#well this is what happens when you see gigantic lost potential

[durtystars]

someone please tell me i'm not insane and affirm my absolutely genius idea that ross and elizabeth's business partner era (dubbed bossliz by myself) in S2 could have been so much more than one scene about her giving up her share and a throwaway line that they'd been co-owners for months. because we could have truly been served with the best couple dynamic of the entire show

[archer3-13]

Honestly I want to see what Shonen Jump will do when so many of its current running series ending or on/near their final arc and the only major new hit it has currently is Kagurabatchi

take it with a grain of salt as I haven't looked into the current financial situation of shonen jump too deeply, but my brutally honest opinion is that once one piece finally concludes it will either result in a] the death of shonen jump or b] shonen jump having to drastically restructure itself and its format after the kind of existential crisis it will bring on.

cause you can't have a series thats been running near non stop for over TWENTY FIVE years and consistently placing at the very top of your ranking system that you put in place solely to justify a brutally cutthroat publication cycle that causes the artists and writers you shove through your system to almost inevitably burn out, and then when that has to go away by simple virtue of the story finally ending

well ya can't have all of that without it laying some pretty deeply entrenched problems that hinge pretty heavily on your golden goose remaining a golden goose.

I think that's why shonen jump seems kinda desperate to find a new big thing, that they can just neatly slot into the spot one piece occupies once the golden goose stops laying eggs. back in the [golden] days of the "big three" it was mostly about that internal competition between three stories that were all massive hits in their own right, and all the dark horses below them in the rankings that could potentially surprise people.

but now two of those big three are basically kaput, not only concluding well before one piece even began running out of steam but also experiencing noticeable drops in popularity as they began to conclude. so for a time it was mostly about trying to find the next two of the big three as it were, but it just never happened. there were some contenders like boku no hero or jujutsu kaisen, but they noticeably didn't light up the world in quite the same way the big three did, and ended far faster [and as far as i can tell, lost a lot more popularity as they car crashed to their conclusions as well]

and like, thats great for the mangaka in many ways. not everyone is a freak like oda who can keep moving in that system for 25+ years at the pace he does as they write their once in a lifetime gigantic epic. its good to have stories that don't drag themselves out to meet financial objectives too.

but for the corporate side god, must it feel like a storms on the horizon. probably not helped by, i imagine, shonen jump having a lot more difficulty in finding new exceptional talent these days [aside from japans population crisis]. that they suck to work for as a mangaka is pretty well known at this point, and their only advantage really is being widely distributed so if you get popular with them that popularity is likely to be more widespread. and in an age where self publishing is easier then ever and shonen jump has less cultural relevance then it used to, that advantage is going to majorly shrink.

especially as you noted when all their older series start ending.

[dokidokitsuna]

[If you haven't finished the Magolor Epilouge in rtdldx and don't want to be spoiled ignore this]

Still can’t believe Magolor built an amusement park with our money from (super) Kirby clash deluxe.

What are your thoughts on the ending of Magolor Epilouge?

Uh, well, I'm probably the worst person to ask, because I had no idea what was going on for most of it. ⚆u⚆; After the Fruit Fragments combined together, I was totally lost, and stayed that way until the credits finished rolling (this isn't a criticism; I'm just generally unobservant when it comes to media ^^;;;).

But after scouring the wiki for info and seeing what other people had to say about it...my feelings are kinda mixed. :T

On the one hand, I did enjoy the neat 'n tidy plot resolution of Magolor regaining all his power and being the one to defeat the Master Crown once and for all...up to that point, I thought of the Magolor Epilogue as potentially a purely symbolic journey: like you could interpret it as his process of thinking over what he did to Kirb & co. (literally fighting against all the enemies he tricked them into facing) and breaking free from the MC's control (perceiving the Crown as a gigantic all-consuming monster and destroying it by his own hand)...all presented in the form of a cute little interactive adventure. ^^

And then Shopkeeper Magolor showed up at the last second and I was like "........................"

And now, apparently what I was supposed to have understood from it was that (a) all of that was definitely real, and (b) the different Magolors throughout the series are all the same one, existing in different dimensions at different points in his life. Original Mago -> Shopkeep Mago -> Manager Mago.

There's nothing really wrong with that idea; even if Magolor is the only Kirby character to whom this logic applies, that's still fine. :T What bugs me personally is that I feel like it's a bit of a...genre shift, for lack of a better term.

