire area that I avoid because it freaks me out so bad so I GENUINELY take the long way everywhere to avoid it every time.

It's one of those games where any enemy can not only kill you, but maim you in ways that fundamentally change how you play the game. Dealing with enemies is a puzzle: how do you approach them? Do you deal with them now so you never have to deal with them again? Do you run around so you can wait until you're stronger? Do you shoot them from afar or save the precious ammo for something even worse?

It's a special kind of satisfying, but definitely not a game for everyone. I'd recommend reading the content warnings, as it's a dark fantasy with dark fantasy themes. It's also a game for adults only, no exceptions. Feel free to message me if you want to know about any content in the game that isn't listed out in the warnings on the store page. I might make a larger blog post about it later.

SHAMELESS

Ok, at first I really liked it! It's very funny, the characters are very well written, and it's very captivating... But I'm going to be real, the amount of Leering Shots Of Teenage Girls in what I watched of this show is enough to drive me bananas. I don't want to look up the sixteen year old girl's skirt, netflix, I'm ambiguously in my mid twenties. The show's insistence on making me look at karen naked ruined it for me. It didn't even feel like it was saying anything? It just kept happening!!! Anyways, tl;dr, shameless is not for me.

VELMA

So, listen. I need to admit something: I've been deep in the Western Cartoons Discourse Trenches since I googled "My Little Poney Forums" as a young teenager. I never really participated, but I'm aware of the cycle of Discourse that happens whenever a show Like This comes out- a show with marginalized characters that isn't very good, or at least is perceived as such.

I watched Sacrificial Trash and you should too

What generally happens is an outpour of outrage and criticism that's 10% warranted, 30% nitpicky and 60% literal actual bigotry. You end up with a lot of video essays of Yelling Men With Glasses that makes me, a contrarian hipster, really interested in proving the internet wrong and actually Enjoying The Thing.

After watching all of Velma, my verdict is:

I Enjoyed Watching It But Would Not Recommend It To Most

The show is funny! It's visually incredible! It has a fun plotline! It has a lot of nods to older Scooby Doo cartoons that I, as a Child Born After 1960, Enjoy! And I like basically every main character and most of the side characters...

Except... It has two massive, glaring issues in its writing. Two major themes that not only make the show nearly unrecommendable to most people, but also revolve around the worst character in the show, Velma herself.

To start, this show has a massive, gaping problem with self-hating anti-indian racism.

Every time Velma's ethnicity is brought up, it's made out to be a gag!! It's to make fun of her!! She's called an ugly gorilla constantly!!! She's made fun of for being hairy!!! And it's never addressed!!! It's just a running gag that Velma hates being Indian and so does everyone else. It's very uncomfortable. I was hoping it'd tone down but it doesn't. The show doesn't even seem all that aware that her self hatred about her own culture and her ethnic features is... a bad thing? It's very strange. I know a lot of south asian people who refuse to watch the show or didn't continue past episode one because of this and MAN. I get it.

The show also has a bit of a misogny problem, which is weird because it tries to be feminist at times? With Fred learning to appreciate women for more than their appearances, which was nice, but the amount of times femininity and appearance gets conflated with being dumb and vapid is... a lot. And the show seems half aware that this is bad while also just. keeping on doing it. And Velma is usually the one being misogynistic throughout the show, and while they kinda try to develop her past it, it doesn't feel like the show takes it seriously as a theme.

Anyways. If you watched and went "man, this show was very well produced and beautifully executed in its visuals!" like a huge nerd, please know that Amy Winfrey, creator of Making Fiends and a director for both Tuca And Bertie AND Bojack Horseman was the supervising producer and I highly advise checking her out.

PS: Glenn Howerton should do more voice work

[redrobinhoods]

seconds and years | the calm

AO3 Link | 1,800 words (approx) | Prologue, Chapter 15, Chapter 18

Chapter Summary: Riyo, Fox, Wolffe, Thire, and Ilven prepare for the assault on Chiron as Twenty-Two meets with an imperial officer.

“How much bacta can we legally purchase?”

Riyo raised her brows at Wolffe.

“We might need it.”

Riyo glanced out the window of the small pharmacy at their ship sitting on the landing platform, space stretching out behind it, before turning back to Wolffe. “It’s your call.”

“I’ll get six packs. With the ones we have left on the ship, we should be able to treat a few injuries if necessary.”

Riyo looked down into their basket of bandages. “This feels surreal.”

“This feels normal.” Wolffe said as he dumped the bacta in. “This is less than what our medics carried during the war.”

“There were a lot more men in the fight then.”

Wolffe chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“We set?” Ilven asked as he rejoined them.

“Almost.” Riyo answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Ilven practically grinned. “I did.”

“So, you really picked Seeley?” Fox asked as he poured himself and Thire a glass of whiskey. “Of all the men on Coruscant!”

Thire chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “I know. It wasn’t planned. I saved his life, we started growing closer, sparring together. Next thing I know he’s confessing his feelings for me in my office and I found that I wasn’t opposed to the idea of being with him. Everything escalated quickly from there.”

“You’re happy?” Fox studied Thire’s expression closely as he spoke.

“Yes. He makes me feel safe. I don’t remember much about my execution, but I do remember feeling safe, even then, knowing he was beside me.”

“I understand. When I was shot, Riyo was with me. She held me. If I had to die traumatically, selfish as it is, I’d want her to be there again. I want her to be the last thing I see in my life.”

Thire met Fox’s gaze before turning his eyes down to the glass before him. “This life isn’t for them.”

“But they chose it.” Fox reached over to clasp Thire’s hand. “And we’re all in far too deep now.”

“Being on the Emperor’s most-wanted list will do that, I suppose.” Thire said with a small smile.

Now it was Fox’s turn to laugh. “Yes, it seems that way.” Then his face fell into a serious look. “What did you do that he would do all of this to you?”

Thire bit his lip, swirling his drink in his hand. “I know his dirty little secret. He ordered your assassination. I suspect you figured it out as well, he put the mole in the Senate. He was part of some larger conspiracy. But I don’t think either of us figured out which side he was playing, the Republic or the Separatists.”

“Whichever side, he won.”

“Yes, he did.”

“So why not outright kill you, like me?”

“Dunno. I think Vader may have played a part. I’m a good clone, I’m easy to manipulate. Vader has dirt on me, I have dirt on him. It seems to be a reoccurring pattern with the officers he chose for his personal guard. I’d like to know what dirt Vader has on Twenty-Two, he trusts him completely.”

“Who was Twenty-Two?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore. I know that he worked with Vader often during the war and that he killed his Jedi. We never talked about our legions or names from before.”

“Are all your PT numbers formed from the middle two digits of your CT number?”

Thire frowned. “Fox, don’t go down that road.”

“He was my classmate.”

“Was, Fox. Even with the ineffectiveness of reconditioning, you are no longer yourself when you become a purge trooper. The role of the purge troopers is to hunt Force sensitives, not Jedi, Force sensitives.”

“By Force sensitives, you mean children.”

“And babies.” Thire threw back his cup to finish his drink before reaching for the bottle to pour another. “Bly cracked. Galle stayed. I knew them. I recognized Bly and he used Galle’s name when it was just officers.”

“What happened to Bly?”

“I don’t know the details. There were reports of a Force sensitive Felucian. He and Galle were sent. Only Galle came back. He’s the First Sister’s right hand now. They also knew each other, back during the war. Vader seems to like preserving old relations when possible.” He took a sip of the new drink. “It’s nice for them, actually. Makes it feel like very little changed. I know he’s happy.”

“Is Twenty-Two happy?”

“No being who works directly under Vader is happy.” Thire laughed suddenly. “I don’t know if you ever noticed, but he brings the mood down.”

Fox couldn’t help but laugh with his brother. “Oh the old dark and brooding doesn’t bring you joy?”

“For some reason it doesn’t.”

“Defective.”

“We are all so fucked in the head.”

“Comes with the territory.”

-

When Twenty-Two arrived on Chiron he was ushered quickly to a conference room where a lone stormtrooper commander stood.

“You came.”

“I serve the Empire.” Twenty-Two responded as he took a seat, kicking his feet up onto the table. “And I was in the area. I understand that this facility is not operating to its standards.”

The commander remained standing. “That is my understanding as well from my arrival yesterday. The natives are restless and attacks have increased since the defection of the previous heads of security.”

“I am aware of the defection.” More than the commander knew. “Do you suspect more?”

“No, sir. But my analysis from yesterday has indicated several faults in our security due to recent poor oversight. I fear a local rebellion may take advantage of these weaknesses.”

“What role do I and my men play?”

“The base commander believes that a purge trooper presence will deter these attacks while we repair the faults.”

Twenty-Two tilted his helmet. “Does your commander understand the role that I serve in the Empire?”

“He understands your reputation, sir. He also believes that your men’s training in lightsaber combat will be required. The Chironians have acquired IG-100 electrostaffs.”

“You’re outgunned.” Twenty-Two stated.

“I fought in the Grand Army of the Republic, as did you. You know what those weapons are capable of and you know that the caliber of the natborn stormtroopers isn’t up to par.”

“That’s a lofty assumption.”

“Am I incorrect?”

“Not at all.” Twenty-Two stood. “My men were dispatched from Mustafar yesterday. They will arrive in five days. We will provide local support and put out operations to identify Jedi in this region until the Emperor deems our presence to be no longer necessary. The Empire will provide.”

The commander crossed the room to shake Twenty-Two’s hand. “Praise the Emperor. We welcome your presence, Commander.”

“Call me Twenty-Two, Commander Jek.”

-

“Have you ever handled a blaster?”

“A rifle, but nothing this small.”

“Okay.” Wolffe nodded as he thought. “It’s a bit different, but, I’ll show you the basics.”

Ilven took a seat by Thire as he watched Wolffe and Riyo. “I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?”

Ilven pressed the pill bottle into Thire’s hands. “I went through your FITREP, found what they were giving you. There’s more under our bunk.”

Thire looked at Ilven, speechless, before embracing him. “Thank you.”

“Gotta maintain operational readiness.”

They broke apart as Thire jumped when the stun dart hit the edge of the target Wolffe had set up on the fridge.

“She’s a natural!” Wolffe proclaimed.

Fox walked in a few seconds later with a grin on his face. “Farmgirl.”

“Waterboy.” She shot back.

“Let’s work on multitasking while shooting next.” Fox leaned up against the doorframe. “We need a name for the ship.”

“Oh gods.” Thire groaned.

Fox pointed a finger at him. “Don’t bring that attitude, this is a really important discussion.”

Wolffe adjusted Riyo’s form. “The Wolf.”

“Absolutely not.”

“The Scrap Heap.” Thire suggested.

“That’s rude.”

“Scrappy.”

“Don’t bully my ship, Thire! Ilven?”

“The Ship I. Then you adjust it if you get another ship.” He took in Fox’s look of disappointment. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Riyo pursed her lips as she fired again, hitting the outer ring of the target. “How about The Misfit?”

Wolffe nodded and looked to Fox. “It’s insulting, but correct.”

Fox looked to Thire and Ilven, who nodded their approval. “The Misfit it is then.”

-

“Bacta production?” Twenty-Two continued down the list before him.

“Up to standard.”

“Stim production?

“Standard.”

Twenty-Two took in Commander Jek’s body language as he spoke next. “YMC-delta production?”

“Standard, but production is decreasing as requested by Lord Vader.”

“Explain.”

“We are to produce a stockpile then cease production until it is deemed necessary again.”

The purge trooper production was slowing down.

“Very well.” Twenty-Two set down the datapad. “You are aware of the importance of this facility, are you not, Commander?”

“Sir, every facility in the Empire is important to maintain control and expansion of the Empire.”

“A stock answer but correct.” Twenty-Two took in the empty room around him. This was the same room he had met Wolffe and Commander Seeley in. “What was your prior station, Commander?”

“Saleucami. I headed an investigation into chain code fraud in the system.”

“Your background is security then?”

“More of the enforcement aspect but I’ve picked up a few things along the way.” He paused before speaking cautiously. “If the records are correct, a purge trooper commander accessed our systems last month using a technique developed by the Coruscant Guard. Is he able to aid in our investigation?”

“He’s dead.”

Commander Jek’s posture deflated. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Twenty-Two let the silence fill the room before pressing the matter. “If I were you, I’d stay away from any previous associations with the Coruscant Guard. As you understand, their reputation was tainted by the previous commander of the guard. It does not bode well to the Empire.”

Commander Jek raised his hand to cradle his forehead as he took in Twenty-Two’s words. “I understand, sir.”

-

The five beings sat around the kitchen table, looking at the hologram displayed before them.

“Riyo, Thire, Ilven; you guys take the security room. Ilven and Riyo, watch the displays, make sure we’re not detected by patrols. Thire, you copy everything you can about YMC-delta from the system.”

“Can I delete things too?

“Go crazy. Fox and I will break into the production center and take as many vials of YMC-delta as we can. We don’t know how many doses we’ll need, and we don’t know if we’ll meet more brothers in the future who may want it.”

Fox nodded in agreement with Wolffe. “We’re really doing this.”

“Look,” Wolffe pointed a finger at Fox. “After all of this, I want a niece. Unless Riyo says no, I respect her opinion.”

Riyo smiled. “Thank you, Wolffe.”

“We’re all clear?” Wolffe looked around as everyone nodded. “Good. Get some sleep, minimal snoring tonight. Tomorrow, we’re going to have some fun.”

[rillabrooke]

just some really nice passages in this one and parallels to some other really nice passages.

tracking:  pretty words, i’m crying, love, violence/hatred, duality, les mis parallels, foreshadowing

"Every one of those had perished in the massacre; every human creature he had since cared for and parted with, had died on the scaffold." i shed very real tears over this.

"They crowded to the grates and shed tears there; but, twenty places in the projected entertainments had to be refilled" 1) the human right to creativity; 2) the mind's ability to handle such traumatic events by deflecting

"In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease—a terrible passing inclination to die of it." i think we saw a little bit of this during covid, but this really brings to mind the romanticization of tuberculosis.

"And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts, only needing circumstances to evoke them." from book 1 chapter 3— "a wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. . . . my friend is dead, my neighbor is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always that was always in that individuality, and which i shall carry in mine to my life's end."

"the felons were trying the honest men" i mean in this specific case (and in all the cases described in this chapter), the murderers are trying and condemning the innocent. we've reached the point in the story where the cruel aristocrats and clergy who deserved punishment are already dead.

". . . an emigrant, whose life was forfeit to the Republic, under the decree which banished all emigrants on pain of Death. . . . 'Take off his head!' cried the audience. 'An enemy to the Republic!'" hatred of emigrants, synonymous with the aristocracy who fled the country, etc.

". . . tears were shed as freely as blood at another time, and such fraternal embraces were bestowed upon the prisoner by as many of both sexes as could rush at him . . . the very same people, carried by another current, would have rushed at him with the very same intensity, to rend him to pieces and strew him over the streets." both situations are terrifying because the rush of people is overwhelming and crushing, especially after being secluded in prison for so long, but also because the mob mentality could change the reaction in the blink of an eye.

". . . until the very tide of the river on the bank of which the mad scene was acted, seemed to run mad, like the people on the shore." we return to water-related metaphors for the revolutionaries.

" . . . he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips might come together unseen" :')

"He was happy in the return he had made her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of his strength. . . . 'I have saved him.'" alternatively, unknowingly, "i have condemned him."

Book the Third—The Track of a Storm

[X] Chapter VI. Triumph

The dread tribunal of five Judges, Public Prosecutor, and determined Jury, sat every day. Their lists went forth every evening, and were read out by the gaolers of the various prisons to their prisoners. The standard gaoler-joke was, “Come out and listen to the Evening Paper, you inside there!”

“Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay!”

So at last began the Evening Paper at La Force.

When a name was called, its owner stepped apart into a spot reserved for those who were announced as being thus fatally recorded. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, had reason to know the usage; he had seen hundreds pass away so.

His bloated gaoler, who wore spectacles to read with, glanced over them to assure himself that he had taken his place, and went through the list, making a similar short pause at each name. There were twenty-three names, but only twenty were responded to; for one of the prisoners so summoned had died in gaol and been forgotten, and two had already been guillotined and forgotten. The list was read, in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen the associated prisoners on the night of his arrival. Every one of those had perished in the massacre; every human creature he had since cared for and parted with, had died on the scaffold.

There were hurried words of farewell and kindness, but the parting was soon over. It was the incident of every day, and the society of La Force were engaged in the preparation of some games of forfeits and a little concert, for that evening. They crowded to the grates and shed tears there; but, twenty places in the projected entertainments had to be refilled, and the time was, at best, short to the lock-up hour, when the common rooms and corridors would be delivered over to the great dogs who kept watch there through the night. The prisoners were far from insensible or unfeeling; their ways arose out of the condition of the time. Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a species of fervour or intoxication, known, without doubt, to have led some persons to brave the guillotine unnecessarily, and to die by it, was not mere boastfulness, but a wild infection of the wildly shaken public mind. In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease—a terrible passing inclination to die of it. And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts, only needing circumstances to evoke them.

The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark; the night in its vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next day, fifteen prisoners were put to the bar before Charles Darnay’s name was called. All the fifteen were condemned, and the trials of the whole occupied an hour and a half.

“Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay,” was at length arraigned.

His judges sat upon the Bench in feathered hats; but the rough red cap and tricoloured cockade was the head-dress otherwise prevailing. Looking at the Jury and the turbulent audience, he might have thought that the usual order of things was reversed, and that the felons were trying the honest men. The lowest, cruelest, and worst populace of a city, never without its quantity of low, cruel, and bad, were the directing spirits of the scene: noisily commenting, applauding, disapproving, anticipating, and precipitating the result, without a check. Of the men, the greater part were armed in various ways; of the women, some wore knives, some daggers, some ate and drank as they looked on, many knitted. Among these last, was one, with a spare piece of knitting under her arm as she worked. She was in a front row, by the side of a man whom he had never seen since his arrival at the Barrier, but whom he directly remembered as Defarge. He noticed that she once or twice whispered in his ear, and that she seemed to be his wife; but, what he most noticed in the two figures was, that although they were posted as close to himself as they could be, they never looked towards him. They seemed to be waiting for something with a dogged determination, and they looked at the Jury, but at nothing else. Under the President sat Doctor Manette, in his usual quiet dress. As well as the prisoner could see, he and Mr. Lorry were the only men there, unconnected with the Tribunal, who wore their usual clothes, and had not assumed the coarse garb of the Carmagnole.

Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, was accused by the public prosecutor as an emigrant, whose life was forfeit to the Republic, under the decree which banished all emigrants on pain of Death. It was nothing that the decree bore date since his return to France. There he was, and there was the decree; he had been taken in France, and his head was demanded.

“Take off his head!” cried the audience. “An enemy to the Republic!”

The President rang his bell to silence those cries, and asked the prisoner whether it was not true that he had lived many years in England?

Undoubtedly it was.

Was he not an emigrant then? What did he call himself?

Not an emigrant, he hoped, within the sense and spirit of the law.

Why not? the President desired to know.

Because he had voluntarily relinquished a title that was distasteful to him, and a station that was distasteful to him, and had left his country—he submitted before the word emigrant in the present acceptation by the Tribunal was in use—to live by his own industry in England, rather than on the industry of the overladen people of France.

What proof had he of this?

He handed in the names of two witnesses; Theophile Gabelle, and Alexandre Manette.

But he had married in England? the President reminded him.

True, but not an English woman.

A citizeness of France?

Yes. By birth.

Her name and family?

“Lucie Manette, only daughter of Doctor Manette, the good physician who sits there.”

This answer had a happy effect upon the audience. Cries in exaltation of the well-known good physician rent the hall. So capriciously were the people moved, that tears immediately rolled down several ferocious countenances which had been glaring at the prisoner a moment before, as if with impatience to pluck him out into the streets and kill him.

On these few steps of his dangerous way, Charles Darnay had set his foot according to Doctor Manette’s reiterated instructions. The same cautious counsel directed every step that lay before him, and had prepared every inch of his road.

The President asked, why had he returned to France when he did, and not sooner?

He had not returned sooner, he replied, simply because he had no means of living in France, save those he had resigned; whereas, in England, he lived by giving instruction in the French language and literature. He had returned when he did, on the pressing and written entreaty of a French citizen, who represented that his life was endangered by his absence. He had come back, to save a citizen’s life, and to bear his testimony, at whatever personal hazard, to the truth. Was that criminal in the eyes of the Republic?

The populace cried enthusiastically, “No!” and the President rang his bell to quiet them. Which it did not, for they continued to cry “No!” until they left off, of their own will.

The President required the name of that citizen. The accused explained that the citizen was his first witness. He also referred with confidence to the citizen’s letter, which had been taken from him at the Barrier, but which he did not doubt would be found among the papers then before the President.

The Doctor had taken care that it should be there—had assured him that it would be there—and at this stage of the proceedings it was produced and read. Citizen Gabelle was called to confirm it, and did so. Citizen Gabelle hinted, with infinite delicacy and politeness, that in the pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the multitude of enemies of the Republic with which it had to deal, he had been slightly overlooked in his prison of the Abbaye—in fact, had rather passed out of the Tribunal’s patriotic remembrance—until three days ago; when he had been summoned before it, and had been set at liberty on the Jury’s declaring themselves satisfied that the accusation against him was answered, as to himself, by the surrender of the citizen Evrémonde, called Darnay.

Doctor Manette was next questioned. His high personal popularity, and the clearness of his answers, made a great impression; but, as he proceeded, as he showed that the Accused was his first friend on his release from his long imprisonment; that, the accused had remained in England, always faithful and devoted to his daughter and himself in their exile; that, so far from being in favour with the Aristocrat government there, he had actually been tried for his life by it, as the foe of England and friend of the United States—as he brought these circumstances into view, with the greatest discretion and with the straightforward force of truth and earnestness, the Jury and the populace became one. At last, when he appealed by name to Monsieur Lorry, an English gentleman then and there present, who, like himself, had been a witness on that English trial and could corroborate his account of it, the Jury declared that they had heard enough, and that they were ready with their votes if the President were content to receive them.

At every vote (the Jurymen voted aloud and individually), the populace set up a shout of applause. All the voices were in the prisoner’s favour, and the President declared him free.

