#we usually sit in the relief society room anyway and listen to the talks since 3yo needs space to run around

[lingering-sunrise]

primary program tomorrow so I actually have to get myself and the family to church on time for once 😅

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Anonymous said:

Heresan angsty fluffy request for Dabi,what if one day it was just a bad day for dabi.His scars were getting to him,the past kept coming to his mind and he was just feeling unworthy,like he didn't deserve his doll.That leads us to now,him standing shirtless infront of a mirror,judging his appearance and him in general so much that he doesnt notice his doll until she wraps her arms around him,gently holding him and telling him that it's not true that he deserves good things and that she loves him

Shit. Absolutely the most shittiest day he ever had on his adulthood so far.

Shigaraki had been a pain on his ass ever since he joined the league of villains, and when he was isolated by that crazy doctor on a moutain he thought was going to get a bit of peace.

Keyword: thought.

His colleagues despite becoming part of his daily routine were cool and all but he got irritated easily with their bullshit. Instead of wanting to expose the corruption and fake hero society all they cared for was being accepted and just watch the world burn down.

Heck, he tried his best to not be like him, but when he was out of pacience he tended to snap at anyone whose even got in his front... including you.

He felt like shit everytime and knew very well that a apology wasn't going to erase his harsh words... neither his own attitude.

Thankfully though he was fucking terrified of becoming the monster that married his mother, so he never once raised his hand at you.

He couldn't even once get a bit of peace on this fucked up life...

He was about to head to a shower he took off his shirt... looking at the corner of his eyes the nasty scars, covering more than half of his chest as the stables clinged and holded his still healthy and burnt skin together.

How the freaking hell you accepted being him out of all people on Japan? He was like a broken vase, couldn't fix it and just... was made to be left alone and on the fucking trash can.

He brought his hands to his camp of vision and saw the scars littering his forearms and hands, attached to staples... his breath started to quickened at remembering especially why he had them, whose fault was that...

Anger and anxiety combined surely wasn't a good thing.... without him thinking his quirk started to heat up and his skin if he could alscream would have already in pain.

He looked, trembling in wrath, at his reflection... and the sign was enough for him to shout and punch the mirror at the point it shattered in pieces and injured his hand badly...

Panting, his senses come back a but and cringed at how much blood it was dripping from his hand and dirtying the carpet of your guys room... for now.

Pieces of glass was still on his flesh but his anger hadn't vanished as he started to punch the wall until he was tired of it... the pain was one of the things that proved to him he was still alive.

So what is more? He felt worse after all...

He punched that wall until it got dirty with his blood and until he was tired of it... Sighing he clenched on the injury and got into the bathroom to take the goddamn shower.

.

.

.

Your voice calling for him and the door being slowly opened interrupted his thoughts... he vringed at the causation tone of voice you used and only waved his hand once to tell you it was okay for you to enter.

"We went out to get some food so.." he felt the lightly slightly short on the bed near him "I got some of your favorite..."

He didn't answer. He knew that one harsh word could leave or even the worst thing, you could get that he was on a bad shape, you could just fucking see when he was overthinking ... damn you for being so blind to not fucking see je is not worth of you.

"WHAT THE- DABI?!" He widened his eyes when you grabbed his hand, your horrified expression at seing the injury "What the hell happened?! I thought you-"

"I made it myself." He spoke on a cold tone of voice that even himself cursed himself for it.

"You're crazy or something?! How?!"

"Why being so dramatic over it? I have tons of scars sweetheart, I'm fucked already and just you who doesn't seem to notice." He shrugged as you looked at him before narrowing your eyes and getting up with a huff.

Just when he was about to sigh, you pocked a chair and put on his front agressively with a first kit aid.

"Aw. Cute seing you trying to fix me (Y/n)." His sarcasm was like venom as you grabbed his hand and started to bandaged.

"Fix and help to cure the wound are differents things and you know it very well, Todoroki." You hissed his last true name as got up and grabbed your wrist as you two exchanged glares for a bit before you gritted through teeth "Sit. Down."

He scoffed and sitted back on the bed as you sit down as well, bandaging him and taking the minors piece of glass out of him with the help of an twessee.

He hissed at one particularly large, stuck on his knuckles as you looked at him, your anger vanishing at seing him biting his lower lip and trying to mantain a nonchantly expression as he refused to look at your eyes.

Sighing in relief when the last piece of mirror left his hands, picking up a bit of alcohol, cottom and the bandages to wrap around the injury.

"... not going to give up are you?" He muttered as you remained silent while doing your work, cringing when he let out a dark chuckle.

"You're such a thick skull... cant even see it doesn't matter and you can do better than this..." you stopped with wide eyes before looking up at him.

"Huh?"

"Oh come on doll... you know that staying with me is a loss. What do I even have to give to you anyway? How do..." he snickered, letting his head fall on the hand you weren't treating "How do you even look at me with those fucking gorgeous eyes..?"

You blinked, words lost in your throat as you saw Dabi on that condition... slowly, you put the supplies aside, one hand holding his as the other barely touched his arm.

"Do you know I love you right?" You muttered as he barked on a laughter.

"Yeah..." he looked up at you in pain but with a maniac smile still present "I just don't know how."

.

.

.

Ever since that evening you started paying more attention on your boyfriend. Instead of replying with a snarky comment whoever joked about his scars he only sighed a "fuck off" and left... how he didn't even let you see him without a shirt.

It was like all the improvement of him thrusting you to not judge him for his past or appearance had come down hills... his usual cockiness and sarcasm aurea was just pushed all inside and eames back the aloof and cold Dabi...

You couldn't just let this continue... Dabi knew you love him but didn't know how? Well, damn him, you were going to show it like him or not.

With determination you walked and opened the door to slow your movement at seing Dabi staring at the mirror, his back at you as his head hung low, supporting himself on his hands on the mirror.

"You listen you bastard..." you listened him talk to himself "Stop being a selfish pig and let (Y/n) go... no one deserves getting stuck with a walking disaster... you wont drag the one you love to hell along with you." He growled the words as tears threaten to form in your eyes.

Saying fuck it, you almost ran into him while hugging him from behind, a gasp leaving him as the muscles of his back tensed and looked at your reflection clinging to him.

"How can you say that to the men I love..?" You whispered, wet cheek resting and nuzzling on him "You're not dragging me to hell if you're not even going there..." you sobbed as his wide turquoise eyes remained on your reflection... frozen body... he couldn't even think to be honest.

"You deserve happines just like everyone does... You make me happy by being you Touya..." you clinged onto him and burried your crying face on his back "I don't want to let go... you're the best thing that ever happened to me so dont you fucking dare to say things like that about yourself!"

You felt his rough and half scarred hand touch yours at first before holding it like his life depended on it.

"You know... if I could cry... pretty damn sure I was weeping right now at only seing you suffer because of me..." his hoarse voice came out and you clinged onto him tighter.

"You're the blind one for thinking that you dont deserve me or you aren't beautiful... scars and all." You mumbled before leaving a chaste kiss on his back, one that made his body shiver.

It was quiet for a moment before Dabi got out of your arms as you whimpered before gasping when he cupped your cheeks and smashed his lips on yours.

When he broke the kiss you hugged him.tightly as he slowly returned the affection, resting his chin on your shoulder as he felt his eyes burning.

"Dont hide from me anymore..." you sobbed as his heart clenched at your crying and hugged you tighter.

"I won't... I won't." He pulled you even closer to his chest as he kissed your temple.

"Get on your thick skull that you're beautiful and handsome you idiot!" You punched his back as he let out a weak chuckle on your hair.

"Only because you make me feel that way doll..."

[fanficflaneuse]

Hardly A Date

Index 

A/N: Hello lovelies! I’m sorry this took me so long. This has been a very awkward week. I was sad and I tried to dump my feelings into writing, but sometimes it’s not that easy...ugh I’m sorry. I hope you like this one. It was requested a while ago. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. Also, I gave reader the physical characteristics of Lily Potters for (insert some good reasons). So, I am sorry if it’s not as immersive as it could have been. 

Dearest anon requester, I’m sorry this took me so long. Let me know if you read it and like it (I really wish you do). 

Draco x Potter! Reader (she/her) Word count: 2735 Summary: Draco has a crush on Harry’s twin sister, who resembles Lily Potter.

Enjoy! 

Harry sulked all the way to potions class. It was the first day of fifth year and his twin sister, (Y/N), was getting too much attention for his liking. He had always thought his sister was beautiful, but now every boy in school seemed to have realized it as well. Over the summer, she had grown taller and curvier. Her red hair had darkened a bit more. She wore it long, which framed her face delightfully. The resemblances to their mother was such that not even aunt Petunia could deny it. It made her harsher towards (Y/N), but not even that dampened the girl’s spirits.

(Y/N) felt confident as she walked by her brother. Since they set foot on Hogwarts, she had been the more popular twin thanks to her kindness and vivaciousness. She paid no mind to the looks and laughed at her brother’s overprotectiveness. As the Fab Four sat at the very front, as per Hermione’s request, (Y/N) felt something hit her in the head. Her hands searched the back of her hair and grabbed the paper crane that landed on her head. She turned around to find the one and only Draco Malfoy staring at her wide-eyed. He had sent the bird as a taunt to her twin brother and in no way had intended for it to hit her. The thought of her seeing the cruel drawing inside the bird made his stomach churn.

Draco was transfixed. It was the first time he saw her since last year and her striking green eyes were doing wicked tricks to his heart. Since year one, he had a crush on her. He thought those who didn’t acknowledge her beauty should be burned at the stake. A year before, the blond had simmered in jealousy when he saw her at the Yule Ball with her brother, but that image paled in comparison to seeing her now. He cringed as she turned around, opening the paper crane.

Just as she did, Snape came in to the classroom. He was not in a good mood and it only got worse when he saw (Y/N) Potter sitting on the front row. She was scribbling something on a piece of parchment. She was the spitting image of Lily Evans during her schooldays, back when they were still friends and he clang to the sliver of hope that she’d love him like he did. It was almost painful to see his student. Her presence soured his mood even more, so he decided he was not putting up with it.

“Eva– I mean, Potter,” he said, motioning to (Y/N), “change places with Goyle.”

(Y/N)’s gaze went back, once again, to the back of the room, where the Slytherins sat. Gregory Goyle was sitting just besides Draco. She stood up silently and put her things in her bag. Harry groaned lowly.

“I’m definitely failing now,” he murmured.

(Y/N) gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s going to be alright, Harry. You’re good at this.”

“Never as good as you, sis,” he countered, “And if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

She rolled her eyes in response and dramatically bid her brother goodbye. She walked all the way to the back of the room, where a very embarrassed Draco Malfoy waited for her. She greeted him cordially as she took her place. Draco and (Y/N) hadn’t crossed more than ten words at a time. She was not a hothead like Harry, so she hardly gave in to the taunting. At times, when he said something particularly nasty, she’d snap. Her comebacks were intelligent and sharp and often than not he’d be to flustered to answer. So, they were not on good terms, but not on a ���I want to burn you alive and dance over your ashes” basis.

“I believe this is yours, Malfoy,” she said coolly after handing him the paper crane.

The Slytherin swallowed hard and took the bird from her hands without saying a word. He listened intently as Snape gave the instructions. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her flipping through the pages in her book until she settled on the one with the recipe for the draught of peace.

They brewed the potion in silence. Draco was enamoured by (Y/N)’s gentleness and the way she’d handle everything with the utmost care. She was also unnaturally kind, as she didn’t seem bitter at him for the paper crane or anything, really. It was a relief.

“Are you sure we have to powder the unicorn horn?” He didn’t intend for it to come out as mean, but it sure sounded like that.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him, and theatrically put more pressure on her mortar. Her lips turned into a mischievous smirk and Draco had to stop what himself from putting too much powdered moonstone into the cauldron.

“I recall you saw me read the instructions,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Draco scratched the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and nodded at her sheepishly. “Just checking,” he murmured.

“You should check your hands before adding the ingredients,” she teased as she pointed at the moonstone.

He smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I suggest nothing, Malfoy. I affirm.”

Draco was about to answer, finding the playful banter amusing, when Snape scolded them from his desk. Assuming they had been bickering, Harry turned around, shooting daggers at the blond and giving her sister encouragement she didn’t need. (Y/N) shrugged and, after her twin turned around, smiled kindly at Draco. After that, they worked mechanically. As their potion turned into the desired turquoise blue colour, (Y/N) even concluded that they were a good team.

As Snape approached to their desk, (Y/N) noticed how he didn’t even spare her a glance. He talked to Draco and asked him questions about the process. And when he gave them their well-deserved O, it was Draco he congratulated. (Y/N) said nothing of it, but found it frustrating. When he walked away, she released the breath she always held when he graded her and started packing.

Before she left, she flashed her classmate yet another impish grin. “I exhort you to open that paper crane.”

Once she was gone, the Slytherin opened the folded bird to find her intervention to his work. He had drawn Harry being hit by a thunder and falling off his broom. She had altered it for it to be him, falling and hitting the ground wrapped in a cloud of dust. It was so well done, Draco couldn’t be offended.

…

For the next two months, (Y/N) and Draco worked together in potions. Every time, they’d engage in small talk and friendly banter. He marvelled at her wittiness and her sense of humour. He loved it when she got dramatic and made theatrical gestures or used aristocratic language just because. Draco was falling hard and fast for the redhaired Potter.

It actually made him wonder over the nature of his hatred for her twin brother. He found her funny and charming. He felt so at peace when they spent time together. And then there was Harry Potter, who he found utterly irritating, brash and self-righteous. He didn’t understand how they could possibly be related. She was amazing in absolutely every way he was faulty.

Maybe he didn’t particularly hate Harry? And why didn’t he ‘hate’ (Y/N) anyways? She was just as self-righteous as her brother. They were practically joined at the hip and she was always involved in the same shenanigans as Harry was. They had the same eyes. Why hate them in one and love them in the other? What was the real reason for him to go out of his way to torment (Y/N)’s twin and friends? 

Deep down he knew.

These thoughts consumed him as he did his rounds for the inquisitorial squad. At first, he had joined Umbridge’s team because he wanted the authority and for a while he enjoyed it. Then, (Y/N) and Harry got punished by their sadistic teacher and he no longer wore his badge with pride. He knew they were up to something, but seeing (Y/N)’s swollen hand during their next potion class was enough to feel ashamed of his position.

Draco was just about to go to his common room, when somebody collided with him. He was too deep in his thoughts to feel the rush of getting someone in trouble. And then noticed the deep red hair and the scared green eyes. His heart started beating hard on his chest.

(Y/N) was absolutely terrified. She hadn’t realized it was Draco at first; she was running as fast as she could from the room of requirement. Usually, she left D.A. meetings with Harry, but today he was playing Don Juan with Cho Chang and everyone else was gone. She was good at sneaking around. She was halfway there when she saw Peeves and decided to make a run for it before he saw her and woke the whole castle.

That’s how she had ended practically in Draco’s arms. She was sweaty and out of breath and now she had to deal with the Slytherin prince. He was nice to her in potions, but she wasn’t sure that was enough to get her off the hook. (Y/N) imagined herself getting another detention with Umbridge and it made her want to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said as he grabbed her face tenderly.

For a second there, she thought she was hallucinating. She looked at him, eyes still teary, but also full of confusion. He smiled awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious of their position.  

“A-Are you alright?”

“Just a bit agitated.” She tried to be as casual as possible.

“Let me walk you to your common room. That way nobody else will get you in trouble,” he said, offering her arm to her.

Draco knew that she was up to something. If he wanted to, he could’ve gotten all the dirt on their little secret society. She would’ve been in a lot of trouble and he’d be the hero of the school. He said nothing, though, especially because she was holding onto his arm for dear life. They walked peacefully towards the Gryffindor common room and with every step he could only think about the idea that had been brewing in his mind for a while.  

(Y/N) thought she was in the most ridiculous situation. She was a member of Dumbledore’s Army and he was Umbridge’s minion. He could’ve gotten her, her brother and friends in trouble, which was what he had wanted to do since their first day in Hogwarts. And here they were, arms linked as he escorted her to safety.

Suddenly, they stood in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. (Y/N) looked at Draco with gratitude. He nodded and offered her a smile. With trembling fingers, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Draco noticed (Y/N) blushing a little.

“(Y/N)…there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, the sudden rush of confidence making him lightheaded.

“Yes?”

“Would you go to the next Hogsmeade trip with me? On a date?”

(Y/N) was speechless. She didn’t know Draco thought of her that way, but suddenly the fact that he didn’t rat her out made sense. Of course, he wouldn’t be as lenient had he found Harry or Hermione. She thought about it for a second and smiled when she noticed him getting uncomfortable.

“Let’s make a deal, Draco. The next Hogsmeade trip is a week from tomorrow. If you don’t bully anybody during the week, I’ll go out with you,” she proposed.

She noticed his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?” he groaned.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, amusedly. “Why would I want to go out with somebody that messes with my brother and my friends?”

He considered her for a while and then sighed in defeat.

…

“Is it true that you agreed to go out on a date with Malfoy?” Ron asked in alarm the next morning.

“I didn’t agree,” (Y/N) shot back as she put food on her plate.

Harry was looking at her disapprovingly and she was doing her best to avoid his gaze.

“You agreed to go out with him if he went a week without bullying us,” Hermione interjected with a reproving tone.

“That I did.”

“(Y/N)!” Harry roared.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to not be bullied for a change?” she asked him innocently.

“If the cost is that git snogging my sister then no, it wouldn’t be nice.”

(Y/N) gave him a stern look.

“What? That is what happens on dates, (Y/N).”

“Then you should hurry up and ask Cho Chang to one as well.”

She tried to be humorous, but it clearly didn’t work, so she tried to reason with him instead.

“Come on, Harry. It would hardly be a date,” she said while holding her twin’s hands, “besides, I know Draco can be a nice person if he tries. He has been to me in potions. Why not give him a second chance?”

Harry scoffed. “Why would I ever give that tosser a second chance? He has been messing with us since our first day here!”  

They looked at each other and for a moment they had one of their silent conversations. Hermione and Ron stared as Harry failed to be stern and (Y/N) conveyed compassion in her eyes. As always, Harry gave in.

“You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” he sighed, “and I mean it this time, if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

…

“Which one’s better, ‘Mione?” (Y/N) asked as she held one dress in each hand.

Hermione helped her best friend get ready for her date. As much as she disliked Draco, the week events had made her realize he truly wanted to go out with (Y/N). Throughout the week, Harry and Ron taunted the Slytherin in hopes that he snapped at them, thus ruining the date before it even took place. Hermione had frowned upon their Machiavellian plan, but had not intervened nor rat them out. As the days went by, though, she noticed how hard he was trying to be good. He looked the other way as the Gryffindor boys laughed and teased. He avoided making snarky remarks in class. Once, he even helped Hermione when she tripped and fell.

It had been a very hard week, but he had succeeded. Now he waited awkwardly by the portrait for (Y/N), who arrived a few minutes later. She looked as beautiful as ever with a pretty floral dress. They smiled at each other and walked out of the castle, this time with the regulatory distance according to Umbridge’s decree.

As they made their way to Hogsmeade, (Y/N) thought this could possibly be the most awkward date of her life. It didn’t help that it would probably her first real date ever. What could they have in common apart from their shared space in potions? What would they talk about? Then, she noticed how Draco was fidgeting with his fingers. She found that cute and it made her instantly relax.

As they sat at the Three Broomsticks, all of their collective fears of a bad date were soon proved wrong. They had a great time together. They talked about their favourite candies, their favourite pastimes, quidditch. Draco asked about her life as a muggle with genuine curiosity. She was actually very blunt about her situation at home, something that both marvelled and unsettled him. They laughed and made jokes and got theatrical together.

They walked back to the castle hand in hand. Once they reached the school, Draco dragged (Y/N) through some less frequented corridors. Engrossed in their conversation as they were, they failed to notice the Gryffindor trio following them. Harry and Ron were absolutely enraged as they saw the couple stop behind a column. Hermione had to restrain them when Draco put his hand on (Y/N)’s cheek. She squeezed their arms as the blond boy leaned in and gave (Y/N) a kiss she happily corresponded.

Harry was livid. His baby sister had her arms around that slimy git’s neck. He wanted to rip his head off.

“Hardly a date my arse,” he muttered under his breath.  

tags: @cleopatera @okaydraco @naomi02hook @the--queen-of-hell @honeymarvel @the-hufflefluffwriter 

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Prestige

Chapter four -Tiny crumbs of imperfection

Sanders side fanfiction

Idea by: @hestianerd1

Wordcount: 2133

Pairings: prinxiety

TW: !!! It’s not so well written (and I’m not sure how accurate it is), but there is a pretty big part about verbal abuse and a car accident so if that is something you can’t read skip to the part where the slanted text stops !!! Besides that there is a full on panic attack scene, a long rant about dyslexia and it’s annoyingness, cursing and just some light teasing. If I’ve missed any, don’t hesitate to let me know!

The summery of the whole story: Prestige. Such a simple construct. All you have to do is act the way you want people to perceive you, keep up the image, wear a big proud smile and never ever dare make a mistake. That’s why Weltingston Heights University is such a well known school. Everybody knows that anyone who got in must have some prestige tied to their name. Educational records, family history, or even literal fame. So why not treat students the same way? Because what’s a little more pressure on their young and strong bones?