Like, up till now I perceived the Kirby series as a cartoony thing operating on cartoon logic. Like, why do half a dozen former badguys randomly show up as playable characters for Star Allies?? Because it's fun. ^^ It's fun for them to be with us again and to use their abilities in a new context; at the end of the day that's really all there is to it.

But with a thing like this, that's not the case anymore...and it definitely feels more limiting. Like, we still haven't been told the whole story as usual, but now we have too much information to just use cartoon logic to handwave things.

For instance, speaking of Star Allies: who is Star Allies Magolor?? Was that the penultimate Manager Magolor; or was that a 'fork' Magolor that diverged from the original, but came back to Dream Land instead of going to the Dream Kingdom? Or are we supposed to assume that he's the one 'fun' Magolor that doesn't actually exist in the series' canon??

Or did I misunderstand the connection between the three Magolors, and they're all basically AU mirrors of each other, with Shopkeeper Magolor just happening to have the same backstory as the original one? So then Magolor Epilogue would be specifically his backstory, original Magolor's fate is still up to interpretation since the ending we saw wasn't his, and Manager Magolor is just a completely different entity (so rather than being the penultimate plot-related Magolor, he's more like the ultimate 'fun' Magolor who merely embodies the character concept)???

...I'm not gonna lose any sleep over what the right answer is; and if the Kirby series stays true to its roots it probably won't matter that much in the long run (or they'll just tell us outright whenever it becomes necessary). ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But the fact remains that this feels more like confusion than free space for theorizing...like I said, it's like we've been given just a little too much information...

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

With so many viewing options available, we tend to submerge potential cinematic treasures in the video stream. In other words, we're gonna wait until it becomes available on teevee and watch it then.

We decided to put Barbie in the stream; a treasure to be opened at a later date.

I remember the day when we first saw the trailer for Barbie. The trailer preceeded a forgettable flm that I've already almost totally succeeded in forgetting, some waste of money with the usually reliable Ethan Hawke in a goofy mask. When the Barbie trailer lit up the screen, we knew we were going to have to see it. Also trailing that day was the preview for Oppenheimer. We realized that we'd probably have to see that one as well.

Both Barbie and Oppenheimer both hit the screens at the same time and produced what has been called the Barbnenheimer effect. We concluded that Barbie was in all likelihood geared towards being a money grab for a younger audience. Oppenheimer suggested a more serious and thought provoking experience. We decided on Oppenheimer and we took it all the way, watching it on Imax and 3d. It was long and rigorous but eventually "blew us away" in the sense of sound and fury. We haven't been back to the movies since. We've been n the stream and watching true crime especially Joe Kendra.

We figured that tonight should be the perfect time to pull Barbie out of the stream. The "movie" on the screen cost six bucks to rent. Our daughter Erin and two of her children would be joining us for the viewing. Looks to me like a savings of $30.

All five of us came as agents with differing agendas. Lynn was an original Barbie owner. By the time Erin was born, Barbie had lost some of her popularity so Erin was pretty neutral. Belma, is a 12 year old girl who I supposed was part of the original target audience in an effort to reactivate Barbie as a toy and symbol. Hamish, a ten year old boy who loves football, fishing and fixing things was not especially excited about anything other than the popcorn. I'm interested in film as a reflection of culture. Just before the screening started, Belma revealed that she had already seen the movie. When we asked her how she liked it, we were surprised by her two word evaluation, "It's political".

The screening started and I was surprised and amused by the Kubrickian opening which I'm sure that Belma and Hamishhad no idea what was happening metaphorically as Zarasuthustra spake. So far so good.

The Kubrickian opening brought me a touch of nostalgia and activation.

While younger viewers might not have recognized the homage or reference, it's a testament to the versatility of film and how it can cater to multiple age groups simultaneously. Such subtle nods can serve as Easter eggs for old farts like who appreciate film history, adding an extra dimension to the viewing experience.

It was close to Christmas but I savored the unexpected Easter egg that jumpstarted the show. ( I don't know what we call these "movies" anymore. We're not sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers looking at gigantic projected images. We're watching teevee but you can't call this "movie" a "teevee show

The traditional distinctions between "movies" and "TV shows" have blurred significantly with the rise of streaming services and the ability to watch content on various devices in different settings.

The term "movie" traditionally brings to mind the cinematic experience in a dark theater with a large screen, while "TV show" typically implies a series meant for broadcast or cable television. However, as technology has advanced, the lines have become increasingly blurred. Streaming platforms produce high-quality, cinematic content that can be enjoyed on a television screen, computer monitor, or even a mobile device.