Then, began one of those extraordinary scenes with which the populace sometimes gratified their fickleness, or their better impulses towards generosity and mercy, or which they regarded as some set-off against their swollen account of cruel rage. No man can decide now to which of these motives such extraordinary scenes were referable; it is probable, to a blending of all the three, with the second predominating. No sooner was the acquittal pronounced, than tears were shed as freely as blood at another time, and such fraternal embraces were bestowed upon the prisoner by as many of both sexes as could rush at him, that after his long and unwholesome confinement he was in danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less because he knew very well, that the very same people, carried by another current, would have rushed at him with the very same intensity, to rend him to pieces and strew him over the streets.

His removal, to make way for other accused persons who were to be tried, rescued him from these caresses for the moment. Five were to be tried together, next, as enemies of the Republic, forasmuch as they had not assisted it by word or deed. So quick was the Tribunal to compensate itself and the nation for a chance lost, that these five came down to him before he left the place, condemned to die within twenty-four hours. The first of them told him so, with the customary prison sign of Death—a raised finger—and they all added in words, “Long live the Republic!”

The five had had, it is true, no audience to lengthen their proceedings, for when he and Doctor Manette emerged from the gate, there was a great crowd about it, in which there seemed to be every face he had seen in Court—except two, for which he looked in vain. On his coming out, the concourse made at him anew, weeping, embracing, and shouting, all by turns and all together, until the very tide of the river on the bank of which the mad scene was acted, seemed to run mad, like the people on the shore.

They put him into a great chair they had among them, and which they had taken either out of the Court itself, or one of its rooms or passages. Over the chair they had thrown a red flag, and to the back of it they had bound a pike with a red cap on its top. In this car of triumph, not even the Doctor’s entreaties could prevent his being carried to his home on men’s shoulders, with a confused sea of red caps heaving about him, and casting up to sight from the stormy deep such wrecks of faces, that he more than once misdoubted his mind being in confusion, and that he was in the tumbril on his way to the Guillotine.

In wild dreamlike procession, embracing whom they met and pointing him out, they carried him on. Reddening the snowy streets with the prevailing Republican colour, in winding and tramping through them, as they had reddened them below the snow with a deeper dye, they carried him thus into the courtyard of the building where he lived. Her father had gone on before, to prepare her, and when her husband stood upon his feet, she dropped insensible in his arms.

As he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips might come together unseen, a few of the people fell to dancing. Instantly, all the rest fell to dancing, and the courtyard overflowed with the Carmagnole. Then, they elevated into the vacant chair a young woman from the crowd to be carried as the Goddess of Liberty, and then swelling and overflowing out into the adjacent streets, and along the river’s bank, and over the bridge, the Carmagnole absorbed them every one and whirled them away.

After grasping the Doctor’s hand, as he stood victorious and proud before him; after grasping the hand of Mr. Lorry, who came panting in breathless from his struggle against the waterspout of the Carmagnole; after kissing little Lucie, who was lifted up to clasp her arms round his neck; and after embracing the ever zealous and faithful Pross who lifted her; he took his wife in his arms, and carried her up to their rooms.

“Lucie! My own! I am safe.”

“O dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my knees as I have prayed to Him.”

They all reverently bowed their heads and hearts. When she was again in his arms, he said to her:

“And now speak to your father, dearest. No other man in all this France could have done what he has done for me.”

She laid her head upon her father’s breast, as she had laid his poor head on her own breast, long, long ago. He was happy in the return he had made her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of his strength. “You must not be weak, my darling,” he remonstrated; “don’t tremble so. I have saved him.”

[rivalsforlife]

I think you said something a while ago about Kay having complicated feelings in a scenario where Edgeworth adopts Trucy and I am. Intrigued.

Hello yes I think I did! I can't take full credit for the idea though because I talked about it a lot with people in toni laquilasse's stream server. just so that's out there.

it's in a hypothetical situation where there is narumitsu (of course) and in my head it's like... dd/soj era or later. Edgeworth and Phoenix get married. as a part of this Edgeworth adopts Trucy, who is 16/17/18. Kay at this point is uhhh 25/26/27. So she's well into adulthood at this point which I think is important to note, and is pretty mature, and has now been without a father for the majority of her life and made her peace with it unlike in aai-era.

The way I see Edgeworth's relationship with Kay in AAI-era and afterwards is kind of like... Kay really sees him as a father figure in part because he canonically reminds her a lot of her dad and in part because of how protective he was over her in aai2. But being 17 and Practically An Adult, and fairly independent for her age, and having Father Issues, she doesn't really voice this. (Father Issues including of course Byrne dying which was a traumatizing event, but also personal headcanons regarding her relationship with Badd, who was extremely close to her and like a second father to her (or literally a second father if you go the byrnebadd route) but then following Byrne's death he tried to distance himself from her for her own safety ("Kay... I'm truly sorry. I wanted... nothing but a peaceful life for you...") so that does some subconscious stuff for her as well. ... and I could go on a bit more about my Kay self-worth headcanons but I won't right now.) Kay also is very aware that Edgeworth is emotionally repressed. And would never really suspect that he thinks of her in a daughterly way, insert my forgotten turnabout thoughts I swear I'll one day write out here.

Similarly Edgeworth feels many fatherly feelings towards her as seen by aai2 again. He wants to protect her and make sure she grows up safe and worries about her getting into trouble and all that. But he has Emotional Repression! It'd take a pretty major incident for him to voice that much. And his own Father Issues contribute to this all as well so that he might not even consciously recognize her as a daughter figure and definitely not voice it. It's a weird combination of "not wanting to accidentally turn out like Manfred" (though he gets over this one first) and then "not being able to live up to Gregory's standard" (which takes. significantly longer.)

So basically with their respective emotional issues and Kay being 17 and Edgeworth only being ten years older than her, which I do admit isn't much of a gap for parent-child-type relationships, neither of them ever voice any of this but they're fine with that, they're still close and all that stuff.

Edgeworth presumably gets over his "I wouldn't be a good father" issues before adopting Trucy officially. And Kay is of course very happy about this because her friend/father-figure is married and has a child and it means he's gotten over a lot of his emotional issues. And I'm sure she adores Trucy because who doesn't adore Trucy? And she (in her mind) doesn't really have any reason to be upset because she's in her mid-late twenties and has been an orphan for over fifteen years and obviously her relationship with Mr. Edgeworth is different from his relationship with Trucy and all that etcetera etcetera. but she is a little bit jealous.

Trucy happened to come into his life at the right emotional point (... or at least was around at the right emotional point) and is the right age and with the right excuse for Edgeworth to confront his emotional issues (marrying Phoenix). All things that Kay didn't have. And while she managed to grow up just fine without a consistent strong father figure and she's in a better place now than she was in her teens, when she sees Edgeworth acting towards Trucy the way he used to act towards her, she feels some amount of jealousy that she didn't get to have that secure well-defined father-daughter relationship when she was Trucy's age. Even though when she was 17 she thought she was just fine without a parent, it was something that would have been nice to have in her life. Edgeworth wasn't incapable of it the whole time. The timing just wasn't right. Insert aai2 related thoughts of "Kay subconsciously doesn't seem to understand why anyone would want to protect her or risk anything for her" here.

This doesn't really fester for long and I'm sure it gets sorted out eventually I don't think this is really something that's going to build up into a super angsty situation haha. either Kay goes "haha that's a weird emotion! time to repress that!" or somehow she and Edgeworth end up having an honest emotional conversation (which would take a miracle probably but be very good for both of them) since I do think Edgeworth at this point would admit he sees her in a similar view as Trucy, if prompted. In both cases Kay and Trucy are adults/near adults, he has not been with them their whole childhoods, they had/have another father who was more prominent in their life (Byrne vs Phoenix), Miles feels rather secondary to that and definitely doesn't want to try to replace that relationship, because he knows he can't. nor does he want to.

This is already very long so I'll stop here. I Just Think They're Neat. Hope this was coherent and at least a little bit interesting to think about!

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

As much as I believe Vlad to be an iredeemable asshole in cannon, I like the idea of a begrudging mentor Vlad. Like, say in an alternate universe everything starts of the same but he's not got some evil plan to kill Jack and marry Maddie. He's bitter and resents them for turning him into this abomonation, resents them for being happy when he can't, he tries to stay connected, but he just can't stand being near them and fears their reaction to his ghost side. (1/3)

(2/3) He takes advantage of his new powers, he steals and cheats his way to power, living life lavishly, but it doesn't make him happy, none of it fills the emptiness in his heart. He spends most of his life miserable up until one day he invites the Fenton's on a whim, perhaps in some desperate attempt to find happiness again, where he meets Danny. It goes similarly how it went in the show, Vlad discovers he is a halfa like him, see's how his parents treat him... ~ ~ ~ i think part 3 got eaten, bro, but i'm gonna work with what i got.

Vlad sees this kid who's like him who's parents still talk about killing ghosts and destroying them in front of him. not knowing that they're threatening Vlad. that they're threatening their own son. he see's these so called scientist haven't learned anything about ghosts in the years that they've been estranged and that they've managed to make the same mistake twice.

and he see Danny, a moody teenager, going through the traumatic process of dying and gaining hard to control powers on top of being a highschooler and social pariah. he sees this kid in desperate need of guidance and sees his parents who are neglectful and unaware of a fact he learned within a day of knowing Danny. and he says, "if you can't handle the responsibility of having a kid, he's mine now." yoink

except, obviously, he's really, really bad at it. being a mentor, winning Danny over, being a good person. all of it.

initially he just straight up offers to help Danny learn his powers and that works, Danny agrees, because Vlad isn't trying to kill danny's parents or attacking him, or stalking them, so Danny has no reason not to accept the help. Vlad seems okay for all his rich guy eccentricities.

but then the lessons actually start and danny realizes. oh. this guy has no idea how to teach. and oh this guy has the moral compass of a rotary fan. and Danny initially goes with it. in canon danny's can be swayed by petty stuff and money up to a point. he can let a lot of shit go and is even willing to do some soft crime if he thinks it's for the right reasons. and Vlad might beat him up when trying to teach him to fight, but that's part of training, right? and he might be changing a little under Vlad's influence but danny doesn't see that as a bad thing, until Sam and tucker basically call him out and he accidentally hurts one of them. something that Vlad had told him to do.

so danny bails. basically confronts Vlad and tells him he's a shitty mentor and that he's gonna peace out. suck eggs, fruit loop.

but Vlad had thought things were going well. he's gotten attached. he doesn't want to go back to being alone and he and danny are the only two of their species in the world. so typical villain/stalker stuff happens between them for a bit. Vlad tries to win danny over with money, with manipulation, with blackmail. and Danny isn't having it. (he has blackmail on Vlad too). Vlad is growing increasingly desperate and looks and acts a mess. this is a vulnerable Vlad. we're not getting well kept always cocky and put together except when danny embarrasses him Vlad. we're getting a pathetic man trying to cling to the only human(ish) connection he has and slowly falling further into depression and insanity.

and Danny pities him. because Danny had that human connection too. in the early days before he decided he got to see vlad's dorky and cool side. Vlad was generous with his money. vlad only swears in food. he lights up when he watches a packers game and is a total fanboy.

and Danny kinda gets how he became like this. how his isolation and loneliness and fear drove him further and further down the road of corruptness and evil. Danny learns what he would become without his friends and if anything Vlad is better than that. it's almost similar to how he is with val. he understands where she's coming from and sees that she's a good person even if her actions have taken a turn in the wrong direction. he feels the same about Vlad. he thinks maybe he can convince Vlad to be better.

so redemption arc/reverse mentor relationship because danny is gonna be trying to teach Vlad how to stop being a fruit loop and start making some friends his own age. the comedy potential of that is amazing. i have the mental image of Danny convincing vlad to go on a date with Harriet Chin and coaching him from behind her even though he has next to no dating experience either. pure shenanigans.

i also see there being several back and forth instances of kidnapping. Vlad locks Danny in his house because he doesn't want to be alone (Danny eventually escapes and gets mad. Vlad learns never to do that again). Danny kidnaps Vlad to be a chaperone at a school event, mostly to get Vlad to lie for him. another time Vlad kidnaps danny to go to a rich person party because he said he had a kid in a pathetic attempt to make a friend (moral of the episode is lying to make friends doesn't work) so he just has Danny pose as his son that whole episode and they're trying to get along and seem happy, meanwhile snipping at each other in whispers. they think no one is buying that they're related but ironically them arguing at the end of the night is one convinces the person they're family. "me and my daughter would fight all the time, especially at events she didn't want to come to." probably muddies the moral but that's common enough in dp.

just gradually develops into a weird redeemed uncle/mentor dynamic. Vlad really isn't teaching Danny much. he still occasionally has his moments to shine with explaining new powers and showing danny how to commit tax fraud or lie to the police. but he's mostly just this weird guy who's first friend in twenty years is a teenager.

- Hestia

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home for Traumatized Kids - Chapter Three

New School and Friendships

Chapter Summary: Roman has his first day in a new district while some bonds are strengthened.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Warnings: Past abuse mentions, mentions of hidden cameras, anxiety, some bullying, crying, and food mentions

Chapter Word Count: 5,860

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258

“Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?” Roman’s dad turned to face him. Roman felt his whole body start to shake.

“You know how you said that…I could ask for anything from you? Since, uh- since you didn’t know what present to get me last time?”

His dad smiled in a way so normal it was disturbing. “Got an idea?”

“Yeah, uh…I want a canopy bed.”

His dad’s face dropped, and Roman could feel the anxiety and regret bloom through his chest. “You know why I can’t do that, Roman.”

“Please? I know it’s probably a bit much to replace my whole bed frame, but I could make my own canopy for cheaper! I’ve already looked at a bunch of ways online how, I just need you to buy the materials-”

“It’s a no.” Roman’s dad looked angry, and Roman would’ve done anything to run the other direction at that moment. To burst out the door and never come back. “Nice try, Roman, but I’m not stupid. Come back when you have a better idea.”

Roman blinked to fight back the tears. “…I’m sorry.”

“Go back to your room.”

Roman ran up the stairs as fast as he could, wishing more than anything that there was a lock on his door. Instead, Roman took his desk chair and propped it against the knob for some kind of security, curling into the corner of his room as he shook and tugged at his hair.

He tried to block out the knowledge of the security camera on his shelf, hidden well but not well enough, pointed right at his bed.

***

Several fast knocks came onto Roman’s bedroom door, waking him up with a jerk. He groggily pushed open the curtain in front of his head to grab his phone and look at the time. Six o’clock on the dot, it read. Ugh.

The knocking on the door didn’t stop, and Roman whined. “What?” He called out.

“Get dressed, we need to leave the house by 6:30.” He heard Logan call back.

“Fine, fine.” Roman pushed the curtains out of the way and practically rolled out of bed, grabbing the clothes he’d organized for himself the night before. He put on a pair of jeans with a white and red t-shirt, nothing fancy but fancy enough for a first day surrounded by strangers. He grabbed his backpack and put his phone and some earbuds in his pocket before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

“Morning, kiddo!” Patton chirped as he made breakfast, “Didja sleep well?”

“Yes, I did.” That was a lie. He had some strange dream where his dad was also there, and he only managed to calm down and fall back asleep an hour ago. He still couldn’t stop thinking about it, even if the dream was hazy now.

“Good to hear! Be ready by 6:30 so I can drive all of you to the school. Then once you get there, you can ask about your schedule at the office.” Patton laid down a plate of bagels with cream cheese and strawberries in front of Roman, so Roman began to eat.

Once he finished his breakfast, Roman rushed back upstairs to style his hair and brush his teeth before they had to leave. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at the shower to the left of him and sighed. He touched his hair, feeling the grease slick onto his fingers.

He really needed to shower. He hadn’t showered since he got here, and with how thick his hair was it was really starting to gross him out. He hated feeling greasy and grimy, but Roman hadn’t checked the bathroom for cameras yet and he refused to shower until he did. Though, he knew that was also just an excuse. Roman also felt too tired to take care of himself.

Just brush your teeth, he thought, they told you that if you can’t shower, at least brush your teeth. Greasy hair can be fixed, cavities are expensive.

He spit out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out his mouth. He grabbed some face wash and decided to use it as quickly as he could to hold back the gross feeling he felt. It would help him feel a little cleaner, at least. A little more presentable for the first day.

A loud bang came onto the door. “Roman, hurry up!” Virgil called out, “Some of us need to piss!”

“Just a second!” Roman vigorously splashed water on his face and quickly dried it with a towel, rushing out of the bathroom so that Virgil could run in. He sighed again, walking downstairs to wait on the couch until it was time to go.

“Alrighty, everyone got everything?” Patton eventually asked, making Roman crack open the eyes he didn’t even realize he closed. Patton smiled and clapped his hands together when his response was tired hums of agreement. “Perfect! To the car!”

All three kids bunched themselves together in the back of Patton’s car, Roman and Virgil at the window seats while poor Logan was squished in the middle. Roman squeezed his legs together so he could fit his backpack between Logan and himself, acting as a barrier so Logan couldn’t touch him. It was uncomfortable, but it was what Roman had to do.

“So, Roman, are you excited?” Patton asked, making Roman open his eyes again to look at Patton through the rearview mirror. Roman leaned his head against the window.

“More nervous. I’ve never been to a new school before.”

“Well, hopefully you can make lots of friends here! The school is pretty big, so there are certainly lots of options!” Patton laughed at himself and Roman closed his eyes again.

We’ll see about that.

Eventually, after a failed attempt of getting in some extra minutes of sleep before school, Roman felt the car come to a stop. He opened his eyes and looked out the window to see the front of the large school building, kids with smiling faces talking to each other as they walked inside while others looked tired yet excited. Roman wasn’t feeling it.

“Alright, kiddos, have fun!” Patton exclaimed, “Remember to check in with the office for your schedule, Roman!”

All the kids started to pile out of the car, grabbing their bags off the floor to rush inside. Once they were all out, Patton’s car drove away to head for work.

Roman looked at the building as Logan and Virgil walked inside. It seemed huge compared to his old school, where the county was much more rural than here. They still had twenty minutes until school started and kids were already swarming in from multiple entrances, both from the main entrance and other doors connected around the building. Roman walked inside and held his arms close to himself, desperate not to be shoved around by the other students. 

The office was fairly easy to find, considering there was a giant sign over the door in bold, white letters reading Office. Roman opened the door and stepped inside to get in line, feeling a little bit better that he wasn’t the only student having first day issues. The line shrank very quickly until it was Roman’s turn to ask questions, being faced with an old lady who could either be very sweet or the rudest person in the building. Roman could never tell.

“Uh, I’m a new kid at this school, and my guardian told me to come here to get my schedule?” Roman asked.

“Name.” Okay, well, rude it was, then.

“Roman Goldsberry.”

The desk worker didn’t respond, only typed something on her computer and didn’t make eye contact. “Next door to your left of that entrance is the counselor’s office. Your counselor is Mrs. Walters and she’ll call for you shortly.”

“Okay, thank you.” Roman had never scurried out of an office so quickly in his life. So much for a great first impression.

In the other office, Roman sat on a waiting chair and awkwardly glanced at all the college items they had hung up on the walls, waiting until his name would be called. The school day hasn’t even started yet, what’s taking them so long?

Roman drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and waited. There was a lot of college stuff in this room. Granted, high school’s whole thing was trying to take you to college, his old school was the exact same. And he should really start thinking about that stuff since he’s a sophomore now. He only had two more years left after this, but it’s not like he could go anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to graduate high school, let alone college.

Besides, his dream was stupid anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“Roman Goldsberry?” A voice called out, taking Roman out of his thoughts. Roman stood up to follow the counselor into her office.

“I’m Mrs. Walters, and it’s nice to meet you Roman!” She said cheerily as she sat at her desk with Roman sitting right in front of her. “Your schedule was a bit last minute to pull together, but I tried my hardest based on your last school’s transcript and your test scores from last standardized testing. All I need is to schedule some extra electives for you. You have advanced English 12, advanced geometry, advanced biology, and world history. You can also choose Spanish 3 here if you wish to continue that. You also still need your gym credit, so you can take regular PE or strength training. I also have a list of other electives here if you want to look at that.”

“Yeah, I can look.” The counselor handed Roman a paper of all the electives organized by their subject. Well, Roman definitely wanted to continue Spanish, so that choice was easy. Strength training sounded like a fun way to do gym class with less dodgeballs to the face, but it was only a semester long, so he’d need to pick another semester class for the second half of the year. And he could join another painting or drawing class as his last elective, but he’d already taken those at his old school…

Roman gazed at the arts section of the packet, trying to find something he might like. His eyes lit up as he noticed the names of two classes: set design, which was a semester long and sounded magical, and something called sculpture. “What does the sculpture class teach?” Roman asked.

“It’s an art class that teaches you how to sculpt with different things. Like clay, wood, things like that. It’s a very hands-on class if you’re interested.”

Roman smiled. “I want that one then.”

The counselor typed something into her computer. “Have you chosen your other classes?”

“Yes, Spanish 3, set design, and strength training.”

“I’ll put you in strength training for this semester, but next semester you can join the set design class. I’ll email your elective teachers to inform them you’ll be joining their classes, but for now…” The counselor printed off a piece of paper and handed it to Roman. “This is your new schedule. Your first class is English with Ms. Fritz, and her class should be up on the third floor at room 316. Do you think you can make it there?”

“I can, thank you.”

The counselor smiled. “Have a nice first day.”

Roman walked off to head toward his first class, going up two flights of stairs and wandering across half the floor before he finally found his classroom. Thankfully, the halls were full of students desperately trying to locate their classrooms, so Roman didn’t feel as weird. He eventually stumbled upon the correct room number after checking multiple hallways and trying to follow their scattered number system. He looked at the door with a paper rabbit and a book with a phrase reading hop into a good book, and could guess immediately what type of teacher this would be.

Roman pushed open the half-cracked door and stepped inside.

The dozen kids who were already sitting stared at him when he walked in, but quickly resumed their conversations shortly after. Roman glanced at an empty seat off in the middle row near the other end of the class and moved to sit down in it. He looked around at the other kids off in their own worlds, with no one to get excited to see him and strike up a conversation. He was sitting alone in a class where it seemed like no one else was.