But prestige and image are precious things. You slip up even the tiniest bit, step out of the line you drew for yourself and it’s all gone. So now that the pressure is on, and everyone already knows their place in this small circle of society, only one question remains. How far are they willing to go to keep the false image up?

(Or: Very over-dramatically with a noticeable amount of sarcastic undertone: "Oh my god! They were roommates!")

-------------------------------------

Chapter four - Tiny crumbs of imperfection

“You fucking useless piece of shit! I’ve told you hundreds of times to-“

“Virgil. Headphones.” Raimond ordered. His voice meant nothing but business - cold and determined. No room for discussion. Virgil knew better then to oppose his big brother. He reached for his backpack sitting next to him on the back seat.

“Why should he? A fuck-p like him would just benefit from this. You see Virgil, if you don’t want to end up weak and completely useless, like you brother here, you should listen. Or maybe you-“

“Now.” and this time there was an urgency to his brother’s voice. Pushing out all the acidy sweetness of Richards’s words. Virgil’s finger’s shook as he pulled the headphones out of the bag quickly.

“Playing big rother now, are we?” Richard scoffed. “Where were you when your father ran? How fucked-up of a family do you have to be to drive that man away.”

Virgil heard that. Even through his headphones, he heard it. Richard’s voice wasn’t exactly easy to toon out. Low and loud, bouncing of every wall and surface, making the hair on you back stand.

Virgil Hated his step-father. More then anything. And judging by the white-knuckled grip Rai had on the steering wheel, he did too.

No matter how ‘nice’ this man pretended to be when sober. A drunk Richard was a disgusting, unbearable, suffocating man.

Virgil put his music louder. Blasting whatever was on his phone at the moment at full volume. Maybe that would drown this out. Maybe that would stop Richard from saying all these things to him and his brother…

But no… Richard’s mouth was still moving, words still spilling out into the tight air in the car. Suffocating everybody.

In the rearview mirror, Virgil could see the tight squeeze of Rai’s lips. The way his jaw was set. The way he was just seconds ago from bursting.

But they both new better. They both knew that wouldn’t help.

So, Rai’s nostrils flared. Chest expanding with a deep breath. And then those tightlipped three calm words left his mouth. Virgil didn’t need to hear them to know what they were. It was a well-rehearsed script by now. “You are drunk.”

“No shit, sherlock! At least that’s better than whatever you’re fucking doing with your meaningless pitiful life.” would usually come next. Rai would just swallow, keep his head high. Then glance and Virgil and take them both out for ice-cream or the park. Rai loved the park.

But this time… This time something went wrong…

There was a different look on his stepfather’s face. Not the usual furrowed-browed, sneering ‘I’m so done with this bullshit’ kind of face.

No. This time was different. This time it was pure hate and disgust. And suddenly, his lips were moving. And his hand was moving. And through all the music and movement, Virgil heard it. His shout. “You ungrateful moron!”

And Richard’s hand was on the steering-wheel. And Raimonds eyes went wide with panic. For the first time in his life, Virgil saw his brother completely terrified.

His glassed blue eyes immediately shot to the rearview mirror, searching for his little brother. Trying to tell him to hold on, but no words found their way out in time…

That pull of the car. That loud noise. And then it was dark.

-

“Hhhhh!!!!” Virgil shot up in bed gasping for air.

He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t fucking breathe! He couldn’t-

“Virgil?” there was a voice somewhere in the distance. From behind thick glass.

He needed to take a breath! Come on Virgil, breathe!

“Hey… Virgil…” this time Virgil heard it. Still from behind that glass, but it was there. the voice. A hand on his shaking shoulder.

He was shaking?

“Listen to me okay?”

And he tried. He really did. But the thick glass was getting thicker by the moment, voice lost with it.

The touch getting lighter and lighter until he could barely feel of that hand on his shoulder.

Until all he could hear were his thorn up breaths and suffering lungs. His heart in his ear, blood rushing.

Until all that was in front of his eyes were those big blue eyes. Panicked.

All he could hear was the screeching of tired. The loud noise. Humming.

Humming. Virgil’s mind stopped spinning for a moment. Humming?

He focused on that. On that unknown melody that somehow broke throw the thick wall. Brough back the heavy hand on his shoulder.

Brough back the air that got sucked out of his lungs.

Humming.

Virgil opened his eyes, still beathing heavily. But at least breathing.

It was dark, yes. But the moon shone through the window, breaking up every sell of that overwhelming dark from before. Making it so much easier to see Roman sitting in front of him, smiling lightly. Never stopping his hum.

Even in this not-so-much-dark Virgil could see the concern and relief in his eyes. It was so obvious. Roman could literally never hide anything. It just wasn’t possible.

It was still harder to keep the air down. Even harder to move or just stop shaking. He listened to Roman hum his toon over and over again, the sound swallowing Virgil whole.

Soothing his panicked mind. Blocking out all the memories.

He uncurled slightly, letting his numb limbs rest after the tight embrace they held him in.

That’s when Romans toon stopped. And his hand pulled away. “Better?”

Virgil didn’t yet trust his voice. (And after this fiasco, he wasn’t sure he ever was going to again!) So, he just nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The tall one offered, as if this was the most normal thing two ‘mortal enemies’ (as he put it earlier) could do.

Virgil just shook his head.

“Alright then.” Ro shrugged like ‘whatever’ with a kind smile and stood up to walk back to his bed.

It was pretty late anyways. But neither of them had class in the morning, so who cares really.

And that moment - that one moment when Ro stood up and made his first step - was the moment V’s limbs decided to work again. He doesn’t even know how or when, but he was reaching out, grabbing onto his hand. “Can you… can you stay and talk for a little bit?”

And, oh my god, that look in V’s eyes! Even if Roman would have wanted to say no (which he didn’t, obviously - this man might be his mortal-enemy, but not even he deserves that much cruelty), he wouldn’t be able to. In those dark broody eyes, that always cast cold glares at him was this need, this silent plea.

And so Roman smiled this soft smile and sat back onto the bed. “Sure.”

He knew the drill by heart. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Virgil wasn’t about to force himself to talk, so this was up to Roman. Thankfully, he was the master of endless rants about pretty much nothing!

And so, it started. “I love writing so much! And acting - obviously. My dream is to be this big actor and playwright one day! You know - have my name on the script, cast on Broadway and stuff. I just kind of find it ironic, since the one thing I love I can’t really do. Not acting, obviously - I’m awesome at that!” he smirked self-assured and confident. Virgil made this sound with his nose - blew out some air as if laughter. And roman took it as a win. “I’m talking about writing. Like, literally. No matter how hard I try, grammar just won’t be my friend. I have dyslexia and that shit just sucks. Like, I don’t mind it, and sometimes it’s the funniest thing, but other times… well it gets on one’s nerves. I can’t type an email on my phone for example! Or anything important really. And yes, I know there is that thing called ‘autocorrect’ - but it just kept on correcting my words into something completely different and it annoyed me so much! So, I just shut it off. Oh, and don’t even get me started on reading! It really depends on how tired I am, but on bad days, man… That Shakespeare you helped me with the other day. I would have stayed up until literal morning just trying to figure out what even was on those pages! So yeah, thanks for that. That rehearsal went fantastically, by the way! The teacher was blown away. Do you know mister Greenwitch? He’s this kind of ‘do it my way or don’t even try!’-” Roman mimicked his voice, which made Virgil laugh slightly. “- kind of guy. And even he said it was, and I quote: ‘Acceptable’. Everybody was floored! I was floored!”

Virgil wondered how long would this rant last. (And how self-absorbed could one person be to be able to talk this long about themselves, but that was for a different day.) But he didn’t complain.

It was actually kind of surprising - hearing about this dyslexia thing. So Roman wasn’t so picture perfect after all. No super human - just regular old, grammar-fighting Roman.

That somehow lessened that reasonless resentment he was feeling towards him. Broke a crumb off of that barrier he so carefully built up to protect the people around him…

Roman was taking a deep breath ready to spew another avalanche of words at him, but V beat him to it. “What is that song you were humming?”

The man’s head cocked to the side in the most adorable way (which Virgil would never ever admit!). “An old lullaby my mother used to sing to me and my brother when we were little. It was the only thing that would calm Remus down enough to sleep.” he chuckled at the memory.

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed in understanding. There was this little pause - Roman lost in his head and Virgil watching him, just as much thoughtful. And then the thought slipped out. “How did you know what to do?”

“Hm?”

“With my… with me. How did you know the song would work?”

“Oh! My sister, Cassie, you met her. After our mum died, she started getting these panic attacks and I used to sing to her until she calmed down. I just figured I’d give it a try, you know.” Ro shrugged.

“You would have looked so ridiculous if it wouldn’t have.” Virgil smirked.

And Roman was gone. Completely gone. He mocked offence. “How dare you question my skills!”

And Virgil started chuckling. Softly and quietly, still weak from everything, but he laughed. And it made Ro’s heart happy. (For some inexplicable reason, he will never admit to or think about ever again.)

“You give me too much reason to, princey.”

“I am offended!”

“I can see that.”

And they both laughed. Just softly. Just quietly. But suddenly it was lighter in the room again.

“But it did help.” Roman concluded, just for his own sake.

“Yeah.” V nodded tiredly. He looked at the alarm clock on his night stand. It was four in the morning. “Don’t you have class in the morning or something?”

Roman just shrugged again, gathering up to move back to his bed. “Nah. I’m free. And so are you judging by your schedule.”

“Did you memorize my schedule?! Are you some kind of stalker?”

“It’s on your table, dimwit.” Roman laughed. “I checked it and remembered some stuff. I’ve got a good memory.”

“Right.” Virgil said, but it was clear he was mocking disbelief.

“By the way, you’re handwriting sucks! Like I already have problems reading printed text, but that mess…”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re very much welcome. What major are you in anyways? You know mine, it’s only fair if I know yours.” the man flopped onto his bed, pulling the covers over himself. It was so warm and comfy! Not like at home, but pretty close.

“Psych.” Virgil did the same.

“Really?!” and the surprise in Roman’s voice was so obvious, if he were anybody else, Virgil would be hurt by it.

“Yes, really.” he just rolled his eyes.

“How did you end up in psych?” the taller was pushing himself up again, ready for another round of talking.

But Virgil had enough of that for one night. he was exhausted. He needed sleep. He closed his eyes - blue ones in glasses still edged in his memory, but their blow softened by the repeating memory of Roman’s lullaby… “Good night, Roman.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t leave me hanging now. I’m really curious! Tomorrow you’ll go back to your sulky self and I won’t even get a word from you!”

And that made Virgil grin into his pillow. Because yes - he was going to do exactly just that.

“Good night, Roman.”

--------------------------------------

I told you I’ve had some backstory planned! And that isn’t even the whole thing yet! (@hestianerd1 you said angst from both sides. You’re getting a generous dose of it :3 - Btw, thanks for that website! I’ll be using that! <3)

Also, that dyslexia rant - not me projecting XD (It is long and pretty much useless and unimportant, but it stays, I’ve decided XD)

So, heavy subject and sad stories aside... I really do hope you enjoyed it and weren’t troubled too much...

Thanks for reading though ^^

Tag list:

@a-formless-entity

@cirishere

@ray-does-stuff

@lovelivingmydreams

[riofann]

A Different Path Part 1

This is based post Beth Boland. 

Things with Beth were becoming too disorderly and dangerous for Rio.  So he made a deal with the feds knowing that Beth would in turn shoot him instead of Turner because her desire to be King was more compelling. So he knew she would do what she could to make sure she held onto it.  He found himself waking up in the hospital sore from the wounds earlier. He was allowed to recover before finishing the deal. Beth Boland was a problem for the Feds and no longer his. 

“Okay well everything is set” Turner said gathering the documents  “where are you going to move?” he asked Rio

“I’m sure you’ll be watching its a surprise” 

Turner sighs circling back to his desk to sit “Don’t forget our deal. We find you engaging in this shit again next time there will be no deal”

Rio’s jaw clenches before he speaks “I heard you” 

“Well see you around” Turner says dismissing him 

He nods walking away. His next stop is to meet Gretchen at her office 

“Wow look at you! Doing okay?”  she says hugging him. This whole ordeal had been just as stressful for her if not more. She initially refused to agree calling him crazy  for coming up with the idea. But seeing him standing, let alone alive, was a huge relief 

“See you worry too much” he remarks

“I had a reason” 

He smiles taking a sip of his coffee 

“So like discussed with the feds you live a simple life and all is good”

“Right” he says sarcastically 

“Seriously Rio let this go” 

He smacks his teeth “I can’t i have many people depending on me, you can’t just walk away from this shit you know that”

“Well is there anything else i need to know you deliberately refused to tell me about the whole Beth Boland situation”

He shakes his head “Nah”

“You know our confidentiality agreement whatever it is we” she points between them “can figure it out”

He nods quickly “I know”

“Well where are you going?” 

“Don’t know yet but ill keep you posted”

She sighs “okay well whatever you decide to do, decide to go please strongly consider who you get in bed with.”

He scoffs and chuckles 

“All jokes aside you have a son I’m sure it wasn’t fun for him to hear that his dad got shot and that he has to leave his friends here and move somewhere else. I don't want to tell you how to live your life but maybe the next woman in your life shouldn't be so willing to pick up the gun and go gun toting around town with you.”  

He nods nibbling on his bottom lip

“This Bonnie and Clyde thing that you’re trying to do creates a lot of issues as we have seen.” She pauses to see if he’s even listening to what shes saying “Don’t you want to walk down the street and not worry that someones gonna be pulling up to do a drive by? or not need a crew around you at all times? or constantly look over your shoulder?” he remains silent with a straight face  she throws her hands up “Anyway i’m getting side tracked just reconsider your life and Marcus’s”

He places the cup down and stands up “Good lookin out”

“Yea take care of yourself”

“Do the same” he retorts 

“Im here you know that”

He turns to face her as he reaches for the door knob “I got your number” 

He watches as his things are packed in a truck. He could go anywhere but where? He ultimately decides to go to Chicago. Why?  It was much bigger city easier to move about without being spotted a mile away. It was definitely different from small town dealings. He already had property in Chicago so there was no need to search for places to stay. His kingdom was much bigger than the feds or anyone knew. But Chicago would be a good change for him and Marcus. 

-

“Coming!” He hears her voice from the other side of the door. “RIO! OMG!” 

“Carol!”  He greets as he walks into her home

“Hey darling how are you?”

“Good good” 

“Hows your shoulder?” she asks touching it lightly 

“Eh” he shrugs as he sits by the island

“So what can i do for you? what do i owe this visit” she asks grabbing cups out of the cabinet

“Came to visit see how things were going?” 

“Good!”  

Carolann and William were a older couple in their 50s. Rio’s business partners both successful at cleaning the money that they never showed up on anyone's radar. 

“I need the name of good schools here and babysitters”

“Are you moving here?” she inquires 

He nods 

“FINALLY! i told you Chicago was the place”

He smiled looking at her “sometimes you gotta learn the hard way”

“I know I know anyway my kids went to private schools here, the public schools are just, they need help, how old is Marcus? How’s he doing” He and the Greene’s had been in business for so long they were basically like family. He had watched their kids grow and they were there when Marcus was born.

“Growing he’s good though. Hes 6”  

“Okay i can get you a list of schools, i can also reach out to my old baby sitter or ask around”

“Yea thanks”

“Its really good to see you doing well”

“Yea how are things going?”

“Great you know that though or you wouldn’t be smiling” 

He smirks remembering past encounters where guns were drawn “Where’s William?” he asks looking around 

“Oh hes in Colorado for a conference” she says taking a sip of her coffee

“Cool” he stands up “Thanks for the coffee ill see you around yea”

“Okay!” she says as she walks him to the door

He left her house and saw the oh too familiar black town car sitting parked at the end of the street. Whatever he’s next move were, they had to be more tactful than before. 

Months pass and Rio and Marcus finally settle into Chicago.  They enjoy exploring the city. He liked not having to drive but sometimes driving was better than taking the CTA (L train) so his car was parked under the building. One by one his crew moves to surrounding cities in Illinois. He’s taking his time there’s no rush to get the money and he’s doing his best to not sweat the small stuff. 

“So whats going on with your love life?” Carol asks as she makes his drink 

“Non you know how it goes” He found himself missing Beth and having a lot of one night flings to get her out of his system

“Yea yea lonely at the top” she repeats what he’s said many times before 

He smirks “what’chu got a friend for me?” he would appreciate a distraction 

“No... well (she looks up).... no, no forget it just asking. Wondering if your looking for a queen”  

He was a frequent person at Carol’s place it was easier to talk business and since there was barely any hiccups there really wasn’t much said. 

He shakes his head in response he wasn’t going to be as open this time 

The door opens and you walk in “Ahhh Y/N you finally made it”  he hears her say 

“Hey sorry” you say as you take off your coat  

You look around the room and greet everyone. 

She gives you a longing hug “mmmm it’s good to finally see you”

Rio looks at you. You looked familiar but he can’t place you exactly. 

“Come sit sit” she says pulling you to sit next to her

“Thanks” 

“Oh sorry what do you want to drink dear?”

“Umm hard cider” you answer as you settle into the sofa

“Yup one hard cider coming up”  

“Remember Rio?” she asks as she returns with drink in her hand 

You look at him “Oh yea hi how are you?” you remember him and how he made you nervous he held this scowl 

“Rio you remember Y/N” she asks him 

He looks confused he was trying to recall but he couldn’t “nah i can’t really” 

Carol cuts in “She’s Preston’s wife remember him?”

Preston your late husband, was one of Rio’s customers “Oohh”  Rio remembers the first time he saw you a run down housewife he remembers Preston telling you to cook and thinking to himself he would never eat your food if you looked like that, only God knew how your food would taste. 

You don’t say much during your time there and nothing really happens but empty conversations. 

Throughout the months you frequently stop by but not much happens when you’re there Carol was the life of the party so you don’t mind giving all the spotlight to her. 

“What’s up wit’cho friend?” Rio asks after you leave 

“Who Y/N?” 

“Yea”  he says remembering you sitting there quietly

She sighs “She’s been through a lot” 

He gave a look that indicated for her to continue

“Lets just say Preston wasn’t what he portrayed to be” He thinks back to his interactions with Preston he was always pleasant 

“What he do cheat?”

“No worse, at least the worst Bill has done to me is have an affair i couldn’t imagine being beaten everyday of my marriage. She’s taking her time adjusting to society and life without him” 

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Oh Bill and Preston were friends first, they introduced us. So like 8 years? To tell you the truth I’m glad Preston is 6 feet under she was too good for him” 

He nods rubbing his chin 

Next time you come around its Carol’s birthday and she’s throwing a huge masquerade party.  Thanks to that lucrative “business”. The venue is full of people and you show up later than everyone else and find yourself walking around until you run into her 

“Hey! I’m glad you came!” she greets you 

“Thanks for inviting me” 

“Come on let me take you to our table” 

When you approach you see Rio in his all black outfit with a mask that covers one side of his face 

“Look who’s here guys Y/N!” 

“Hey!”  you greet as you take a seat

You sit across from Rio and he watches as you interact with Carol and he doesn’t think hes ever seen you smile before. It’s interesting to him to watch you interact with her throughout the night you weren’t as timid nor reserved as your usual self tonight, you even danced with her at some point.

He sees you weeks later at a local dive bar near his loft. He sits towards the back and watches as people come and go by. It was kind of empty early afternoon and curiosity creeps in when he sees you sitting by the bar. He grabs his glass before he approaches you.

“Hey another?” the bartender asks him before taking his cup 

He nods in response  

You don’t look up listening to music playing on your phone it’s only when it sounds like someone calls your name is when you look up

“Oh Hi Rio!” you say removing your head phones  

“Y/N right?” 

“Yea” 

“Mind if i sit here?” he asks

“No its okay” you say shuffling to the left a little 

“So whats your poison?” he asks inquiring about the drink in your cup 

You lift it up “Tequila” 

He smiles 

“You?” 

“Uh” he thinks “any really right now rum” 

You nod

“So what’chu doin’ here?” he asks before taking a sip 

“I’m off today and I’m done with my errands so thought why not a drink? this is one of my favorite bars in the city”

He nods “what do you do?”

“I’m a project manager”

“Sounds” he pauses to think of the right word

“Boring i know”  you smile looking down

He chuckles “Yea”  

“What about you?” 

“Oh uh i own a business printing” 

“Oh nice!” 

He smiles “so what happened to Preston?” he asks remembering Carol’s statement about him being 6 feet under

“Oh uh he overdosed on coke, it will be a year next week” 

He makes a face that was not his doing 

“Yea i tried to get him to stop but i couldn’t” 

“Sorry to hear”

You take a sip and say “Shit happens”

“True” 

You don’t say much to each other and when you finish your drink you leave. 

-

“So what do you think of Rio Y/N?” Carol asks you paying close attention to your reaction

“Uh he’s cool I guess why?” you now wonder how that question even came about, you were talking about the new buildings downtown 

She smiles before answering “He likes you” 

“Who?” 

“Rio duh” 

You roll your eyes “yea okay”

“I’m serious! have you not seen how he looks at you?”