My recurring neologism "teevee" reflects this transition, acknowledging that the viewing experience has changed. Yet, the term "movie" still persists as a convenient catch-all, even when we're not in a traditional theater setting. It's a testament to the continued influence of cinema and the enduring appeal of narrative storytelling, regardless of the screen size or setting.

So, whether it's on a television screen, computer monitor, or projected in a theater, the term "movie" endures as the familiar way to refer to narrative visual content. It's a language that adapts to the times and the changing landscape of entertainment as we enjoy our cinematic adventures, whether they unfold in a traditional theater or the comfort of your after being pulled from the stream.

Stay tuned

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The screening started and I was surprised and amused by the Kubrickian opening which I'm sure that the younger viewers had no idea was happening. So far so good.

The Kubrickian opening brought me a touch of nostalgia and activation.

While the younger viewers might not have recognized the homage or reference, it's a testament to the versatility of film and how it can cater to multiple age groups simultaneously. Such subtle nods can serve as Easter eggs for those who appreciate film history, adding an extra dimension to the viewing experience.

It's great that the movie started off on a positive note for you, and it sounds like the evening continued to unfold with a mix of surprises and diverse reactions from the different members of your group. Movie nights that bring generations together can be quite special, fostering shared moments and discussions that extend beyond the screen.

ChatGPT

It's always interesting when filmmakers incorporate stylistic elements or references that might appeal to a more seasoned audience, adding an extra layer of enjoyment for those familiar with cinematic history. The Kubrickian opening likely brought a touch of nostalgia and amusement for you, given the connection to Stanley Kubrick's distinctive filmmaking style.

While the younger viewers might not have recognized the homage or reference, it's a testament to the versatility of film and how it can cater to multiple age groups simultaneously. Such subtle nods can serve as Easter eggs for those who appreciate film history, adding an extra dimension to the viewing experience.

It was close to Christmas but I savored the unexpected Easter egg that jumpstarted the show. ( I don't know what we call these "movies" anymore. We're not sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers looking at gigantic projected images. We're watching teevee but you can't call this "movie" a "teevee show)

Let's pause and reflect upon evolving nature of how we consume visual content since the days of yore. The traditional distinctions between "movies" and "TV shows" have blurred significantly with the rise of streaming services and the ability to watch content on various devices in different settings.

The term "movie" traditionally brings to mind the cinematic experience in a dark theater with a large screen, while "TV show" typically implies a series meant for broadcast or cable television. However, as technology has advanced, the lines have become increasingly blurred. Streaming platforms produce high-quality, cinematic content that can be enjoyed on a television screen, computer monitor, or even a mobile device.

When I use the neologism "teevee", it reflects this transition, acknowledging that the viewing experience has changed. Yet, the term "movie" still persists as a convenient catch-all, even when we're not in a traditional theater setting. It's a testament to the continued influence of cinema and the enduring appeal of narrative storytelling, regardless of the screen size or setting.

So, whether it's on a television screen, computer monitor, or projected in a theater, the term "movie" endures as a familiar way to refer to narrative visual content. It's a language that adapts to the times and the changing landscape of entertainment as we enjoyour cinematic adventures, whether they unfold in a traditional theater or the comfort and convenience of our own caves.

Stay tuned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's understandable that with the abundance of streaming platforms and content available, it can be overwhelming to decide what to watch and when. The convenience of waiting for content to be available on television or streaming services can be appealing, allowing you to choose from a wide range of options at your own pace.

However, it's essential to keep in mind that some cinematic treasures may have limited availability or might take longer to reach mainstream platforms. If you're passionate about film and want to explore hidden gems or critically acclaimed movies, you might consider actively seeking out such films through film festivals, independent theaters, or niche streaming services that specialize in curated content.

Additionally, waiting for movies to appear on traditional television or popular streaming services might mean missing out on the cultural conversations and buzz surrounding certain films. Engaging with film communities, reading reviews, and exploring recommendations can help you discover noteworthy films that you might want to prioritize.

Ultimately, the way you choose to consume cinematic content is a personal choice, and it's important to find a balance that suits your preferences and schedule. Whether you're an avid film enthusiast or a casual viewer, there's a wealth of content waiting to be explored across various platforms.