Roman got bored quickly with no one to talk to, drumming his fingers on the table and starting to daydream instead.

The long lost princess with the power to see into the future is forced to hide in protected wilderness, Roman thought, picking up from an old story idea he’s had for a while. Can’t have a teen novel without an orphan, so she lives with a guardian healer instead. Then, she needs a trusty companion to not only start her adventures, but to assist her alongside them. Perhaps he could be a peasant boy born with more magic power than the normal peasant has? It sure would be interesting. Or maybe, he’s not a trustworthy companion at all! What if he’s using the princess to promote his own selfish ideals? But as the story goes on, they actually become close friends and he has an intense internal conflict as he turns into the antagonist! Then maybe-

“Alright class, I think it��s been late enough for us to start!” Roman tried not to be aggravated at the teacher for interrupting him. The teacher stood at the front of the class with a wide smile. “I’m Ms. Fritz, but of course I’m sure a lot of you already know that since you had me last year. I teach all grade levels for advanced English, so if you keep down this path you might stick with me until graduation! Now normally, teachers will start their first day with class expectations, maybe a rubric or a supplies list, but I have a better idea! How about we travel across the class and try to get to know each other better? I can pass around a ball, and if you catch the ball, you have to share three fun facts about you!”

A sense of dread filled into Roman after hearing that. He usually didn’t mind games like this since it was a mindless way to pass the time, but he didn’t have any friends to pass him the ball anymore. Was he just going to sit there until the end? Sounded awkward, no thank you.

“I think,” Ms. Fritz said with her hand gripping her chin in thought, “I’m going to start with the new kid.”

Roman perked his head up as all the other kids turned to him. Well, that was unexpected.

Ms. Fritz tossed Roman the ball, and thankfully he caught it without making a fool of himself. The teacher smiled at him encouragingly as he stood up, looking around at all the kids waiting for him to talk. What should I even say?

“Can you say your name first?” Ms. Fritz asked.

“Well…I’m Roman. Uh, I like to paint, I’m half french, and…” Roman tried to think. What else was interesting about him? Something that shared a lot about him as a person?

Quickly, it dawned on him. One idea that I could possibly share, he thought. Well, it’s a bit invasive, but they’re all looking at me. So whatever.

He took a deep breath in. “…I’m a foster kid.”

When Roman admitted that, all the kids seemed to be more interested in him, leaning closer as their eyes widened. It was the first time Roman ever said it aloud, and it was so strange to hear coming from his mouth. He was a foster kid. That was an important part of his identity now.

He didn’t know how he felt about it.

“You’re half french?” Ms. Fritz pulled Roman out of his thoughts with that question. “Do you know any french?”

“I’m fluent.”

“That’s so cool! Can you say something in French for us?”

Roman seemed to think about it. “Quelque chose.”

Ms. Fritz blinked. “Well, I hope it was appropriate to say in a classroom. When did you move here, Roman?”

“Like…four days ago. Very recently.”

“You only got added to my roster last night, so I believe you! How about you pass the ball to another kid now?”

Roman looked around the room awkwardly before making eye contact with a random girl and tossing her the ball. He sat back down and only paid half his attention to what the other kids were saying. Well, at least he didn’t have to wait awkwardly anymore.

The rest of the class went like that. It seemed like a lot of these kids were students that Ms. Fritz had in the past, as well as being students that were also close friends with each other. They talked a lot and made lots of jokes with the teacher, and they seemed really close, which Roman understood since he was the same with his old group of advanced kids. The extra conversation dragged the game out longer than it probably should have been, but Roman didn’t mind. He didn’t want to actually work or anything anyway.

Eventually, the game ended, and the last kid tossed the ball to Ms. Fritz. “Alright,” she said, “That game dragged out longer than I thought it would, but that’s fine! The bells are shorter the first few days anyway. We only have a couple minutes left, so talk amongst yourself if you want, I don’t care. The assembly should be after your fourth bell for the sophomores, so don’t let your teachers forget!”

All the students turned around to talk to the kids around them. Roman simply watched their conversations with no one to talk to himself, realizing how all the new kids at his old school must have felt. It was like looking in from the outside, where no one else could see you. Roman was just…there.

“Hey,” the kid in front of him turned around to face Roman. Roman almost jumped at the sudden attention. “What’s your name again?”

“Oh, Roman. Roman Goldsberry.” Roman turned to sit properly in his seat and leaned in closer. This was a good start! He seems nice, maybe I can make a friend!

“Roman Goldsberry!” He mocked, turning to his other friends to laugh. “That’s such a pretentious name. And very American sounding, by the way. I thought you were French?”

Roman’s shoulders sagged. Nevermind. Eight in the morning on my first day, and apparently I’ve made an enemy before a friend. “I’m half french, not fully french.”

The kid turned to his friends and made a face at them before they all laughed. Roman felt his blood boil.

“So your dad is the American?” The kid asked.

“Yes.” Roman hoped his sharp tone would help them realize not to mess with him.

“Are you close with your dad?”

Roman froze, and the group of kids turned to each other to make faces at each other again. He really didn’t see what was so funny. Who asks a complete stranger a question like that out of the blue?

Before Roman could snap and tell the kid to mind his own damn business, another kid from the other side of the room scoffed. “Mitchell.”

“What? I’m just asking!”

The other kid opened their mouth to retaliate, but a loud and obnoxious bell went off before they could. Kids started to get up to rush to their next class, and Roman joined them. The sooner he got away from Mitchell (who had no right to bully Roman for his name when he was called Mitchell), the better.

Roman rushed out into the hall and hyper focused on the schedule in his hands. World history, room 203. The next floor down.

Roman was so occupied in trying to find a flight of stairs, he didn’t notice the kid trying to catch up to him.

***

The rest of Roman’s day wasn’t half as eventful as his first bell. History class had a chill teacher, which was nice, then next was his strength training class. His teacher was a little confused when he showed up but was happy to have Roman on board. He seemed very strict with his class rules though, and Roman hated that considering one of his rules was they had to change into gym clothes. Which meant Roman had to wear gym shorts.

…Well, guess he’d have to get used to wearing multiple pairs of boxers again.

Besides that, he also got lost on his way to sculpture, so he showed up ten minutes late telling this random teacher he was her student now. At least she didn’t seem bothered. After that, they all went to the sophomore assembly where they were told the school rules and updates, which Roman’s pretty sure he was the only kid who actually listened. Then, after the assembly, Roman went to the cafeteria to eat a lunch that Patton packed him. He hadn’t actually brought a packed lunch to school in years, so the sentiment was…strange.

Not that Roman would complain about an edible lunch, though.

Roman looked around the cafeteria for a place to sit. The place was starting to become crowded as more students got out of line for buying lunch, so Roman needed to find a spot fast. It’d be easier if he made a friend to sit with, but after the morning Mitchell incident, Roman hadn’t cared to try again in his other classes.

That’s when Roman spotted him. A kid with thick glasses eating a fruit cup as he worked on some papers next to him, completely ignoring the world to finish some homework. Roman wasn’t exactly close with his foster brothers, but hey, maybe Logan could prove himself a little useful. He had to be lonely too, right?

Roman took his chance and sat across from Logan. Logan didn’t look up from his papers. “Hey there, nerd!”

Logan glanced an eye toward Roman. He focused back on his work. “Hello.”

“How’s your first day of high school going?”

It took Logan a solid minute before he responded. “It’s going alright. I got unlucky with a teacher of mine, who already gave us a homework packet for the week, so I’m trying to get a head start on it.”

“Really? What teacher?”

“Mr. Owens, he’s the more strict teacher of the two that teach medical technology.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Medical technology? That’s a class here?”

“Yes. I had to do a lot of things last year to get into it, however. It’s part of the intensive medical learning path. However, the extra work is necessary.”

“…Right. What other classes are you in?”

“Advanced biology, advanced geometry, advanced English, medical tech as I just mentioned, German 2, health, and painting.”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Wait, I thought most of those were sophomore classes?”

“And I took freshman classes my eighth grade year. Your point?”

Roman blinked. “…Fair enough.”

Roman brought out his own sandwich and ate it in awkward silence. Logan seemed so focused on his paper that he wasn’t saying a word, and trying to spark conversation with him when he was like this was next to impossible. He felt like he was intruding by sitting next to Logan, the air feeling thick for a reason Roman couldn’t quite place. Once he finished his sandwich, Roman had enough.

“I think…” Roman said, “I’m going to sit…somewhere else.”

Logan didn’t react. “Alright.”

Roman stood up and awkwardly shuffled to an empty spot at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, placing down his lunch box and trying again. Well, he thought as he opened up a cheese stick wrapper, better get used to being alone, then.

“Hey, excuse me?”

Roman looked up at the voice while he was mid-bite. It was the same kid who scolded Mitchell back in his English class, tired circles under their eyes and a gray sweater on despite it being August. Though, Roman had been freezing in most of his classes today, so maybe this person had the right idea.

“Oh- I’m sorry, were you sitting here?” Roman asked.

“No, you’re fine, I just…” The kid looked side to side anxiously. “…Mind if I sit with you?”

“…Oh! No, I don’t mind at all.”

The kid smiled and set their lunchtray across from Roman. “Thanks. I’m Elliott by the way, they/them pronouns.”

Roman’s brain took a minute to process what they meant. “Uh, hello! I’m Roman…he/him?”

Elliott seemed to get happier when he said that. “Nice to meet you. How’s your first day been so far? Besides for you-know-who this morning.”

Roman laughed. “Well, aside from that uncalled for mess, it’s been quite normal. I got lost a few times, but that’s not new for me. My teachers seem quite alright so far.”

“That’s good to hear. We have a lot of good teachers, I think, unless they teach calculus, then they have some serious issues. But so long as you don’t act like an idiot it’s easy to get past those teachers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind! Hopefully I stay on this hot streak, though.” Roman took out a water bottle from his lunch and started to drink it. “But it’s the students I’m more worried about. They all seem so off on their own. Or just outright rude like that guy this morning.”

Elliott groaned, leaning his head on his hand and slouching. “I’m really sorry about him. He can be a huge jerk for no reason. I think he’s just itching for a fight.”

“You seem to know him quite well. Old friend or something?” Roman asked.

Elliott groaned again. “…He’s my ex.”

“…No offense to your type or anything, but…ew.”

“Oh no, yeah, dating him was definitely an ew,” Elliot sighed. “We broke up like, four times in the span of a year and a half. It was a mess. Eventually, over the summer I broke up with him for good. I think he’s still upset about that and taking it out on the first easy target he finds. That, and he’s a jerk.”

“Well, he’ll soon learn I’m not one to be described as an easy target.” Roman gave a cocky smile and posed.

The bell sounded off again, and all the students stood up from their tables and started to swarm the trash cans and cafeteria exits. Roman and Elliott gave each other a look as they also stood up.

“So…what class do you have next?” Elliott asked nervously.

“Let’s see…” Roman pulled out the schedule from his pocket and looked at it. “Advanced biology with Mr. Weber.”

Elliott’s eyes lit up. “Me too! Uh…wanna walk together then? I can show you where it is.”

Roman smiled. “Of course!”

The two kids headed down the stairs, talking more and laughing long after they sat down in the class and the bell rang. Roman continued to whisper to Elliott during class until the teacher gave them both a warning glance, shutting their mouths but smiling at each other.

Even as Roman tried to pay attention, he felt a weight lift from his chest.

He’d obtained a friend after all!

***

The entire bus drive home, Roman spent it texting Elliott’s number that they’d given him right after biology ended. He talked about his last two classes and listened to Elliott ramble about his bad luck with classmates this year, grinning to himself with his eyes glued to his screen until his stop came. Virgil banged his fist on Roman’s seat to get his attention, making him jump and stand up to get off with Virgil and Logan.

During the walk home, no one said anything. Roman was off in his own world and Virgil just looked tired, with Logan staring intently at his own shoes as he walked. Virgil unlocked the door for them all to come inside, and they all branched off into their different directions. Virgil got a snack from the kitchen while Roman and Logan ran up to their rooms.

Roman spent a lot of his time in his room now that he’d gotten the curtains around his bed. Lying there was a lot softer than hiding on the bathroom floor with his legs propped up, and Roman was still confused as to how he managed to get away with installing this. He’d have to make sure Patton never entered his room again in case he planned to rip the curtains off their hooks.

He’d have to make a plan to effectively keep him out.

But for now, Roman actually needed to talk to Patton as soon as possible. He needed to ask for gym clothes, since that was the only thing Roman still needed to get for class, and he wanted to get it over with so Roman wouldn’t need to keep worrying about it. He was almost certain Patton had come home half an hour ago, but Roman just ignored him and stayed in his room. But he had to take advantage of the fact that he was remembering to ask for the clothes, so there was no time like the present to go find him.

Roman hopped out of bed and exited his room, making his way downstairs to the living room. He figured Patton would be either watching TV or doing something in the kitchen, but when Roman looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere. Virgil was sprawled across the couch on his phone, but no one else was around. Roman put his hands on his hips.

“Where’s Patton?” He asked Virgil.

Virgil didn’t look up. “Upstairs. In his room I think.”

Roman groaned and stomped back upstairs. He hated going into an adult’s room, so he instead opened the door and poked his head in so he wouldn’t have to step inside. But before he could get a word out to Patton, Roman stopped himself.

Patton was sitting on his bed with the lights dimmed, his back resting in the headboard, but what shocked Roman was that Logan was there also. He had his face hidden in Patton’s neck as Patton rubbed his back and played with his hair, holding him tight to his chest while Logan sniffled. Roman had never seen Logan emote before, so watching him cry was…disturbing. Roman wanted to run over and rip Logan from Patton to protect him.

Patton looked at Roman in the doorway and smiled. “You gotta remember to knock before entering, kiddo. What do you need?”

Roman forgot the main reason he came here. “Is Logan okay?”

Patton looked down at Logan and whispered something in his ear. Whatever Patton said, Logan agreed with a quiet nod of his head. Patton rubbed at Logan’s neck in a way that made Roman’s skin crawl as Patton began to speak. “He’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s just a little overwhelmed from school today. Do you need anything?”

Roman took a step inside Patton’s bedroom. It made his whole body shift into fight or flight, but he couldn’t leave Logan alone with him in good conscience. “I just wanted to say I need to buy gym clothes by next Wednesday. I’m in a strength training class this semester.”

Patton smiled. “That’s fine, we can go shopping this weekend.”

Roman looked down at the floor. “Well…I was more thinking, like…I go into the store while you wait in the car.”

Patton raised an eyebrow at him. “I need to buy the clothes, kiddo.”

“You can just give me the money. I’ll stay within the budget and give you any left over, so…please?”

Patton’s face dropped a little, but he didn’t get angry, so Roman considered that a win. “Sure, kiddo. We’ll do that Sunday.”

Even after the conversation seemed to end, Roman still stood near the door, shifting on his feet awkwardly. Patton shifted his eyes between Logan and Roman as if he was analyzing both of their mental states, but Roman’s throat felt stuck as he tried to bring out the words he wanted to say. He was so scared, but he couldn’t force himself to ask the question he knew he needed to ask now. Yet his feet refused to make a run for it out the door despite his fear.

“Do you need something else, kiddo?” Patton lightly prompted. Roman attempted to swallow the rock he felt in his throat.

“Can I…Can I stay with you and Logan?” He hated it, but he had to do it. He didn’t know what Patton would try when Logan was vulnerable.

Patton looked down at Logan, and Logan nodded. Patton turned to smile again. “You can if you want, Logan doesn’t mind.”

Roman carefully walked to the other side of the bed, sitting as far as possible from Patton but keeping his eyes glued to Logan. He knew he wasn’t helping much, not saying a word and not even being close, but it was something Roman had to do. Just because him and Logan weren’t close didn’t mean he’d leave him in danger. Even if Roman felt stuck in his head and couldn’t find the power to move his arms.

Roman sat there for a while, watching Logan’s chest rise as Patton rubbed his back. It felt like ages before Logan’s chest slowed and he fell asleep on top of Patton, somehow not caring at all about being asleep in Patton’s presence. Roman’s heart ached for him. He was too trusting and innocent for his own good.

“I gotta do some chores,” Patton whispered, “So I’m gonna tuck him in and let him nap. Do you still wanna stay with him?”

Roman nodded, not being able to get the words out himself. He felt stuck as Patton lifted Logan up gently, petting his hair to soothe him when he stirred. Roman helped by tugging the covers back from his end of the bed so that Patton could tuck him in and let go of him sooner, his hand on the back of Logan’s leg making Roman anxious. Patton tucked Logan under the covers and watched his reaction. After a few seconds, Patton grabbed a squishy stuffed frog from his bedside table, handing it to Logan who curled around it in his sleep. It’d be cute if Roman wasn’t so worried.

“Tell me if anything happens, okay kiddo?” Patton said right as he was halfway out the bedroom door. Roman nodded, only finally relaxing after Patton left and slowly closed the door. 

Roman immediately ran over to lock it. He didn’t have his security bar, but this would be good enough. Hopefully Patton wouldn’t test anything when he knew Roman would be by Logan’s side.

Despite all of Roman’s worries, Logan slept peacefully on the bed. He didn’t shift or seem distressed at all, just snuggling closer to Patton’s stuffed frog and resting. Logan was calm.

Roman sat on the floor to block the door and watched to make sure no one took that away from him.

[juniorgman187]

Serendipity (Reid Fic) Part 1

A/N: If you’re wondering if this is at all based on Rosie and Marco’s storyline in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” then you should know - it totally is.

Summary: An FBI gathering brings Reader and Spencer together after years of distance. This one night changes not only their future, but their perspective on the past.  Category: Angst, Smut, *NSFW content Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of traumatic childhood, child neglect, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, menstruation, pregnancy Word Count: 10.2k

I originally thought I would be able to fit everything into 1 part, but after further reconsideration, this will be a two part series. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Serendipity: (n). Finding something good without looking for it.

A word I would only come to truly understand many months from now on a warm Thursday morning in May at St. Mary’s Hospital. 

But whenever my thoughts drifted back towards the past, I would always remember that this was how it all began - on a chilly Saturday night in the heart of D.C.

Not more than four hours ago, Emilia and I drove down here for an F.B.I function that hired us. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have agreed to be the caterers for an event so far away, but we eventually signed on after learning that there were at least 600 people attending. That meant a considerable amount of customers and an exorbitant amount of money. Saying yes was clearly a no brainer. 

Just to put it into perspective of how big this event would be, Emilia and I got lucky if we could park somewhere with 80 customers. 80. So this event would be colossal for us.

But who would have guessed that in a crowd of 600, I would run into the one and only - Spencer Reid. 

To preface, this wasn’t just any old birthday party, parade, or festival. It was a celebration and a grand one at that. Considering it was a private event at the Washington Monument, we were given special instructions to abide by the black-tie formal dress code that guests had to follow, too. I guess the caterers can’t look like slobs in the United States’ Capitol, now can they?

I definitely spent more time than I should have deciding on what outfit to wear, but my conscientiousness, or rather indecisiveness, did pay off in the end. For I would run into someone worth the trouble of impressing. 

My hair, unlike Emilia’s, was down and curled in big waves, and on one side, some of my hair was tucked behind my ear and designed to stay that way thanks to copious amounts of hairspray and an ungodly total of bobby pins. Emilia lent me a black, floor-length dress that had a plunging v-neck that didn’t fit her anymore, but luckily, fit perfectly on me. Although I would have to remember not to lean over too far tonight, otherwise, the customers might get a show they didn’t pay for. I, however, didn’t look half so good as my business partner. 

Emilia was clad in a navy blue silk dress with puffy sleeves and a high collar; the dress clung to her every curve, including her newly protruding belly bump. She looked regal and pregnant all at the same time, qualities I hadn’t seen coexist in anyone but the Queens and Duchesses in England. 

“Well, don’t you look hot?” Emilia purred, running her fingers through my curls, then letting them fall and sway back into place. 

“Are you kidding? You are quite literally a sexy mama.” I gushed to her, receiving a light chuckle in return. 

“Yeah, well, when you’re five months pregnant, tell me how sexy you feel in a tight dress.” She remarked, turning her back to me while she arranged all the supplies in the kitchenette behind me. But even as she faced away from me, she still managed to recognize the effect her words had. Maybe it was something in my silence, or our sister-telepathy, but Emilia immediately felt the room depress. In an effort to take back the remark that turned the room cold, she sweetly added while hugging me from behind, “You’re gonna be a mom one day, too. I promise.” 

I leaned into her embrace, feeling guilty for ruining the moment while also feeling burdened by the reminder of the terrible reality I had to face every day.

Ever since I could remember, I thought I was destined to be a mother, but that destiny had yet to be fulfilled.

Emilia was born only three years after me, and though that age gap isn’t big enough for me to be mistaken for her mother, I, she, and our younger brother Saul would all agree that in many ways I was their mom. I was the parent our parents never were. I was there for everything - soccer games, dance recitals, winter musicals - never getting the chance to participate in my own, but always attending their’s. 

I had to admit sometimes it was a burden, having to grow up so fast and help raise my siblings while still trying to navigate through my own struggles of adolescence, but I saw it as something I was meant to do. 

See, I wouldn’t have minded all the responsibilities of being a parent so much when it’d be my own kids that I’d be fulfilling them for - when it would be by my choice to fulfill those responsibilities and not by unfortunate birth order. 

However, as the years have gone by, my calling to be a mother has gotten quieter and quieter and quieter until eventually, I don’t think I’ll be able to hear it anymore. 

It’s not that I can’t have kids, but the fear of rushing into having one is what’s stopped me from pursuing that dream. 

As someone who grew up with divorced parents and practically became my siblings only reliable caregiver, I knew what having a baby too soon could do to a family. So rather than repeating history, I chose to wait to have kids. I didn’t want to make the same mistakes my parents did, and so I lived my life. I traveled all across the globe, I met new people, tried new things, I even started this taco truck business with Emilia. 

But still that gaping hole in my chest remained. A hole that nothing could ever fill the way that a child would. 

No amount of living could make up for the emptiness of a life with no family.

I could pretend all I wanted that I was happy living out my twenties, but the truth was I didn’t want to spend the rest of my years working in a food truck, amounting to nothing more than a mediocre cook and middling entrepreneur. That was never my dream - as exciting as it was. 