“Like he’s bored?” because you had no idea what she could be even talking about 

“Nooo that man is smitten by you Y/N”  

“We barely talk i haven’t said anything to him for him to like me” pointing out flaws in her theory 

She shrugs “Maybe he sees something in you” 

You roll your eyes once more “Please”

“You know” she sits next to you “any fool with 2 eyes could see that Preston did what he did to you because he was afraid of losing you to the next man, he’s gone don’t let him have that same power over you”

You think for awhile going over the times you have been around him “So you’re saying your business partner likes me?”

It’s not like you were oblivious to Carolann and William’s dealings seeing that Preston was once part of that not to mention one day you walked in on her stuffing money in a duffel bag but chose to not even address it because Preston was still very much alive. 

“Noo not my business partner, but Rio, yes he does just pay attention next time”

“Carol”

“Not every man is a monster” 

“I know that” 

“So what’s the issue?” she wonders 

“Am I not like older than him?”

She shakes her head and looks up  “If I’m not mistaken he’s approaching 30 soon” 

“And im approaching 31”

She shrugs you two are age mates “3 year difference, not a big deal...... Just be open or at least try”

“Fair enough” 

[dannyphantomtransfemau]

grave layers of misunderstandings chapter 1

Chapter 1.

They're going through changes.

Danny and Tucker we're leaning against the lockers of Middleton High School, shooting the breeze like they usually did during a Friday afternoon, they didn't actually have a class next period, this was their study hall time, still other students milled about heading to be wherever they needed to be, the boys noticed a pair of girls passing them chatting about something neither Danny or tucker really cared about, "you ever wish to know what goes on inside a woman's mind, Danny?" tucker asked offhandedly.

"Sometimes I wish I could, it would make life so much easier for me, girls are so confusing" Danny replied. Suddenly, Danny gasped as his ghost sense went off, and he heard a feminine voice say "so you have wished it, so it shall be.'' Danny and Tucker felt a jolt of energy hit their body, they felt their chest grow, their skin become softer, their hair grew, everything about them was changed, Danny didn't know where the ghost was when she cast her spell on them, he figured one day like this couldn't hurt, but he needed to find her as soon as school was over, he thought of a quick lie to tell the teachers,

he'd say he was Danny Fentons, cousin, yeah that would work, Danny turned around and saw tucker was in no way dealing with this as well as he was crouched on the floor, shaking and holding himself, " tucker are you alright?' Danny asked his friend and noticed both their voices were more soft and higher-pitched, tucker was saying something but he could barely make out what it was, Danny reached about to shake him, but tucker smacked his hand away "don... Don't touch me"

it sounded like tucker was having trouble getting the words out, Danny thought of a different approach, Danny grabbed his bag and emptied out his paper lunch bag into his backpack so the bag would be usable and handed it to tucker. Danny started talking slowly and calmly "here, take deep breaths into this, in and out, we will figure this out, all we have to do is Survive one day and I'll hunt down the ghost who did this to us and make her change us back, for now, though we need to find Sam, we need to get a change of clothes, so we don't appear suspicious, she's in class right now but i can get her attention pretty easy, for now, go hide in the girls bathroom stall", tucker raised his eyebrows perplexed "won't the girls notice us?" Danny just stared at tucker.

"Right, I'll just head off to ladies room now" and with that tucker wandered off, Danny quietly, whispered to himself "I'm going ghost" turned himself invisible and incorporeal then headed to find Sam, she was pretty easy to find he knew she had English class around this time, he made himself sink into the floor until just his head was showing and floated over to the classroom, he was right Sam was currently listening to Lancer read about hamlet to the class, he got next to Sam "Sam, its Danny, me and tucker need your help".

Sam looked up from her textbook," Danny? What's wrong with your voice? it sounds weird.,'' Sam asked. " no time to explain just head to the girl's bathroom and we will explain from there". Sam put down her book and raised her hand, "Mr.Lancer can i go to the lady's restroom?", lancer glanced up from his book and said in an annoyed tone "can't you hold it? we are about to get to the best part". Sam shook her head, "I actually need to take care of some lady things if you get my drift".

Lancers faced turn bright red, "oh.. Uh go ahead then, just be quick about it." Sam grabbed her backpack and walked out to the girls restroom, when she got there she saw Danny and tucker, covering their chest, and with a lot of hair they didn't have when she saw them that morning. "ok, explain, why do you have long hair? and why are you covering your chest? And why are you both in the girl's room?." Sam asked.

Danny slowly uncovered his chest. "Oh, ok that explains the past few minutes, I've got some measuring tools here, your lucky my mom makes me do seamstress Lessons when at my home, anyway I'm not about to allow my friends to go around the school without a bra and a proper outfit, ok Danny first, I can tell by looking he's probably bigger than me, so I'll need to have his size for later in case we can't fix this in a day".

Sam grabbed Danny's arm and yanked him into the stall. "Thanks for doing this Sam," Danny said in a grateful tone "you're a lifesaver i don't think we'd survive without you". Sam then smiled " you totally wouldn't, now lift your arms for me" Sam then began her measurements and before no time she was finished "ok Danny you are now a 36 C, I don't carry anything that big with me, but I can probably make a makeshift cupless bra really quick but I will have to go shopping for you, to get you something properly fitting, also not gonna lie it's probably not gonna be very comfortable, anyway, luckily, she left the other part of your figure alone, you can borrow a skirt and a tank from me, also I'm guessing you can't go home in this state so feel crash with me as well".

Sam began to ramble on a bit, but Danny appreciated the gesture, he stepped out of the stall, wearing one of Sam's mini skirt and tank tops. " ok tucker, it's your turn". It took less time for the measurements to be done, and they were out of the stall, tucker was also in the same styling as Sam, but it looked better on tucker then Danny, at least Danny thought so, "he's the same size as me, so shopping for him won't be necessary, so I just gave him a few of my extra pairs" Sam explained, tucker stepped out the stall looking miserable, as if someone had just kicked his puppy.

"uh Sam, why do you have extra pairs of bras?" Danny asked. "you're not always around Danny, other teenage girls can be really mean sometimes, one gets stolen every other week, and no one speaks up about it either." Sam said a bit timidly. "Why don't you tell someone, about it?" Danny asked. "And then what i get labeled as a snitch, and even if I did it wouldn't help, it would just make it worse, anyways sit down the both of you and let me do your makeup, I don't want you getting teased like me".

Tucker glared at Sam " no way, I'm not wearing makeup that's where I draw the line, the clothes are necessary but makeup is an aesthetic choice". Tucker protested angrily. "It's ok tucker, you don't have to wear any" Sam said calmly. Danny opened the stall he was previously in closed the lid and sat down "well, I don't actually mind wearing it, Sam you can do mine, can I ask you something Sam?"

"Sure". Danny rubbed the back of his neck nervously " you've never given a crap whatever's thought of you, never backed down from a fight, it's like you have this impenetrable shell about you, so why are you being so open now? is it because we're both girls now?".

"Im being open because we are both in very vulnerable circumstances right now, and just because you have breast now doesn't automatically make you a girl, there are people out there who have them that are still guys, you know what you are, not me, not society and not some ghost" Danny then breathed a sigh of relief hearing Sam say that.

Sam then grabbed her makeup tools out of her bag, she first grabbed a tube of mascara, “ok, this going to feel weird for someone who hasn't had their makeup done before, ok look directly at me and look down for me” she gently placed her thumb on the center of Danny's eyelid. She then lifted the eyelid to expose his eyelashes, she then started applied the mascara. “Ok, that does feel weird, but in a good way” Danny commented about halfway through, “shush, this takes some concentration and i don't want to mess up”.

Sam finished, the mascara and then took out a color pallet of eye shadow, “normally id just give you purple or black, but I'm sensing the goth look isn't for you, so I'm allowing you to pick a color”, Danny shrugged “as long as it's a light purple, i think i would be fine with that.'' Sam opened up her color pallet and gently rubbed the eye-shadow on Danny’s eyelids.

“ok, one last thing, some lipstick, I've got some normal light pink with me today, ok pucker your lips for me as if you ate something sour” Danny did as he was told, after that his makeup was complete, Danny was about to reach for the door, when Sam stopped him, “Danny, can i ask you a question? I get why tucker is freaking out, having your gender changed against your will is a big deal, and is probably really traumatizing, but why aren't you freaking out?”

Danny just shrugged, “....i don't know, i mean weird stuff kinda happens to me all the time, i guess i'm just kind of used to it.” he said a bit uncertainly, sam raised an eyebrow at this and let it go, she figured Danny would open up in his own time, then the bell rang,

Lancer was standing outside the door, “no, arguments, Detention!”, he yelled. Danny didn't want his friend in trouble, “she was helping me out, with some things” Danny tried to explain “well since you were the reason for her being gone so long and missing the rest of class, its detention for you to young woman” Danny started to protest “im...not” Sam quickly jumped behind Lancer and made a cut it out motion with her hands, “not what” Lancer glared at him, daring him to challenge his authority

Danny sighed a “never mind” Lancer straightened up his back “that's what I thought, I'll see you after school… Miss..miss, you know I never did get your name?” Danny had thought one up earlier for this exact situation “its Danielle, Danielle Fenton, I'm a cousin of Danny's”

just then tucker strolled out of the bathroom, “ah, another student out in the hall during class” tucker quickly reached for something in his pocket, only to discover, there were no pockets.

“It’s, actually my study hall,” tucker said quickly. “Fine” lancer said unhappily, “get to the appropriate study hall area before I change my mind about giving you detention as well, now you two where are your next classes so I can escort you there?” “I'm heading over to the study hall area, there is really no need to escort me there, since there’s no teacher there” Danny explained.

“I'm heading to home economics” Danny looked perplexed by this, “my mom's making me take it”, that explained a lot Danny thought, and then he headed off to the study hall.

notes: danny doesnt figure out stuff till later, thats why there is still he/him pronouns in this chapter, pronouns will change later.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How To Be A Queen

Note: This is my debut LoZ fanfction! Yay! I really want to explore a deeper part of Zelda’s character, and eventually Link’s later on. I think it’s interesting to explore the mental and physical toll of what it is to have a planned fate. I just think it’s neat. Also hopefully a slow burn somewhere in there, well, a lot in there. Lots of ZeLink slow burn. Is it obvious I like those sorts of things? Anyway, please critique. It’s going to be very AUish because the games don’t exactly spit out Link’s personality, but it will be heavily based off of BOTW. Let me know what you think!

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she's ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn't have to do it alone.

Warning: Some mentions of body weight and general mental health.

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How To Be A Queen

“Princess?”

Goddesses spare me.

Please, what did I do to deserve this.

Just a few more sips and I’ll be done. That will be it.

Oh, Hylia, end this suffering soon.

“Princess?” Old Grog Guildford sounded concerned.

“Oh! Yes, Lord Guildford?” I replied attentively, trying with every once of my will to not sound adverse. Lord Guildford is a minister and a relatively good friend to Father. Don’t get me wrong, he’s well-meaning but Goddesses in heaven can he make awful bread pudding. I can’t even remember why I’m here to taste it.

“How is it?” He looked at me eagerly expecting. One look at the old man’s face and I realize why no one has been truthful to him. He’s like a little boy asking if his art is good, only the cold-hearted can say anything negative. But, wouldn’t it spare the other poor bastards that would fall victim to it if I spoke up? I cleared my throat, trying to find anywhere else to look at beside the brown puppy dog eyes of Old Lord Guildford. Alas, I couldn’t escape.

“It’s delicious!”

Hylia, forgive me for I am weak.

“Oh, joy! I must share it with the chef for the next festival! Your Father comes up with the most fantastic ideas, Princess.”

I smiled weakly and nodded. I watched as he talked his way into the kitchen. Something about the winter solstice festival. I stood slowly, afraid to upset my stomach anymore. The dining room was one of the largest in the castle, and here I was alone and possibly poisoned by bread pudding. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst fate. I grinned up at the large, stoic murals. Here I am laughing at my own jokes as I stare up at ancestors who were able to do so much more than I ever will. Somehow I feel at ease, it’s been a while since I was alone today.

“Princess Zelda!”

The irony of it almost hurts.

“There you are!” It’s one of the head maids. She looks relieved to see me. “You must come for a dress fitting for the solstice, Your Highness.”

A feel myself politely smile and my hands grip themselves behind my back. So close. “We should be on with it, yes?”

This has been amongst the many things that have conspired in the recent weeks. As Father grows older, he’s believes that more responsibility should fall onto me. Whether it be bread pudding taste testing or short discussions about land disputes, it has indeed begun to take a toll.

It’s been so hectic that I’ve barely been able to think. Learning who the ministers are, their wives, their political leanings has been one thing. I can deal with simple studying. An entirely different venture is the world of pandering.

Forget physical activity, trying to suck up to people is by far the most exhausting activity I have ever experienced in my life. Oh, Lord Hicks how impressive it is to learn how to differentiate milkwine by simply looking at it. Lord WhatsYourName, how is the mistress you’ve been having an affair with? And the kids?

Can you believe I was taught how to laugh properly a week ago? And here I thought I laughed just fine. Oh no, how wrong I was. Last week I was introduced to a woman who told me I sounded like an old rat stuck in drain pipe. I still haven’t recovered from it.

A middle-aged blonde woman pulled a measuring tape around my waist. I looked at myself in the mirror as she focused. It’s been a while since I was last measured. I stood there in my shift and stared. The old woman made a weird noise, “It’s been a couple months since I last measured you, girl.”

“I believe so, Mrs. Bea.”

“You’ve widened by a few centimeters, Highness. Tsk tsk,” she shook her head.

My cheeks lit up in embarrassment. Did she have to say that in front of two other maids? I didn’t really know what to say. Sorry? It was the bread pudding, I swear. I have a feeling if I told her the joke wouldn’t land well.

I looked at the mirror again as she took measurements elsewhere. It wasn’t like I was overweight, but I suppose my cheeks did fill out a little. It wasn’t awfully noticeable, but being the person that stares at themselves every other hour – it was more apparent now.

The day trudged on, and my thoughts moved elsewhere. To say that my head wasn’t with my body was an understatement. Too much was going too fast. Between the pudding and the Mrs. Bea incident, the day was already becoming bigger than I can take on. With the sun now descending, I was able to slip away from preparations to climb the staircase. My quarters were on the fourth floor and what a long journey it was. I started to reconsider if I should exercise more.

Once I made it to the hallway, I saw a man standing next to my door. He stared straight ahead as if studying the lines on the opposite wall. There was a law somewhere in the books that soldiers were not to make eye contact with royalty. One of the many questionable rules that leave me wondering “What’s the point?” Link always stood very straight. It’d been a couple years since he was promoted to my guard and the man had said a handful of sentences to me since then. There wasn’t a law about talking to royalty, so instead I suppose he doesn’t like talking. Or maybe just talking to me. It makes the relationship as awkward as you can expect. The castle walls aren’t as thick as you think and I’m positive he’s heard me ranting to imaginary no ones more than a few times.

I tried catching my breath before speaking, but the words came through breathless anyway.

“Um, Link,” I spoke.

Much to my disappointment, he didn’t answer. But the small shift in his step told me he was listening. As I looked up at him a thought occurred to me. We could easily have that forbidden Princess/Knight relationship. It’s not like I lock my quarters anyway, with having one of the top men in this society outside to protect me and all.

Oh, Hylia, I need some sleep.

Not without a light flush, I responded to his lack of, “Link, could you keep anyone from disturbing me? It’s been an awfully long day.”

Again, he didn’t move to say anything. So, I continued, “Tell them something along the lines of how I’m planning out my solstice speech.” Which wasn’t a complete lie. I’d at least think about it. And Link didn’t disagree, I assumed it sounded alright. He was dressed in the traditional royal guard uniform. It was plated in a type of metal and I wondered if it weighed down on him.

You know… there’s nothing wrong with a man in uniform. Or one without for that matter.

I told myself to shush and smiled a little, “I trust your day went well?”

Again, no response. Oh well, a girl can try. I walked past him and went for the door handle, “If another guard in your squadron comes by, you should tell him to cover your shift tonight. I know it’s not the most thrilling job.”

With that, I went into my quarters and shut the door behind me. I want to say we were close despite the lack of words, but we aren’t. I don’t know too much about him other than that he came from a small village in the southeast, my father trusts him, he talks to his peers often (those thinner-than-you-think castle walls), and that he’s a prodigy in his profession. He also tends to fidget with his holster sometimes when I have a one-sided conversation with him. It’s quite the resume.

I put down whatever journal I was holding for my manners courses and try to undo the outer layer of my dress. The laces have a tendency to tangle if I don’t focus. The dresser mirror only gives so much visibility.

So what I have eaten a little more than I usually do? I’m a little stressed, okay?

I frown at my inner dialogue and shift my thoughts away from Mrs. Bea. Finally, the laces come apart and I lift the mess of fabric over and away from my form. What is left is my white shift. I sigh and sit in a red cushioned chair. It’s in front of my desk filled with small trinkets. This is when I realize the fatigue in my legs and I almost slump over. I swear aloud at the relief and fumble through my things to find a small book.

Meanwhile I hear conversations outside. All I can make out is Link’s deeper tone and a lighter, more uplifted voice – probably Anju, a personal maid. I can’t help but smile a little, she’s probably just checking in, but I appreciate Link’s attentiveness. I don’t think I can handle another interaction now. I grasp the metal ink pen and wipe off dried ink from the tip with a loose garment. The lid of the ink pot always gets a little stuck. I flip through my diary to find a blank page and fill my lungs with a breath.

“Dear Diary,” I mouth, it does make me spell better if I do so. What follows is a recap of today’s events and general frustration. Much of how I hated that bread pudding, the fake laughter, fake smiles of the court, Mrs. Bea’s comments, and my inability to be able to connect to people on a personal level. The latter concern bothering me the most. Based on the books I’ve read and the interactions I’ve witnessed, every person I’ve talked to has been on business terms. The lords, the maids, and even Father at times.

I frown deeply as I spell out my thoughts in whispers, “One night many years ago, not long after Mother’s passing he told me after hours of drinking that my conception was for the state’s sake, and only for the state’s sake.” My throat closed, but I continued scratching the words into the paper.

“I’m starting to believe him.”

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Tony Stark’s Guide to Being a Functional Adult

Step 2: Learn Basic Adulting (AO3)

Dinner that evening was a slightly awkward affair; Bucky was clearly self-conscious about having a virtual stranger in his home and Tony was too tired to turn on the charm like he normally would.  They had ordered cheap Chinese takeout that Bucky must be enjoying, judging from the way he was steadily emptying his carton of General Tso’s, but Tony mostly picked at his and wondered if it was possible to develop atherosclerosis from a single meal.

“So are you going to get the rest of your stuff tomorrow?” Bucky asked as he got up to pour himself another glass of water.

Tony toyed with his chopsticks and stared down at the glutinous mass on his plate. “That is all my stuff. My dad kicked me out of the house and that was everything I had on me when I left.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” Bucky’s face creased with sympathy. “You know, if you need to pick up some stuff I can take you to the store.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “I can go myself, if you just tell me where it is.”

“It’s not a big deal, I need to pick up some stuff too. We can go tomorrow.”  Bucky pushed back from the table and started cleaning up, tossing his empty food carton in the trash and putting his silverware and glass in the sink.  “I figure we’ll trade off doing dishes?” Bucky said over his shoulder as he grabbed a towel from his room and headed to the bathroom.

“Sounds fair,” Tony called back.  He put his almost untouched Chinese food away and eyed the pile of dishes in the sink like it was a nest of snakes.  But there was a sponge behind the faucet and one of the bottles below the sink identified itself as dishwashing liquid, so he was almost done when Bucky got out of the shower.

“Oh, you washed them all by hand,” Bucky said in surprise, toweling his hair dry, his t-shirt and sweatpants clinging to his damp skin in a way that almost had Tony dropping the slippery glass in his hand. “You could have put them in the dishwasher.”

“Oh,” Tony said, looking back down at the soapy sink, face getting hot.  “I, um, didn’t see it there.  I’m almost done anyway.”

As Bucky shrugged and turned away, Tony glared at the dishwasher and quickly finished scrubbing the plates.

(More after the break!)

After an abysmal night’s sleep getting used to the night sounds in an alien part of the city, Tony made himself a bowl of cereal and then spent a solid fifteen minutes staring at the blinking cursor on his screen, struggling with indecision.  He’d googled the proper format for a resume but got stumped at the very first step – having his name on the top of the document.  The word “Stark” marched black and ominous across the top and revealed the gaping hole in Tony’s plan: who in their right mind was going to hire him? Who would believe that a Stark was genuinely interested in working a wage job, and then could be trusted to keep quiet about it when any tabloid would pay good money for the hot tip that Tony Stark was punching a time clock? He couldn’t lie, like he had to Bucky, because he didn’t have a fake ID nor the vaguest idea of how to get one.  “Shit,” he said, raking his hands through his hair as he thought furiously.  He didn’t even know how to go about finding a job under the table; do you just go around to businesses and ask?

Eventually he closed the resume document – “No, don’t bother saving it,” he muttered resentfully, closing the dialogue box on his screen – and sent an email to his old professors, asking if they knew of any paid positions that were accepting students, carefully phrasing it so it looked like he just needed work experience instead of money. One guy got back to him immediately, but his response was not encouraging.  “Paid positions are usually limited to students with financial need,” Tony read. “Well, shit.”  He thought about writing back and explaining that he was one of those students, but again, the prospect of reading about his family drama on the New York Daily News stopped him.  With another curse of frustration he closed his laptop and set it on the floor, then rolled over to bury his face in his pillow.  How do people do this?