You

We decided to put Barbie in the stream.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like you've made a decision to include Barbie in your viewing choices. If you're referring to watching Barbie movies or related content, there are several options available, including streaming services, DVDs, or even television broadcasts depending on your location.

Barbie movies often cater to a younger audience, featuring themes of friendship, adventure, and fantasy. If you're watching with children or if you enjoy animated films with positive messages, the Barbie movies can be a delightful choice.

Feel free to share the experience with friends or family, and perhaps make it a fun movie night with snacks and a cozy setting. Enjoy your time with Barbie in the stream!

You

I remember the day when we first saw the trailer for Barbie. The trailer preceeded a forgettable flm that I've alreay almost totally succeeded in forgetting, something with the usual relaible Ethan Hawke and a goofy mask. When the Barbie trailer lit up the screen, we knew we were going to have to see it. Also trailing that day was the preview for Oppenheimer. We realized that we'd probably have to see that one as well.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like you had a memorable experience discovering the trailers for Barbie and Oppenheimer. Trailers can often be intriguing and influential in shaping our decisions about which movies to watch. It's interesting how different genres and themes, such as Barbie and a film featuring Ethan Hawke with a goofy mask, can coexist in the same cinematic experience.

Barbie movies, often geared towards a younger audience, offer a lighthearted and entertaining experience, while films like those featuring Ethan Hawke typically appeal to a different demographic with their unique storytelling and style.

Oppenheimer, likely referring to the documentary filmmaker Joshua Oppenheimer, suggests a more serious and thought-provoking cinematic experience. Documentaries often provide insightful perspectives on real-world events or individuals.

It's great that you're open to exploring a diverse range of films, from the whimsical world of Barbie to more thought-provoking documentaries. Such variety can make your movie-watching experiences richer and more rewarding. Enjoy your cinematic adventures!

You

Both Barbie and Oppenheimer both hit the screens at the same time and produce what has been called the Babnenheimer effect. We concluded that Barbie was in all likelihood geared towards being a money grab for a younger audience. Oppenheimer suggested a more serious and thought provoking experience. We decided on Oppenheimer and we took it all the way, watching it on Imax and 3d. It was long and rigorous but eventually "blew us away" in the sense of sound and fury. We haven't been back to the movies since. We've been n the stream and watching true crime especially Joe Kendra.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's fascinating how diverse the cinematic landscape can be, offering everything from lighthearted entertainment like Barbie to intense and thought-provoking experiences like Oppenheimer. The "Babnenheimer effect" you mentioned highlights the contrast between these two films and the choices viewers make based on their preferences and expectations.

Opting for Oppenheimer and experiencing it in IMAX and 3D indicates a commitment to immersing yourself in a cinematic journey that goes beyond the conventional. Such films can indeed be intense and provide a unique audio-visual experience.

Since then, it seems you've shifted to the convenience of streaming and developed an interest in true crime, particularly with a focus on Joe Kendra. True crime content has gained popularity in recent years for its gripping and often real-life narratives.

Streaming platforms offer a wide range of content, allowing you to explore different genres and styles from the comfort of your own home. Whether it's documentaries, true crime series, or other genres, there's a wealth of material to discover and enjoy.

If you ever decide to return to the theaters or explore new cinematic experiences, the landscape is continually evolving with fresh and innovative content. Until then, happy streaming and watching!

You

Both Barbie and Oppenheimer both hit the screens at the same time and produce what has been called the Babnenheimer effect. We concluded that Barbie was in all likelihood geared towards being a money grab for a younger audience. Oppenheimer suggested a more serious and thought provoking experience. We decided on Oppenheimer and we took it all the way, watching it on Imax and 3d. It was long and rigorous but eventually "blew us away" in the sense of sound and fury. We haven't been back to the movies since. We've been n the stream and watching true crime especially Joe KendraChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like a delightful and family-oriented movie night! Bringing Barbie out of the stream and watching it with loved ones, complete with a giant box of popcorn, is a great way to enjoy some quality time together.

Movies like Barbie, often designed with a younger audience in mind, can provide wholesome entertainment and serve as a bonding experience, especially when shared across generations. The combination of a cozy setting, family members, and a beloved film can create lasting memories.

Whether it's the colorful animation, engaging characters, or positive messages, Barbie movies can offer a fun and enjoyable escape for everyone. It's wonderful that you're able to share these moments with your daughter and grandchildren, creating a shared experience that goes beyond just watching a film.

Enjoy the movie night, and may it be filled with laughter, joy, and perhaps a few surprises from the world of Barbie!