My real dream was to have a good life. The kind my parents never had thanks to the unplanned arrival of me. The kind my baby sister was already living out. 

“You know what? It’s a really nice night out. I think I might go for a walk. Do you wanna come?” Was this my blatant avoidance of breaching the subject of pregnancy? Yes, but it was also my escape from this food truck that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller and smaller by the second. 

“No, I’m okay. I’ll just get everything ready.” Emilia resigned. 

She knew why I was really leaving - sister-telepathy, I’m telling you - but she didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. For that, I was thankful. Maybe we were better at communicating with no words at all. 

I carefully stepped off the back of the truck, making sure to hike up my dress high enough so I wouldn’t trip over the mess of fabric when my feet hit the floor. The nippy December air felt like a cool balm on my hot skin. I was burning up in that truck, and maybe it was nerves or something else, but I just had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was no explanation for it, but I realize now that the pit in my stomach was caused by something my intuition could sense but something my mind couldn’t understand. 

Someone important from my past was here tonight.

As I sauntered around the monument, I took in the breathtaking view of the structure’s silhouette against the blazing orange sky that melted into an ocean blue. I regretted not bringing my phone to take a picture of it so I could show Emilia when I got back, but that one regret quickly turned into another when the night sky’s breeze brought a rude awakening. My body shivered at the frigid gust of wind that blew through and I suddenly started to regret not bringing a jacket.

“Are you cold?” A gentle voice asked me from behind. 

I slightly recoiled out of shock of someone being there. When I turned around though, I couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features. All I knew for sure was that this was certainly a man, and a tall one, too. 

“Um, just a little.” I bashfully admitted, crossing my arms to hug myself and maintain some warmth. I hadn’t even thought about my dress’s plunging v-neck or the fact that I was practically squeezing my breasts together, accentuating them even further, but by the time, I realized, it was too late. He was already looking. But not at my chest. Somewhere far more invasive. 

My eyes. 

“Here, take my jacket.” 

My small protests did nothing to stop him as he inevitably slipped the coat around my shoulders anyway. He’d come so close that I could finally see him and smell him. And let me tell you, if the sight of him wasn’t enough to break an overflowing dam of memories, then his smell certainly sent a flood that would.

“Oh my god,” I quietly gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to cover its un-ladylike gaping. 

“Spencer Reid?”

I squinted my eyes and cocked my head even further to find evidence to support my assumption, and sure enough, I found exactly what I was looking for. 

I was frozen in place as I deeply examined his face. My God! I mean, in many ways, he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. Same dazzling hazel eyes. Same uniquely adorable nose. Same over-stimulated pink lips. I wonder if he still bit them as much as he did back then? 

But at the same time, he was so different. Of course, I could still discern the same features I used to study endlessly back then, but his face had transformed into a man’s. He lost the glasses for one thing, but he also had a softer jawline, longer hair, and for lack of a better term, a beefier build.

He was all grown up now, and yet, I could still identify the same boyishly handsome charm that made me fall in love with him more than a decade ago.

“I knew it was you, (y/n).” He chuckled, sounding half proud of himself. My heart fluttered at the sound of my name on his tongue and the action that followed. With his eyes locked on mine, he tucked strands of my hair back behind my ears; it’s as if he were saying, “Let me get a good look at you.” 

“How? It’s almost completely dark outside. You could barely even see me.” Certainly, you can understand why I was skeptical. Sounded too good to be true, if you ask me. 

He shook his head lightly with a smile, seemingly questioning how I couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. “No one else looks like you. Not even in the dark.” 

His words spoke to a part of my soul specifically reserved for him. They were so genuine that I almost didn’t want to believe them because how could someone speak such lovely things and truly mean them? The world wasn’t that good a place. Certainly not good enough for Spencer Reid. 

In that moment, I flew out of my own body and watched this entire scene unfold from up above. I could see the version of a girl I hadn’t seen in years, not since that last interaction with Spencer. She had these big lovesick eyes as she swooned over a man with just the same lovesick look. 

The excessive upward tilt of my head and the way his neck craning down must’ve made it seem like we were about to kiss, but I knew better than to expect such a thing from Spencer Reid. And if anything, what we were doing right now was much more intimate than kissing. 

“Wow, you ... you really grew up. You look great.” My own voice sounded unfamiliar to me after the words slipped from my mouth without even registering in my brain first. 

“Are you kidding? Look at you! I mean, you are just ...” He paused for a moment to look me up and down, and I nearly shivered at the thought that he was practically undressing me with his eyes. “You’re absolutely beautiful. But you always were.” 

I was almost completely in a daze when I heard a hideous squawk of a bird flying overhead. This wouldn’t make sense, but it nearly felt like a sign. Like the bird knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, reminding me of where I belonged - reality - not in this fantasy with Spencer. 

“Um,” My head spun as I drew back from him. “I should probably get back. I’ll see you later.” I touched his upper arm gently as I passed by him, and it stunned me how warmth just radiated off of his body. 

To my all too quick goodbye, he simply waved and watched me walk past him with a pursed-lip smile. And just before I got too far, I thought I heard him say, “I hope so.” 

Though my feet were carrying me away from Spencer, my thoughts were only drifting closer to the memory of him, and we did have so many memories. 

11 Years Ago ...

I was at the ripe age of 16 when I got my driver’s license. And to anyone else, this would seem like a given milestone, but to me - it was so much more. With the obtainment of my license, I also gained access to a whole new world. Opportunities poured at the seams. I could drive anyone and anywhere I wanted to and though it wasn’t true, it felt like I could do anything, too. But like all things good in my life, it fell apart in the face of responsibilities. 

My newly obtained license was just another way for my parents to exploit me. Now, they didn’t have to drive Emilia and Saul since I could. Looking back, I have to wonder if the only reason they funded my driver’s ed classes were for the exact reason that if I took them, I’d sooner be able to take on yet another helping of duties they were too lazy to fulfill.

There’s one particular moment I can remember from this age and that same moment could also be regarded as the catalyst that would set off a series of events for the next 11 years to come.

It was the end of the school year and summer vacation was right around the corner. I was a sophomore at the time, and the prospect of being a junior the next year excited me. 

To kick off the start of summer, Melody Hanes was throwing a pool party at her house. Everyone knew she was filthy rich because of a dead grandpa or some other, not to mention, she was also in student government so she had just as big of a role in school as her grandpa’s death did in making the Hanes family wealthy. 

Though I never knew her personally, I did have third period chemistry with her for the entire year, and I sat right in front of her for pretty much the entirety of second semester. She must’ve only addressed me a handful of times, but she still invited me to her party anyway. Proximity, I had to admit, did play a part in that though because if I sat just a seat farther away, then I wouldn’t have been. 

I came home that day, thrilled to tell my mother about my invitation. It would’ve been my first party that wasn’t a distant relative’s birthday celebration or a childish sleepover in elementary. It was my first real high school party, and for once, I thought - maybe I’d finally get the quintessential ‘high school experience.’

But of course, I never did. 

As soon as I got home, I parked my car in the driveway, got the mail, and came inside the house to see my mother sitting on the couch watching TV, as per usual. While I was telling her about my invitation, she didn’t bother to lower the volume or even look away from the screen to give me her undivided attention, and when she did look away, it was only to take the mail from my hands. 

“Your sister’s science fair is on that day, and you have to take her because I’ll be working from 1 to 7.” My mother never once looked up from the mail she was sorting through to address me. And her words, while incredibly monotone, were also spoken with such finality, like what she said was the last she ever wanted to speak on the topic. No room for discussion. 

I’m not still losing sleep over it, but at the time, it felt like for once, I could actually just be a teenager and be young and reckless like everyone else, but that it was just taken from me. I never got the chance to be a kid again.

With the exception of Emilia’s science fair.

I knew my father wouldn’t be there, and obviously my mother wouldn’t, so I stayed to watch her presentation and to walk around the rest of the time. She deserved someone in her corner, and that someone was me. Even if no one was in mine. 

As I serpentined through the cafeteria, a bittersweet feeling came upon me. From paper mâché volcanoes to potato batteries, I observed a childlike sense of wonder that I hadn’t felt for years. 

Here, I was surrounded by children who got to be just children. They got to occupy themselves with trivial matters, like how gardens grow or if video games actually do rot your brain. 

Their problems had solutions and their questions had answers, and it almost made me wish that I could revert back to a time where life was that easy, but I couldn’t because it never was … not for me. 

So to sum it up, it was precious and heartbreaking all at the same time. 

While browsing the fair, I stumbled upon a man that didn’t quite seem to fit in, and maybe it was my own unfitting appearance that made me recognize his. He could’ve very well been the brother of one of these children, but something about the way he was dressed and the way he carried himself made me highly doubt that. 

He couldn’t have been a parent either, for he was not too far off from my own age, and if he was a parent of one of these eighth graders, that would have to mean that he had a kid when he was in kindergarten. So for all intents and purposes, he wasn’t someone’s brother or someone’s father. Who he actually was - I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

After that first observance, I spotted him a couple more times, but it wasn’t until we were looking at the same project that we actually spoke. 

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The sudden sound of his voice alarmed me, but only because it seemingly came out of nowhere. Generally, before someone speaks to you, you notice signals that they’re about to, which helps you prepare for conversation. Whether it’s nervous twitches, a look in your direction, maybe even a small acknowledging smile, you’ll recognize they want to or plan to talk to you, but none of those signs were given to me. Even when I turned my head to give him my attention, he was still fixated on the project in front of us. 

“Yeah, it really is,” I politely agreed. I awkwardly looked around the room as if I’d find an answer as to what to say next because I did want to keep talking to him, but the longer I stayed silent, the more I fear he’d begin to think I didn’t want to. With nothing else to ask but the question that had been bothering me since I first laid eyes on him, I simply went for it. 

“So, who are you here for?”

For the first time, he turned his head to the side to look right at me. With a quizzical expression, he responded. “Oh, no one. I’m just a judge here.” 

It was my turn to possess a quizzical expression. His statement wouldn’t have been weird, except for the part where any judge I’d seen or talked to were all well into their forties or fifties. 

“Aren’t you kinda young to be a judge? You’re, like, what? Seventeen, eighteen?

“Nineteen actually. But I regularly come to judge the Summer Science Fairs here since I went to this middle school eleven years ago.” 

Again, I would’ve taken his word for it, but the math didn’t make sense. “You were in middle school at eight years old?” 

“Mhm. I ended up graduating high school at twelve.” He said it so nonchalantly, but for how big of a feat it was, I thought it would’ve deserved a more prideful tone, yet he still maintained such a cavalier one. Did he not think himself to be impressive? 

“Jeez, you must be really smart.” 

He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made me notice that he wasn’t carrying a clipboard like the other judges, which was probably another reason why I didn’t take him for one. How would he be able to remember the projects that he was considering for awards? He’d have to have some magical memory for that.

Before answering, he began to walk away, but nonetheless he continued addressing me, so I followed him where he went. 

“Mmm not necessarily. My IQ isn’t high enough to suggest I’m a provable genius yet, but I do have an eidetic memory and I can currently read 16,000 words per minute, which definitely helps. I hope to be able to read 20,000 words per minute in the future.” 

Despite answering my question, he only left me with many more. 

“What is your IQ right now?”

“131.”

My eyes widened. Even I, with my limited knowledge on intelligence quotients knew that was high, especially for someone as young as he was. 

“So what IQ score do you have to have in order to be considered a genius?”

I couldn’t help but notice how he barely took anytime to think before answering me. It’s like his brain just knew everything, right then and there. 

“A score of over 140 is considered a genius or near genius.”

“Wow, so you’re almost a genius then?”

“Almost, but not quite. If I receive diverse stimulation at a consistent rate for the next few years, I predict that I’ll have an IQ of 180 or higher by the time I’m in my early twenties.”

You would think he would leave me speechless, but I still went on to ask him about what an eidetic memory was, and he explained to me that he could remember things exceedingly well, but that it was not the same thing as a photographic memory. He made that distinction very clear to me. 

Our conversation droned on for the rest of the fair as we continued to circle the cafeteria. I can’t count how many times we lapped around the same projects, but we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Once those first few seconds after meeting him, when I didn’t know what to say, passed, I never again felt a sense of not knowing. We could talk for hours and hours, and it wouldn’t matter. I would never get bored. 

How could I? When I was with him, it felt like the rest of the world just faded away. Our discourse flowed so easily, no pressure, no awkward silence. It was just me and him, and if you ask me, that’s quite the opposite of boring. 

That was the first and final time I ever truly felt like a kid. Just like the ones in the science fair. Not a care in the world except for my morbid curiosity of the marvel that was him.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and I inevitably found myself being ripped out of my trance when I felt an aggressive tug on my sweater.

“We can go now.” Emilia interrupted. 

I hadn’t even noticed that a majority of the poster boards were taken down and that an even larger majority of the people were long gone, too. I got so lost in the conversation that I didn’t realize we were one of the last people still there. 

Emilia’s eagerness to leave was apparent as she pulled me away from my interesting conversationalist. 

“I had a nice time talking to you!” I called out to him, walking backwards to lengthen the period of time I could keep looking at him. 

“Likewise.”

I turned around fully just before I finally realized something. “Hey!” I yelled across the distance. “I never got your name!” 

He bashfully smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. “It’s Spencer! Spencer Reid!” 

I stood there for a moment, silently processing his name. 

“What’s yours?” He yelled back. 

I chuckled mischievously. “I guess you’ll have to find out next time.” My ambiguity puzzled him and intrigued him all at the same time. 

“Next time?” 

With the intentions of leaving him without a true answer, I simply turned on my heels and started walking away. 

“Bye, Spencer!”

Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, I knew after that first day, he could never forget me. 

- Present Time -

By the time I made it back to the truck, people were already lining up to order. 

“Get over here!” Emilia squealed excitedly from the window, her hand rapidly waving me over as if it’d suddenly increase my speed. I ran back as fast as I could in a dress and heels and climbed into the truck, mirroring my sister’s zeal. 

When I stepped in, Emilia took one glance at me and furrowed her brows. “Where’d you get the jacket?” 

Had she not mentioned it, I would not have remembered the foreign fabric that wrapped around my shoulders. 

“Oh, shoot!” I palmed my forehead after the realization dawned on me. I should’ve noticed sooner that I still had it on, but honestly, it didn’t feel unusual or out of place. It was comfortable and familiar, like it was meant to be there that entire time.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can handle this alone for just a second? I have to return this to a friend.” I asked while slipping off the coat to ready myself to leave, even in the event that Emilia said she wouldn’t let me go. Luckily though, she understood it was urgent. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back.” 

I extended my head to look out just past the side of the truck to look for Spencer while still being concealed within the vehicle. Now that there were more people here, I wasn’t exactly sure I should be caught mingling with the attendees, so instead, I decided to search for him from the truck, rather than wandering around the party, giving the impression to the people that hired us that I wasn’t doing my job and was just here to socialize. 

Luckily, there was something about my attachment to Spencer that was supernatural. I had this metaphysical ability to spot him even in a crowded place. I could find him anywhere. But whether that was a blessing or a curse was to be determined because right as my paranormal power kicked in, I found him. And there he was - standing next to another girl, a proximity much too close and a smile much too big to be anything less than flirtatious.

I paused to recall the image I had of myself earlier, when I floated up and out of my own body. I looked just like her - an oversized grin combined with lovesick eyes. 

But that’s not the worst part. 

The worst part was he was returning just the same look of attraction to her. 

“Um, actually,” I re-entered the truck completely, tossing the jacket aside haphazardly. “I’ll just return it later.” 

“You sure? You can go. I’ve got things covered right now.” She said between multitasking at a rate that even I, a very-much-not-pregnant-woman, could manage. 

All I could mutter back without giving away the sharp ache in my heart was, “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

_ _ _

After hours and hours of non-stop working, the night, at last, was coming to a close. The large crowd had sized down considerably, until I could no longer hear the sound of a thousand voices meshing. All the decorations were already coming down by the time Emilia and I finished packing up the truck. Without the hectic energy to cause adrenaline to course through my veins, it should’ve been peaceful, yet my heart was not at peace. 

I couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing Spencer with that girl, but that wasn’t really why I was upset. It was more about the fact that I’d actually believed for a second that I had any chance with him. I should’ve known he wasn’t single, and the fact that I let myself swoon over him again angered me all the more. If I ever had a chance with Spencer, the time to act on it was long gone.

Now, I had to live with that. 

“You sure you wanna stay here alone? I’ll come with you if you want me to.” 

Emilia’s question was referring to my proposal to stay in D.C for the night while she drove home. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I realized I couldn’t handle being in another suffocating car ride with Emilia. It had nothing to do with her - just that I needed alone time to process everything by myself. If I knew my sister as well as I thought I did, I knew she would’ve sensed something was wrong and tried to coax me into talking about it, which I was not in the mood to do. Plus, traveling for so long made me nauseous just thinking about it. Although, I didn’t have a plan, I knew that I just wanted to hail a cab and find a hotel somewhere here for the night. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. Call me when you get home.” I tapped on the back of the truck twice to let her know she was good to drive away, and I felt the car lurch forward per my request. When the truck finally did move, out from behind it appeared the tall figure of none other than Spencer. 

I was surprised, but only for a second, when that surprise turned into pain once more. Playing it cool so my afflictions wouldn’t be suspected, I nonchalantly stated, “Here’s your jacket, by the way. Sorry, I forgot to give it back to you earlier.”

I extended my arm far enough so that we’d still have a great distance between us when he went to grab it, but sure enough, my actions were all for naught when he not only refused to remove his hands from his pockets to take it but also walked two steps closer to me than he needed to be. I looked like an idiot just standing there with my arm so outstretched, only for him to not grab it and to let it simply press against his stomach as a complete avoidance of getting it back. 

“You were supposed to keep it. That’s why I didn’t ask for it back.” He curtly replied, finishing his statements with a cheeky grin. However, I wasn’t in the mood to return it. I simply stood there and shook the jacket in my hand to emphasize its presence. 

“Take it. Please.” My voice was full of contradictions. I tried to be assertive with my command, and yet my plead only softened the order and showed a defeat I wasn’t even aware of until I heard how sad it sounded. “I don’t want it, Spencer.” 

He no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor but still wouldn’t pacify me by taking the jacket. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” His voice got quieter, as if speaking any louder would shatter me in this fragile state of being. 

“Nothing, I’m just tired and I want to go home.” This wasn’t a complete lie. I was exhausted from working for hours and hours on my feet with no breaks in between, but it wasn’t exactly the full truth either. He could tell. 

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He persisted. “Please.”

The only way I could describe what I happened next was like the vision of a boiling pot. Gradually, I was heating up until I finally got so overheated that I just boiled over and exploded. 

“What don’t you get, Spencer? I don’t want your jacket!” Fury consumed my tone. “And I don’t think your girlfriend would want that either.” 

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!” His words were flying out of his mouth at 100 mph as he desperately trying to mend what couldn’t be fixed. 

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you with that blonde girl. How close you two were standing, the way you were looking at each other.” Just having to recount the interaction made the horrid memory come back vividly into the forefront of my thoughts, and it broke my heart all over again. I shut my eyes painfully as though it would turn off the image of them together, but this only allowed for Spencer to wrap his warm hands around my upper arms and pull me closer to him without my knowing. I flinched unconsciously at the sudden feeling of his touch, to which he instantly let go. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands shook with remorse for letting them touch my body in a way that elicited that reaction. They hovered in the space between us, not knowing where to go that would suddenly make things okay. “But she’s no one, okay? She’s just a coworker.” 

I wanted to believe him. I quite possibly did believe him, but there was still a sharp pain in my chest. Call it intuition. 

“No, she’s not,” I shook my head. “She’s not ‘no one’... you love her.” 

Spencer came closer but still didn’t let himself touch me again out of fear that I might draw back even further. 

“Listen to me - whatever feelings I used to have for her are long gone. She’s married, (y/n). She has a kid. And none of that even matters because the way that I used to love her is nothing compared to the way that I-” 

“Don’t.” I held my hand up in protest. “Don’t say you love me.” 

His eyebrows knit together with dismay. “Why? Why not? It’s true. I love you. I always have.” 

With one big sigh, I finally resigned to my emotions. “Then why didn’t you ever do something about it?” 

Judging by the deflation of his shoulders and the far off look he got in his eyes, he knew exactly the moment I was talking about. 

Two days after Emilia’s science fair, I drove to the library to pick up books I needed for my summer homework. I was already on my way out when I just happened to glance to my side, noticing a lone figure sitting at the bus stop. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I looked back, I partially recognized him. I shaded my eyes from the sun and squinted harder to confirm my suspicions. 

“Spencer?” I wondered out loud.

The figure’s head turned around, narrowed their eyes, and waved. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to me with a precious little jog-walk. Although we had only met once before, we still embraced each other like lifelong friends. 

“Do I finally get to know your name now?” He jokingly inquired after pulling away. 

It completely slipped my mind that I’d denied him the knowledge of my name, but for my own satisfaction, I wouldn’t let him get off that easily. 

“Do you have any guesses of it could be?” 

He pouted childishly. “Are you kidding? In a population of 350 million people, there would be about 4.4 million names. But if every country on Earth had the same nominative diversity we in the US have, that would suggest about 750 million unique names exist.”

I must admit it was fun watching him melt into a flustered mess of facts, but I was growing just as impatient as him. “Come on, just guess. You might be right.”

He rolled his eyes but indulged me willingly anyway. “Okay ... um ... Catherine.” 

“Nope.”

“Nicole.”

“Nope.”

“Gertrude.” 

“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Olive.” 

“Pretty,” I smiled, making his face light up, too. “But no.” His smile fell. 

“This is nearly impossible.” He sighed. 

“Nothing’s impossible.” My delivery wasn’t as cheesy as the line itself, so it touched us both in a way that made that silly phrase feel like it’d never been said before. With a visible passion reignited in him, he continued. 

“Francis.”

“Okay, maybe this is impossible.” 

My blunt joke brought us closer together, our heads almost knocking into one another’s as we clutched our stomachs and leaned forward to support our all-consuming laughter. When we finally calmed down, I finally confessed. 

“Okay, okay - it’s (y/n).” 