There was a knock on the door and then Bucky said “Tony? Are you ready to go to the store?”

Tony sighed and sat up.  “Sure, hold on a second.”

The drive was short but Tony spent most of it frowning to himself as he watched Bucky navigate the car’s controls one-handed. Doing almost anything, like hitting the turn signal or putting down a window, involved holding the steering wheel still with a knee and awkwardly reaching over; Tony imagined he didn’t listen to the radio very often because changing the channel would be a hell of a hassle.  But it wouldn’t be that difficult to move the important things to the right side of the steering column where Bucky could reach them, Tony mused.  If he could wire the controls for the radio and windows straight into the steering wheel that would be best, but you would need to-

“Alright, we’re here,” Bucky announced, putting the car in park and interrupting Tony’s thoughts.

“Dollar Tree?” Tony read the store’s sign as he climbed out of the car. “What is this place?”

“It’s like a Dollar General but cheaper.��� At Tony’s still baffled look, he said, “You’ve never heard of Dollar General? What about Walmart?”

“Oh, yeah, Walmart,” Tony echoed, making a conscious effort to smooth the look of confusion from his face.  He obediently followed Bucky around the store with a shopping cart, wincing at the squeaky wheel that announced his progress through the store and using his best poker face to keep from wrinkling his nose at the musty smell and the crowded, overflowing shelves. When they came up to the register Tony handed over his credit card and prayed that his father hadn’t gotten around to cancelling it yet, because the cash he had in his pocket wouldn’t cover it and they still had to go get groceries.

“You seem like you’ve had some experience with this,” Tony commented as they loaded all of his newly acquired stuff in the trunk.  Bucky had been the one to take the lead, letting Tony push the cart around while he threw stuff into the basket, stuff Tony hadn’t even thought of needing like socks and underwear and spare toothbrushes.  His matter-of-fact attitude about the entire trip had gone a long way to making Tony feel better about not knowing what the hell he was doing.

Bucky snorted. “People like to think it’s all kumbaya out there for gay kids since gay marriage was legalized, but I know plenty of people that got kicked out of their homes for being gay or trans. So yeah, I’ve done this a time or two.”

Tony couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that was part of his dad’s problem with him going back to school, like maybe Howard thought that if Tony came home to work at SI he would settle down into respectable heterosexuality with some high society debutante.  “Did it happen to you?” He blurted as they got into the car.

“No, my parents were really cool about it when I came out,” Bucky answered, apparently not bothered by the fact that Tony had pretty much just asked him if he were gay.  “Where to now? Grocery store?”

“Yes please.”  As Bucky cranked the car, Tony took a deep breath and said, “By the way, I’m bi.”

Bucky flashed him a grin as he turned around in his seat to back up the car.  “Nice to meet you, Bi. I’m Bucky.”

“Oh, God,” Tony groaned with a short laugh. “Is that what your parents said to you when you came out?”

“Kind of.  When I told my mom I was gay she said, ‘Nice to meet you, Mr. Gay, you look an awful lot like my son Bucky.’”

“Yeah, my parents did not have that reaction,” Tony said with a grimace. His mom had looked confused and cried a little and his dad had locked himself in the office for the rest of the evening, and then they had never really talked about it again.  The one time Tony had brought a guy over for dinner his father left on a ‘sudden’ business trip that ended up lasting the whole weekend; Tony had gotten the message after that.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said.

Tony shrugged and looked out the window to avoid the sympathy in Bucky’s eyes.  “Not the first time I’ve disappointed my family,” Tony said lightly, flashing a smile he didn’t feel, “and definitely not the last, I’m sure.”

That night Bucky showed Tony how to cook frozen pizza because it had been on sale at the grocery store.  Tony was chewing dismally through what tasted like damp cardboard when Bucky came up the stairs from the shop.  “Tony? ��You’ve got a visitor,” he said as he opened the door, and Tony put down the pizza and wiped his fingers on his pants nervously as he stood.

“Oh, Jarvis!” He said in relief.  “I didn’t know you were coming. Let me help you.”  Jarvis’s hands were full so he took the boxes and bags from him, hurriedly cleaning his cheap thin-crust pizza from the table for him to sit.  Jarvis accepted the seat with an almost silent sigh, rubbing his knee a little after the climb up the stairs.

“Would you like something to drink?” Bucky offered from the kitchen, discreetly trying to straighten up the small apartment for their unexpected guest.

“No, thank you, I shan’t be long,” Jarvis offered with a polite smile.  “I was just bringing some things for Tony as a housewarming present.”

“Like what?” Tony asked curiously, and started digging through the bags.  “Oh my God, you brought me food,” he said with reverence, opening the lid to one of the storage containers and wanting to cry from the smells inside.

“Your mother also sent along some things,” Jarvis said, handing him a small box that was undeniably his mom’s, Tiffany blue and edged in silver.

“Oh.” Tony started to open it and hesitated, then closed the lid. “Thank you.”

“How are you doing?” Jarvis’s hands crossed and he leaned over the table, the lines around his eyes creased with worry.  “Howard is being stubborn and pretending that nothing has changed, but the rest of us are worrying.”

“I’m fine,” Tony said, trying to sound fine and not like he was terrified or homesick or lonely. “I like it here.  It will be close to my degree program when class starts in the fall.”

“Good.  You’ve already sent in your application?”

“It’s not due until February, but I’m not worried.”  Kind of a lie.  He was a bit worried, but it kind of seemed that a bit worried was just his life now, so what’s one more thing.

Jarvis smiled.  “No, I imagine not.”  He patted Tony on the shoulder, his knuckles swollen with arthritis. “I can’t stay long, I have dinner plans with Ana, but I did want to say that I’m proud of you for not letting Howard bully you.”

“Thanks, Jarvis. Say hello to Ana for me.”  Tony walked Jarvis back to his car and watched him drive away, taking a moment to feel sorry for himself before he headed back up the stairs.  He missed Ana and Jarvis with a physical ache; they had been the ones to make the Stark house a home, and he wanted to have that back so badly it hurt. Eventually though, he forced himself to go back up the stairs and help Bucky put the food in the fridge. “Have you eaten?” He asked, cracking the lid on one of the glass dishes.  “Want some of this homemade lasagna?”

“You had me at homemade,” Bucky said with a crooked smile and turned to pull a couple of plates out of the cabinets.  “Who was that? An uncle? He seemed nice.”

“Old family friend, though I did call him uncle when I was younger.  Kind of like Aunt Peggy, but Jarvis is more like a dad than anything else.  Better than my real one, most days,” he muttered under his breath, making a face as he put a slice of lasagna on each plate to reheat.  “So how was your day?”

After dinner and dishes, Tony debated opening the box from his mother, chewing on his thumb as he studied it.  After a moment, though, he put it in the bottom of the closet, not really emotionally ready for whatever was inside; probably some sort of emotional blackmail, like heartfelt letters from his dad when he was young or something.  Instead he pulled his laptop out and tried to relax by reviewing his application to the Tanden School, which required a thesis project proposal along with the usual essay.  Until recently, he’d been reviewing some of his father’s old scrapped designs with the idea that it would endear the old man to the idea of another doctorate, for all the good that’d done.  He’d been particularly excited to work on the arc reactor, hoping to make it more efficient and preferably smaller, but now just looking at the blueprints were making him angry all over again.

With a sigh he set his computer on the floor next to the bed and fell back against the pillows. Out in the living room he could hear Bucky watching a movie and wondered if he’d be imposing if he went out to join him. To be honest, though, he wasn’t sure that he felt like the company anyway, so he rolled over and eventually fell asleep.

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT 2

A/N LISTEN UP BEACHES I EDITED THIS WHILE EATING SKITTLES AND DUPLINGS SO YOU KNOW I WASNT NORMAL WHILE EDITING I HOPE I EDITED EVERYTHING IF NOT I’LL CORECT THIS LATER

Genre:Fanfiction/Romance/Erotic Romance

Type:Rated-r(later chapters)

Word Count 5,084

PT.1 , PT2 PT.3

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seoul. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Kwon Jiyong has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself – but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be – he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Hyo-Rin didn’t give me a brief biography

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if he had a hidden agenda. And Hyo-Rin’s questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Min Hyo-Rin! I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating Brown eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Kwon’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, y/n, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want. We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Gangnam-gu, close to the Gangnam campus of GAU. I’m lucky – Rin’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Hyo-Rin is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview. “Y/N! You’re back.” Rin sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals – though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little kittens, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard. “I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.” “Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her. “Y/N, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no – here we go, the Min Hyo-Rin, Inquisition. I struggle to answer her question. What can I say? “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even – and young. Really young.” Rin gazes innocently at me. I frown at her. “Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Hyo-Rin clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry – I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-eight. Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”(a/n let’s imagine that this store is in korea ok?!) “Y/N, you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started atGAU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Gangnam area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Kwon Ji Yong. We’re busy – it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me. “y/n! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Hyo-Rin is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with… him. “You’ve got some good stuff here,Y/N. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look. I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Rin doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription. “I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks. “Um… no, I didn’t.” “That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” I flush. “I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed. “Oh come on,Y/N – even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy. “You probably would have got a lot more out of him.” “I doubt that,Y/N. Come on , he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen. “So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something – quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts. I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Y/N, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me? Now Hyo-Rin’s being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Kwon Ji Yong that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Rin and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Hyo-Rin has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday. I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and Brown eyes. For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Hyo-Rin is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-kittens PJs. I call my mom in Jeju to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three. “How are things with you, Y/N?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention. “I’m fine.” “Y/N? Have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Y/N, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy. Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. Friday night, Hyo-Rin and I are debating what to do with our evening – we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Mino, (dont hate Me)clutching a bottle of champagne. “Mino! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.” Mino is the first person I met when I arrived at GAU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Mino’s Father were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. Mino is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Mino has a great eye for a good picture. “I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me – you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me. “The Gangnam Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.” “That’s amazing – congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Hyo-Rin beams at him too. “Way to go Mino! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins. “Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Mino looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Rin. Mino and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Hyo-Rin often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is – I just haven’t met anyone who… well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.(a/n ME THO) But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Kwon? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely? I watch Mino open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Mino’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Mino looks up and smiles. Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up… and find myself locked in the bold Brown gaze of Kwon Ji Yong who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense. Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Kwon,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body. “Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr.Kwon?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Y/L/N. A slight frown mars Kwon’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning. “They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand. With my heart almost strangling me – because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Gangnam? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head. “Are you in Gangnam on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Y/N! “I was visiting the GAU farming division. It’s based at Gangnam. I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts. “All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease. “Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile. He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny? Funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows. “Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, Brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Y/L/N! “Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Kwon says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium. “Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle. “What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope… twine… cable cord… ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.” Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot brown gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife. “Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Kwon.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing,Y/N?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Y/N, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.” He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it. “Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks.(A/N BOIIII!!!!) “Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly. I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans. “Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Rin is. Miss Min. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air – at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Kwon raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know. “Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off. “You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Hyo-Rin will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous… “Hyo-Rin will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position. Oh my. Kwon Ji Yong’s lost look. “Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Hyo-Rin is going to be thrilled. “Y/N!” Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” Grey frowns as I turn away from him. Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Kwon, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Y/N, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Y/N, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Kwon Jiyong, he’s watching us like a hawk, his brown eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant. “Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Kwon’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Paul, this is Kwon Ji Yong. Mr. Kwon, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Ji Yong holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Kwon,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up – not the Kwon Ji Yong? Of Kwon Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Kwon gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wow – is there anything I can get you?” “Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Y/N.” “Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr. Kwon?” “Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem? I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Kwon, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his brown eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Y/N.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier. “You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card. “Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh – and Y/N, I’m glad Miss Min couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay – I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Hyo-Rin and organize a photo-shoot.

boi i swear he...ugh he as a rich ceo....just yasss,also i didnt change the paul name because its the only time he appers in the book so yeah tommorow i will upload another part!!!!

[coffee-for-himchan]

Awkward(ly) Cute Family Dinner  & Festive Preparations Gone Wrong with B.A.P

(A/N) So.. Let’s rant.

I know I originally made a poll, but, like.. Never again. Now I kinda feel guilty, because there were people who voted for these two that didn’t win as well, and now I felt like I had to write these too. I intended to do both setsof scenarios today, but yesterday evening I got sick with a fever and a sore throat. So, because I’m not feeling all that well, I decided to do a half-and-half instead, with hyung line having one scenario and maknae line the other.

A bit of a rollercoaster ride, but I hope you like it!! ^.^

Awkward(ly) Cute Family Dinner - hyung line

-YONGGUK-

“(Y/N) has told us how you’re the one writing lyrics for your group, and for your solos as well.”

That was a good thing, right? He simply looked over, answering something among the lines of “Aah, yes” , and took another forkful of the delicious meal your mother had prepared for the dinner.

“Say, I have listened to a few of those.. Where do you get inspiration to write such things?”

He almost choked on his food then and there.

His brain refused to cooperate as he tried to think of the right words to say, but could only stutter in return. Oh god, we was so bad at leaving first impressions, and that’s what made him so nervous, because he couldn’t mess this one up.

“So yeah, there’s different types of songs. For, let’s say, Wake Me Up displays how unrighteous and emotionless modern society had become, drowning out all that is creative and replacing it by neat copies of the same factory-sealed views and beliefs.”

“On the other hand, something like X is about a cute date I’d planned with your daughter, yet the only thing that turned out to be cute about it was the weak and pouty voice she called me in next morning because she was unable to move or walk after a night like that-”

He felt your fingers intertwining with his under the table, and took it as a “babe, you’re thinking and not speaking again.” So, clearing his throat, he tried to speak. Appropriately this time, that is. 

“There’s two recent singles - Honeymoon and Hands Up. Honeymoon displays my views on how life should be treated as a colorful thing, and how troubles can always somehow be overcome. Hands Up, on the other hand, is about believing in yourself and your dreams which is what I’ve tried to do since early age. All those lyrics are really just my thoughts put out on paper. Nothing more and nothing less.”

And as your parents looked satisfied with the answer and even told him how they thought he was well worded and with a quite right perception of the world, he let out a quiet, barely-there relieved sigh.

“See? Ain’t that hard,” you whispered to him, hearing him chuckle.

“My brain went straight to thinking about X though-”

“Yongguk-ah, don’t you dare!”

-HIMCHAN-

His confidence had been drained today, which didn’t help at all.

His smiles only seemed half as charming, and you knew it was because he was stressed. He was usually good at meeting people and leaving good impressions. Always talkative and fun, but he had one slight issue that always haunted him.

A mind full of insecurity and fears of saying wrong things, because he often let questionable phrases slip here and there, making brows rise at his statements.

“Himchan-ah,” you saw your parents engaging in their own conversation, and leaned over to him, whispering his name two times before finally catching his attention.

“Hey, are you alright-”

“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” he tried to force a smile, but you knew him better. If there was no eye dimple on display, there was no real smile there either.

“Stop stressing about it. Everything’s going nice. Just be yourself and they’ll love you,” you told him, and he nodded, trying his best to believe.

“How’s the dinner?” your mother asked after a while, earning praise for having cooked a really nice meal.

“How are you managing living with her, Himchan? Last time I checked, (Y/N)’s cooking wasn’t all that good-”

“Mom!” you shouted back, yet everyone was already chuckling at you and your lack of cooking ability.

“It’s not the worst either, actually,” Himchan answered, and you were glad that at least someone was on your side, “But, whenever I have time, I’m usually the one cooking anyways. Or we both do it together.”

“Ooh,” you heard your mother say, and saw as she threw your father a glance, “Do you hear? And all you keep telling me is that men can’t cook, which is why you won’t even try. There’s living proof sitting right across of you that they can.”

Chuckles filled the room again as your father admitted he might’ve been wrong, and as you glanced over at Himchan, you figured he was getting a little bit more at ease with the situation.

He was smiling, and the eye dimple was on full display. So all was going uphill.

-DAEHYUN-

“You’re so quiet,” you poked his side, laughing a little too loud as he jumped and almost dropped his fork on the plate.

“(Y/N), do I really have to scold you for giving Daehyun a hard time!?” your mother who had seen it all rose a brow at you, and you let out a happy protesting sound.

“But mom! He’s being so quiet I have to do something about it!! He’s actually the opposite of how he’d acting now!”

“I’m just a little nervous, it’s nothing,” he smiled a heartwarming smile at your mother, trying to read her facial expression.

He was holding back so hard from being his regular self. He knew you adored loud, annoying Daehyun, but he knew that this personality of his might come off as too easy-going and not proper enough. And he wanted to leave the right first impression, really.

“Don’t be. In fact, I might know a way to make it a little easier for you.”

You and Daehyun both leaned in to listen carefully. Your mom was up to something, as the second she started talking, you wanted to vanish from the table. Fall through the ground  Run away in shame or something - it didn’t matter. As long as you would get away from there as soon as possible.

“The way she poked you like that - there was this boy once when they were still in elementary school, and she was head-over-heels crushing on him-”

“Noo, mom, stop right there!! Please!!”

“So, and she always poked him like this, magically thinking that it was a way of showing affection or something. I even got calls from the teachers to make her stop doing it, because she was annoying the poor lad so much he didn’t want to go to school-”

“Mooom, stop embarrassing me! I really didn’t know how love worked back then, okay!?” you cried out, hiding your face in your hands.

“Looks like you still don’t know how it works. You poke me all the time,” Daehyun chuckled, and your reflexes made you poke him so he would shut up.

Laughs filled the room at your initial reaction, and, even though you were beyond embarrassed, you saw how Daehyun was slowly turning to show his true colors. And that was all that mattered, even though it was achieved through digging up repressed memories.

Festive Preparations Gone Wrong - maknae line

-YOUNGJAE-

“Youngjae-ah.. What do you mean by “I kinda ruined the tree?””

“N-nothing,” he flashed you a smile, yet his frantic tries to not let you into the living room, blocking the door with his whole frame and outstretched hands made it pretty bloody obvious something had gone terribly wrong. If it wouldn’t have, he would be his normal, slightly cocky and charismatic self.

“It looks like you’re trying to hide something from me though,” you smirked, taking a step closer and seeing how he flinched a little, “Or are my eyes fooling me?”

“They probably are, because all is fine and I’m acting completely normal..” he looked away, scratching the back of his head and squirming when your arms wrapped around his neck lightly.

“You seem so tense,” you cooed at him, face at an inappropriately close distance, playing him in a way he never refused to be played because he loved it so damn much, “Let me help you with it.”

Without any chance to pull away - and without any desire to do so - he felt your lips pressing onto his in a soft and firm fashion at first. Yet as your hands tangled into his hair and your tongue moved mischievously, asking to be let in, he kind of lost control. His mind fogged, and he let himself be lead by you, not noticing how one of your hands sneakily trailed down his body and went past him, reaching for the door knob, opening the door without a single sound.

“How’s that?” you stared up at him with dreamy eyes, biting your lip to prevent any laughter from escaping you.

“Absolutely amazing-”

“Yeah, unlike your tree,” you said, and only now he realized you’d opened the door, and frantically turned around to face the living room, with you wrapping your arm around his waist and joining in.

“How did you even-”

“Don’t ask. I tried to place the star, and it wouldn’t stand straight. So I cut the tree a little, but it was still crooked when I put it on. And then I had to cut a few top branches, because it looked stupid, and… And yeah, here we are. I’m aware it looks stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he heard you say, and looked at you in confusion, “At least it’s original. I’ve never had such a weirdly shaped tree, but, like.. It’s fine. It will make me laugh out loud every time I look at it.”

“Thank god, I thought you’d kill me,” he sighed in relief, causing you to chuckle.

-JONGUP-

All went fine, until you heard a quiet, cracking noise. And all lights, accompanied by all electronics in the house, went out.

“Jongup-ah!!” you called for him, yet at the same time his name left your lips, you heard him groan in the other room.

“Jongup-ah, forget it,” you told him as you appeared in the living room doorway, your phone’s flashlight directed at his frame that was seated on the floor, tangled in Christmas lights.

“I told you that you can’t possibly put this many lights on at the same time.”

“Oh, I somehow will,” he sounded as annoyed as ever, and you only chuckled at him and his desperate tries to make the room look like Christmas paradise. Leaving him to be, you didn’t think much when you went back into the kitchen. You thought he would wander back outside to fix the electricity, and would come back to try and connect too many electronics for the electricity network to handle, constantly making it break down again. Yet as darkness was still there after circa ten minutes, you started worrying.

“Jongup-ah-” you had wandered outside to take a look at what he was doing just to see sparks flying everywhere out of the switchboard.

“Nope, nope, nope, forget it,” he quietly muttered and hurried over to your side, watching the last few sparks flying by and, as everything had gone silent, sighing in defeat.

“See, what did I tell you?”

“The truth, I guess,” he scratched the back of his head, peaking out of the doorway to throw the switchboard a final look, “But it doesn’t really matter. I messed up and we’re left without electricity for Christmas.”

He sighed, hanging his head down low. You could easily see right through him - he was blaming himself, which, to be honest, was right - he was to blame. Yet you didn’t want him to feel bad, because, after all, his intentions were good.

“Hey, look at it from the bright side,” you wrapped your arms around his waist, making him direct his full attention at you, “I have some lights that run on batteries lying around. And tons of candles. The dinner had been made already, and we can go have, like, a romantic meal or something instead of the regular boring Christmas dinner.”