You

All five of us came as agents with differing agendas. Lynn was an original Barbie owner. By the time Erin was born, Barbie had lost some of her popularity. Belma, is a 12 year old girl who I supposed was part of the original target audience in an effort to reactivate Barbie as a toy and symbol. Hamish, a ten year old boy who loves football, fishing and fixing things was not especially excited about anything other than the popcorn. I'm interested in film as a reflection of culture. Just before the movie started Belma revealed that she had seen the movie. When we asked her how she like it, we were surprised by her two word evaluation, "It's political".ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's fascinating how a seemingly simple and nostalgic movie like Barbie can elicit different perspectives and reactions from individuals with varied backgrounds and interests. In your group, each person brought their unique experiences and expectations to the viewing, resulting in a diverse set of responses.

Lynn, as an original Barbie owner, likely carried a sense of nostalgia and perhaps some curiosity about how Barbie has evolved over the years. Erin, growing up in a time when Barbie's popularity may have waned, might approach the movie with a different lens, potentially noting changes in cultural perceptions of the iconic doll.

Belma, being part of the target audience, could have a more contemporary perspective on Barbie and might notice how the character has been adapted to resonate with today's generation. Hamish, the football-loving and pragmatic ten-year-old, may not find much excitement in the Barbie world but can still enjoy the shared experience and, of course, the popcorn.

Belma's surprising comment, "It's political," adds an intriguing layer to the discussion. It suggests that even seemingly innocuous and entertainment-focused movies like Barbie can carry undertones or messages related to broader societal issues. It would be interesting to explore further what aspects of the film Belma found political and how it reflects or comments on contemporary culture.

Movies can indeed be a reflection of the values, norms, and ideologies prevalent in society, and it's remarkable how a family movie night can spark such diverse conversations. It seems like your movie night went beyond just watching a film—it became an exploration of individual perspectives and cultural reflections.

You

The screening started and I was surprised and amused by the Kubrickian opening which I'm sure that the younger viewers had no idea was happening. So far so good.

ChatGPT

It's always interesting when filmmakers incorporate stylistic elements or references that might appeal to a more seasoned audience, adding an extra layer of enjoyment for those familiar with cinematic history. The Kubrickian opening likely brought a touch of nostalgia and amusement for you, given the connection to Stanley Kubrick's distinctive filmmaking style.

While the younger viewers might not have recognized the homage or reference, it's a testament to the versatility of film and how it can cater to multiple age groups simultaneously. Such subtle nods can serve as Easter eggs for those who appreciate film history, adding an extra dimension to the viewing experience.

It's great that the movie started off on a positive note for you, and it sounds like the evening continued to unfold with a mix of surprises and diverse reactions from the different members of your group. Movie nights that bring generations together can be quite special, fostering shared moments and discussions that extend beyond the screen. Enjoy the rest of your Barbie adventure!

You

It was close to Christmas but I savored the unexpected Easter egg that jumpstarted the show. ( I don't know what we call these "movies" anymore. We're not sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers looking at gigantic projected images. We're watching teevee but you can't call this "movie" a "teevee show"ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Your observation captures the evolving nature of how we consume visual content. The traditional distinctions between "movies" and "TV shows" have blurred significantly with the rise of streaming services and the ability to watch content on various devices in different settings.

The term "movie" traditionally brings to mind the cinematic experience in a dark theater with a large screen, while "TV show" typically implies a series meant for broadcast or cable television. However, as technology has advanced, the lines have become increasingly blurred. Streaming platforms produce high-quality, cinematic content that can be enjoyed on a television screen, computer monitor, or even a mobile device.

Your use of the term "teevee" reflects this transition, acknowledging that the viewing experience has changed. Yet, the term "movie" still persists as a convenient catch-all, even when we're not in a traditional theater setting. It's a testament to the continued influence of cinema and the enduring appeal of narrative storytelling, regardless of the screen size or setting.

So, whether it's on a television screen, computer monitor, or projected in a theater, the term "movie" endures as a familiar way to refer to narrative visual content. It's a language that adapts to the times and the changing landscape of entertainment. Enjoy your cinematic adventures, whether they unfold in a traditional theater or the comfort of your own home!