He stood there completely silent. There was no expression of his face that indicated he planned on speaking, so I elaborated. “It’s not as good as the name Spencer, I know I know -”

“I’ve never known anyone with that name before.” His hushed voice cut into mine so innocently. 

My cheeks heated from the slight compliment. “Well, now you do. And don’t you forget it.” I teased. With nothing further to say, I brushed past him to start walking away, when unconsciously, I spun my keys around my index finger and heard the familiar jingle of the metal, reminding me of something. 

“Hey, Spencer?” I turned on my heels. “Can I give you a ride home?”

And so began our routine for the entire summer. I would bring my summer homework to the library, and Spencer would help me understand it, or even complete it, and then I’d give him a ride home. We’d go to the park and read, or we’d go to the movies, or we’d hang out at a diner. And each time, I’d drop him off. 

The more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and his life. He told me about his mom, his dad - everything. I did just the same. I told him about my mom, my dad, my siblings - everything. 

Perhaps we enjoyed spending so much time together because it was a sweet escape from our houses that weren’t homes. But every time we did hang out, we just got closer and closer, and by the end of the summer, I knew my feelings perfectly clear. 

I love Spencer. 

If missing that pool party at Melody Hanes was what it took to find the absolute love of my life, then what a small price to pay it was. I wouldn’t have traded a million pool parties for that one chance encounter with Spencer at the science fair. 

One day, we were pulling into his driveway after having a picnic at the country club, and I’d just let him out of the car, when unconsciously, I said, “Bye, Spence! Love you!” 

He caught the words faster than I did. He looked like a deer in headlights, and it took me at least two seconds more to figure out why. That entire day I’d been thinking about saying it, but by the end, I decided it’d be better not to, and yet, it just came out anyway.

“You love me?” 

There were two ways I could’ve answered. The first was to deny it and say that I only meant that I loved him like a friend. The second was to be brave and validate my unintentional confession. 

In the heat of the moment, I chose the latter. 

“Yes.” I nodded, smiling from my own courage. You only live once right?

In a cruel twist of fate, Spencer never tried to speak, and instead, ran to his front door. 

“Spencer!” I yelled. “What are you-” 

He gave me one last look over his shoulder before he opened the door and closed it right behind him. That was the last I ever saw him. 

I learned, that day, that you do only live once. 

But you can die over and over again.

From that point on, he’s lived in my mind as the one that never was. 

Regret and shame manifested on Spencer’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He dejectedly began. “But I was young and-and dumb and just ... so scared. God, I was so scared.” He finally looked up, if for no other reason than to gauge my reaction. “I liked you so much, but I, I just couldn’t open myself up to the possibility of being hurt by another person I loved.”

Much like my own life, Spencer’s was riddled with traumatic experiences. Except rather than being expected to take care of younger siblings, he had to take care of his mom. And having to be a parent to your own parent? That’s something I would never wish upon anyone else. 

“I ... I get it.” It was a sweet surrender, my words. After years of pent-up aggression borne from humiliation, rejection, and deep sadness, I could finally understand. “But as selfish as it sounds, I wish your past hurt hadn’t gotten in the way of our potential happiness.” 

He took each of my hands in his, encasing them with palms of warmth. “Then don’t let the same thing happen right now. Don’t let the stupid, broken teenager I was cloud your judgement of the man I am now. Let me prove to you that I’ve changed.” 

I stood there silently, an eerie parallel to how Spencer reacted to my confession eleven years ago. 

“When I saw you, it felt like a second chance. A second chance to do what I was too afraid to do back then. And I couldn’t let myself make the same mistake twice.” His eyes were piercing through my soul. Every word plucked at my heartstrings, until I could no longer keep up with the symphony they were playing. 

There was the slightest hesitation behind it, but I did inch forward. And in no time at all, Spencer saw the movement and made his own. 

His hands released mine and shot straight for my cheeks to cup them gently, while kissing me firmly. He wasn’t the same shy boy he was, and this kiss was only proof of that. The way his lips were moving so fervently made me weak at the knees. He was so desperate and needy, like even with our lips touching, he still wasn’t close enough to me. Unleashed upon me was years of yearning wrapped in prominent lust. 

“I love you.” He blurted clumsily on my lips. I didn’t return the sentiment, but that wasn’t why he said it. He wanted to say it so I’d know, not so that I’d say it back. 

“You should know,” I muttered between kisses. “I’m not leaving D.C. until tomorrow morning.” 

The biggest smirk creeped onto his face. Bastard. 

Once we’d exhausted all the things we could possibly do in public, we ran to the nearest cab we could find and exhausted all the things we could do in that, too.

It was already past midnight when we arrived at Spencer’s apartment, and though we should’ve been quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, we were still breaking out into a fit of giggles like a bunch of teenagers sneaking around as we ran up the stairs. We hadn’t even made it past the doormat, before he seized my hips in his hands and spun me back towards him. Forcefully, he pressed me against the door while simultaneously unlocking it. That shut me up real good, lemme tell you. 

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he gave me a reprieve when he held me closer so as to stop pinning me against the door. In an effort to do the impossible, we stumbled through his apartment in a frenzy trying to undress each other while maintaining our bodily contact. With one giant tug of the zipper on my back, my dress fell to the ground. To his atonement, he left me in just a thong. Whereas he was much too overdressed in my opinion. 

No sooner did I gracelessly unbutton his shirt than we ran into a plant against the wall. Our smiles practically ruined the kiss at the sound of the crash, but it remained nonetheless. I knew I was in for something, when Spencer paused to wait for me to unbuckle his belt. That was the first time we ever really stopped in place, but just as I anticipated, I was in for it. 

When I finally freed his waist of the garment, he just as quickly placed his hand on the back of my thigh, and in one swift motion, hoisted me into the air high enough to allow my legs to wrap around his waist. My arms were loose around his neck and the feeling of his warm hands touching my bare skin sent a chill down my spine. 

Due to Spencer’s essential hand placement on my body, I had to be the one to fumble with his bedroom’s doorknob until it finally gave way. Once more, we staggered through his room before he let our lips break apart to lightly toss me onto the bed. I giggled at the squeak of the bed, driving him visibly crazy. 

He hastily unzipped his own dress pants, while I propped myself up on my elbows. When he met me on the bed, he hovered over me to the point of having to lay back down again just to see him clearly. He felt too far away so I drew him nearer by lacing my hand through his soft curls. I twirled one around my finger, which must’ve been too merciful for him to handle. 

He placed his hand on the back of mine and slid it down to his cheek. He held my hand there for a moment, leaning into the skin of my palm prior to placing a chaste kiss on it. 

He didn’t need to say it again for me to know what he was thinking. 

I love you.

The anticipation was killing me and in the most impatient manner, I pulled him down to my level, mimicking his similar habit of face-grabbing during a kiss. I knew his hands would’ve flown to my face the way they did just minutes ago, but one was too preoccupied keeping himself up and the other was busy toying with the band of my thong. I shivered at the sensation of him slipping one finger under the material and letting it glide over my tender skin right above my heat. 

“Spencer,” I mumbled in a kiss to bring his attention back to me. Although I was certainly interested to know the hidden talents of Spencer Reid and his fingers, I was restless. I’d been waiting years for this moment, and unlike most people, I didn’t want to wait another second. “I need you now.” 

He pulled his head back so he could get a full view of my face to examine my sincerity. He wanted to know if I was sure, and my eyes told him such. He nodded in acknowledgement with such speed that I was sure he was craving this as much as I was. 

Rather than looking at where our bodies were about to meet, I had to close my eyes so I could fully feel everything without any other sense taking that away from me. In a painfully slow manner, he lined himself up at my entrance. At first, he only lightly pushed in, and it was this slacken movement that made me cry out and grip his shoulders for stability.

He pushed further in until he was fully sheathed inside of me. There was a slight moment of regret for not letting him engage in foreplay before, but that quickly went away when the pain turned to pleasure. He gained more confidence in himself with each stroke, and I could feel it. The more powerfully he thrust, the more I felt myself tightening around him. The over simulation was a stark contrast from the stimulation I denied and so the sensation I was feeling was only heightened by the absence of it before. For that very reason, I knew I was already close. And maybe he knew it, too and just as sweet revenge, he decided to send me over the edge by pulling my leg over his shoulder to thrust into me a new angle. As I’m sure he predicted, I threw my head back as tears began to prick the corners of my eyes. He rode the ever exquisite border between pain and pleasure, and my tears were a manifestation of that. Not even a minute passed, before I tried to moan but pathetically failed, not even being able finish the pitiful wail without the both of us finishing together.

Our heavy panting synchronized and reverberated back to us while he slowed down his pace and pulled out. 

Perhaps in the heat of the moment, we lost all logic and reason, considering that even up till now, neither of us had realized that he didn’t use a condom. 

But what would eventually happen in the future as a result of this action, or inaction, would surely make us remember.

Spencer lowered himself down to kiss me breathlessly; strands of his hair clung to his forehead as sweat glimmered on both of us. Not until we were ready did we make our way to the bathroom so he could help clean me up. Once we returned, I gathered my clothes, but he made sure to grab my panties before I could even notice.

“Have you seen -“ I cut myself off when I saw what was dangling in his hands.

“Looking for this?” He teased.

All my energy had been spent on him that I couldn’t be bothered to fight for them back. 

“Keep ‘em.” I smirked, my hand reaching down to pick up his jacket off the floor and hold it up. “Consider it a fair trade.”

No arguments from him. 

Needless to say, I did end up finding a place to stay the night. Where and with whom you might ask? 

Well, you can probably figure that one out for yourself. 

_ _ _

I wish I could tell you I got a good night’s rest, and I could - it just wouldn’t be the truth. 

Spencer and I spent the rest of the night just talking. We filled each other in on nearly ever second of the past 11 years, and once again, I found myself reverting back to the teenager I was at the science fair. The entire world revolved around us as we spoke to each other effortlessly, like no time had passed. Even in the periods of silence, I felt comfortable. 

Spencer and I were lying on our sides facing one another when I felt compelled to profess that “I can’t talk this way with anyone. It’s just you.” 

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a small smile on his lips. He didn’t need to say that he felt the same way because I already knew. His hand never left my face but instead made its descent down my jawline and stopped at my chin. He raised his thumb to reach my lower lip, letting the pad of his finger graze over the soft skin of my lip. 

It felt like he was tracing every detail of my body, running his eyes over every inch at least twice so as to fully commit everything to his memory. 

At last, the tension broke when he positioned his hand comfortably at the back of my neck, bowing his head forward to kiss me. This one was quite different than our first, for it was gentler and warmer. We weren’t forcing ourselves to make up for lost time. In fact, this kiss was saying, “We’ve got plenty of time.” 

Plenty of time indeed. Which we were happy to spend making love again. 

And I will be the first to admit that if our first round of unprotected sex didn’t solidify our future predicament, this time certainly did. 

Six Weeks Later ...

“Hello?” Clearly frustrated, Emilia waved her hand in front of my face to harness me back to earth. I hadn’t realized I zoned out until she scoffed at me. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No, sorry. Could you repeat it one more time?” 

She set down the papers in front of her and sighed unhappily. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant lately.” 

It hurt to hear, even though it was the truth. I wasn’t intentionally being despondent, but it’s hard to be present when there’s so much occupying your mind, and there was one thing in particular that was keeping me up late at night recently. 

My period has always been irregular. For as long as I’ve had it, I’ve always missed a few weeks, then it would become consistent, then it would be sporadic again. In fact, there was one year where I only had four periods total. So it didn’t strike me as odd when I realized three days ago that my last period was about seven weeks ago. 

What did strike me as odd was the other symptoms I was experiencing. Menstruation cycles are known to closely mimic the symptoms of pregnancy, but with the knowledge that my period wasn’t coming, it was disconcerting to me that I was suffering the discomforts without the actual period itself. 

To me, there was only one clear explanation for this anomaly. 

I was pregnant. 

Earlier in the day, I bought a pregnancy test and was late to work because of it. If Emilia hadn’t been suspicious of my behavior before, showing up late only made her suspicion greater. 

I didn’t know when I’d take it, probably at home after work, but the anticipation was eating away at me. I would pace around the truck until Emilia finally told me to stop because the vehicle wouldn’t stop swaying with my every movement. I was biting my nails and chewing on each little piece that grew back just to bite it back down to the nub. My hands couldn’t stop shaking, my breathing wouldn’t slow down. I was a hysterical mess. 

I didn’t tell Spencer any of my concerns, of course, but being as perceptive as he is, he noticed my strange mannerisms despite my best efforts to hide them. 

“Your breathing just got faster. Are you feeling okay?” He paused the movie we were watching to check in on me one time. It should be known that the scene that caused my heavier breathing was a scene of a woman finding out she was pregnant and being absolutely devastated. I quickly brushed it off as just being too warm, to which he turned on his air conditioning. Luckily for me, he didn’t make the connection. 

And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell Spencer - I really did - but why should I make a fuss about something if there ended up being nothing to worry about? That would just be extra stress, and the last thing a new, blossoming relationship needs is additional strain. 

So without Spencer, I had to opt for the next best thing - my sister.

I’d reached my wits end, and I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. I was walking on eggshells with practically everyone I knew, and I’d sooner go crazy if I didn’t tell someone what I was really feeling. So in response to her question, I finally told the truth. 

“I think I might be pregnant.” 

You can imagine the shock on my sister’s face. Emilia’s jaw became one with the floor as her eyes widened so big I thought they would pop out of her head. 

“You’re pregnant?” Already her eyes were welling up with tears of joy. 

“I don’t know yet.” I put my arms around her to keep her calm and stable while the emotions began overpowering her. I wanted it to serve as a reminder to not get her hopes up, otherwise she’d get mine up, too. 

“Well, have you taken a test?” 

I reached for my purse behind her and rummaged through it until I finally retrieved the box. Holding it up, I reluctantly suggested, “I thought maybe you could be there for me when I did?” 

She squealed with joyful elation, practically shattering the window pane with the high pitch of her voice. On top of that, she was jumping up and down with elegant grace that I had to wonder how her pregnant body could even manage to do such a thing. 

“Of course, I will! Come, come, let’s go.” 

We hopped off the truck and to the nearest restroom, which admittedly wasn’t the nicest of places, nor was the place I ever imagined as a child that I’d be finding out I was pregnant in, but it had to do for now. 

When I first came out of the stall, I set the test face down on the sink, so that we wouldn’t see it until it was ready. Emilia set a timer for 10 minutes, but in the meantime, all we could do was wait. Neither of us could stay still; Emilia bounced up and down, rubbing her belly while facilitating some sort of breathing exercise. Meanwhile, I kept tapping my foot impatiently. 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Emilia’s alarm scared the shit out of me, and we both were startled by the blaring sound. It was so jarring, but even that wouldn’t compare to the fear I felt when I realized it was finally time. 

“Do you wanna look or should I?” She asked. 

“You look.” I said at first. But when she lunged forward to take it, I did, too. “No wait, I should.” Then another moment of hesitation. “No, you do it. I can’t.” 

I held my hands over my mouth while I watched her carefully lift the test off the sink, maneuvering it in such a way that only she would see the results. I watched her expression closely for any sign of a reaction, but she was stoic as can be. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, happy - nothing. Complete and total poker face. 

“Come on, Emilia! What does it say?” I blurted anxiously.

“Well, first, what do you want it to say?” 

That was a question I hadn’t considered. I was so busy worrying about what I didn’t know, to pause and think about what I wanted to find out. On the one hand, I’d be ecstatic if the test confirmed that I was pregnant. I’d jump for joy because that was what I always wanted, right? But on the other hand, if it said I wasn’t pregnant, then I’d be sort of sad because I got so close to that lifelong dream. But after that, I’d probably just be relieved to have dodged a bullet.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t know-”

“Don’t think. Just tell me. What do you want it to say?” 

Without missing a beat, I replied, “Positive.” My sister and I alike were stunned by my answer. “Yeah,” I nodded slowly. “Positive. I want it to say positive.” I repeated, to cement my earnest desire. 

Emilia’s facade melted away as she began to shake her head. “I’m sorry, (y/n). There’s only one line.” 

We both knew what that meant, even if she didn’t explicitly say it. I sighed dejectedly, which was a surprise to even myself. I didn’t expect to be this disappointed, and yet I was. The knot it my stomach worked itself free, and where that pit used to be was just emptiness. My heart sunk and steadied itself, and my breathing resumed its normal pace. 

“Well,” I bit my lip. “I guess that’s that.” 

Emilia instantly drew nearer to pull me in for a hug, one I was not ready to accept but welcomed anyway. “I’m sorry, (y/n). But I mean, sometimes tests just come out with false negatives.” With her face still buried in the crook of my neck in our hug, she mumbled, “Not this one, though. This one’s positive.” 

Immediately, I retreated from our hug and pulled her in front of my view. The sneaky girl had a huge grin that took up 99% of her face. 

“You’re pregnant!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, shaking my body violently. We embraced each other in another hug while simultaneously jumping up and down. “I just wanted to trick you so you would know how you really feel. Now you know!” 

And I did know. I did know that I wanted this baby and that I was glad it even existed. 

Not long after our mini-celebration did I start to come down from the high of my euphoria. A certain realization dawned on me like a cloud of gray hanging above my head to rain on my parade. 

What about Spencer?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

PART 2 HERE!

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[nikki-writes-stuff]

Beauty In the Blood - Part 5

Summary: One day your friend convinces you to join a dating website that matches people based on their search histories, and when you match with Loki Odinson, a handsome, intelligent coroner who’s a fan of your murder mysteries, you’re absolutely thrilled. But there’s something off about Loki, and as your relationship progresses, you discover that his dark side is even darker than you could ever have imagined…

Pairing: Serial Killer!Loki x Writer!Reader

Read part four here! 

A/N: This story is based off of this post! I hope you guys enjoy; this is my first time writing Loki, and this will probably be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please let me know what you think as the story progresses!

*Please read to the end for another author’s note!*

A/N: Warning, folks! Here be smut! Nothing too dark in this chapter as far as gore or violence goes, though. Which... I suppose is a plus, considering this story. I hope you guys enjoy!

Too good to be true.

That was the thought that kept plaguing you, even four months later. He’s too good to be true. This relationship is too good to be true. What happens when I figure out that this is too good to possibly be true?

And yet, day after day, Loki continued to prove you wrong. It wasn’t all just the big romantic overtures that you found out he loved to make. (Like the time he had a dozen red roses delivered to your door on your one-months anniversary. Or the brand new matching wireless keyboard and mouse he got to make writing easier for you. Or the time he took you to a quaint, tucked away speak-easy to treat you to a night of drinks and slow dancing.)

It was in the little things, too. How he would come over on days where you felt less-than-good to hold you and watch your favorite movies. Or how he would send you texts throughout the day to tell you about an interesting case at work, or to ask you what you wanted for dinner on date night, or just to tell you that he was thinking about you.

In fact, some would even say that he was too attentive, too perfect, and were it anyone else, alarm bells would be going off in your head. But there was something about him that made you keep coming back for more, and even with months now behind you, you still couldn’t get enough.

And maybe that was why you were so nervous right now. Pacing back and forth across the length of your bedroom, you stared down at your stocking-clad feet as you tried frantically to tamp down the butterflies batting around your rib cage. You knew, consciously, that even if tonight were a disaster, Loki would still care about you. He wouldn’t just up and leave, even if Thor ended up despising you.

But you still really hoped he wouldn’t.

A gasp parted your lips when the tell-tale sound of your doorbell echoed throughout your home, and after one more deep breath, you pulled your heels on and made your way down the stairs. With one last glance in the mirror and a quick, silent prayer to whoever might be listening, you threw your purse over your shoulder and opened your front door.

His smile still caught you off guard sometimes. As you stepped out into the darkness of the evening, you felt heat flood your cheeks as Loki grinned up at you. He was dressed impeccably as always, sporting a dark green suit with a crisp white shirt, and if the way his eyes raked over you was anything to go by, he was more than pleased with how you looked, as well.

“And you must be the woman I’ve heard so much about!”

A loud, booming voice took you off guard, and you watched as annoyance flashed over your boyfriend’s face at the outburst. As he turned to shoot a glare over his shoulder, you caught a flash of the other man waiting at the base of your front steps, and though you already knew that Loki was adopted, you were still briefly taken aback by just how different the two brothers were.

Thor was just as large as Loki had described, and although the two stood at about the same height, his shoulders and build were so broad that he would have been quite intimidating, were it not for the large grin on his face. His long hair was pulled up into a loose bun, showing off a pair of blue eyes that seemed to radiate genuine happiness, and despite your still-present nerves, you couldn’t help but let a matching smile come over your features.

“Hi, Thor. Loki’s told me so much about you.”

“And I’m sure all of it is incredibly flattering, right?” He sent a conspiratorial glance back to Loki, who only raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever could I tell her about you that wouldn’t be flattering, brother?”

“Nothing comes to mind, seeing whereas I’ve never done anything wrong or questionable.”

“Thor Odinson? Perish the thought.”

The man in question let out a bark of laughter before turning back to you and extending his arm for a handshake.

“Well, my brother has nothing but glowing remarks about you,” he remarked, all but crushing your hand in his grip. “And I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally meet the woman who’s stolen Loki’s heart.”

Once more, you felt heat rising in your face, and you let out a nervous chuckle as Thor dropped your hand. From your right, you felt an arm slither around your waist, and you leaned into Loki’s warmth.

“Thank you so much! It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“You don’t need to lie for his sake, love,” Loki stage-whispered into your ear. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a nudge with your elbow, though Thor seemed to be used to his brother’s sass. Without a glance in his direction, Thor reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of keys, clicking a button on them until you heard a car beep close by.

“Shall we be off, then?” he asked. “We have about twenty minutes until our reservation.”

“That is if his driving doesn’t kill us along the way,” Loki snarked, guiding you towards the car with a hand on your lower back.

“I didn’t hear you offering to drive earlier, Loki,” Thor commented, sending his brother a look that elicited a scowl in response.

“Only because my car is in the shop. Remember?”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You giggled at the pained look your boyfriend sent you, pecking his cheek as Thor made his way around to the driver’s seat. Loki offered to sit in the back, but after a few moments of deliberation, you ended up sitting in the back with Loki on the passenger side next to Thor. Your seating arrangements ended up working out perfectly, though, because you had the perfect vantage point to watch the two brothers bicker over how to get to the restaurant. Loki was doing his best to navigate, but… Well. You quickly learned that it was of no use with Thor behind the wheel.