And he looked beyond grateful for such a turn of events, giving you a sweet little kiss and tons of gratefulness in the form of hugs, “thank you’s” and smiles.

-JUNHONG-

“So.. How much do you love me?”

You looked at him, all alarms immediately kicking off at his innocently fluttering eyes and his little, mischievous smile

“I’m about to love you a little less than I did, or so it seems,” your stare that followed him around as he made his way to you looked suspicious, and he chuckled nervously, wrapping his arms around you and swinging your frames from side to side.

“You won’t,” he gave you a cute eskimo kiss before giving you the real thing, “You’ll always love me just as much.”

“Even after you..”

“.. Even after I burned the chicken in the oven.”

You groaned, hearing another nervous chuckle escape him. He was such.. Such a disaster in the kitchen. Why did you even leave him there to take care of dinner?

“Remind me again, why did I leave a kid unattended in the kitchen?” you questioned, seeing as he pouted at being called a kid, “Because I really don’t remember. Aah, Junhong-ah.. Why are you so.. I don’t know.. Clumsy? Inattentive? You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know,” he looked away, and you saw guilt straining his eyes, “I don’t know. It just happened, and I’m sorry.”

“Eh, I know you are,” you told him, scooting closer and burying your face in his chest as he smiled and tightened his grip, “I was just kinda looking forwards to chicken. But mistakes happen. Don’t break your head and heart over it.”

As you stood there with him, realization about something else hit you.

“Junhong-ah.. You did take the burned chicken out and turn off the oven, right?”

“I.. Guess,” he stared back cluelessly as you eyes widened, “I don’t remember.”

“You have to be kidding me,” you escaped his grip, hurrying to the kitchen in order to check and being closely followed by him and his stream of apologies.

“Junhong-ah, do you wanna burn the house down or what!?”

[halfabreath]

Always Halfway to Go, Part II

from the Holsom water aerobics AU. Part I. Read it on Ao3. 

Everything was not fine.

They get through practices easily enough to both their surprise. It’s early in the preseason so practices are focused on building team unity and assessing skill, not one-on-one coach/player development, and Adam can’t decide if he’s excited or nervous for that day to come with Justin. One the one hand, it’s awkward. It’s weird and strange and neither of them really knows what to do about it, but on the other hand...Justin is an incredible athlete. He can play right and left equally well, he tracks the puck and pursues scoring opportunities even in scrimmages. His previous defense partner graduated last spring but he’s still first line material, even if they haven’t secured his partner for this season yet. Adam’s not sure why they haven’t assigned Pointdexter or Nurse to him yet, but Murray is inexplicably set on keeping those two together.

One night, hours into watching last season’s tape, Adam has a frightening thought: What would he have done if he hadn’t been drafted? Would he have come to Samwell anyway? Would they be partners? Would they even be friends? Would they be more? The questions are overwhelming enough, but the impossible scenarios racing through his mind are enough to make him pop a vicodin and flop into bed with only a mound of pillows for company.

Adam has to get over this crush. He tells himself that before every practice, after every practice, when he’s alone in his apartment doing his stretches. He mumbles it under his breath as he carefully steps into the pool a week later, only stopping when he wades over to where Linda, Diane, Beth, and Tabitha are gathered before class.

“Ladies,” He croons, pointing finger guns at Tabitha. They laugh and wave him off, amused by his antics, and he settles in and begins stretching his arms. “How’s it going, Beth?” He asks, trying not to notice Linda's ever-watchful gaze.

Beth flicks water at him playfully. “I saw you talking to our fearless leader after class.” She says, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. It’s dramatic and usually Adam would eat it up because he loves gossip just as much as she does, but he just shrugs off her question and looks down at the water.

“Oh, yeah, he was helping me get to the bench. Remember when walking was easy?” He jokes, and for a minute it seems like she’s going to drop it (old people love talking about when they weren’t old, he’s discovered) but she presses on.

“Oh, I remember, but I’m not sure how getting his phone number helped you walk.” Beth glances at Justin, who’s currently stretching by the kickboard stand, but her mischievous smile vanishes the moment she looks back at Adam.  “Oh, I’m sorry, honey.” She places a comforting hand on his forearm and Adam winces, knowing his face must be doing that stupid wistful look he falls into nowadays.

He pats the back of her hand, turning to face her fully. “Don’t worry, Beth. It’s just a weird situation. I - ” Adam looks up at Justin, then back down at the clear water. The pink scar on his knee, usually straight as an arrow, dances as it refracts beneath the surface. “It's not going to work out,” Adam says, and Beth squeezes his arm silently.

There’s clapping and an echo-y greeting and then Justin’s starting class. The next thing Adam knows he's waving his arms and making waves with a bunch of septuagenarians. He looks ridiculous and his knee doesn't feel much better than it did last week but he's been told by every doctor and physical therapist he's seen that progress will feel glacial. He feels like a glacier himself when he exits the pool after class, wet and freezing and walking across the slippery tile at the speed of a mile per century. Just when he thinks he's going to have to sit down and scoot over to the bench on his ass there's a warm presence at his side. Before he can protest Justin has a steadying arm around his back and a hand under his arm.

"Thanks," He mumbles, gaze trained on the floor, as if knowing exactly which tile he's on will help him keep his balance. He uses the same technique in the shower and it’s worked so far.

Justin tightens his grip on Adam’s arm. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come today.” He says quietly, and Adam hates that he’s the reason Justin is so unsure. They take another step forward, somehow already in sync.

“I didn’t either until this morning.” Adam says truthfully. He hadn’t even set an alarm to wake up in time, but something had forced him out of bed. Justin smiles and Adam realizes, oh, that’s what.

“I’m glad you did. It’s like - you’re my coach, right? But here I’m kind of your coach so it feels more equal.” Justin raises his shoulder in a little shrug.

Adam can’t stomp down the burst of incredulous laughter that bursts from his throat. “Equal? You think me flopping around in the water is the same as watching you skate?” He doesn’t have words for how incredible Justin looks on the ice but he has a few choice ones for the mental picture he has of himself in the water.

Justin laughs and pats his side, and Adam's suddenly aware that he's still shirtless and soaking wet. “Well, you’re a very good flopper. Excellent form on your k-treads.” There's a smile in his voice but he also sounds genuine, as if he thinks Adam really is improving even though Adam couldn't agree less.

“Yeah, but I’m bad at every supine you throw at me.” Adam sighs, remembering how awkward he'd felt as he'd tried to maneuver himself into the position. It's been months since the accident but he still forgets that his body is going to fail him.

“You know, if you need any extra help with technique…” Justin trails off, and hope sparks in Adam’s chest for one perfect second before he carefully extinguishes it. He’s about to shake his head and explain why he can’t even if he wants when Justin continues. “You can ask Tabitha. She’s my best student.” Justin finishes his sentence just as they arrive at the bench, and Adam eases himself down carefully. He laughs, half in relief at arriving safely and half from the chirp.

“That’s cold, dude.” Adam says, leaning against the backrest as he begins to dry himself off in quick strokes. Justin watches him for a half second before looking around the room, checking over both shoulders before sitting down next to Adam. His knee presses into Adam's thigh, all light pressure and sudden warmth.

Justin sits in silence, hesitating for a long moment before speaking. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Adam stills his hands, letting the towel fall to his lap so he can turn to face Justin head on. “Sure. What’s up?” He tries to keep his voice light despite the small ball of dread that's formed in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Justin's going to tell him he shouldn't come to aerobics anymore - maybe he's going to ask if Adam will tell Hall and Murray how inappropriate he'd been - maybe he's going to ask Adam to resign and --

Justin's voice halts his increasingly panicked thoughts. “Can we like, be friends? Here, at least? You’re my coach and I’ll listen to whatever you say at practice and during games and stuff but." He cuts himself off with a short huff, trying to find the right words. "I don’t want to stop joking around or talking with you when it’s just us. Or would that violate the Coach Honor Code?” Justin's brows are downturned in worry but there's a small smile on his lips, and he looks so hopeful Adam's immediate instinct to turn him down is halted in its tracks. Adam's at a crossroad. If he says yes, he'll get too close. If he says no, he'll be alienating himself from the one person at Samwell he has a connection with. Justin's waiting patiently for his answer, face steady even as his hands pick at the hem of his shorts nervously, and it's the small, vulnerable motion of his fingers that makes Adam's decision for him.

“You know," Adam begins slowly. "No one mentioned that during the swearing-in ceremony of the International Society of Collegiate Ice Hockey Coaches, so...Yeah. Let’s do it.” Justin's beaming, and Adam can't regret his decision. He'll be careful.

Adam’s sitting in his first class of undergrad at the ripe old age of 23 and he’s surrounded by infants. Samwell is a liberal arts college so he knew he’d be in some core curriculum classes with other freshmen but he hadn’t expected how fucking ancient he’d feel. The beard definitely doesn’t help, he thinks, scratching along his jaw awkwardly. The stares he’s getting just might be the catalyst he needs to shave it.

He slumps in his seat, trying to look less massive in the sea of tiny babies he’s found himself in. Adam seriously considers leaving but the seats next to him had filled up far before the rest of the lecture hall. He’s encircled by fresh-faced eighteen year olds who keep asking him for pencils and checking if they’re in the right room. He’s trapped, surrounded on all sides, and if one more freshman laughs and places a hand on his arm he thinks he’s going to snap. Just when he’s planned the perfect escape route three familiar faces walk in.

It’s the freshmen defense: Chow, Nurse, and Pointdexter.

It makes sense that they’re here - all four of them are starting at the same time and have the exact same schedule constraints with games and practices. The more he thinks about it the more obvious it becomes, and it’s weird. It’s so weird. He’s worked so hard to keep a healthy distance between himself and the team - between himself and Justin - and now it all seems so futile. Maybe he could - would it be so bad if - it just might be possible for them to -

His circling thoughts are interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement in front of him. Chow, Nurse, and Pointdexter have spotted him and they’re settled into seats directly below him. Chow opens his mouth to speak but the professor saunters in and begins class before he can say anything. The professor begins to talk about attendance and expectations and Adam tries to pay attention, he does, but every expectation and boundary he'd constructed has knotted up inside him, tangled and heavy as it sits in the pit of his stomach. He can hear Nurse and Pointdexter whisper-fighting throughout class and every now and again Chow looks back at him like he’s checking to make sure Adam’s really there.

Adam’s there, all right. He’s pinned in by youths and Frogs and he doesn't know how to feel about any of it.

The rest of class passes in a long, awkward blur. He hears something about due dates and plagiarism and gender neutral language but Adam can't concentrate on any of it, too busy trying to determine exactly where to draw the lines between being a coach and classmate and friend and more without becoming the weird old guy who's hanging out with teenagers.

He's drawn from his thoughts by the sudden movements of everyone around him standing up and shuffling out. Class has ended, and he hadn't even noticed. He's just shoved the syllabus into his bag when Nurse stands and turns around, looking relaxed even in the chaos of a hundred-odd people flooding out of the room.

"Hey, C and Dex and I are going to get coffee and chill on the beach before practice." Nurse pauses, expecting an answer, but Adam stays silent. "You could like, come with us if you wanted." He continues, steady gaze falling directly on Adam's face. It's unnerving, being the sole focus of someone's attention outside of the rink. When he's there he can hide behind drills and the literal barrier between himself and the players, since he doesn't get on the ice with them, but now it's him and the freshmen. He looks between them, wondering if he should go. They're five years his junior but apparently his peers but there's still the strangeness of being their coach and if he's willing to be their friend then he can be Justin's friend and that leads to being more than friends and he's gone over why that's not possible too many times to count so Adam just shakes his head, halting the increasingly panicked flow of thoughts.

"Thanks, Nurse, but I'll see you at practice." Nurse nods, accepting the dismissal easily but Chow visibly deflates. Adam's stomach twists when the goaltender gives him a little wave and heads out of the lecture hall, Nurse and Pointdexter close behind him. As he slings his backpack over his shoulder he realizes he's not only uncomfortable; he's disappointed. He wants to hang out with them. Awkward as it may be, he wants to consider them friends - all of them, the entire team. He'd thought that the draw he felt towards Justin was a one-off, a moment of weakness that's dragged on far too long, but he's getting too close to the entire team to avoid the slippery slope of familiarity. If he becomes their friend, he'll be tempted to get closer to Justin when he's already promised that he won't.

Adam sighs and makes his way out of the lecture hall, taking his time on the steps. He has to stop and reset his position before every step, too cautious to place his full weight on his bad knee. Forward, pause, forward, pause. The halting rhythm is all too familiar these days.

In all honesty, Adam can't tell if he just had one of the best or worst Friday nights of his life. He'd had fun, but the objective fact is that spending the evening with a sixty three year old woman in a library because he doesn't really know anyone else in Samwell other than the players he's coaching sounds absolutely pathetic. Still, hanging out with Beth during her late shift had been a good time. He just has to come to terms with the fact that his closest friend is an elderly librarian he met in water aerobics.

Adam's been out of Founder's for all of thirty seconds when he hears the shouting and laughter of familiar voices across the quad, and before he can stop himself he’s walking past the Well to investigate. When he gets closer he’s greeted by the sight of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team parading four mostly-naked men by the pond. He's content to let them walk past and continue their - what did they call it? Hazeapalooza? - when Knight, who's leading the procession, stops suddenly. He turns in one sharp motion and points directly at Adam. He can feel the weight of each gaze drop on him as each team member looks over in quick succession, but before he can try to get away the team crowds around him.

"Hey, boys." He begins, a little worried by the intense look Knight's directing towards him. The team is eerily silent.

Knight's mustache twitches as he looks Adam up and down. "Were you just in the library? Studying?" He asks slowly. Adam's tempted to lie, but he's standing in the quad directly in front of the library, the only building open this time of night. It's either that or pretend like he just walks through campus alone in the dark.

"Yes? Why do you ask?" Adam looks at the team, hoping one of them will help him out, but they're all looking to Knight.

"Right, right, right, right, right, I forgot, you're a student." The glint in Knight's eye makes him distinctly uncomfortable. Objectively, he knows he doesn't have anything to be ashamed. Samwell offered him the opportunity to take classes while he coached and Hall and Murray hadn't ever seemed worried about his class schedule. He hasn't done anything wrong. Knowing it doesn't ease the churning in his stomach.

He takes a step back, feeling trapped by the circle of hockey playes around him. He's bigger than them but they have the distinct advantage of numbers and full physical ability. Adam swallows. "Uh, technically." He admits.

“Yeah, he’s in our seminar!” Chow, blindfolded and almost naked, adds, and Knight's eyes light up. Adam groans, knowing that light doesn't bode well for him. Knight cackles in unabashed glee.

"Technically...You're a freshman." He continues, speaking slowly as his intentions become clearer and clearer. Adam doesn’t like the turn things are taking one bit. 

Adam sighs, looking up at the dark sky, hoping he'll find some reservoir of patience he's buried deep. "I guess that's right."

"Which means you're a Frog." Knight points at him accusingly.

"No." Adam says firmly. "You have to be on the team to be a frog." Knight just takes another step forward, reaching out to place both hands on Adam's shoulders. Adam's not entirely sure why he's wearing sunglasses when it's already dark out; he can barely make out his own frowning reflection in the dark lenses.

Knight looks up at him for a long moment before nodding his head in one decisive burst of movement. "Yeah, you’re definitely a frog. We got another one!" Knight throws his hands in the air triumphantly as the team cheers, and Adam turns to Justin for help.

"He wants to initiate you." Justin explains. His sunglasses are resting on his forehead so Adam can at least see his eyes.

Adam shakes his head, holding up his hands. "Oh, I don't think that's appropri - " He sputters, but Knight refuses to drop it. He goes up on his toes to wind an arm around Adam's shoulders, bridging the height gap between them through sheer force of will.

"Fuck propriety! You're one of us, dude!" He yells directly into Adam's ear. Adam winces and leans away but Knight's holding on tight. He looks to Justin again, hoping he'll have some way to get him out of this, but Justin just shrugs and gestures to the team.

They’re all looking at him, and it’s clear that they want him to come. Even without the weirdness of being their coach, Adam’s hesitant to accept for another reason. They don’t actually want him, Adam Birkholtz, to come. They want Holtz, #4 for the Seattle Schooners and professional hockey player, to come. It feels disingenuous for him to accept when they won’t even get what they expect. Still...Chow somehow manages to look excited even when he’s blindfolded, and Bittle’s looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Even Jack is smiling, and when he glances over at Justin, who’s worrying his bottom lip, he can’t say no. He wants to be a part of this, even if he's told himself time and time again that it's not a good idea.

"I can't formally be a part of this, but...I did park my car by Faber, and if you're heading that way..." He trails off, unable to keep from giving in. The team cheers and they immediately set off, traipsing past the commons, through the North Quad until they reach Faber. Larissa unlocks the doors and the team storms in, running through the halls as they whoop and yell. Adam walks behind them, wondering how long he'll have to stick around before everyone else realizes just how strange it is that he's there. No one seems to notice as they weave through the building until they reach the rink itself.

The cool air drapes over Adam's shoulders when he pauses just before stepping onto the ice. He holds onto the boards with a white-knuckled grip, trying to work up the nerve to step off the rubber pads. Justin turns back, somehow already attuned to Adam’s every mood, looking back at him with concern.

“You good, dude?” Justin asks, making his way back to stand across from him.

Adam nods, an automatic reaction. “Yeah, it’s just. It’s been a while.” Three months and four days, to be exact. Justin hums, a low, throaty sound, and leans against the boards.

"You haven't been on the ice since it happened?" Justin asks softly. Adam shakes his head. His only solace is that Justin has seen him in far more embarrassing positions during water aerobics. Adam can feel Justin's gaze on the back of his hand but he doesn't dare let go of the boards. He's not even on the ice yet and he's nervous.

"You can make it," Justin says suddenly. When Adam looks up his eyes are intense but earnest; he really believes what he's saying. "I mean it. You haven't fallen once after aerobics class and it's less slippery out here than it is by the pool." Adam stares at him, considering, and Justin meets his gaze.

Adam has imagined this moment too many times to count, and he never, not once, considered that his return to the ice would be during the initiation of a team he's not even on when he isn’t even fully healed. He’d always skipped the recovery in his head, even though he objectively knows he’d have to do months of skating to get back into NHL shape. When he was in the hospital, or moping at home post-op, or when his physical therapist bent his leg into the most painful position possible, Adam always imagined stepping onto home ice in Seattle, the crowd screaming as he joined his teammates in a pre-game warmup. He’s supposed to be in a Schooner’s uniform and skates, not a faded Dunder Mifflin t-shirt and sneakers thousands of miles away from home ice.

The rest of the team hasn’t noticed his hesitance, yet, focused as they are on guiding their freshmen and captain to center ice and setting up the coolers of beer and fucking fire cones, apparently? Justin is watching and waiting, though, and Adam can’t distract him from bonding with his team, so he takes in a deep breath and steps onto the ice for the first time since that horrible day in June.

It’s really not that bad. The conditioned air is cool in his lungs and Justin’s gaze is heavy on him, but he has enough traction and caution to take a few steps, and then a few more, until he’s walking by Justin to join the team on center ice.

“You coming?” He ask when he moves past, and Justin’s soft laugh is enough to give him the confidence to keep walking, slowly but surely, until he’s joined the crowd. It’s strange how normal it feels to stand among them, and despite the divide he’s been so aware of, he realizes that there’s actually space for him here. Larissa hands him a beer while O'Meara and Wicks include him in their pre and post fist bump conversation, and Adam thinks he just might get away with this when Knight appears right beside him.

“C’mon, brah, I can’t make you strip because of professionalism or whatever, but you’ve gotta kneel if you’re being initiated.” Knight says. He places his hands on Adam's shoulders, trying to push him towards the Frogs who are already kneeling on the ice.

Adam shakes his head and stands his ground "I really can't - " Knight has enough sense not to try to shove him but he cuts him off nevertheless.

“No! No more of that, dude, you’re a part of this now!” Adam can't really argue with that. He's here for better or for worse. He turns around and Knight's suddenly right there, in his space, and Adam defaults to the truth.

“I mean I can’t, as in physically can’t.” He explains, and Knight immediately flushes in embarrassment.

“I fucked up, man, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t take accessibility into account, that’s on me.” He pulls off his sunglasses, voice low and serious for the first time all evening. He claps a hand on Adam's shoulder, giving the muscle a firm squeeze. It's oddly comforting coming from a man wearing only hockey pants and a mustache straight out of a 1970's porno.

Adam shrugs. “Nah, you didn’t know, I’ll be fine.” It's impossible to know who on the team knows the full extent of his injury. It was announced when he retired but he's not sure if anyone on the team read the press release. No one ever brings up his injury.

“No, we have to have your back. Rans! Get over here!” Justin hadn't gone far and is back at Adam's side in a flash. He immediately feels more at ease. Knight places his other hand on Justin's shoulder and addresses him seriously. “You are hereby charged with the sacred god damn duty of keeping this man safe. Do you accept?” He asks.

Justin's biting his lip to keep from laughing but he manages to nod gravely. “I accept.”

Knight whoops, the sound immediately echoing around the rink. “Fuck yeah. Let’s get this fucking thing started.” He slaps them both on the back before running back over to the initiates to begin the proceedings.