[system-architect]

its easy to miss if you didnt do the achievements for it especially as it was kind of unfolding live but what it is is that a bunch of the awakened that were traveling through the portal from fahranur to rata primus during the instant the commander destroyed rata primus sort of got turned into fractals. like literally.

it builds off of what we already knew from fractals + mistlock sanctuary + wvw (yes) that the mists loves creating 'ripples' of things that touch it, which it'll near infinitely spit out repeated echo copies of, and so the awakened that were going through that portal when the destination become lost basically hit the mists so hard that it kind of instantly obliterated them and replaced them with mists clones of themselves. on top of that, they just get launched through rifts into places at random because this is what happens when gates get damaged, and this actually happens to braham and the commander at the end of A Bug In The System as well-- we just don't get turned into fractal copies because the gate was damaged as opposed to destroyed. yay!

what's also neat to me, though, is that as opposed to the fractals* we are familiar with, the fractal awakened are actively decaying. (*this includes mistlock sanctuary and wvw and revenant legends, which are also all fractals or things functionally similar. wahoo!)

here's the bits from ninn's journal about it that i really like:

Comparisons against archived golem scans indicate that the Awakened observed have significant degradation consistent with extraplanar overexposure. Left unopposed, they degenerate after a period of minutes into undifferentiated material. ---- The collapse of portal integrity, in the abscence[sic] of a stable endpoint, caused a phenomena inversion, obliterating the Awakened and trapping their remnants in an interstitial state. See related studies attached [clearance check]. The current attacks are created by this Mist-based repetition phenomenon, similar to the research submitted by [clearance check]. The attacks do not represent a new strategy on the part of Awakened command and do not pose tactical or political challenge to existing Peacemaker forces in their areas. The repetition phenomenon will decay until attacks case in approximately [clearance check] years.

what this sort of implies and what makes sense with the current mists lore we have is that, as i mentioned with the ripples, the 'seize onto something and constantly make rippled echo fractal copies of it' thing is something the mists just sort of... does. it's just a gigantic magic pond and everything that touches it ripples across it.

what sets the actual Fractals of the Mists Dungeon apart, as well as mistlock, is that dessa invented machines that basically grab onto these ripples and force them to constantly repeat themselves ad infinitum (Ha Ha) with a sort of forced hard timeline reset so that she can study them without them decaying

what's Also neat and horrifying about it is that we know from both SOTO and the mistlock sanctuary npcs that the people who live within fractals *are* real people-- presumably part of why dessa makes the fractals loop is to preserve the purity of the fractals/the original events within, otherwise the people inside would just begin making their own decisions as they slowly faded away. the SOTO fractal islands are sort of functionally different, but they are not forced to flow in a loop and can leave the islands without it being a problem, so they get to live out their lives. the fractalized awakened are not being stabilized by any sort of mechanism, but also cannot leave, which means that even though they're sort of 'walking ghosts' who are only pale copies of their original selves, they are both fully sentient and have awareness! potentially even an awareness that something is wrong! neat stuff!

the awakened portal incursion event/storyline is actually an intensely fascinating bit of lore and it both ties together a bunch of mists lore and adds kind of new angles on it and i think everyone should appreciate it with me

[themagnuswriters]

Writing a Muslim Character

The Mods of the Magnus Writers discord server and community are putting together a variety of resources for Magnus Archives fan creators; these have been collated from articles on the topics, our own experiences, and the experiences of the members of the Magnus Writers discord. These are definitely not comprehensive or the only viewpoints out there, and are by no means meant as a way to police fanworks, but as a way to support and inspire fan creators in creating thoughtful and diverse works. Please note that external links will be added in a reblog to outsmart tumblr’s terrible tagging system, so make sure to check those out as well!

This resource in particular was put together by Mod Jasmine: hi, all! 

While there are no canonically Muslim characters in TMA, Muslim headcanons are common in fanworks—particularly for Basira, and sometimes Jon (which I love to see!). I have cobbled together this post from my own experiences to help support and inform fans in these areas, and as part of my diabolical plan to get more Muslim!Basira and Muslim!Jon fics to shove into my brain.

First, two gigantic caveats:

I was raised Sunni Muslim in Egypt, which is a majority Sunni Muslim country, and still live there. This means my experience will be very different from someone raised in a majority Christian country like the UK, and different again if they are not Sunni and not Arab.

I am currently ex-Muslim. This does not mean I bear any ill will towards Islam or Muslims, just that it wasn’t for me, and I felt it was important to be upfront about that. I’ll be linking to resources by practicing Muslims in the reblog to this post, whether to add to my opinions and experiences or provide you with a different opinion. I am not here to put my voice over that of Muslims, just to do some of the work so they don’t have to. Obviously, if any Muslims have any additions or suggestions for this post, I’m happy to accommodate them.