“I said take a left at Sycamore, Thor.”

“I heard you. But there’s a shortcut between Sycamore and Highland Street.”

“No, there’s not. Have you even driven through this part of New York before?”

“You forget I used to live here, too, brother. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh, just like you did when we were driving through London, yes?”

“That was your fault. If you hadn’t had tried to-“

“WATCH FOR PEDESTRIANS, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!”

Needless to say, the twenty minute drive was eventful to say the least, and you were only mildly traumatized by the way Thor was bobbing and weaving through the thick New York traffic. Even Loki looked a bit green from it, and you’d never seen your boyfriend shaken by anything. When both of you had your feet once again on solid ground, he wrapped an arm around you once again and whispered against your hair.

“I really do apologize for all of that, darling.”

“No, please don’t. It was funny,” you assured him, pecking his cheek as Thor rounded the vehicle towards you. “Usually you’re so…unperturbed. It was nice to see you a little ruffled.”

He sent you a bemused smile, but it vanished as Thor clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a few steps.

“Well, nothing ruffles Loki’s feathers like me. It took an entire month of convincing for him to even agree to me visiting.”

“A decision I’m regretting more and more as the minutes tick by…”

Soon enough, the three of you were sat at a table in one of the nicest restaurants you’d ever been to. Surprisingly enough, Thor had recommended the place, and after your waiter came by to take your drink orders, you rested your hand on top of Loki’s and turned towards the blonde.

“Thank you for the restaurant suggestion, Thor. How’d you hear about this place?”

“My girlfriend actually told me about it. Usually when I’m in New York on business, I just go to local food trucks or pizza parlors. But Jane said that I should take you two somewhere nice. She apologizes for not being able to make the trip, by the way. She was just as curious about you as I was, but she had an important conference to give a lecture at.”

“That sounds amazing! And no worries; I’d love to meet her next time you’re in town. What do the two of you do for a living?”

“Well, Jane is an astronomer – one of the best in the entire world, actually,” he started, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his partner. “She’s lecturing on a new design she’s invented, some sort of spectrometer. Honestly, it all goes way over my head, but that’s why she’s the genius.”

“To be fair, most things go over your head, brother.”

Thor rolled his eyes at Loki’s quip, and when you turned towards your boyfriend, you saw that he had a small smile on his face to match the mischievous glint in his eyes. You knew better than to take him seriously; anyone would be able to see how close the two were, despite their back-and-forth.

“And what about you, Thor? Loki’s never told me what you do for a living.”

“I work for Stark Industries,” he replied, taking a sip of the large pint of beer he’d ordered. “It’s not much, but it keeps me busy.”

“Not much, indeed,” Loki interjected. “You’re only in charge of the entire marketing department, after all.”

Your eyes widened at that; Stark Industries was one of the biggest, most well-known brand names in the world. From appliances to electronics to clean energy, it was right up there with Google and Disney as far as most were concerned, and to think that Thor was in such a high-ranking position, well… From the things Loki had told you about Thor, you hadn’t expected such a career for him.

“Wow. That’s…incredible. So you know Tony Stark?”

“Oh, me and Tony are great friends. But I don’t ‘run’ the marketing department by any means. Just the UK faction of it.”

“’Just’?”

After that, the waiter stopped by to take your respective orders, after which Thor settled his attention on you once more.

“So, Loki has already told me about your writing. It’s funny to think of him dating the author responsible for those books he’s obsessed over for years.”

“I’m not obse-“

“Has he asked you to sign any of his copies yet?”

He had, jokingly, at one point. But you didn’t tell Thor that.

The rest of the evening passed by without incident, and your nerves quickly evaporated as the three of you laughed and talked through the rest of the meal. Loki liked to joke at Thor’s expense, but it was clear that he held his older brother in high regard, and Thor clearly loved Loki very much. More than a few times, you caught him watching you and Loki closely, a discerning, considering look in his eyes that belayed an intelligence you hadn’t expected. He might not be as book smart or as well-spoken as his younger sibling, but Thor obviously was good when it came to reading people. Whatever he was looking at, though, it didn’t disappoint, because any time your eyes met, he would send you a small, encouraging smile that would immediately dissipate any worries you might have had.

In what felt like no time at all, the three of you were piling out of the car at your house again, and you didn’t hesitate to return Thor’s hug as he said his goodbyes.

“It was wonderful to meet you,” he assured you. “Loki’s never let me meet any of his girlfriends before, but I see now that he was just waiting for the right one to come along first.”

Taken off guard by his genuine compliment, you could only blink up at him for a few moments in surprise before your brain kicked back in.

“That’s…so kind of you to say, Thor. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

After clapping you on the shoulder, Thor said his goodbye and got back into his car, giving you and Loki some privacy. As soon as his blonde head disappeared into the vehicle, you felt two cold hands cup your cheeks, and before you knew it, you were being pulled into a deep, toe-curling kiss, and you let yourself melt into your boyfriend’s embrace as he held you against him.

“That went well, I would say,” he murmured as the two of you finally parted. “He likes you, if that wasn’t already obvious.”

“I like him, too,” you smiled. “Thank you for letting me meet him.”

“I should be the one thanking you, love.”

He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but you watched as uncertainty began to creep along his features, and after a few moments of considering, his mouth snapped shut once again.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “I forgot what I was going to say, is all. I think driving with Thor still has my brains slightly scrambled.”

“Hm.” You didn’t believe him, not for a second, but whatever it was left your mind as soon as his lips came down onto yours once more. This kiss was slower than before, and lingering; his hands slid up over your hips to settle on your waist, and he let out a soft sigh through his nose before pulling away to set his forehead on yours.

“I should probably head home,” he whispered. “But Thor leaves out tomorrow morning. Would you like to come over tomorrow?”

“For dinner?”

“And dessert.”

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to his lips before taking a step towards your door.

“I love you, Loki. Have a good rest of your evening.”

“I will, darling. But only because I’ll be thinking of you.”

_______________

The two men drove in silence back to Loki’s house, leaving him to think back over the evening. It couldn’t have gone better, in his opinion. Thor liked you, but Thor was a bit like a golden retriever in that way. He loved most of the people he met, whereas Loki had always been more comparable to a cat; he needed to trust someone before deciding whether or not he liked them, typically, and his trust was not easily gained. In fact, there were only two people in the world he truly trusted, and now, they’d both finally made the other’s acquaintance.

The silence was finally broken when Thor parked in front of Loki’s home. As they both sat there, illuminated by the dashboard and streetlights, his elder brother turned to face him fully.

“I like her,” he announced, as though Loki couldn’t already tell that. “Does she know?”

Loki arched an eyebrow before getting out of the car and fishing his keys out of his pocket, striding up to his door as his brother scrambled to catch up with him.

“I have no idea what you could be alluding to,” he replied, opening his front door and bending down to scoop up Lovecraft, who had a habit of swiping at Thor anytime he tried to enter the house.

“Oh, I wonder,” Thor countered, shutting the door behind him before peeling off his winter coat. “I suppose I could be talking about your allergy to dogs. Or perhaps your aversion to the color orange. Or, oh, I don’t know, your habit of murdering innocents. Who knows?”

With a roll of his eyes, Loki hung his coat up beside Thor’s and started striding towards his basement stairs, trusting Thor to follow him.

“How many times must I tell you – there’s no such thing as ‘innocent’. Not in today’s world, at least.”

“Try telling that to a jury.”

“Hopefully it’ll never come to that point,” Loki sighed. He bypassed the first room of his basement, not giving a second glance to the old, miscellaneous pieces of furniture and the stacked boxes of keepsakes from childhood. No, instead he focused on the large, dusty bookshelf that covered the far wall of the room, reaching for the thick compendium of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets that hid the keyhole.

“I’ll never get used to being down here…” Thor’s voice was uncharacteristically small in here; usually, his baritone could be heard from several rooms away, but his mood always took a dark turn when he was reminded of Loki’s…’proclivities’.

“You can always wait upstairs, you know,” Loki uttered without a backwards glance, fitting the small key into the lock and twisting until he heard a click.

“I know,” his brother assured him. “But I promised I’d help you, so let’s just get this over with.”

Smirking, Loki pocketed his keys and pulled the hidden door open, watching a section of the bookcase separate from the rest and turn on the hinges he’d installed so long ago. The creaking shriek they elicited made him wince, and he made a mental note to grease them before his next houseguest.

Luckily for Thor, the only beings alive or dead in Loki’s house were the two of them and Lovecraft, who pattered in after them before jumping up onto the chair in the corner. He typically didn’t allow his cat entry to this room, for obvious reasons, but he decided to leave her be as he knelt next to the detached backseat from his car that was sitting in the middle of the room.

“I’ve already replaced the stuffing; you just need to help me reupholster, and then I can do the rest.”

Thor knelt beside him with a grumble, grabbing a staplegun from his wall of power tools and torture instruments as he kept his eyes stubbornly focused on the seat.

“You know, if you used plastic tarps like any self-respecting serial killer would, you wouldn’t have to reupholster anything in the first place,” he groused. Loki knew that he had a point, and he usually did use plastic when transporting his victims.

“…This one was a bit of a last minute decision,” he finally conceded. “But I’m handling it, as you can see.”

Thor’s lips turned white as he pressed them together, pausing in his struggle to roll out more fabric.

“Loki, you can’t afford to make many last minute decisions with this sort of thing,” he muttered, all joking gone from his voice. “You promised me you’d be careful if and when you get these…urges.”

“And I am,” Loki assured his brother. “Truthfully. No one has ever suspected me of anything. Not once, and you know that.”

With a huff, Thor nodded and continued his work, his movements echoing in the concrete chamber. In the back of his mind, Loki knew that his brother was right, though. Five months ago, he never would have been so careless as to get a victim’s blood on his suede car seats. But, now that he had you in his life, all of his passions seemed to be reigniting. For one, he’d never had as much sex in his previous relationships as he was having with you. He also never felt the need to talk to someone as much as he spoke with you; he hadn’t had many girlfriends or boyfriends in the past, but the ones he’d had always complained about him being too distant, too aloof, too ‘unfeeling’. Now, though, he found himself craving you and your company at all times during the day, and his alone time was less and less precious to him as he considered how much better it would be having you by his side.

However, as those passions rose, others did as well. You and your newest novel were a constant source of inspiration to him, and his lust for blood had grown considerably. If he kept up the pace that he was at right now, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he slipped up. But he pushed that thought aside, as he always had. That was a bridge he would cross when he came upon it.

“…Will you ever tell (Y/N)?”

Thor’s question was sudden, and it made his hands still as he reached for the staple gun.

“…Are you suggesting that I do?”

“Of course not.” Thor shook his head, biting back a curse as he tried stretching a length of suede over the car seat’s frame. “At least, not right now. I think both of us know that it wouldn’t end well. But this is a…mammoth secret to keep from a significant other, Loki. And if you weren’t able to hide it from me, there will come a day when you won’t be able to hide it from her, either. Not if you’re going to keep her in your life.”

“You didn’t find out until I was twenty,” he countered. “And you only found out because I got sloppy.”

“I still knew that there was something off. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I suspected the truth for years before I caught you in the act.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose, and he didn’t know what was more surprising to him – the truth, or the fact that his brother was still able to take him off guard, even after all of the years spent together.

“…Truthfully?”

“Of course, Loki. I knew you weren’t sneaking out at night to go clubbing.” He chuckled a bit at the thought, though his laughter died the second he saw the look Loki shot him. “I saw you burning your clothes once, in the field behind our house. We were 17 at the time, I think. And I knew you wouldn’t burn them unless it were to hide…well. Bloodstains. It was the only explanation for why you decided to burn them in the middle of the night, at least.

“But I told myself that I was wrong. People do that, you know; when someone you love hurts you, or when they do something wrong, you know it. But you lie to yourself anyways.”

There was a long, heavy silence before the two brothers got back to work, one that was only broken several minutes later, when they were mostly finished.

“Loki?”

“Mm?”

Loki looked up, catching a solemn expression on Thor’s face that immediately didn’t sit right with him. For all of his sociopathic tendencies towards most people, he didn’t like to see his typically jovial sibling so serious.

“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be you,” Thor sighed. “I’ve never fully understood how your mind works, but I know that it’s hard for you to let people in. So I’m happy for you and (Y/N). I am. But I also know that, someday, she’s going to find out. It can either be from you slipping up, or from you telling her outright. But, someday, she’s going to find out.

“I meant what I said – when you find out that someone you love is bad, and that they’ve done bad things, you lie to yourself before accepting the truth. Just…promise me that you’ll look out for when she starts lying to herself about you. Alright?”

Loki swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as he thought about you, about how your face would twist into an expression of fear, of disgust, of hatred, when you finally found out about him. And his heart sank as he pictured the fragile reality you two had been living in all of a sudden crumpling into ash. He couldn’t even bear the thought of losing you, but what other choice would he have if you found him out?

“What are you suggesting I do when she finds out?” he asked, a slight waver making its way through the syllables despite his best interest.

“I’m asking what you’re prepared to do, brother. Think it over, and please, just be careful.”

____________

You woke up the next day to find a text waiting for you from an unknown number, but as soon as you opened it, a wide smile came over your face.

Loki wouldn’t give me your number, so I had to get it out of his phone while he slept. But I wanted to tell you before I fly back to London that it was lovely meeting you, and I’m very happy my brother finally found someone he loves. -Thor

The text was sent at 6:14am, so you knew that Thor was likely already on his plane, but you still tapped out a message before getting up and starting your day.

It was great to meet you, too! Have a safe trip back.

With that, you finally dragged yourself out of bed and went about your morning routine, sending Loki a quick good morning text as you ate breakfast. You were planning on finishing up the last chapter of your coroner story, and you were excited to let him read it that evening when it was done. He’d been so supportive throughout the entire writing process that you were making record time on it; even your editor was surprised at how productive you’d been lately, and you were anxious for his thoughts on the ending.

As you sat down at your computer to type it up, though, you saw that you had an email from your publisher, and your heartrate skyrocketed as you opened it up. You’d sent them the first five edited chapters a few weeks back, and even though you already had several published books, you still got excited anytime you heard back from them.

Your heart only beat faster as you read through their email, and though you’d only just sat down, you were soon leaping out of your chair once you were done. They were going to publish it! At least, they were going to as soon as you had all of the chapters. You’d been concerned that your main character wouldn’t have as much appeal as others of yours had in the past, but as it turned out, they loved Olivia.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your phone was out of your pocket and you were dialing Loki’s number, your fingers trembling in excitement. You tapped your foot anxiously as you waited for him to pick up, and when he finally did, he barely had time to say hello before you were telling him the good news.

“Hello, darling-“

“LOKI I HEARD BACK FROM MY PUBLISHER!” you cried, grinning from ear to ear. “Also hello! Good morning, my love.”

Loki’s velvety laugh only added to your elation, and you quickly ran up to your bedroom to start getting dressed.

“Good morning to you, too. I take it the news was good?”

“It was amazing news! Fantastic news, actually. I was going to finish the final chapter today, but now I’m too excited to focus!”

“Well, love, I’m sure that if you want to just take today to celebrate, it won’t put you too far behind schedule.”

“Speaking of celebrating, can I bring lunch by today on your break? If work isn’t too busy for you, that is.”

“That should be fine, darling; work is actually quite slow.”

“Perfect! I’m going to start getting dressed, but text me which restaurant you’d like, and I’ll pick it up. My treat!”

“Alright, love,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you around noon, then.”

After you two said your goodbyes, you flew through getting ready and ran a few errands before lunch time came around. Loki, as usually, had told you that he was fine with anything and that you should pick the restaurant, so you swung by your favorite bistro before taking a cab to Bellevue Hospital, waving at the front desk staff as you passed by. They all recognized you at this point from your previous visits to see Loki on his break, and they all smiled and waved back as you made your way to the elevators.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned to see one of the receptionists calling you over, and so you shifted the food boxes in your hands and approached the desk.

“Dr. Odinson asked me to tell you that he’s in his office – it’s on the same floor as the morgue, but take a left instead of a right when you get out of the elevators. His is the third office on the left.”

After thanking her for letting you know, you headed down that way, shivering as you stepped out into the cold basement floor. His office had a bronze name placard on it that had Loki’s name on it, and so, after a quiet knock, you walked in to find him sitting behind a tidy desk, tapping away at his laptop furiously.

“I come bearing gifts!” you announced, causing his head to pop up from staring at his screen.

“Come in, love,” he smiled, standing up to help you with the food. “Thank you so much for lunch.”

“Don’t mention it! I wanted to celebrate the latest book, and I can think of no way I’d like to celebrate more than to spend time with the man I love. …And that was incredibly cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Loki laughed, pulling the chair in front of his desk out for you. “But it was also very sweet, and I appreciate it more than you realize.”

After setting your food down on the desk, you sat down, not realizing that Loki wasn’t going back to his side of the desk until you heard the click of a lock sliding shut behind you. Turning around, you watched as Loki stepped away from the door, approaching you with a conniving glint in his eyes.

“Did…you just lock the door?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“I did,” he confirmed. He didn’t elaborate further before sinking down onto his knees in front of you, and you only caught on to his intent after he gently took the to-go cup out of your hands to rest it on his desk.

“…Am I stuck in here with you, or are you stuck in here with me?” you joked, starting to squirm in your chair as Loki’s hands came down onto your knees.

The only answer you got was a wink before his lips were on yours, and all other thoughts fizzled out as his palms started creeping up your thighs, getting closer and closer to the waistband of your jeans. His tongue tasted like coffee as it glided over your own, and a small moan escaped your lips when his teeth gently nipped at your bottom lip.

“Are you sure about this?” you whispered as he started unbuttoning your pants. “I mean… What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught, love,” he assured you, slowly dragging your zipper down before beginning to slide your jeans off. “No one can stop us from having a little celebration. As long as you can keep quiet, that is.”

You lifted your hips as he tugged your trousers down your legs, taking your panties with them, and you shivered when you felt the cold leather chair against your exposed skin. Biting your lip, you slowly nodded your head, spreading your legs wider as Loki stooped down to place open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. It was wrong; you knew that there were other doctors in the offices right next to his, and you had no idea how thick or thin the walls were. Could they hear how hard you were suddenly breathing? Would someone passing by be able to hear the low, muffled groans Loki was making as he nipped and sucked hickeys into your skin?

As if sensing your thoughts, Loki glanced upwards as he spread your thighs even further apart, his lips twitching up into a smirk before he suddenly grabbed your hips and pulled, forcing your ass closer to the edge of the chair. In the same instance, he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, his nose just barely brushing against your clit as his tongue started lapping at your entrance. Your eyes rolled back he slipped it inside of you, the vibrations from his voice like bolts of lightning as he let out a guttural growl. He’d commented before on how much he loved eating you out, and you had no reason to doubt him as he thrust his tongue deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Loki…” You kept your voice at a soft whisper, gripping his hair as his tongue started alternating between thrusting into you and tracing patterns into your clit. Your hips jolted every time he swirled his tongue over your swollen bud, and it wasn’t long until they started rocking up against his face of their own accord. If you were at home, you’d already be begging for more or moaning his name over and over again, but now you were acutely conscious of every sound the two of you were making.

The panting of your breath and the obscene, slick noise of his tongue moving against you seemed to echo in the small room. With every shift of your hips, the chair you were in creaked, and you were soon fighting not to move too much for fear that it would be too loud. You were biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you suddenly tasted blood, but the pleasure Loki was bringing you overshadowed any pain or discomfort.

Just as you felt the edge of your orgasm starting to approach, though, he was pulling away, licking his lips and watching your pussy clench around nothing as you tried to guide him back with the hands you had locked in his hair.

“Please,” you whimpered, “fuck, I was getting close-“

“Don’t worry, love,” he interrupted, leaning up to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m far from through with you.”

And that was all the warning you got before he scooped you up, setting you down onto his desk before you could do anything but let out a surprised gasp. At some point while he was eating you out, he must have taken his cock out of his pants, and now he was pushing you to lay on your back as he lined up with your entrance.

You gripped the edge of his desk so hard that your knuckles turned pale, but you still weren’t fully prepared for him to abruptly shove his cock inside of you, so hard that it pushed the air out of your lungs and pried a sharp moan from your lips. His hand came down over your mouth at its sound, and he leaned over you until your face was only inches from his.

“You have to stay quiet,” he panted, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting back into you. “You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

You hurriedly shook your head no, and he nodded before pulling his hand away and sliding it between your bodies. You nearly moaned again once his fingertips found your clit, though, and you pressed your own hand to your mouth as he began playing with it in time with his thrusts.

“Good girl,” he purred, his own voice fighting back a moan as he started a fast rhythm. “Of course… Maybe you do want us to get caught.”

He punctuated his statement with a hard buck of his hips, and you pressed the back of your hand even harder to your lips as it startled another cry out you. The desk was beginning to creak in time with his movements, and you knew that anyone who walked by outside would be able to hear it. You just hoped that they couldn’t also hear Loki’s raspy breathing, or the way his balls were smacking against your ass with every thrust forward.

“Maybe you do want someone to hear me fucking you. Is that it?” he continued, his voice not once rising above a low growl. “Do you want them all to know that you’re mine? That you’re letting me use you, fuck you, right here in my office? Anyone with a key could get in, love. A janitor, another doctor… Anyone could come in and see what a good little slut you’re being for me. And you love that, don’t you?”

His thumb was moving faster and faster against your clit, and you were rapidly approaching your orgasm; you couldn’t remember the last time a partner had brought you so close so quickly. This was so different from how Loki usually was; typically, he was gentle with you, treating you like you would shatter if he were to grip you too tightly or kiss you too hard. But there were times, you’d found, when something else would peak through the cracks; some nights, his hand found its way around your throat, or his voice dropped into something predatory, threatening.

This was one of those times, evidently. And it always made something else rise up within you – the desire to submit, to bend to him completely, to let him have you and use you however he wanted. And so you did.