Bittle sidles up to him when Justin gets distracted by the frogs bickering. The forward’s shoulders are slumped as he looks down at the tupperware he’s holding. “I can’t believe Shitty won’t let me give them just one lil’ sweater! I was freezing during this part.”

“I don’t have much experience with Samwell traditions, but I don’t think there are pies in hazing.” Adam says, hands Justin the beer Larissa had given him as he speaks. Justin takes it seamlessly, almost as if he'd been expecting it.

“Maybe not, but…” Bittle trails off, looking up at him with a calculating expression. “It would make me feel a whole lot better if just one of the frogs got some pie.” He sways, rocking up to his toes. “And Shitty said you’re a frog.” He continues, looking far too pleased with himself.

“He said that, but that doesn’t make it true.” Adam says, worried by the glint in his eye. Bittle might crumple into a ball at the first sign of physicality but now he's advancing on Adam with a steely determination. Adam might be taller and broader but he has a sinking suspicion he's not going to get out of this unscathed.

“But you’re a freshman, and I’m a sophomore, which means I get to make you do whatever I want because I’m hazing you! You’re being hazed, Coach Birkholtz!” Bittle attempts something akin to an evil laugh, but it's more endearing than frightening. Adam crosses his arms and looks down at him, one eyebrow raised.

“You know, calling me coach really takes the wind out of the sails of your sophomore authority.” He points out. Bittle frowns and draws the stack of tupperware and sweaters close to his chest.

“You’re being hazed, Holtz!” Bittle tries, sounding triumphant until he looks up at Adam. His face falls, and Adam realizes he must be doing that wistful thing again. “I’m sorry, did I get it wrong? Ransom always called you that when he watched your games.” Justin’s currently shotgunning the beer three feet away from them but he sputters when Bittle drops that piece of information, white foam dripping down his chin and throat. Adam coughs and looks down at the ice, trying desperately not to think about Justin watching a game just for him, maybe even wearing his jersey, and fuck, if he lets himself go down this path he'll have to lay on the ice to avoid embarrassment. Adam shakes his head forcefully, trying to knock the mounting fantasies away as Justin cleans himself off with one of the spare bandanas.

“No, that’s me. Well, that was me. It’s, uh, it’s been a while since someone called me that.” Adam looks down at the ice, raising his shoulders in a sheepish shrug. Eric Bittle is five feet and six and a half inches of Southern comfort and it feels safe to admit that he's not that guy anymore.

Bittle just nods, kind gaze trained on Adam's face. “We can call you something else." He says. "What other nicknames have you had? It feels weird to use your first name."

Adam can understand that. “Boys back in Juniors called me Birker.” He says with a wince, remembering the terrible nickname. Thankfully Bittle automatically shakes his head as Justin balks.

“Back in Toronto the boys all called me Ranser.” Justin commiserates, finally recovered from the onslaught of foam from his fumbled shotgun. Knight chooses that moment to wander by, sunglasses hanging off one ear and beer foam in his mustache.

“Oh, shit! Ransom,” He throws himself against Justin, wrapping one arm around his torso as he points to Adam with the other. “And Holster. Sick nicknames." Knight presses a sloppy kiss to Ransom's forehead, wandering off as quickly as he'd appeared. Adam barely notices him leave, too focused on the syllables echoing in his head long after the rink swallows the original sounds. Justin's staring straight at him, frozen.

Ransom and Holster. It's perfect. Something unknots in Holster's chest, some long-forgotten ball of tension he's been carrying around since he arrived at the first practice of the year. The shadowy corners of the rink seem brighter, the moonlight streaming through the windows more ethereal. Ransom's smiling and he is, too, and everything that seemed so wrong about his presence at Hazeapalooza fades away.

“Holster, you’re being hazed!” Bitty crows with joy, laughing in a way that would be maniacal if it wasn't so endearing.

“All right, all right, what horrors will you enact upon me?” Holster holds up his hands in surrender, completely at Bitty's mercy. He’s just a freshman, after all.

“You have to eat pie! So much of it! Before it gets cold.” Bitty thrusts the tupperware into his hands and opens the lid. The smell of fresh-baked pie wafts out immediately. He can tell that the crust is still perfectly crisp and flaky even though the warm pie’s been sitting in its own steam.

“Lay it on me, Bitty.” He says, and Bitty's smile grows impossibly wider. Yeah, Adam’s dreamed of returning to the ice a million times, but he never, not once, thought he’d end up eating still-warm-from-the-oven pie as he watches a mostly-naked Jack Zimmermann howl with his classmates. It’s nice to be Holster, for a little while. He's not sure how long it will last after tonight but for now, it's harmless. Most of the team won't even remember he's there, judging by the rate at which the cooler of beers empties. He watches the ceremony with the team but peels off when they decide to go back to the Haus.

"Holster!" Adam turns, body already attuned to the name. Justi - Ransom's jogging up to him, cheeks flushed. His sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his shirt and he's lost his bandanna somewhere in the chaos of initiation but he's smiling, clear and bright, and Holster can't help but grin in return. "I'm really glad you came, dude. Did you have fun?" He asks, idly rubbing his hands over his bare biceps to warm up now that they're out of the rink.

"I did. I didn't expect it, but I did." Holster says. Ransom's smile grows wider, and he holds out a fist for Holster to bump before he runs off to re-join the team. Adam feels warm as he wanders out to his car and drives home, his knuckles tingling long after he arrives at his apartment.

The first roadie is a deeply confusing experience.

Adam spends the first half of the bus ride in the front with Hall and Murray, bent over a clipboard as they determine the lineup and discuss various plays. It's only the first away game of the season so team cohesion isn't quite where it needs to be, but Adam knows that after a hard fought game and a night in a crappy hotel the team will be closer than ever. He discusses the state of the defensive line until his knee protests too much, and Hall and Murray finish up without him as he makes his way to the only open pair of seats that's tucked firmly in the middle of the bus. The team stares as he makes his way back, but the second he stretches out his leg on the seat they all seem to realize why he's ventured back there and the chatter picks up again. Justin is curled up in the row across from him, knees tucked against his chest as he devours the textbook in front of him, but before Adam can weigh the pros and cons of disturbing him Chow's head pops up from behind his head rest. Bittle's appears a moment later and he immediately gives Adam a small hand pie. It's still warm from the oven despite the fact that they've been in the bust for several hours, and Bittle just responds to his questioning look with a shrug.

"My moomaw - my grandma, that is - says that'll cure any ailment." Bittle's voice is matter of fact, as if his moomaw's advice is law. Adam nods, a little relieved that someone's actually acknowledging his injury, the huge, life altering thing that affects him every single day that no one ever wants to talk about.

"My grandma's the same way with her kneidel." Adam says. He's tried to keep the personal talk to minimum with the players, but even he can't pass up an opportunity to talk about his grandmother's cooking. Bittle's eyes light up and he immediately launches into a string of questions about the recipe, hardly stopping to breathe or to wait for Adam's answers. He's just asked about the texture for the third time when Jack cuts in.

He's seated next to Knight across the aisle from Bittle and Chow and doesn't look up from his book when he speaks. "Kneidel is another word for matzo balls, Bittle. You tried some at Passover last year." His voice is matter-of-fact but not cold, reminding but not chastising.

Shitty, who Adam had hoped was asleep, stirs in his seat. He leans against Jack, entering his space easily as he flops on top of the book. "Fuck yeah! Zimmerball soup was the tits!" 

The conversation turns to last year's Haus-wide Manischewitz-heavy celebration, but Jack just turns the page and settles in his seat. It's astonishing how he can capture the team's attention with a few words but always relinquishes it the moment he's finished.

 Adam leans his head back against the cool glass of the window and takes a bite of the hand pie. Blueberry, just like he'd mentioned at the first practice. The filling is warm and sweet and perfect and the crust gets all over his pullover and later, when he's brushing the final crumbs out of his beard in the home team's guest facilities after he's changed into his suit, he's surprised to find it may have actually worked.. He bends his knees experimentally, relieved that the muscles aren't seizing up after the long bus ride. He knows better than to put too much stock in it; there will be more ups and downs to come.

He stares at his reflection as he ties his tie, studying his own face intently. He looks better than he has in a while, but that's probably more to do with the fact he got his haircut at an actual barber shop instead of doing it himself. The navy suit he's wearing looks nondescript; he's hoping between the beard and the neutral color he won't stand out much.

The dressing room is a whirlwind of activity as the boys rush back and forth to find their gear. Jack's taping his stick with an intensity that's frankly frightening and Chow's eyeing a wayward puck warily as Knight's latest profane-laced rant carries over the general din of thirty-odd men clamoring about. He stops by Nurse and Pointdexter's booths to make sure they haven't started fighting yet (they have), swings by Bittle to give him a word of encouragement (I'm still thinking we can make a play out of that), and ends up by Justin just as he's lacing up his skates.

"Nursey and Dex still fighting?" Justin asks offhand as he ties the laces with sure movements. He looks up just as Adam's about to reply, eyes growing wide. Adam turns, concerned that something terrible is happening directly behind him, but all he sees is Ollie and Wicks taping each others shinguards. Weird, but not at all enough to warrant Justin's wide-eyed stare. When he turns Justin is looking him up and down, eyes tracing over the lines of his suit, and -- oh.

He must look better than he thought.

Adam coughs, once, and waits until Ransom's eyes are back on his face before replying. "They were, but I calmed them down."

Justin looks up at him in surprise, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. Oh, no. He's cute. "How'd you manage that?"

"You just have to remind them why they work well together." Adam explains with a half-shrug. Justin looks dubious and glances over at the frogs, but they're both pulling on their uniforms in relative peace. "Since we've got this three man rotation going you'll be there as a buffer." Adam says as he sits down in the empty cubby beside Justin, stretching his leg out in front of him. Standing for the next three periods isn't going to be pleasant. Justin's eyes flicker down to his knee; Adam can tell he's already planning Monday's water aerobics class in his mind.

"So I have to keep them from fighting and play?" Justin asks, lips turning down in a worried frown. He's been caught between the freshman too many times to count.

Adam immediately shakes his head. "No, I'll keep them from fighting. You just play and when they see your focus, they'll be focused, too." True to Adam's word, Nurse and Pointdexter are both concentrated on the game from the first puck drop to the last buzzer. They bicker between periods but Adam's always within earshot, stepping in to diffuse any chirps that threaten to become more. He's just switched their gloves back to the rightful owner (how on earth did they manage to trade mid-game?) when Larissa appears by his elbow. She's a steady, calming presence in the chaos of the dressing room.

"Hey, Larissa, did you see where I left that whiteboard?" He asks, glancing around the immediate area. He moves a bag to the side with his foot, hoping it hasn't fallen to the floor. The manager is silent beside him, but when he turns she's gazing up at him head on.  "Larissa." Adam repeats, confused by her silence. They stare at each other, as Adam scrolls back through every interaction he's ever had with her, trying to determine what he's done wrong. Nothing's changed, they've barely even interacted one one one since -

Adam sighs, wondering if his appearance at Hazeapalooza will finally stop haunting him. He glances around the room and leans in, hoping no one will hear him. "Lardo, do you know where my whiteboard is?" Adam tries.

The change is instantaneous. She immediately turns towards him, lips turned up in a satisfied smile. "It's right by Ransom's cubby, and here," she reaches into her pocket and produces a marker. "Is your marker. Let me know if you need anything else, Holster." He takes the marker and she's gone, walking to check in with Jack with another roll of tape already in her hand. Adam doesn't have time to dwell on the interaction, confusing as it was, and he whistles for the defensemen to gather around while he goes over their plays.

One victory later Adam's laying on a lumpy hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling while HGTV plays in the background. It's either that or QVC, and the last thing Adam needs is to order a bunch of shit he doesn't need because he's trying to distract himself from the strange place he's found himself. Just when he'd thought he'd let go of Holtz for good he'd suddenly become Holster. It's not just a nickname - it never is for hockey players. It's two syllables of possibility and a giant step over the line of professionalism and worst of all, he loves it.

When he'd been hurt last June he hadn't just lost his career; Adam had, for the first time in his life, found himself without a team. Holtz had the Schooners, Birker had the Waterloo Black Hawks, and Adam has no one but Holster - Holster has Samwell Men's Hockey.

Adam closes his eyes and lets himself imagine it: living in the Haus, having his own jersey, playing with them instead of coaching them. It feels right, too right, like there's a whole life just waiting for him in some alternate universe. Adam groans and heaves himself out of bed, needing to put some distance between himself and those thoughts. He can spiral all he wants when he gets back to his apartment, but on the road he has to keep it together.

Sighing, Adam grabs the ice bucket and his key and steps out into the hall. The fluorescent lights are harsh compared to the soft glow of the television he'd become accustomed to over the last hour. He rubs his eyes as he wanders towards the ice machine, knee protesting every step. When he turns the corner he jerks in surprise, unprepared to find Murray standing in front of the ice machine in a SMH sweatshirt and mussed hair. Murray nods, a quick greeting. They stand in silence, both waiting for the churning machine to fill the bucket.

"Good work tonight, Holster." Murray says suddenly, a sly smile playing on his lips. Adam almost drops the ice bucket. Murray just laughs softly, shoulders shaking as the ice machine grumbles beneath his hands. "Yeah, I overheard Larissa's power play." He explains, releasing the button once his ice bucket is full. The machine quiets to a soft hum.

"I know it's unprofessional," Adam begins, shrugging helplessly. "They just...decided." He says lamely, not wanting to lie but unable to say that he got the nickname when he joined in at initiation. Murray just laughs again and shakes his head.

"No, I think it's fine. You're not much older than they are, after all." Adam's stomach drops as his world tilts to the side, and Murray's standing there holding a bucket of ice like he hasn't just changed everything. "It's good for you to be close to them. They look up to you, you know." Murray says. He claps a hand on Adam's shoulder as he passes by, leaving Adam by himself but not quite as alone as before.

[honeylikewords]

Merman AU HCs

1. David: A quiet merman, even by his own kind’s standards. Some believe that his vocal chords were damaged. The truth is that he can speak – can even sing a bit – but he just doesn’t really want to. (There’s a legend that he accidentally caused a ship to sink with his singing and he’s felt horrible for it ever since.) He met his human after his giant form got caught in a fishing net and she set him free after noticing how scared he was and that he posed no threat in spite of how big and imposing he initially seemed to be. Out of his immense sense of compassion and care, he sneaks up to her boat whenever she comes back to gift her with plants or stones you can only recover from the deep. In turn, she offers to teach him about some of what mankind has to offer. He is curious about land animals and is delighted to learn about them when the human girl offers to teach him. He wishes he could take the NatGeo issues down with him but can’t risk ruining the pictures so he makes sketches and hides them (can’t have the others growing suspicious on how he knows wtf a bobcat looks like). He wants to see a zoo if he ever gets to go on land – but he’ll only see one if it’s with the girl.

2. Eddie: A tattooed, dark-haired Ariel essentially. Seriously, he just is so enamored with the idea of the human world that when he comes into close contact with a human for the first time, he actually pleads for her to come back. (But they have to do so in secrecy.) He asks about human traditions and conventions, loving to note the differences between ours and his. It eventually comes to a point where he realizes just how unique every human is … and decides that his human girl is the most interesting thing about the human world. Soon, his questions drift to courting conventions. She’s a bit flustered, but explains anyway because she assumes its just his usual curiosity. “So, we have these things called kisses –” “I know what a kiss is; we DO have them down here.” “Oh.” “… But I’ve heard about coitus, so what’s that?” “NOW WE WILL TALK ABOUT CREAM PUFFS AND HOW THEY ARE A WELL-LOVED DELICACY IN HUMAN SOCIETY, YUP YUP.” If he ever gets a day on land, he wants to see everything human that he possibly can. Including his human girl.

3. Monty: Monty is probably the least mermanly one on the list in the traditional sense, being ready to attack at a moment’s notice rather than swim away. He’s just very territorial like that. Rumor has it he was raised by sharks but we’ll never know. He didn’t mean to save the human girl while she was drowning. But he didn’t feel like other humans searching his waters trying to look for her, so he plops her on shore and tries to literally hightail it before she regains consciousness. It doesn’t work. She keeps coming back to the shore where he left her, hoping he’ll reappear. He doesn’t understand why he eventually does but the moment he does, he finds himself not being as eager about leaving as he thought he would. His favorite thing to learn about the human world is all the variations of tattoos there are. Tattoos in the merman world are pretty limited to swirls and tribal-like to indicate region, so hearing about stars and daggers and even skulls sounds neat! He wants to get a tattoo if he ever gets a day on land. He’ll even let the girl pick what he gets, so long as it’s cool.

4. Joe: Joe is a solitary merman, but he helps a drowning girl out of the kindness of his two hearts. He doesn’t know what makes him stay to make sure that she wakes up. Really, by merman law and his own personal desire to be alone, he should’ve just plopped her there on the wet sand and swam away. But he doesn’t do any of that: He stays, long enough to feel a perplexing form of relief bubble within him the moment she coughs up whatever water was still inside her and attempts to sit up. He’s even less sure what drives him to return to the same spot in the hopes of seeing her there again. The only thing he does know is that he likes listening to her talk. She doesn’t have the enchanting vocals that mermaids and mermen do, but there’s still just something about her voice that entrances him … After some time, he still doesn’t understand what compels him to do the things that he does to be around her more. The only thing he does know? That he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. At least, not by himself. But alone with her, in the great, big, noisy world? He wouldn’t mind that.

5. Shane: Shane is one of those mermen who goes out of his way to cause trouble. On his own people, on humans, whatever. He especially enjoys singing to coax women out to him in the hopes of seducing them. But one night, he takes it too far. He didn’t mean to make the ship go off course or crash into the rocks. He didn’t mean to cause so much destruction. As often indifferent to humans as he is, he still has two hearts. They both demand that he save the one last person whom the lifeboats hadn’t yet noticed was not recovered: A human girl, whose dress had gotten snagged on a broken, sinking mast. He hides in the water nearby the part of shore that he’d left her on, making sure that her kind found her. Afterwards, he can’t help but stick around the area whenever possible to assure that she was okay. It’s the guilt inside of him. Eventually one day, she does catch sight of him and instantly assumes (and correctly) that he was the one who cause the ship to break so close to shore and that he needs to pay for the havoc he caused. It takes all of his pleading for her forgiveness and even then she’s not entirely giving of it. But after somehow launching into a conversation about how his kind is so destructive, and him accusing hers of being just the same, they begin trying to defend their kind and their activities. Which then turns into giving each other fun facts. Which then develops into many rendezvous to that one little part of the shore, hidden by the rocks…

6. Mike: Mike is also curious about humans, but nowhere near to the obsessive extent as Eddie. …So why the crap was HE the one that got captured!? He pondered this over and over and over as he sat grumpily and overwhelmed by nerves in the glass tank that was barely enough room for him to put his finds out in (for once he was glad he was a smaller merman). His nerves only worsen when his container is taken into a fancy-looking room. He doesn’t care if the human lady suddenly looking down into his tank is pretty, this is terrifying as all getout! But as the lady commands the other people in the room go, she kneels down and pleads in a hushed voice for him to calm down. He was meant to be a gift, she explains. Some suitor thought he could win her over by presenting an elusive merman. Now she just felt bad for Mike. But Mike explains that he can’t return home now, not after so many have bared witness to his existence. Now both are miserable … All the girl can do, really, is request the construction of a large tank for him, keeping him in the palace’s large pool until further notice. In order to make him feel a bit better, she stops by to tell him stories. It doesn’t mute the pain, but it does make being stuck on land a bit more bearable. Eventually, though, a part of him wants to know of the world beyond the pool and beyond his tank. Where does the human girl go when she’s not telling him stories? What does she do? What’s a ball? Can he go to one? He soon begins wondering if perhaps there is someone out there who can concoct a spell that will allow him to be more human, so that he might be able to exist better in this world. After all, if Mike the merman exists, then surely other magical things do as well…

7. BJ: BJ saw his first human when he was a wee thing. She was about his age in human years. Adorable. He never forgot her and since then has harbored a secret desire to see her again. Apparently Merman God heard his heart’s desire, and granted that wish years later when the girl, now grown up, tipped over in her rowboat. At first she just assumed that BJ was a man who swam way out to sea (after all, his athletic form suggested that he had that ability). But once he started making excuses as to why he didn’t want to hitch a ride back to land in her now turned-right-side-up boat, she felt something was literally fishy. It didn’t take long for her to figure it out. But once she does, BJ can’t help but want to show himself off. He does tricks, flips, anything he can to show off his physique. And she eats. It. UP. She boats out every chance she can get to see him and he just loves it. But he hates when she leaves. He wants to go onto land and see what things she can do there, where she’s in her own element. He doesn’t want some other human to take her away …

8. Frank: Similar to Joe, Frank likes his solitude. However, unlike Frank, he’s not as steadfast about it. He helps a human girl out of the goodness of his heart and has no problem with leaving before she wakes up. But he’s so confused when she keeps showing up, collecting shells, even at high tide. Was she trying to get killed!? He shouts at her to leave from behind a rock. She doesn’t. Instead, the little weirdo just asks him why HE won’t leave. …She had a point there. Besides, what did he care? He decides to stay until she leaves, just incase she got swept out to sea again. The next day, she comes back again to collect things from the sand. She knows he’s there, so she starts conversing with him, talking about her home and town and asking him for any of his own stories to keep her entertained. Frank doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to blow anything out of the water, no pun intended. But eventually, he finds himself commenting more and more on her stories before his own begin spilling out. He’s pretty sure she knows what he is. He doesn’t mind it. But the third week, he knows she harbors no ill will towards him for it. He begins positioning shells you can only collect in the deeper parts of the water where she can find them. Wouldn’t want her wandering too far in and getting swept back, now would we?

stARTS SCREAMING SO LOUDLY THAT THE RAFTERS OF MY HOUSE SHAKE

YOU ARE SO AMAZING AND EACH OF THESE IS SO LOVING CRAFTED AND RENDERED AND DETAILED AND I LOVE I LOVE I LOVE

ohhh my god i’m so overwhelmed i don’t even know where to start ohhhh my goodness gracious ohhh my lord

NOW I WANT TO KNOW MORE AND WRITE MORE ABOUT THIS AND OH MY GOSH

how many of them end up becoming human and how? do any of them stay mermen? do any of them manage to coax their beloved into joining them as merpeople? oh my goodness gracious

[phanficminr]

Fifty shades of phan; chapter 2

Fifty shades of Phan A/N: I know Phil is 30 now but in this story he is 27, oh and they are not in London in this story

Chapter 2

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Phil Lester has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks, his civility, wealth,power I don’t understand my irrational reaction.