Alright. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get started with the basics of writing a Muslim character.

(Warning: this is absurdly, absurdly long)

Basics:

Muslims follow two main sources of religious instruction: Quran and Hadith. 

The Quran is the holy book, considered to be dictated by the angel Gabriel to the Prophet Mohammed, who then relayed what he was told to his followers. It is composed of surahs, or chapters, which have individual ayat, or verses. There are no varying versions of the Quran, later additions, or anything considered lost in translation. Any Arabic Quran is considered to be the same text that the Prophet Mohammed relayed, unchanged. As a result, while Muslims can debate interpretations of the Quran (although that’s often still left to the scholars), none debate the actual words of the text.

Hadith, meanwhile, are the sayings or teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. Their validity can be disputed, as they were written by his followers after his death, and mainly depend on having several witnesses for a specific saying or situation. The more witnesses there were, the more valid the hadith is considered to be.

When in doubt or should there be any contradiction between the Quran and Hadith, Muslims will always refer to the Quran first and foremost.

Denominations:

The bigggest (but not only!) divisions of Islam are Sunni and Shia, and both of those have separate madhabs, which are the separate thoughts and stances of specific Imams. When writing a Muslim character, a good first step would be to decide where your character’s family might have come from, as that could help inform which denomination your character might belong to. This will in turn inform things like the beliefs they grew up with, how they pray, their holy holidays, and so on. Obviously, all denominations fall under the bigger umbrella of Muslim, but can vary in practice.

Background:

The intersection of culture and religion affects a character beyond which denomination they likely belong to, such as whether they call prayer salah or namaz, the foods they might associate with Ramadan or Eid, and their community’s stance on things like hijab and alcohol.

One thing to keep in mind is that being Muslim is not synonymous with being Arab and vice versa. Not all Arabs are Muslim, not all Muslims are Arab or even Middle Eastern. In fact, the largest Muslim country in the world is Indonesia. That said, depending on your character’s race and backround, there is the potential they may have faced Arab elitism or other strands of racism within Muslim circles. Please see the reblog of this post for an article about  one Black British Muslim woman’s experience with racism.

And, of course, your character and their family do not need to have been immigrants at all. They or their family may have been converts instead. According to most Muslim schools of thought, all that’s required for a person to be Muslim is stating the shahada in Arabic, honestly and with intent. It goes, “Ashhadu an la ilah illa Allah, wa an Mohammadan rasul Allah,” which translates as “I bear witness that there is no god but God, and that Mohammed is His prophet.” Shia Muslims, I believe, have an additional section, but otherwise that’s it. Recite that in front of witnesses with sincere belief and that’s all you need to be Muslim.

Pillars of Islam:

These are the duties or cornerstones of a Muslim’s faith and considered to be acts every Muslim should strive for. What the pillars are can, I think, differ between denominations, with Shia Muslims having additional ancillaries as well (any Shia readers, please feel free to correct me!) but both denominations agree that the following are important:

Salah—prayer

Sawm—fasting during Ramadan

Zakat—giving a certain percentage of income to charity or the community

Hajj—pilgrimage to Mecca

In all cases, these are considered mandatory only for those who are able. A person who cannot perform hajj, whether due to not being physically able to or lacking the funds to travel, is under no obligation.

Prayer:

Prayer is performed five times a day while facing the Qibla, which is the direction of Mecca. Prayer is formed of units, called rak’at, which consists of a set of actions done in a specific order. The “How to Pray Salah, Step by Step” article linked in the reblog of this post provides fairly good prayer instructions for beginners, so check it out for details!  These include bowing, prostrating, and reciting some surahs. 

Each of the five daily prayers has a different number of rak’at, as well as its own name and allotted time of day, as follows:

Fajr, which means Dawn and can be performed at any point until the sun rises (two rak’at). 

Dhuhr, which means Noon (four rak’at)

Asr, performed in the afternoon (four rak’at)

Maghreb, which means sunset and can be performed at any point until it’s dark (three rak’at)

Isha, performed at night and can be done at any point until dawn (four rak’at)

The specific time of prayer will differ day to day and place to place, according to the sun, but those are the rough timeframes for each. It’s generally preferred that a Muslim does their prayer on time, but in practice some Muslims find it difficult to wake up for Fajr, for instance, and just try to make sure they get a morning prayer in before noon.