With a long, loud moan, you felt yourself cumming around his cock, so hard that it made your eyes roll back and your back arch up off of the desk, bending at an almost unnatural angle as your cunt clenched around him. Through the ringing in your ears, you heard him let out a muffled curse, and his thrusts began getting even harder, even faster, and through it all you laid back and took it. Your body was limp and pliable from your orgasm, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he took what he wanted from it.

It wasn’t long, though, until he pulled out, stroking his cock a few more times before you felt his cum against your thighs and belly, staining your shirt with his release as he leaned heavily over you, catching his breath. After letting out a deep, heavy sigh, he leaned over, kissing you gently before resting his head on your chest.

“…Wow,” you breathed, settling one of your hands on the back of his head as your other arm drew him closer.

“I agree with that assessment,” he murmured, pressing a kiss over your heart before lazily turning towards you. “You did say you wanted to celebrate, though.”

A giggle escaped your lips at that, and he smiled softly before kissing you once again and slowly drawing himself up to full height.

“I’m…sorry, if I was too rough,” he began, but you sat up and pressed a finger to his lips, shaking your head.

“I liked it. Loki, I know you’d never hurt me,” you assured him. “And I know you don’t really mean it when you do things like call me a slut.”

“Good,” he nodded, his eyes skating over your face. “Because I don’t. And I would never, ever, hurt you.”

“Then don’t apologize for getting a little rough,” you countered, pecking his cheek before starting to stand on wobbly legs. “Because you better believe I enjoyed it.”

“Mm. I could tell.”

You swatted playfully at his arm before straightening your jeans and grabbing a tissue from his desk, dabbing at the cum he’d left on your shirt before giving up on the task entirely and deciding to just keep your coat buttoned up on the ride home.

“…(Y/N)?”

You turned to find Loki staring at you, having already smoothed his appearance back to its usual unrumpled state. The look in his eyes gave you pause, though – it was the same look that he’d had the night before, when he’d looked like he had something to tell you before deciding against it. Unbidden, fear suddenly swept over you, and you had the worst feeling that he was going to break things off, that he was going to tell you that he’d rushed into things and that he didn’t feel the same way as you.

Gulping, you stepped closer, fighting against the trembling in your hands as he took them between his, pressing a kiss to each of your palms before looking up at you once more.

“I’ve…been doing a lot of thinking, and Thor’s visit yesterday made me realize something,” he began.

“I haven’t ever felt this way about anyone before. And, if I’m being honest, sometimes it terrifies me. There are… There are things about me that I haven’t told anyone besides Thor, and even then, there are things he still doesn’t know.

“I came to the realization last night, though, that I want you to know everything about me. I want you to accept me, fully, as I’ve accepted you. And even if I’m not ready to share it all with you, I know that I want us to grow to that point together. I want you to be mine, yes, but I want to be yours, too. Wholly and completely.”

He took a deep breath, then, and your eyes grew wide as he reached into his pocket, taking out a small box and handing it to you.

“I had this made earlier today, after I dropped Thor off at the airport. And I realize that, yes, this is rushing things a bit, and I want you to know that it’s alright if you need to say no or if you need to think it over. But I’m ready to take the next step, whenever you are.”

Feeling as if time was suddenly moving in slow motion, you opened the box, tearing your eyes away from Loki just long enough to look down…

…and see a key waiting for you.

Immediately, your heart soared, and you looked up to see a tiny, hopeful smile on his lips.

“Will you move in with me, my love?”

And even though, yes, it was probably too soon, even though you’d only known Loki for four months, even though all of the logic inside of you was screaming against it, you didn’t hesitate before answering him.

“Yes!”  

____________

A/N: WOW it took forever to write this. I am so sorry! 2020 has really had its way with me, as it has with all of us, and I can’t apologize enough for letting my writing get so far behind. THANK YOU to anyone and everyone reading this, though. I hope you all are having a safe holiday season, and please don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever wanna talk! You guys are the best readers in the world, and I appreciate every single one of you! 

[youarejesting]

Hope in the sheets.7

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 4.4k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: mentions a sex tape, mentions a birth tape

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

 “Ah! Ah! Ah!” This videotape felt dirty, Hoseok wasn’t sure why, but he was sweaty, his heart raced, as he tried to look anywhere but at the screen. The woman on the video kept making noises and heaven forbid he look between her legs. Was it warm in here or was it just him?

“As you can see the birth canal opens up wide to let the babies head come down and out and the shoulder here is the widest part, so you have to be careful to listen to your body otherwise you may tear, so here we go these are the final pushes and then the baby will slip out—”

“Hoseok, Hoseok wake up!” You called alarmed, Hoseok opened his eyes to see you and the birth class instructor standing over him.

“Don’t worry love, there is always one in every class who faints” The woman handed over some ice, “Put this behind his neck it will help slow his heart rate, nerves sometimes get the better of the soon to be dads”

Sitting up Hoseok sat up a little embarrassed, “sorry, I didn’t mean to faint”

“No, Hobi, it’s okay I feel nauseous as hell after that video too.  That looks scary as hell I don’t think I can do it” you whined. “This class traumatized me more than it helped, and what do we get a couple of cookies and some watered down juice. 

“You are so strong and I think you can do it?” Hoseok tried to reassure you and you scoffed. 

“If you're so confident you push the baby out.” Hoseok paled again swaying on the spot and you laid him back down. “You are properly scared aren’t you?”

“I am horrified,” he laughed, “I am a big chicken”

“Honestly, I am scared too but I don’t get a choice Hobi, this baby is inside me and it has to get out somehow." you shiver after confessing the fear that had been building in the back of your mind. “If I wasn’t afraid of surgery I would install the old side door”

The gesture of a flat hand across your stomach made Hoseok smile sadly. He took your hands in his. 

“I’m sorry that you have been dreading this. I will try to be someone who can eliminate your fears, little darling momma” he kissed your head. The instructor called everyone back to the mats and began explaining how to wash a baby and how to hold a baby for the first time. 

It was a fun class but you were happy to get home and rest, biding Hoseok good night. He went quickly to his house where Jimin was sitting waiting for him with a hanging clothes bag. 

“What were you so busy doing that I had to pick up your dry cleaning?”

“Y/n’s birthing class” Hoseok's face turned grave as he adopted a serious tone. “Jimin, don’t ever go to a birthing class. I don’t think I can unsee what I saw.”

“Haha, I’m not that silly, I know where babies come from. I am glad I am a man who likes men, so I will never step foot in a birthing class unless you pay me a large fortune. I mean I could watch someone give birth for money."

Hoseok shivered, making Jimin laugh at his expense. “You look pale, so let's change the subject. I bought Yoongi's old van. He sold it for some new equipment. That means I can get rid of the junk van I was driving before.”

“Can I have your old van?” Hoseok jumped on the opportunity. 

“Uh sure, but I think it’s more money than it’s worth, you can have it for free because it needs new everything.” He shrugged “I was just going to make it scrapped metal”

“Yeah I can fix it up, I got some money lying around.” Hoseok yawned, “anyway thank you so much for getting my suit. I have my first day of work tomorrow, so I should go to bed early”

“Alright, but tomorrow night celebratory drinks for your first day?” Jimin clutched his shoulder. 

“Of course,” Hoseok laughed, waving goodbye and carrying the suit to his apartment. 

“Hey man, how was your day?” Jimin shouted from his newly acquired van from Yoongi. “Get in, we can celebrate tonight” 

Jimin drove Hoseok home under strict orders to grab a nice change of clothes so the two could get ready at his house and go out celebrating Hoseok’s new job. Hoseok took the stairs two at a time leading to his apartment, his hand brushing past your old door. He missed you. He missed having you at his work, at his home, at his leisure. You two were inseparable and yet torn apart by the stages of life.

Hoseok had assumed you both would be single and somewhere in your mid-thirties you would just get married to one another for convenience. He grabbed some clothes and found the blacklight outfit you had bought for him, he pushed it aside trying to move on for just a moment. 

Instead, he grabbed a classic black button-up and a pair of black dress pants. He placed the items in a bag and headed back down to Jimin waiting excitedly in the driver's seat. He drove them across town singing along to the radio and pulled into the driveway of a beautiful home. Jimin was a sugar baby and so he accumulated a lot of money with ease.

Jimin picked up the package by his doorstep curiously and read the name, his face broke out into a smile. Opening the box he found a beautiful pair of earrings. Hoseok paused, knowing Jimin had been talking about these types of earrings for a long time, but these ones looked handmade and a little cheap, not from a brand-name store like most of Jimin’s other clients would buy.

“They are so cute,” Jimin smiled, lifting the note, reading it aloud. “I don’t have money, so I don’t ask for much, it would just be a waste of your time. Even with this, I still want you to know that I think you are really sweet the way you always help others and never forget to share compliments to those who catch your eye. I will never forget how kind and funny, you are especially at work. The way you run your fingers through your hair unconsciously, how you pout when you think, the way you can glide across the dance floor with drinks without spilling anything. You disappear behind the bar with the cutest laugh and I am completely in love with you.”

“You have an admirer,” Hoseok looked over his shoulder at the letter before asking, “I wonder who it is?”

“I am not sure who it could be?” Jimin frowned, taking the box into a spare room filled with gifts. “They seem really nice”

Once the letter was placed carefully in the room, Jimin stepped out and decided to get dressed for the night. He paused in the doorway walking back and taking the earrings. “Even though they are cheap I think I should at least wear them.”

The two got changed and Jimin posed, “take a picture of me looking over my shoulder, so I can post a picture of the earrings on my Insta”

Hoseok picked up his phone and stepped behind Jimin, ready to take the picture of Jimin’s bare shoulder, earring, and side profile. He stopped when his phone came up with the stupid storage message.

Storage full!

You can free up space on this phone by managing your storage in settings.

“I can’t take a picture,” Hoseok sighed. “My phone storage is full”

“It’s okay, I should put on a bit of makeup to make the picture really pretty. While I do that, use my computer to plug it in and delete stuff. You can save the rest onto a USB, which you will find in the top draw. The USBs should be empty.

Hoseok watched Jimin stroll into the bathroom and thought he might as well take care of this storage issue on the phone. Plugging the device in, Hoseok began going through and deleting memes and stupid screenshots he no longer needed. He went through saving many photos of you, and videos the two of you shared together.

That's when he came across the picture of the two of you dressed in your black light outfits. Both of you looking happy together in the mirror. Hoseok saved the photo to the USB. The next was a blurry picture on the dance floor, he didn’t need that.

Deleting a range of blurred photos, Hoseok kept swiping through them until he came across a video of you and Hoseok walking home. He heard you giggling and unconsciously smiled. He honestly was so in love with you.

There were a few more blurred videos and then there was a video of you two laying in Hoseok’s bed. His heart started to race as he watched you lean down and kiss him in the video. Hoseok couldn’t remember any of this.

The next video was of you removing your dress but it continued, sometimes the phone was just left on the bed face down, at other points, it was lifted and Hoseok heard himself talking as he pointed the camera at you underneath him. “I love you.” He had filmed you while you two were having sex, “I love being inside of you too.”

Hoseok felt a little guilty, while you two were drunk he took a video of you both, not only that but he felt as if he took advantage of you. The next video was taken from behind and Hoseok felt ashamed of himself for the stirring in his pants. 

“Are you watching porn?” Jimin laughed from the next room, confused as Hoseok switched to the next video. The two of you were cuddling on your side, Hoseok being the big spoon. 

Hoseok's face fell. What had he just watched? His head was reeling with so many thoughts that he couldn’t process them fast enough. He understood that it was you in the video, and you were with him. It was that night. Were you his dream girl? “I slept with Y/n?” He blurted and like being hit with a truck he came to a shocking revelation. Hoseok shot to his feet and spoke out loud hoping it would help him make sense of the situation, “Am I, I think, I might be the father?”

“Oh, Finally!” Jimin shouted, his voice carrying into the office. “I have been waiting for you to figure it all out”

“What do you mean?” Hoseok said his stomach was feeling sick, he didn’t know if he wanted to vomit or cry. The betrayal setting in, “How did you know? DID SHE KNOW?”

Jimin stepped into the room, his lips pressed together in a thin line, with a look of pity on his face confirming Hoseok's suspicion. Hoseok got up, his eyes flashing around the room in a panic. He pushed past Jimin and grabbed the old set of keys from the countertop. Hoseok escaped and drove fast. He didn’t have a destination in mind but after a few minutes of driving he ended up at a park by Han River.

Shutting off the engine, Hoseok let his hands fall from the wheel, his head resting back against the seat, letting out a loud guttural shout. He let the tears fall freely as his sobs racked his body, every breath catching in his throat as if he was choking. 

Hoseok wanted to scream, he wanted answers. They all knew. You knew. He thought he was your best friend, someone he trusted with all his secrets, and yet you kept something this big from him. The sick feeling in his stomach grew as did his anger and frustration with the situation.

How long were you going to keep this from him? When the baby was born? When the child was eighteen? Never? He had a right to know but all he wanted to know was why. 

He left the vehicle, his phone ringing with your number but he turned it off. He walked to the nearest bar somewhere dark and quiet and he drank until he couldn’t see his hands. 

“Hey mate you have to go, come on get up.” The bartender said, nudging him with an exaggerated sigh, “Mate can I call someone to come get you?”

“No one, my best friend is a liar, she is pregnant and didn’t even tell me it is my child,” Hoseok mumbled into the table. The bartender sighed again reaching into his pocket, “Who do you want me to call mate?”

“No need to call, I will go,” he said, pulling out his keys only to have them snatched from his hand. Hoseok turned to see Yoongi grabbing Hoseok’s things and thanking the bartender. “What do you want?”

“I got a distressed call from Y/n she is hysterical, I have checked in every bar and searched the nearby streets for Jimin’s old van. Yoongi threw the keys to Jimin who was waiting by the abandoned van and Yoongi scooped Hoseok inside.

Hoseok woke as Yoongi turned the key in the ignition they were headed for his home, but Hoseok had other plans. “You knew didn’t you?” Hoseok growled, “Take me to her."

“Not in this state?” Yoongi said definitely. “You are going to sober up, and then tomorrow you can speak with her.”

“You take me there right now, or I will get out of this car and go there myself!” Hoseok demanded, attempting to remove his seatbelt.

“Alright, alright sit down, I will take you to see her, but if you raise your voice at her I will knock you out and drag you back to your apartment." Yoongi turned to Hoseok with a menacing glare. "Do you understand?”

He nodded needing answers and he wasn't going to stop until you gave them to him. They pulled up outside your home and as he walked to the door he felt as if his legs were weak, ready to give way. He knocked with shaking hands.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to pull open the door eyes pink and swollen from your own tears.

"Hobi, I-" 

"Please don’t talk, you had your chance. This whole time, and you didn’t… You didn’t tell me, little darling.” His voice cracked as he held up a hand to stop you, “it’s my turn to talk, you can listen to me.”

He watched you wipe the tears away, he wanted to comfort you, you were his closest friend. He loved you so much and couldn’t bear to see you upset. “You knew we had sex, you knew what we did and you hid that from me, you fell pregnant and you hid that from me?”

“I told you when I lost my virginity, I told you when I scratched my dad’s car, I told you when I took money from my fathers wallet, or when I stole your homework. I told you when I was moving from home, I told you everything good and bad.” Hoseok pulled out the phone and played the video, the sounds of you two together filling the air. “But you couldn’t tell me, your best friend, that we did this? That I might be the father of this baby?”

“Hobi, I wanted to tell you I was-” Your tears were relentless and it looked like the weight of the world was crushing you with guilt. You looked lost, he knew there must be so much you wanted to say and explain but the words escaped you. All you could think to do was apologize, like some sort of animatronic doll with one function.

“Wanted to tell me isn’t telling me,” he frowned. “Say it, is this baby mine?”

“Yes, you are the father?” You whimpered, holding your stomach. Hoseok didn’t feel better. He didn’t feel better confronting you or getting the truth. He didn’t feel better watching you cry. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. You are all I have Hobi, and I love you.”

“I thought I loved you too. I thought I really truly loved you, that even though I wasn’t the father, I would step in if I could. It turns out the woman I fell in love with is nothing but a liar.” Hoseok turned away unable to see your face contort in pain from the words he was saying, “I am disappointed in you. You said you wanted to grow up, but this is so immature”

Demanding to leave, Yoongi took Hoseok and headed to the van once more, hoping that the two of you could rebuild your relationship. It was painfully obvious that you both were painfully in love, so much so, that it was breaking your hearts more to fight with one another, than over whatever the fight was about.

You had spent the rest of the night crying until pure exhaustion took over your body and you fell asleep. No matter how many times you texted or called you got no response. You had left almost fifteen voicemails before you became too hysterical to speak. You were emotional and trying your hardest not to break down long enough for you to think things through. 

It took four days and sitting in the bottom of the shower for ten minutes before you came to a decision. Even before Hoseok knew he was the father, you had planned to do it on your own. You weren't weak and you knew for certain that you would be okay. You had planned to raise this child as a single mother, you had hoped to tell Hoseok before all this happened, but you had planned for it just in case something like this did happen.

You could do this without Hoseok, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, that you weren't mourning the relationship you had lost. You picked yourself up and put on a brave face crying only when you were alone as you single-handedly funded Ben and Jerry's company with the amount of ice cream you consumed.

You arrived at the next prenatal appointment. You watched all the couples cooing at their bellies and the little sonogram photos, as you sat alone quietly rubbing your belly and thinking how much you loved this child.

It strengthened your bond between you and your baby. You were working hard at your job, not ready to go on maternity leave as you didn’t know how financially stable you would be. You also worried because, without the distractions of work, you realized how alone you truly were and how much you missed Hoseok.

You wanted nothing more than to go back in time and take it all back. You wanted to get the courage and tell him. You would give anything to wake up beside him the morning after and just let yourselves deal with the aftermath.

Your mother's words echoed in your head, only able to be drowned out by the sound of your baby's heartbeat through the doppler, as the ultrasound technician measured your sweet little baby girl.

She had done no wrong and deserved only good things. It was on your way home from the scan that you decided to enter the baby boutique. You knew you were filling a Hoseok shaped void in your chest but you didn’t care, purchasing clothes, socks and shoes, and a tiny beanie all in mint green, white, or grey. At the checkout, you saw a small personal travel doppler for eighty dollars. It wasn’t as strong or as reliable as the one at the clinic but you bought it anyway. 

It was the first thing you did when you got home, you put the gel on your stomach and pressed the doppler to your tummy, and listened to the tiny heartbeat and the swishing of the umbilical cord. The tears didn’t stop and that heartbeat in your belly was the mantra to which you swore to live your new life.

You were no longer living for yourself, you were living for your daughter, whom you loved so dearly. You stopped looking for Hoseok through the seventh and moved into the eighth month of your pregnancy feeling semi-okay.

Called by the marketing director to meet with the client, you followed him with documents, “Why did you pick me?” you asked

“You are the only one fit for this job,” He said, which made you feel odd, surely the pregnant lady wasn’t the first choice. However, you obeyed his orders, grabbed your coat, and followed to the restaurant where you were met with an unbelievable sight. 

There was Hoseok standing by a beautiful woman dressed in a suit. Not only was it a punch to the chest, but it also left you self-conscious, resembling a chocolate egg. The way your body was so rotund did not do wonders for one's self-esteem.

Hoseok didn’t notice you until you stepped up to the table, your director announcing your arrival and greeting the young woman with a kiss on each cheek. “This is my hardest working assistant Miss Y/n,” The director said and you wondered again why he had chosen you to accompany him to the meeting.

“Well let’s get to business” the client smiled. You sat at the table and they brought out menus. “I will have the salmon en papillote, with a nice chardonnay.” 

“I will have the same,” the marketing director said, attempting to look cool but you weren’t so sure.

“We will have the Steak au Poivre, I will take medium rare and she will have hers well done. What is in the side salad?” Hoseok asked and you looked up over the menu shocked by his audacity.

“We use a mesclun mix for its various colors and textures, with Lebanese cucumbers and avocado for a fresh and creamy taste and a drizzle of classic french vinaigrette” the waiter smiled politely. 

“Skip the salads and instead vegetables would be preferable for both.” Hoseok closed the menu and looked up, the waiter looked at you for confirmation and you nodded handing over the menu.

“Have you two met before?” The client asked curiously and Hoseok shook his head, “It’s just you ordered for her?”

“She is pregnant so the best meat option is beef well cooked, and the salad would most likely make her sick due to the acidity in the vinaigrette.” Hoseok continued,  “the vegetables, though plain, will be easier to handle and will benefit her better than a salad. It is something I learned in a birthing class once”

“Yeah, and you haven’t been back since.” You scoffed, drinking your water trying to calm yourself so you didn’t explode with anger.

“I didn’t think I had to, seeing as I am not the father of any children.” He said dryly back and you stood up throwing the napkin at him, tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t care if he didn’t like you and refused to acknowledge your presence ever again, but saying that about your child was not okay.

“You take that back, Hoseok." You almost shouted but restrained yourself due to the setting, Hoseok didn’t appear to move and you tilted your head back and took a shaky breath. “I am sorry, it seems I am feeling ill, allow me to leave first”

You stepped out the door and headed down the road trying to find a cab when a hand grabbed your arm. Disappointed when it turned out to be the marketing director. “I rescheduled our meeting, I am sorry, you had to deal with something like this, it must be stressful being so pregnant”

He touched your belly and you were a little uncomfortable. This man was a little too interested in your pregnancy. At first, you thought he was just a nice boss who was looking out for you, but it was clear he had some strange thoughts running through his mind.

When he said he would drive you home, you told him you had an appointment. Even then he was determined to take you to the appointment, but you waved down a cab and jumped in quickly. You arrived at Jin and Tonic for a much-needed appointment.

“I want a drink” you sighed and Seokjin gave you water and you looked up seriously. I want an actual drink Jin, I am going through the worst year of my life.”

“Worse than the time you tried to become a volunteer at a homeless center, where some weird lady cut chunks out of your hair, so you had to shave it off?"

"Then you got into a fight with Hoseok because he drew an arrow on your head while you were sleeping and everyone called you Aang,” Jimin added as he shed his small jacket, showing off a pretty choker chain necklace with a rose pendant. “Cause you said that was the worst year of your life.”