I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap - what was thatMy heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car. As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself - but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be - he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he again, I’m irritated that Luoise didn’t give me a brief biography. While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic - as if he had a hidden agenda. And Luoise’s questions - ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Luoise Pentland!

I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating blue eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Lester’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, Dan,I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it . Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I’m lucky - Luoise’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know luoise going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

“Dan! You’re back.” Luoise sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals - though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her.

“Dan, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it what was he like?” Oh no - here we go, the Luoise Pentland Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

“I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused,kind….and really intimidating .”

Luoise gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

“Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography he made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Luoise clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Dan , I’m sorry - I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy - like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-seven. Jeez, Dan,I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.” “You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.” “Dan,you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell - although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of a boy. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Phil Lester We’re busy - it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

“Dan! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Luoise is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained - exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with … him.

“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this goThink of something - quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant - scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man that’s a first,” she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date…and you also haven’t had a date in so long.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Dan it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me Now Luoise is being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Phil Lester that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Luoise and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Luoise has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick - the two other part-timers.

“How are things with you, Ana?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention.

“I’m fine.”

“Dan have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Dan,you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom,I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy.

As I end the call I turn sharp round, Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I turn around and glance up… and find myself locked in the bold blue gaze of Phil Lester who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Mister Howell What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Lester,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mister Howell .” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking - he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

“Dan. My name’s Dan,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr. Lester ?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years face?. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his blue eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Howell . A slight frown mars Lester’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Mister Howell ,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet - my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

“They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.With my heart almost strangling me - because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth - I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Clayton’s And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells - comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me the idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with thoseI cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows.

“Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, blur eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old - gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Howell !

“Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Grey says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

“Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle.

cable cord… “ I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.”

Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot blue gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

“Were you a Boy Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Lester.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing, Daniel?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Dan,my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer.

Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it.

“Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject - those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommendI don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, blue eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks. “Um…okay then no clothes-I mean no coveralls….I can’t really think of anything else"I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW.

“Do you need anything else?” I squeak . He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Luoise is. Miss Pentland . My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air - at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Lester raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off.

“You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Luoise will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought - of all the silly, ridiculous… “Luoise will be delighted - if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

Oh my. Phil lester’s lost look.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Luoise is going to be thrilled.

“Dan!”

Caspar (lee) has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Africa, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Lester.” Lester frowns as I turn away from him. Caspar has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Lester, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Caspar hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Dan, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Caspar , how are you, you home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Dan, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Caspar , but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Phil Lester , he’s watching us like a hawk, his blue eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else - someone cold and distant.

“Caspar, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Lester’s eyes. I drag Caspar over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Caspar, this is Phil Lester . Mr. Lester, this is Caspar Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Caspar ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Africa where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Phil holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Lester,” Caspar returns his handshake. “Wait up - not the phil Lester of Lester Enterprises Holdings?” Caspar goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Lester gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Wow - is there anything I can get you?“ "Daniel has it covered, Mr. Clayton. He’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Caspar responds. “Catch you later, Dan.” “Sure, Caspar .” I watch him disappear toward the stock room.

“Anything else, Mr.lester?”

“Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem I ring up the rope,masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Lester, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his blue eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Daniel.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic.

I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.

“Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.”

He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh - and Daniel, I’m glad Miss Pentland couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay - I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely no harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Luoise and organize a photo-shoot.

………………………………………………….

Character placement: https://phanficminr.tumblr.com/post/160124305810/fifty-shades-of-phan-character-placement

First chapter: https://phanficminr.tumblr.com/post/160150333965/fifty-shades-of-phan-chapter-1

[adiseaselikeyouspreads]

The seventh news story comes out. Another murder attempt against repeat survivor thwarted; no comment from Jason Joon-ho so far. Society continues to be unsympathetic. He receives no time off school. Film club is suspended until further notice. Film class becomes a study hall. He feels like the silent room is judging him.

Regan and Dmitri call out from school. He doesn’t see them at all, for three days. There’s whispers in the halls about them being gone. Jason thinks everyone is blaming him for that, too, somehow, but he can’t be sure.

Either way he skips lunch, dodges Riley and Rose and Sidney. He doesn’t want them to ask. He doesn’t know how he’ll lie to them. He spends a lot of time wondering if Rose and Riley knew.

But he spends even more time thinking about the Plague Doctors. Dmitri and Regan. How they lied to him. How they were killers the whole time, didn’t tell him, when they knew how he felt about it. How all of their interactions had probably just been them trying to get close, to kill more people.

How they saved him, in and out of costume.

How their lips felt.

He’s so confused. He doesn’t know how to feel. He misses them. Three days pass and he feels exponentially isolated. His parents are busy. His mom tries, but she doesn’t know how to help him. Fair, considering he doesn’t even know how to help himself. At least no more murder attempts are happening. He kind of wishes they would. A simple, self-destructive wish. It would make this weird stall- this purgatory- end. It would make the universe move again.

Jason sits outside during his lunch hour, with little regard to his safety. He’s not even paying attention, really. His brain is too fogged over. He chews on a sandwich, but doesn’t taste it.

“Hey, Jason…” A voice comes from behind him, along with the squeak of a door. Jason recognizes it. Michael King. Oh, right, he was discharged from the hospital yesterday. Some dull little part of Jason’s brain says Well, here it is, he’s going to stab me and then leave my body behind a dumpster. That thought doesn’t kickstart him into a panic. In fact, he sinks further into himself, doesn’t react, just chews more slowly and stares into the distance.

Oddly, death doesn’t come. The silence stretches long enough that Michael makes a nervous sort of noise, shifts, feet scraping at the pavement.

“Jason?” He tries again, sounding less certain this time.

Jason drops his sandwich back into its bag. “What do you want?” He asks, half-turning to face Michael.

Michael, who’s now down a right arm. It’s gone, just below the elbow. His left forearm has a few visible wicked scars. The trap really did do a number on him.

“I just wanted to come… talk.” He’s avoiding eye contact. He’s more nervous than Jason. Jason can’t help but feel a little satisfied at that. Just a little.

“Here to discuss the terms of my next kidnapping?” Jason asks, earning an anxious laugh.

“No. God, no, dude. I came to apologize. For the whole…” He does a throat-cutting hand motion, wincing as he does it. “A lot of shit in my life went really bad really fast and I just…”

“Decided to try to kill me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was shitty of me.” He straightens the collar of his overshirt, then runs his hand through his hair, awkward and slow. He sits next to Jason, taps his foot nervously. “I didn’t want to, and I know this is no excuse, but everything just kinda collapsed all at once. I ruined my GPA this semester, because of physics class, and we lost the game that an important scout came to, so a bunch of my scholarships fell through… My parents were freaking out at me about ‘making something of myself’ and being successful and all that.” He rocks a little, grimaces.

“The counsellor was freaking me out and my friends were all being dicks about how I’d fucked up in the game and I felt like I needed to prove something, and you were all over the news, and my dad started to like, set everything up…” He trails off, looking away from Jason again and then back at the door. “Guess I kind of fucked everything up even more, for both of us.”

Jason listens through, but not without his fair share of squinting. Still, he feels sympathetic. Michael is the murderer with the motive that Jason had wanted the rest of them to be. Someone with a reason that could be remedied, with something besides ‘I want to’ or ‘what’s stopping me?’. The result of their messed up society and its awful priorities. Someone who wouldn’t be this, in another reality, where things were different. Someone who wouldn’t be this with just a spot of good luck.

Jason bounces his leg and looks down at his hands. Thinks of how hasty Michael’s knots were, how ineffectual the traps were. He looks back up.

“I hope you know I can’t elect an attempted murder as student council president in good conscience,” Jason finally responds. Michael makes a confused face, and then relief washes over and he kind of hangs his head, mussing up his own hair again. “Even if I ate your cookie.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m kicked from the race.” He sounds tired. Jason notices the bags under his eyes. He gets the feeling that the kick had more to do with him failing and not with him attempting. Jason packs up his lunchbox and stands up, stretching.

“Before I can accept your apology… Your days of murdering are over, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t… I mean, they never even really started. That’s not the kind of thing I want to do. Or be known for.”

“Good.” He doesn’t explicitly accept the apology, but it’s probably implicit in his little nod. He still thinks Michael has a little bit of a way to go before he proves he’s an alright guy. But he’s willing to give him a chance. He really liked him before all this, anyways. “I’ll see you around.” He passes Michael in order to go back inside.

He goes through class, finishing out the day with a slightly less addled mind. Something new is nagging at him now, though. Just barely out of reach. It’s when he thinks back over the conversation that he realizes what exactly it is.

He was willing to forgive Michael. He let him tell his story. He was willing to accept his words because he understood that Michael’s actions were a direct byproduct of society.

That’s Dmitri and Regan’s whole schtick, but on the other end. They distrust society, think that no one is handling the problems. They’re right, on some level. Jason’s seen it personally, seven times now, how the criminal justice system and society on the whole fails its people. Maybe he should give them a chance to explain.

After school, he picks up their homework for them. He’s decided to brave his own car, for the first time since this all started (well, second, if the drive to school in the morning counts, but he was hardly awake enough to be paranoid). He checks the back seat and the trunk before actually getting in to drive, and heads to Regan’s house.

The first thing Jason notices is that the only car in the driveway is Dmitri’s. Either Regan’s car was being used, or his parents aren’t home to take up the garage. He’s crossing his fingers for the latter.

He climbs out of the car after pulling out a little stack of worksheets and walks up to the door, ringing the bell once.

He bounces in place as he waits, but no one answers the door. So he rings again. This time, after a few seconds, he hears shuffling against the door. Someone straining to see through the peephole?

There’s the sound of a click, and the door slowly peeks open.

Dmitri’s looking up at him, hand curled around the edge of the door tight, knuckles white.

“Hey,” he says, with a nonchalance that is not supported by his body language. His eyes flicker nervously, like he’s watching for something. Jason looks over his shoulder, then back at Dmitri.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he reassures.

“Oh.” Dmitri relaxes, visibly, even if only slightly.

“I wanted to come talk,” Jason explains. Dmitri holds the door open and lets him come inside. It’s odd, how familiar this place seems and yet how strange it feels right now. He holds the homework out to Dmitri. “I picked this up for you two.”

“Thanks,” Dmitri says, immediately tossing the homework on the coffee table and letting it fan out.

“How is Regan doing?”

“Better. Stab wounds aren’t that hard to take care of, when they don’t hit anything important.”

“Does this kind of thing happen often?”

“Not really. We’re pretty good at the whole deal. I’ve gotten hit once. Left a cool scar on my hip-” He’s already prying his pants away from his pelvis, and Jason holds up a hand.

“You don’t have to show me.”

“Are you sure? It’s really-”

“So, where’s Regan?”

“Oh, he’s up in his room. Even though he’s doing better, I’ve got him on bed rest.”

“Can we go up?”

Dmitri taps his chin and then walks over to the stairs and stares up for a second, like he’s still trying to decide. “Alright,” he finally agrees, starting upstairs. Jason follows.

They head down the hall to Regan’s room and Dmitri knocks, light, before pushing in without waiting for a response.

Regan sits up, wincing, and says, “Hey, babe-” And then his eyebrows shoot up when he sees Jason. “Hey, Jason,” he adds, propping himself against some pillows.

“Hey,” he says back. It’s weirder to see him injured, now, out of the costume. There was the anger, before, and the shock. Now he’s just Jason’s friend, laid up in bed with a secret stab wound.

“You been doing alright?” Regan asks. Sympathy settles in Jason’s chest like a stone. Regan’s asking if he’s okay.

“No more murder attempts,” Jason says, noncommittally.

“That’s good.” Regan nods. “I hope no one’s been giving you a hard time.”

“Not really. No more than usual, at least. It’s been kind of lonely.”

“It’s not a party without me,” Dmitri says as he slips onto the bed and wraps a careful arm around Regan.

“So you two are dating?” Jason blurts, before his mind catches up with his mouth.

They look at each other for a second before a grin splits Dmitri’s face.

“You mean two platonic bros can’t call each other babe?” Dmitri asks.

“N- I mean- What about Rose and Riley?”

“They know,” Regan says. “We’re vigilantes, not dicks.”

“It’s sort of a ‘they scratch our backs, we scratch theirs’ sort of deal.” Dmitri reaches over and back to scratch his own back. Jason can’t tell if it’s symbolic or if he’s actually just itchy.

“Oh,” Jason says. He doesn’t know what else to say. Sidney was right. Does that mean Dmitri liked him? Likes him? Or was it all performative? Instead of considering that at this exact moment, he switches topics. “Michael talked to me, today. Michael King.”

Dmitri perks up, immediately, eyes narrowing. “What did he do?”

“Nothing bad,” Jason says, holding up a pacifying hand. “Just. Came to talk. Apologize. It kind of… made me think. That I didn’t really listen to you guys or give you a fair chance to explain yourselves.”

Dmitri doesn’t relax anyways. Him and Regan share another look and Regan grips his hand gently.

“So you came for a little exposition?” Regan teases.

“I’m serious,” Jason says. “I’d really like to, like, know… why you do this.”

Regan seems to mull it over, rubbing his thumb over the back of Dmitri’s hand. Maybe to soothe him. Dmitri is looking more agitated, all of a sudden.

“A friend of ours got killed,” Regan says, as casually as one can say something like that. “When we were really young. He went missing. No one ever found him and no one ever got brought in for it.” Regan squeezes Dmitri’s hand, because Dmitri is gritting his teeth.

“People go after fucking kids,” Dmitri ends up snapping, bringing up a hand to run through his hair. He’s still straining to smile, like he’s trying not to get worked up. “All this superiority bullshit aside, people go after little kids, they just- how is a kid supposed to defend themselves against an adult?” It’s not working well.

Regan holds him closer. “Over summer break, we started to look into it. Go back through old forums, try to do anything to track down our friend or the person who killed him. The trail eventually led us to a suspect. Brad Milton.”

Jason remembers seeing the news reports about his mysterious murder, over summer break. His mom had been really stressed out about it.

Dmitri gets up, starts pacing. “We went to the police, first! We did! They told us it’d been too long. Too many years. Even with our evidence, they said it was too late and that we should just drop it, that they’d never be able to get anything substantial. That he was too important to the economy of the area to bother anyways.” He points at Jason. “Well, I’m not the kind to give up. Not so easy. So we scheduled a meeting… At his house. Without him knowing. We just showed up and rang the doorbell. We brought the evidence and we shoved it right in his face. We just wanted him to admit it, to us. To get closure, I guess.”

Regan beckons Dmitri, who’s been pacing furiously, back over. Dmitri walks to the bed, sits down, stands up, sits down, stands up, and repeats this in quick sequence until Regan threads his fingers through Dmitri’s hair and continues to soothe him.

“He wouldn’t admit it,” Regan says, almost whispering. “He told us he had no idea what we were talking about. I got mad. I ended up shoving him. Even though the guy was a murderer, he was - he was skinny as hell, really. And then when he kept going, telling me - telling us - that we’d come there for no reason, that we’d never get what we wanted, I...snapped. I grabbed the lamp off the table and...” Regan cringes. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I really didn’t. I was just running on instinct, I was...I was just so angry. Dmitri was yelling at me the whole time. I think he was telling me to stop - imagine that.” He chuckles a little, but there’s no joy in it. “I stopped after...I don’t know how long. But when I did, he was dead.”

“He had it coming,” Dmitri mutters. He’s scowling and tugging nervously at the bedsheets. They’re rapid little movements, characterised by anxiety. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dmitri this worked up.

“We hid the evidence. And we decided we were never going to mention it again. Not to anyone. It was over.”

“It was supposed to be over,” Dmitri corrects, tugging his way out of Regan’s grip to start pacing again, running his hands through his hair ceaselessly. “Then his fucking partner showed up. The police might’ve let us slide, or maybe they really were that stupid, but Brad Milton had friends with actual deductive skills, and one of them fucking showed up at my house.” Dmitri laughs, acidic. He stops his walking to tap his foot rapidly. “That time, I was the one who snapped. He underestimated me. I took the knife from him and-” Dmitri stops and breathes in sharply.

“It was easier to deal with it this time,” Regan continues, voice soft again. “It was Dmitri’s house, after all. We could hide the body on the property and who would ever go looking? The Morozovas are important around here.”

“You mean we’re rich,” Dmitri snaps, resuming his track around the room. “That’s all it takes, to get away with it. A little bit of money.”

“Either way, after we finished cleanup, we kind of…” Regan makes a helpless face, as if he’s struggling for the words. “Emotions were running high, we needed comfort, and the feelings that had kind of been there for years came to the surface.”

“We hooked up,” Dmitri clarifies.

“Ah,” says Jason, intelligently.

“Then, once everything had kind of settled, and we’d talked…” Regan says, after clearing his throat, “We realized that no one was going to fix this stuff. No one cares about it. It’s easy to find the people responsible, if you know how to look, if you just watch, but no one cares. The cops will never do anything. No one wants to be the one who brought in this week’s hottest celebrity killer.”

“But we care,” Dmitri says, pausing where he is and crossing his arms. “And we know the kind of damage they do. How bad it hurts to lose someone you care about. The system was never built to have a way to fix it. So… so we decided to play their game, and play it in a way they didn’t expect. Turn their little rules back against them.” His arm comes up, to rub his neck. “A disease like them spreads. If no action is taken, they just infect everyone around them. I was sick of being scared, Jason. I was sick of having to see other people be scared. I wanted the killers to be scared, for once.”

Jason looks at the ground, trying to let all of this sink in. He’s seen how it goes. Plenty of the people who tried to kill him were the type doing it just to do it. They weren’t good people. They weren’t the kind of people who were going to stop if he’d just talked to them longer, more. Steve and Michael walked away without any legal repercussions. If there’s no consequences, no one learns that it’s wrong. It stays glorified. The victims are vilified. If they dare to talk about it, they’re made even more vulnerable.  Dissenters are buzzkills.

Regan and Dmitri aren’t infallible. Jason doesn’t agree with everything they do. He still hates Regan’s decision about Christian Lyons.  But he understands. Their primary function isn’t to kill Christian Lyons, it’s to kill Mr. Beltramis. It’s to kill the people who are exploitative, vicious, underhanded- those who hurt others for pleasure, who inspire others to do similar.

Jason remembers the feeling of driving Beltrami into the wall, of seeing him slump down. He remembers how liberating it felt, knowing that Beltrami couldn’t lie to him again, hurt him again, hurt anyone again.

He remembers lying in bed and feeling much more secure, knowing he could do that. Knowing he could stand up for himself.

Maybe the whole vigilante thing isn’t so bad. It’s not his style. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It’d make him sick. But there’s no peaceful discourse to be made with someone who decides on their own to murder teenagers. If there’s no legal recourse, going outside makes sense. They’re helping people. They’re saving lives. Equally important, they’re making themselves into public figures. The punishment is blatant. There’s no more security.

Jason nods, a little. This all slowly pans out in his mind and he laces his fingers together.

“Alright,” he says.

“Alright?” Regan asks.

“Alright, I understand,” Jason says. “I get all that stuff, I do. You guys are really brave. It’s dangerous. Not everyone would be willing to go to all this effort, to…”

“No one has before, really. Not besides one-time revenge killings.” Dmitri points out.

“Exactly,” Jason says. “So it’s… Wait, did you guys say you just started this summer?”

“We’re pretty efficient.” Regan shrugs. Jason swallows. That’s a little intimidating. Quick workers. Or these people just make themselves too obvious.

“I’ve got just one more question, then,” Jason states, readjusting his glasses. “Why did you guys approach me, before?”

“Well,” Dmitri answers, rocking on his heels before coming closer. “At first it was definitely because of the whole murderer thing. The Survivor had started coming up into Maine and had killed another survivor a few cities away. We figured that he was gunning for you. So I needed to find out where you’d be, that afternoon.”

Jason’s going to be sad, but Dmitri continues.

“But then I realized you were kinda cute and seemed sorta fun. And you looked like you could use the company. So I invited you to a shindig. And what do you know? My judgement of character is always spot on.” Dmitri cracks just a little bit of a grin.

“So you didn’t do it out of pity.”

“Nope.”