“This is worse,” you said. “At least I was the one angry at Hobi and I forgave him quickly, now he is angry at me and even denied being the father of our baby. That’s not even the worst of it. My boss has some sort of pregnancy fetish and keeps trying to touch my belly and I am not here for it”

“Pregnancy fetish?”

“It’s not sexy, I am swollen from the neck down, I couldn’t see my feet this morning. I just hope I wore the same shoes. My bladder is so squished I am peeing all the time, I am hormonal and sweaty, and I can’t fit into my favorite pajamas.” The hysterical sobbing was muffled by the bar and it made Jimin giggle behind his hand. He walked around to give you a hug and Jin presented you with an ice cream sundae in an effort to cheer you up.

“Dance with me, pretty lady,” Yoongi said, finishing his drink and taking your hand. He led you to the dance floor where you were slow dancing like you used to. “You are still as pretty as always. Okay, you may not feel beautiful right now due to all those things, but I promise that you are.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You tried to get close enough to hug Yoongi but your belly prevented you from doing so, he stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around you slipping his hands under your belly and swaying. He was trying to take some of the weight to relieve some pressure on your back. “You are amazing,”

“I am, aren't I.” He laughed, swaying you softly.

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[stargazer-sims]

45 - Kaji’s New Friend (part two)

Zira is amazed at the change she notices in Kaji since the last time she'd seen him.

It'd been a little less than two weeks ago when she'd examined him at her office. That day, she'd witnessed a frail, traumatized boy who seemed terrified of almost everything and everyone. While she acknowledges that being in a doctor's office may have played some role in his anxiety, there was no denying that the state he'd been in had a far more complex cause than that.

Today, the boy she sees is no less thin, but his skin has taken on a more healthy tone and his eyes are bright and alert. He looks more relaxed and confident than before, and she thinks she can make out the slightest green glow surrounding him.

She’d suggested to Félix that he, Davian and Kaji should come to the clinic early, perhaps twenty minutes ahead of the scheduled time for the peer support group meeting. Her intention had been to minimize any distractions or anything that might be upsetting for Kaji. She knows he’s had brief contact with all the couples in the group, and that he’s spent some time with Emma and Artie Greene, but she feels that he’ll do better without having to navigate multiple encounters. She wants this to be as low-stress as possible for him.

He's holding the hands of the two Earth males who'd rescued him, but as they move down the hallway he breaks free and runs toward her.

"Hello, Dr. Zira! Guess what?" he says excitedly. "I got dressed all by myself today, and I chose this outfit by myself too. Oh! And guess what else?"

Behind him, Félix is laughing. "Give her a chance to say hello, Kaji."

"Oh," says Kaji. "Sorry. But... guess what?"

"Hello, Kaji," Zira says. "You're looking very well, and you did an excellent job of choosing your clothes and getting dressed all by yourself. I don't think I can guess what else, so perhaps you can tell me?"

"I'm getting my own room! We already painted it. Well... Félix did most of it, but Davian and I helped, and then I had to take a bath because I accidentally got paint on my head!"

"What colour did you paint your room?" she asks.

"Yellow and blue. Yellow is my favourite. I have a yellow chair for my desk and yellow blankets for my new bed, too."

"That's wonderful," Zira says. "It sounds like things are going well for you."

"Yes!" Kaji agrees.

"How have you been feeling since the last time we saw each other?"

"A lot of different ways," he says. "Sometimes I'm scared and sometimes I'm sad, but mostly I’m happy. And hungry. I eat a lot. Maybe more than Félix, and he says he’s eating for two. Today I'm feeling happy because Félix said I'm going to meet a new friend. I'm a little bit scared about it, but I still want to."

"I'm glad you want to. Sri is looking forward to meeting you, although I think he might be a little scared about it, too."

In fact, she's positive Sri is more than a little nervous. He's self-conscious about his appearance and he's worried about making a poor first impression, and the fact that he's physically uncomfortable and hasn't been feeling well for the past few days isn't helping. He's been having more frequent and intense false labour pains, and Zira is certain the real thing is imminent, perhaps even within the next week or two. She actually would've preferred that he stay home and rest, but nevertheless, he'd insisted this morning that he was determined to stick to the arrangement to meet Kaji. She hardly ever refuses him, so here they are.

Kaji tilts his head curiously. "Adults get scared?"

"All the time, about a lot of things," says Félix, who has finally caught up to Kaji and stops beside him. "But, it's all right. It's perfectly natural to be scared when we don't know what's going to happen, or when there's something we don't understand."

"Yeah," says Davian. "Sometimes it's hard to do stuff you've never done before because you don't know how it'll turn out, but you just have to be brave."

Kaji nods. "I can do that."

"We know you can," Davian says. "Every day, you keep showing us how brave you are, so we know you've got this."

"We're really proud of you," Félix adds.

Zira smiles at the little family. "If you don't mind my saying so, I'm proud of all three of you," she says. "Kaji doesn't seem like the same boy I saw in my office."

"Thank you," says Félix. "Kaji's been putting a lot of effort in. He dresses himself now, and he's getting to be quite the expert at eating with a spoon. He can bathe and shower on his own too, although one of us still has to be in the room with him."

"In case I forget what to do," Kaji interjects.

Davian grins at him. "In case you have some sudden random thought that you can't wait to share with somebody, and you go running soaking wet and naked through the house, you mean," he says. "You're way too smart to forget what to do."

Kaji beams. He leans toward Zira and says confidentially. "They tell me I'm smart all the time."

"Because you are," says Félix.

Zira is beyond pleased. She has to admit that she was not fond of the idea of Earth people caring for a Sixamish child, and could not imagine it going particularly well. She’d been astute enough to realize the situation was out of her control, however, and had done her best to adopt a ‘wait and see’ attitude about it. Being wrong usually isn’t something she enjoys, but in this case, she can acknowledge without embarrassment that she’s glad her worries were misplaced.

“I must say, I’m impressed by his progress,” she says to Félix. “The change is remarkable. It's obvious he's thriving with you, and I feel I really should apologize for sharing my misgivings."

"It's fine," says Félix. "I'm glad you were honest about your concerns. It's one of the reasons I agreed to talk to Kaji about it when you called and asked if he'd be willing to meet your husband. You were right. There are things we can't teach him." He glances at Kaji. "We were talking about that on the way here, weren't we, Kaji?"

"Yes," Kaji says. "I still project, and I know I shouldn't, but Félix and Davian don't know how to teach me to stop doing it."

"I see," says Zira. "Yes, you will need an adult of our kind to teach you that. Someone should have taught you a long time ago, but it isn't too late for you to learn."

"Can Sri teach me?"

"I think that's a question you can ask him yourself," Zira says. "Are you ready to be introduced? We've got a nice room for you to visit in. Sri and the twins are waiting there for you."

Zira holds out her hand to him. Kaji stares at her for a moment, then drops his gaze to her hand. He backs away from her until he collides with Davian, who rests a palm on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Kaji," Davian says.

“He doesn’t like most people touching him,” Félix explains, and adds awkwardly, “He bit my sister for touching him without permission.”

“Because she squeezed me and I didn’t like it,” Kaji says. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I got scared and I just wanted her to stop hugging me like that.”

“To be fair, we did warn her,” says Davian.

"I only want people to touch me when I want them to, not whenever they feel like it,” Kaji says. “And not any way they feel like doing. Félix says I have… personal autonomy. That means I get to choose who touches me and who doesn’t, and even if they ask nicely, I’m still allowed to say no. Right, Félix?”

“Right,” Félix says.

“You’re teaching him about consent,” says Zira.

“I am,” says Félix. “I think it’s important for him to know he has the power to say no to things he’s not comfortable with. He didn’t know he had the right to choose before, and it made him a victim.”

“Now, I’m a survivor,” Kaji says. “That means I’m not weak any more.”

“You were never weak,” says Félix. “As far as I can tell, you’re very brave and strong. You only needed a little help to see it for yourself.”

Kaji appears to consider this. After a moment, he steps away from Davian and tentatively reaches out to Zira. “Do you still want me to hold your hand, Dr. Zira?”

“Would you like to do that?” she asks.

“Yes, but don’t hold it too tight, please.”

“I promise I won’t,” she assures him.

“Okay.”

Kaji takes her hand, and then Zira leads him and his Earth parents a short distance down the hall to a small room that's typically used as a waiting room for families, and occasionally for private counselling. It's a bright, inviting little space. Zira likes to think of it as cozy, with its comfortable chairs, plenty of toys and books, and cheerful décor.

As she opens the door, she sees that Sri is in exactly the same place he’d been when she’d gone out to wait for Kaji and his family. He’s seated on one of the wide chairs, eyes half closed, slowly massaging his belly. The twins are playing at the table, babbling to each other in a way that only they understand.

Kadan is the first to notice Kaji and the others. He lets out a little squeal of delight, and drops the toy he’d been playing with.

Zira thinks she could’ve predicted exactly how Kadan would behave. He loves people and is nearly always ready to socialize, and has absolutely no fear of strangers. They have to watch him constantly when they're out in public because if he likes the look of someone, he has no hesitation whatsoever about going up to them and saying hello.

This morning, Zira had explained to him and Kia that they were going to meet a new friend today. Kadan obviously hasn’t forgotten. Moments after putting down his toy, he’s toddling toward Kaji with his arms outstretched, chirping excitedly, “Hello, new friend!”

Zira expects Kaji to be startled or to react with anxiety or fear but, to her surprise, he makes a high-pitched squeak almost identical to Kadan’s. He releases her hand, hurries forward and bends down to scoop Kadan into his arms.

“Hello, cute baby!” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Kadan,” Kadan says. “What your name?”

“I’m Kaji.”

Kadan happily pats Kaji’s cheek. “Pretty Kaji. Wanna play?”

“Okay,” Kaji says. “But, I have to say hello to everyone first. We have to be polite.”

Satisfied that Kaji is all right for the moment, Zira crosses the room to help Sri up from his chair. He offers her a grateful little smile, and allows her to lead him over to the newcomers. She makes introductions, and Sri shakes hands with Félix and Davian.

Then, he turns his attention to Kaji. Zira can tell from his expression that he's instantly intrigued and perhaps a little bit entranced by the younger male. He smiles warmly and says, "You must be Kaji. I'm Sri. I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" Now Kaji looks intrigued as well.

"It's all been good. Don't worry," Sri says. "I've wanted to meet you ever since Zira told me about you."

"Why?" Kaji asks.

"Because I think you’re extraordinary,” Sri tells him. “Because you’ve got a chance to live an independent life and to do whatever you think is important, and I would like to help you succeed.”

[bloodfromthethorn]

Sleep is the Best Cure

“Jack? What-” Mac blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision even as he automatically relaxed into his partner’s hold, trusting him to keep him up while he struggled his way back to the surface.

“Pretty sure you’re going on about 72 hours without sleep and you’ve had, what? Three? Separate traumatic situations in that time? Not much of a surprise you’re about to crash hard.”

Tag to 2x11 and 2x12. Also on AO3. 

..

Mac’s eyes surveyed the wreck of his living room with a building sense of dread. The last few days felt like little more than a blur in his memory and he didn’t think he’d had a chance to pause for breath during any of it. Now that he had a moment to himself, he couldn’t help but worry that the world was about to come crashing down yet again, with him standing right in the middle of it. 

Charlie’s attention had been drawn away by one of the team responsible for lifting the barrels out from beneath the floor, while all around them Phoenix personnel were cataloguing every item they could find just in case one of them might grant a clue as to the Ghost’s whereabouts. Mac considered moving to help them - or perhaps back Charlie up in what looked as though it might be descending into some kind of argument about proper procedure - but the instant he took a step to do so, sharp, blinding pain struck him right between the eyes like a lightning bolt. 

It was there and gone in a flash, but it left him so startled he staggered back a step in surprise. A hand snatched at his arm before he could do more than sway, tugging him carefully against a supportive warm body. “Easy there bud.”

“Jack? What-” Mac blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision even as he automatically relaxed into his partner’s hold, trusting him to keep him up while he struggled his way back to the surface. 

“Pretty sure you’re going on about 72 hours without sleep and you’ve had, what? Three? Separate traumatic situations in that time? Not much of a surprise you’re about to crash hard.”

“I’m- I’m okay.”

“Yeah man, ‘course you are. But maybe we should get you some sleep, yeah?”

Mac’s head still felt like it was floating some way above the rest of his body, foggy and distant, but he was still able to feel himself frown as the suggestion stuck a chime wrong somewhere. “Can’t,” he managed. “House is in clean up.”

“Matty’s got it covered,” Jack said, sure and steady. “And while she’s getting everything here sorted, you can crash at my place.”

That did admittedly sound amazing, but Mac forced himself to mumble a negative and reclaim some of his own weight, shaking his head in a vain attempt at clearing out the cobwebs taking root. “No, I need to help Charlie,” he said stubbornly. 

The arm Jack had around his shoulders turned to steel, not letting him move away. “Charlie is doing just fine. He knows what he’s doing and he’s not the one dead on his feet right now. It’s okay man, it’s over. You can hand the reins over to someone else for a bit.”

With his vision steadily clearing, Mac could finally make out Jack’s worried face at his shoulder, watching him closely for any sign he was about to take another nosedive. Beyond the concern though, it was clear as day that Jack was starting to flag just as badly as Mac was, with pale skin and deepening crow’s feet emphasising the slight squint he’d picked up to combat the dryness of his eyes. “You’ve not slept either,” he pointed out unnecessarily. 

Jack huffed something that might have been a laugh if he’d had the energy for it. “True enough, but I also wasn’t arrested and I haven’t spent the last twenty hours working on defusing two bombs simultaneously.” He gestured vaguely around the wreck of Mac’s living room with his free hand as though to encompass everything that had happened. “I’m good to drive us both back to mine and then I’m planning on passing out until at least tomorrow. That plan sound good with you?”

Honestly, now that Mac was aware of his own fatigue, the exhaustion felt like a physical weight on his body and the very thought of handing over his safety to Jack and drifting off for a couple of hours sounded like heaven, but he knew his job. Once an EOD tech, always an EOD tech, and there was still a lot of explosive material in his house that needed dealing with before anyone in a mile’s radius would be safe. He had work to do. 

The sentiment must have shown on his face, because Jack went right back to frowning. “No, man, cut that out. Even if there wasn’t a perfectly capable bomb tech right over there, you’re in no state to be handling explosives. You’re shaking.”

Mac glanced at his own hands to confirm that yes, his whole body was indeed wracked by fine tremors that he couldn’t seem to stop. That… didn’t seem right. Since joining the army he’d had countless sleepless nights, both intentional and unavoidable, and while he knew he must be getting close to his limit of endurance, he was usually steady handed. Sort of an occupational requirement, really. 

“Something’s wrong,” he murmured to himself, still looking at his trembling fingers. 

With a heavy sigh, Jack tugged on him until he was pushed, unresisting, onto one of the bar stools and propped up by Jack’s warm palms on both of his shoulders. “What’s wrong is that you’ve been running on nothing but adrenaline and coffee for two whole days. Just ‘cause you’ve not been dodging bullets doesn’t mean you haven’t been going through the wringer. You’re exhausted. That’s all it is, bud, promise.”

Well, if Jack promised then Mac would believe him. Jack would never lie to him and he always seemed to know Mac’s hurts even before the man himself did. Something about it still didn’t sit right with him though. “Was dodging bullets,” he corrected, slightly petulantly, as he remembered handcuffs around his wrists and the desperation of trying to find a solution using nothing but a bullet and a ballpoint pen. 

One of Jack’s hands drifted up his shoulder to cup the back of his head comfortingly in a move that Jack liked to use when he wanted to check Mac’s pulse without him knowing. “I’m okay,” he mumbled again in protest, but didn’t pull away. 

“Yeah, I know you are. You’re pretty out of it though bud. Reckon you’re not going to remember this conversation tomorrow, huh?”

That was probably a fair assessment, honestly. With no witty retort lined up and thoroughly lacking the energy to search for one, Mac just hummed agreeably, blinking at him as his vision went wobbly again. 

Jack sighed. “Okay, I’m calling it. I know you want to help out here, but you need rest and you’re not going to get it while there’s a Phoenix clean-up op happening in your living room. And since I’m not letting you out of my sight just yet, you’re coming home with me, yes? Good.”

He finally broke his attention off from Mac to cast a glance around the room at large and caught Matty’s eyes, gesturing to his semi-conscious partner with a small head tilt. “I’m taking this one home.” He didn’t leave any room in his tone for argument, but softened it by adding, “If you need us, call me.”

Thankfully, as much as Matty might be a hardass when her job needed her to be, she was also one of the most observant people Jack had ever met. Her eyes took them both in with a single look and recognised the exhaustion staring back at her. She nodded with a soft smile. “Take as long as you need. We’ve got this.”

He spared enough time to shoot her a deeply grateful look before his entire attention turned back to Mac, who appeared to have been trying unsuccessfully to use the brief pause to rally himself. Unfortunately for him, he was long since out of any reserves to draw off; the best his attempts got him was some slightly more aggressive blinking. 

“Okay hoss, think you can stand up for me?” From the way Jack was having to keep him steady, it was obvious that Mac’s balance had completely gone to shit, but he obediently pushed himself upright and managed to at least keep his knees locked to take his weight. “Alright man, you’re doing great. Let’s get outside and get you sitting down again, yeah?”

Getting Mac outside and into the car turned out to be an exercise in extreme patience. Out of it as he was, he seemed to consistently forget where they were going and why, and made several attempts to turn himself around to go and help Charlie even though he could not more obviously be beyond that particular task. Each time Jack would nudge him back in the right direction with a soft push and a string of gentle words that seemed to more or less do the trick. By the time Mac was carefully folding himself into the passenger seat, the kid was scarcely still conscious. 

“That’s right, you just sit there and let Jack get you home, yeah?”

That Mac didn’t even groan in protest at Jack referring to himself in third person said a lot for his mental state. Chuckling to himself, Jack rounded the car and nodded at Bozer who had appeared at the front door to see them off. 

“I’ll get the house sorted as soon as I can,” he promised. “Make sure everything’s nice and clean when he gets back.”

“Appreciate that. But make sure you get some rest yourself, okay?” He said sternly, sending him a steady look. “Today’s been a long day for everyone, you included.”

“We’re good Jack. Matty will take good care of me and Riley. You just worry about Mac.”

Jack snorted, momentarily letting his bone-deep exhaustion show on his face. “As if I ever do anything else.”

Mac was thoroughly dead to the world when Jack slid into the driver’s seat beside him, his head tilted awkwardly against the window and his arms wrapped tight around his middle. It looked wildly uncomfortable, but the journey was only short and now that he was actually out for the count, Jack was loath to disturb him until he had to. Instead, he jammed his keys in the ignition and headed for home without another word. 

Tired as he was, Jack drove more carefully than he was usually of a mind to and as a result ended up taking a full half-hour to make it to his apartment. Mac didn’t so much as stir the entire time. If it hadn’t been for his breath fogging against the glass of the window, Jack might have resorted to feeling for the pulse in his wrist just to be certain that he really was still there, still in one piece. After everything he’d been through in the last three days, the fact that the worst physical damage he would have to deal with would be a few scrapes and a hefty dose of exhaustion was something of a miracle - and Jack would still trade almost anything for the chance to go back and spare him of all of it. Mac had never deserved the shit that got thrown at him day in and day out, but it rarely came so thick and fast. 

And physical condition aside, Jack knew that Mac wasn’t getting away from any of it without some new mental baggage. 

But that was a problem for tomorrow, at the earliest. Right now all he had to worry about was getting 6 foot of mostly-catatonic secret agent up several flights of stairs, preferably without drawing any attention. Easy. 

Mac did make a valiant attempt at consciousness after a few gentle shakes from Jack, but it was clear the window of opportunity for his ability to hold his own weight had closed some time ago. In the end, it was left to Jack to duck under his shoulder and do his best to balance them both as they hobbled unsteadily up the fire escape. The lobby would have granted them an elevator, but with them both on their last legs, Jack didn’t want the attention.

No doubt they must have looked comical - or perhaps just drunk - but they made it in the end, and without anyone falling down the stairs to boot. Jack was going to count that as a win. 

“Mac, you still with me brother?”

There was a vaguely attentive hum. Mac’s eyes didn’t open. 

“You happy to share the bed or are you gonna make me sleep on the couch?”

Another hum that Jack chose to take as ambivalence. In truth the question was somewhat redundant - the pair of them had shared far closer quarters than a king-sized bed before, and Mac would never turf Jack out of his own room, especially when he was just as desperately in need of rest. Asking was more of a formality than anything. 

There was a second brief deliberation when Jack managed to get them both into the bedroom as he tried to weigh up the chances of him being able to bully Mac into changing into some borrowed sleepwear. In the end, he figured it wasn’t worth the hassle and just calmly battled him out of his jeans and his dust-covered henley before tipping him beneath the covers. With his consciousness waning once more, Mac offered little more than a sleepy grumble as he burrowed down beneath the blanket and went still once more. 

With a weary chuckle of genuine relief, Jack ran through his own preparations as quickly as his tired body was capable of before finally, finally folding himself into the other side of the bed. After everything, the sensation was heavenly. 

There was a long stretch of motionless silence, broken only by their steady breathing, and Jack felt the fiercely alert, wary section of his brain finally start to cede control to the comforting embrace of sleep. It was over; Mac was safe, the bomb was defused, no one was in prison, and Cage would be just fine after a bit of recovery time. Jack was free to let his guard down at long last. 

It wasn’t an easy task. For the next five minutes he struggled with slipping into light dozes that broke off suddenly when his adrenaline spiked, bracing himself against some new danger. He knew that he needed the rest and for once it was legitimately safe to do so, but he had too many years of forcing his body through every possible hardship for it to give up the fight so easily. 

Then, as he always managed to do, Mac provided the solution. After the fifth or so time Jack jolted awake, Mac let out a low, displeased huff and wriggled until he was able to reach out a hand and wrap long fingers around Jack’s wrist in a gentle reassurance of his presence. He didn’t even look as though he was awake as he did it - he’d just sensed that Jack needed his help, and had offered it without thought. Lost in his own exhaustion, Jack thought it was almost poetic. 

Not that he would know, of course. 

Safe at long last, and tangibly aware of Mac’s steady presence at his side, Jack finally let himself sleep.