“Or just to use me to get to people.”

“Nope! Steve’s attack was totally out of nowhere. He wasn’t even on our radar. We were hoping the Survivor would be the end of it.”

“When I came in during the whole Christian thing,” Regan says, “I was just… I was coming over to climb the tree to talk to you. And heard a gunshot. And just happened to have my costume in the car.”

“Oh,” Jason says, for probably the millionth time. “So you guys…”

“Still want to be your friend?” Regan offers. “If you’d let us. We like you a lot.”

“A lot,” Dmitri emphasizes. How earnest he looks when he says it makes Jason’s stomach flip.

“I’d like that,” Jason agrees. His brain starts running through other conversations. Other encounters. The kisses at the party, what Sidney had said, the fact that they were past the protection phase when they’d kissed him during spin the bottle. There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, but he’s too nervous, too uncertain to ask. It would be like intruding, he’s sure. He opts, instead, for, “When do you guys think you’ll be coming back?”

“It’ll probably be another week,” Regan says, grimacing at his wound. He laughs a little anyways. “Coach isn’t going to be happy about that.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t drop by and visit,” Dmitri says.

“You inviting him to my house?” Regan asks.

“I can invite him if I want,” Dmitri says, sticking his tongue out.

“You could go back to school, you know,” he says, jabbing Dmitri in the side gently.

“Like I’m going to leave you alone.” Dmitri shoves his hand away. “What if you walk around?”

“Yeah, the thing is, I’m not you, and am actually responsible.”

“Rude.” Dmitri swats his arm, lightly.

“Voorhees,” Regan says, adjusting himself a little. “When Dmitri got hurt at the beginning of last semester, I ran to the store real quick to grab him a drink and he tried to play DDR.”

“Oh my god,” Jason responds.

“Hey!” Dmitri says. “No one ever told me you shouldn’t dance with a stab wound in your hip. It was a learning experience for both of us.”

“You should probably come back to school,” Jason laughs, quietly. “It’ll… stir up less suspicion that way.”

Dmitri makes a ‘huh’ sound and then leans in close to Jason, squinting.

“You miss me.” Dmitri responds, with a grin. “You miss my wily charms.”

“I…” Jason avoids eye contact, feeling heat creep up his neck. “I mean, it’d be nice to be able to hang out with you again, I kinda got used… to…” Dmitri moves in closer. His arms curl around Jason’s waist and suddenly he’s on tip-toe, kissing Jason.

Jason stiffens, for a half second, and then melts into it, blush already blossoming over his cheeks. He can feel Dmitri smile into the kiss, fingers pressing lightly into his back. He nips Jason’s bottom lip.

Then Jason’s brain quickly catches back up and he remembers Regan. He steps back, heart hammering. He doesn’t want to step on any toes- he places a hand on Dmitri’s shoulder and takes note of his mischievous grin before looking at Regan. Regan’s smiling lazily, leaning on one arm. He doesn’t look upset.

Jason looks between the two of them, eyes a little wide, at a loss for words. When they finally do come to him, they’re not so much words as, “Ah, uhm, h.. Mh?”

“I told you we thought you were cute,” Dmitri says, sounding pleased with himself.

“B...both of you?” Jason squeaks.

“I can kiss you, too, if you need proof.” Regan shrugs. Jason heats up further and puts his hand over his mouth. Regan smiles real wide. “How can’t we think you’re cute when you act like that?”

Jason laughs, nervously. His heart is soaring. “I just thought it was, that the last kiss was part of the whole party guy thing.”

“It was five percent that and ninety-five percent good luck.” Dmitri grins.

“Well,” Jason responds, vaguely.

“You haven’t got to decide anything right now, Voorhees,” Regan says. “I know this whole thing’s probably been an emotional whiplash.”

“Yeah, I’ll…” Jason’s head is a mess right now and what he wants more than anything is to kiss the both of them again, but thinking is probably the smarter idea. “I’m definitely going to consider it.” He tugs on his hoodie sleeves, shifts, and tries to get his heartbeat to slow down.

He puts his hands in his pockets and smiles. Then takes out his phone and checks the time.

“I should probably head home now, before my parents start to worry.” They’ve gotten slightly better at doing that, at least. “I’ll drop by again tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it already.” Regan smiles softly, again.

“I’ll probably come back to school in a day or two,” Dmitri says, with a lazy salute.

“You guys make sure to get your homework done,” Jason says, helpfully. Then he hesitates for a second before turning around. Dmitri walks with him to the front door and watches until he gets in his car.

Jason puts on Cherry Bomb before starting his drive home.

[brightlotusmoon]

Earth And Oxygen: The Heart’s Brain

(Note: I have no idea where this came from. I started writing it from a slip of a thought, and in less than an hour, this whole thing happened. It takes place sometime during the “Water And Oxygen” story, I think. It’s more B-Team fluff, and I think I’m gonna put it on FFnet and AO3 and maybe DA. I keep getting anonymous reviews about “Don being somewhere on the autism spectrum” which makes me groan because that is not the wording anymore, it’s technically not a spectrum, it’s like a curvy shape, a Mobius strip, an Infinity knot, an Ouroborous. Spectrums mean a high and a low, and that’s not what autistics do. So I think I unconsciously wanted to prove that “Look, you’re trying to stereotype a character, is it because he’s into science? There are plenty of reasons why he’s autistic, but stop shoving him into these holes. Fuck’s sake, I’m autistic, here, read this.” And then I make little mention of the stereotype. We...we are difficult to pin down, okay? And I’d rather readers come at me with “but why” rather than “because this”.)

Earth And Oxygen: The Brain’s Heart

It’s been a few months since Donatello realized that both he and Michelangelo were Autistic, sliding along different paths and traits along what Mikey calls “the infinity knot of autistic neurodivergence!” with a grin and sharpness that stuns Raph, who has always teased him for his lesser intellect. Mikey isn’t a master prankster for nothing. Hiding in plain sight, planting traps in obvious places...including his own brain. April clapped in glee when she helped Donnie to the tests. Dr. Rockwell just smiled enigmatically, and Donnie thought the monkey man would bring up Mikey’s obvious ADHD Inattentive Type but he didn’t; they already knew, and it was an associated disorder anyway. But now that Donnie thinks, really really thinks, he understands. He is grateful. It means that he and Mikey can communicate with each other in ways no one else can, and it’s okay that Mikey doesn’t understand all the bigger words, he wants to learn them anyway, and Donnie can’t suppress the glee so he doesn’t, and when Mikey bounces into the lab now (”Hey, Donnie, whatcha doin!”) no matter if it’s a bad time, Donnie just tells him to sit down in one of the spinny chairs and wait, and he does, he waits, he stims on his own, and Donnie put out colorful things, rubber objects and strings, pipe cleaners figurines, and Mikey is busy playing reverently and then Donnie is finished, and Mikey jumps up and dances over to him with that prize-winning grin that radiates mischief and sunlight. Sometimes in one hand he brandishes a textbook, usually something to do with psychology or neuroscience, he likes the social sciences best, learning about people and society and culture, what and why and how.

They never bothered with gender roles or gendered toys, there was no point in the underground where any toy was treasure and any scrap was enough. Mikey still loves tiaras. Donnie makes sure that if he can he gets some of his chemistry experiments to shine and shimmer, glittery like blinking stars in the distant night, enough to make Mikey’s eyes light up like lamps in the dimness of the lab.

Raph stopped mocking Mikey, specifically, with certain things, and Leo stopped scolding Donnie about trying harder. It took some work with those two. They were always stubborn, Mikey called them emotionally stunted after he got through that first psychology book. Leo didn’t like that. He made training sessons slightly harder. And then Mikey dropped all pretense and beat his ass by performing some new, very difficult katas with perfect ease and grace, and Leo’s face never blushed so hard. Donnie did not hide his smug giggle, and he got a smack on the head from Raph. It didn’t hurt, though.

They went on a meditation retreat to the farmhouse for a week. Donnie watched as Mikey, let off every leash, took death-defying leaps into the pond from the highest trees, rolled in the tallest grasses with Chompy and Ice Cream Kitty, scaled the barn three times and did flips off the roof. Once he got distracted by a sudden movement and landed wrong, spraining his wrist hard, but didn’t even cry, not until Donnie hit a sore spot while bandaging him, and after carefully following doctor’s orders, Mikey threw away the sling and sang to his left arm, sang to it, and somehow it healed even better.

Mikey was different, his masks had all fallen off but he made new masks, and after nightmares he would curl up into Raph, who welcomed him with grumbles and nuzzles, and his cooking became a little less utterly weird and a little more inclusive.

Donnie notices now that his own time spent holed up in his lab was always something different and he strives to try and stop, to remember what time it is, to come out and socialize and now there’s Mikey who’s pretty much in his head when he lets him. Mikey and April made a fascinating discovery about Dimension X physics and did a lot of research and a lot of wheedling at Agent Bishop. Mikey is now like April but not quite; Bishop calls them psionic siblings. Donnie has files now, some of them untranslatable sent from the Utrom Queen, about Mikey specifically, his brain’s connection to things beyond the world. Mikey just laughs when he makes his skateboard into a hoverboard and takes April on a ride.

Mikey promised not to touch the minds of his other brothers unless they were very loud or very focused, but it is useful in battle. The pranks have gotten sophisticated. They involve things floating. Mikey usually won’t stop until something hits him in the head, or from the inside; he’s having migraines now and they’re vicious, and if he overexerts his powers they will turn into seizures. Donnie carries a particular injectible in his medical bag all the time, lorepam, from Rockwell’s supply. Leo brews up bacopa tea. Raph teaches Mikey to channel his pain into action. Ice Cream Kitty makes a perfect cold compress.

There’s one battle in which Donnie is knocked unconscious, and immediately he falls into a colorful darkness of patterned numbers, spiderwebs of math and science equations, quantum mechanics darting like schools of fish across the back of his brain. When he comes to, a day later, his sight is full of summer blue eyes and orange cloth, and the voice in his head is like a feather, Donnie, Donnie, don’t talk yet, just say you can hear me okay?

And Mikey’s mind is always two hundred miles an hour but Donnie picks out the fear and worry and thinks at him, I can hear you, little brother, I’m okay. And the relief is tangible, like a warm weight in his arms, and the face disappears, and then he hears “Guys! Dee’s awake! He says he’s okay!” And Donnie can push through the pain to smile brightly at his brothers and Splinter and April and Casey, and Mikey touches his mind again, but this time it’s to soothe the pain, somehow, Donnie’s not sure how, and he means to ask later, but Leo is helping him drink water, and then he’s falling asleep again.

Sensei starts training Mikey to improve and control his psionic abilities and April joins in. Leo makes the two freckled blue-eyed teens promise to not prank anyone. They pretend to promise. Mikey is talking constantly about interconnections between the heart and the mind, and Raph sometimes gets fed up and covers his ears and goes to his room and plays his music. Leo just slips quietly into meditation. Donnie merely listens, and lets his brain calculate, seek patterns, make jumps.

Donnie makes notes constantly and sees the pattern as clear as anything. And the next time Mikey has a nightmare, Donnie senses it and comes to his room, holds him tightly, reminds him that he is here and loved. They don’t need words to say anything. They never did.

“It’s in the heart,” Mikey whispers, and touches the center of Donnie’s forehead, and Donnie grins and pulls him close. It’s in the heart.

[itchymatchoo]

So. Hello there. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything personal on this blog and I usually do that when I need to get my mind off pressing issues by ranting about them so. I guess that’s what I’m about to do right now? Except that the issue isn’t really... pressing, per se. It’s just a culmination of everything that’s happened ‘til now I guess. 

I think I’m depressed. I know that I’ve been saying this to myself over and over again. And I definitely feel like I’ve been depressed for a really long time so I really don’t know why stating it now even makes a lick of difference. 

I don’t know. The only other people I’ve ever told about this, I mean outrightly, were my parents and some internet friends. And maybe I’ve told a few irl friends? But idk, I guess I just never made it a big deal to them even though I guess it is. There are just a few things that happened lately that made me think about all of this. Again. 

So. Lots of things happened this year. I umm finally graduated uni, hurray? And then. Without even getting a tiny bit of space for some much needed R&R after a very stressful semester, we drove right back in for our review sessions for our licensure exams. Long story short, I am now a licensed electronics engineer in my country, hurray?

That sentence you know? “I am now a fully licensed engineer!” It should really spark some kind of pride within me you know? And it does. Kind of. I did put in SOME time into it so I definitely feel like I deserve some credit but. 

I never admitted this to ANYONE outside of my family but. Every single day after listening to the review lectures, trying to absorb all that content, yadda yadda. Every single day after the review. Do you know what I did? I just played games. 

I know it sounds anticlimactic like, aw dude is that it? It’s ok to take a break sometimes man. But you don’t understand. While my friends and my other peers were tearing their hair out studying really hard, memorising formulas, making reviewers and reading every single possible source material available, what in the hell’s name was I doing? I was playing. An online mobile game. For days on end. 

Like? I know. I knew. I knew that what I was doing was stupid. That what I was doing was self-destructive. That in the end all this was going to achieve was setting myself down a slippery slope and causing grief to my parents who put in the time and money to send me to that review center. I mean, I still went to all my lectures! Most of them. And you know the funny part is that I DO want to learn. I think it’s great to learn all kinds of things but its just that. Reviewing? Studying? I have NEVER been great at that stuff. Never. Not even in uni. I like learning. I really do. But something as rigid as sitting for HOURS AND HOURS on END reading and memorising nothing but words and numbers that really don’t mean anything to me is just so. Anal. And un-engaging. And I can’t focus.

I WENT to the lectures and I LISTENED. Really listened. Tried to absorb all that shit. But this wasn’t like uni where I just had to focus for a few hours a week then once the quizzes and exams were done, I could just flush all that info down the toilet. No, this was a 6 month affair. And I wanted to do it right! I really did. I even bought all kinds of crap to help me organize and I wrote a bunch of formulas on some sticky notes and stuck them on my walls and door. They’re still right here in my room as I write. I still haven’t torn them down! Or deleted the pictures of slides I took that I never even once looked at cause I’m a dumb piece of garbage. Why do I even bother.

Anyway. Somewhere down the road I got tired. I got tired of putting in any effort into something I couldn’t care less about. Or maybe I was just never capable of such things idk. Even the moment where I told my dad that I was finally an engineer, jumping up and down. It was so. Empty. There was feeling of relief and jesus DISbelief. But like. In the end its like. Okay, so what? I mean. I did not take this shit seriously like. At all. I mean, I binged Stranger Things S3 in the middle of the review while my “friends” were saying things to my other friends shit like, wow cant believe you have time to do basic human things instead of studying? Like yikes but also jeez! I was supposed to be that frazzled but I just wasn’t cause I am flaming garbage fire who would much rather focus on other fictional characters’ lives instead of trying to face her own. 

Most of them were pretty much miserable while I was much less stressed but only in a reviewing-related sense. The stress I felt all those months was due to the insurmountable guilt I felt by not studying. My friends kept doing these Q&A’s and they must have noticed how I never quip in to answer cause I knew absolute jackshit. And. God I felt like literal walking poison then. Even the simple act of trying to maintain some semblance of camaraderie with these strangers (it’s simple since I’ve been doing it since Day 1) which btw was already jarring in and of itself, was taking so much out of me. Hanging out with these people felt like punishment. A reminder of how much I’m not doing enough. And in the end I was just as miserable as they were. I pretended of course. I pretended like it was fine. Like by the end of it, my life’s not gonna come crashing down on me cause I knew I was gonna fail.

There was this brief stint wherein I didn’t come to classes for a few days and I never told them why when they asked. I just said it wasn’t a big deal and I was gonna to start going again anyway. And how do you even begin to explain this sea of shit? And why would I? I don’t know these people. And they don’t know me. And I am not comfortable enough to share my vulnerabilities with them. How can I? I have nothing in common with them and they didn’t strike me as the type to have long emotional conversations anyway. (Except for you J**z, u da realest bidge out der)

And then there were my parents. My parents who saw how I acted at home. My parents who were the only reason I even tried to push this hard. They knew that all I did all day long was play games on my phone. Did they even do anything about it? Maybe an empty reprimand here and there and a disapproving look sprinkled in between but they don’t actually have any type of consequence attached to them. And you know, yeah I get it. I’m 24. I’m old enough to know what’s wrong and what’s right and what it is I’m actually supposed to be doing. I know they expected me to be responsible for myself but really? 

They never even asked me how I was doing. Nothing but reprimands and that’s only if they ever pass me in the hallway or have some kind of forced encounter with me. They never try to seek me out or express outright concern about my well-being. They never ask me, hey what’s really going on? Are you alright? Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything I can do to help? And it’s not like I made it so BLATANTLY OBVIOUS that I was not doing fine in terms of the reviewing or anything right? 

It was always just, why aren’t you studying more? Shouldn’t you be studying? Why are you always playing games? It’s like they expect me to be this person and if they knew me AT ALL, they would know that I’m not that person. I never was. And all it did was plough me with even more guilt, made me feel even shittier. 

But then they also just, treat me normally? Like nothing’s wrong and everything is right with the world. Like my life wasn’t five seconds away from bursting into flames right in front of their eyes. Like they couldn’t care less if I pass or fail. Because it’s my life not theirs.

Do you even realise? Do you even realise that the only reason I went down this road was just so I could satisfy you? To make amends for all that money you wasted on me in my first uni? Do you realise that the only thing that pushed me forward for all those years and these last 6 months were guilt? Do you know what that feels like? Waking up each day feeling obligated to live life for someone else’s sake. Someone who barely acknowledges all the effort you’ve put in? Do you even know who I am? What I like, what I do in my spare time, what my beliefs are? Do you know anything about your daughter at all? 

Do you even know how miserable your daughter is right now, writing this shitty rant at 6 in the morning cause she can’t sleep? Do you know how terrified she is right now because of so many uncertain things in her life? Do you know how much she’s wanted to kill herself over the past few years? Because of you? And yet you can’t even give her the barest amount of sympathy. All you care about are society’s expectation’s of you. Do you even ever care about me at all? As a person? But hey, at least now you get to boast about your engineer daughter. I’m happy for you.

The saddest part is that I know I’ll never ever get to have that kind  of conversation with them. Ever. Because God knows I’ve tried and I know. 

I know that my mom will find a way twist things in a way to make it seem like she’s the victim in all this. Like she’s the only one suffering. And how much her name will be besmirched if word gets out that her daughter has a mental illness and is suffering from suicidal ideations! Oh how scandalous! Who could have raised such a terrible child! Like I basically confessed to her that I WANT TO DIE EVERY SINGLE DAY and she was like THINK ABOUT ME AND WHAT THEY WOULD SAY ABOUT ME!! LIKE??? WHO IN THE FUCK EVEN ARE “THEY”!!! This is your daughter, basically pleading, crying for help and you. You just, don’t care. At all. You only care about yourself. That’s what it felt like. You might as well have said, suck it up chump cause that’s basically what I got from that conversation. You don’t care about me getting better.

And then there’s my emotionally constipated father who will either tell me that the reason I have these dark thoughts is because there are demons inside my head or be completely silent, pretending to give a shit before his fingers slowly inch towards the remote. Because screw me and my issues, right? He’s had a hard day at work, he deserves to relax. 

I honestly can’t tell who is worse.

So yeah. In this house, we pretend like we don’t have issues. Learned that the goddamn fucking hard way. Suck it up chumps. And they wonder why I don’t want to have children? Maybe because I don’t want to end up like you two.

To be fair, we do have our fun and I do love them despite their shortcomings. I guess this is just me wanting what I can’t have. I can’t expect them to be better. How do you even go about that? I don’t think they even realise that they need to be better. I think they think that they’re doing an okay job which, you know, false, so... I should just learn to deal. It’s depressing but even the people who brought you into this world can really just disappoint you like that.

Anyway. So yeah I can’t talk to anyone. I feel alone even when I finally have people around me. I’m finally free from all these big obligations. I finally have these successes to cover up the massive failures of the past. But it just feels empty and I still feel just as shitty as before. 

What now? I got lucky with my thesis and on one of my subjects and managed to graduate on time (relatively speaking). Then I got lucky again with my licensure exam and managed to eke out passing grade. Is that it though? Gonna rely on luck my whole life? Procrastinating ‘til the day I die? Fake it ‘til you make it or die trying? Killing myself from the anxiety of whether I crash and burn or fly and flourish? How am I even supposed to find a job with an academic record as dismal as mine? Do I even want to work as an engineer? Can I afford therapy when I work? From what I hear, millennials are highly underpaid and can barely make ends meet. I’m 24. I’m not as young as the newly graduates but I don’t even do my own laundry nor do I know how to. How is there any way out of this? How can I get better? Am I capable? Or was I always destined to die by the side of the road like a roadkill? I keep wanting things for myself yet look at me. I’ve been in my bed for nearly a week now. My hair is greasy and I feel gross. And I’ve missed several appointments. And even though I’ve had plenty of opportunity, I haven’t showered for a good 5 days cause my limbs feels heavy which makes no sense since I move around a lot anyway. And I always wanna eat shit and binge content all day long and get depressed when I run out of content so I resort to posting a rant at tumblr.com.

tl;dr: i suffer from impostor syndrome, i have mommy and daddy issues, i feel so utterly alone and i’m still depressed and everything is still shitty despite my “achievements”. 

So really. Nothing new.