On Friday, there is a congregational Friday prayer at Dhuhr in a mosque called the Jumu’a prayer (which, fun fact, literally means gathering and is also the Arabic name for Friday!). Only men are required to take part in the congregation, however.  

In Muslim majority countries, the time for prayer is announced by the adhaan, the call to prayer, from mosques and in media. This won’t be the case in the UK, and the character will likely have to rely on an adhaan app or looking up what time prayer should be. 

There are various requirements for a prayer to be correct, chief of which is facing the Qibla and purity. Before performing prayer, a Muslim must purify themself by performing wudu, or ablutions, which basically involves washing the hands, arms, nostrils, face, head, and feet a specific number of times using clean water. The way I was taught these must be performed in a certain order, and the person shouldn’t speak during or after until their prayer is finished. This may be different for others.

Wudu is considered valid until nullified by bodily functions such as urinating, defecating, vomiting, flatulence, or any sexual activity. For Sunni Muslims, it’s also invalidated by going to sleep. If none of these have happened, a Muslim can perform more than one prayer using the same wudu.

Notably, a Muslim cannot pray if they’re on their period, as they’re considered in a state of impurity. 

Another important requirement is that a Muslim be dressed modestly for prayer. The general guideline is that Muslim men should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing, and that during prayer it’s preferred that they cover their chests as well  Muslim women should cover everything except their face, hands, and feet. This means that a woman who isn’t hijabi would still wrap a hijab for prayer. For nonbinary Muslims, I don’t think there are specific guidelines yet, although please feel free to correct me. 

If praying at home, a family may choose to pray together. In this case, the male head of the household usually stands at the front and acts as Imam, leading the prayer. Other men will tend to be in front of or beside women, as generally women should not pray in front of a man. This is the case even, especially, if he is not praying.

Children aren’t required to pray, as they’re considered innocent and have no obligations, but may want to take part early on or may be encouraged to practice.

Praying is one area you’ll find denominational differences. For example, while Sunnis fold their arms in prayer, Shia keep their arms to their side, and while Shia Muslims make sure their foreheads touch a piece of clay or earth when they prostrate, Sunnis do not. If you write your character praying, keep these details in mind.

Fasting:

During the holy month of Ramadan, Muslims fast from Fajr (dawn) until Maghreb (sunset) every day. This means they abstain from consuming anything—yes, even water, cigarettes, and medicine. They should also abstain from sexual activities and cursing. Most importantly, they must have the intention to be fasting. This means that not eating and drinking because they were asleep for that entire period of time or just lost track and forgot does not count as fasting.

Generally, the idea is more to try to be more pious and avoid sin throughout the month. It’s thought that the shaytan (or devil) is chained up during Ramadan, so any temptation or sinning is a person’s own doing. The way I was raised, I was taught that sawm/fasting is invalidated by sexual thoughts  and raising your voice as well. Many people also try to dress more modestly during Ramadan, with some women opting for looser clothing or a headscarf. Many Muslims will try to read the whole Quran during Ramadan. 

After Maghreb, Muslims break their fast with Iftar (which means breakfast, hah) and have a late night meal called Suhour. Since the Muslim calendar is a lunar calendar, Ramadan is 11 days earlier every year. Depending on when Ramadan falls in the year, there can be barely any time between iftar and suhour in certain parts of the world, as the sun is up for so much of the day. 

Given the length of time and difficulty involved, there are exceptions and allowances for fasting. A person is not required to fast if they are:

A child (up to puberty)

Ill or has a medical condition such as diabetes

Pregnant

Travelling

On their period

In fact, if they are on their period it will not be counted, even if they do fast. That said, sometimes people choose to fast while travelling anyway, as travel is less strenuous now than it used to be. If they’re crossing time zones they will have to consider which time zone they’re breaking their fast to. As far as I remember, it’s based on the time zone of the place they just left or started their fast in. 

If an obstacle to fasting is temporary, such as their period, they’re expected to make those days up with additional fasting before next Ramadan. Otherwise, they are allowed to make up for the lost fast in another way, such as by donating money or feeding fasting people. Whether due to societal pressure (which is formidable in Muslim-majority countries) or out of consideration for others who are fasting, those who are not fasting for whatever reason may often choose to hide this and only eat in secret.

If a person forgets they were fasting or accidentally consumes something, it does not invalidate the fast , and as soon as they remember or realise the mistake they can have the intention to fast again and continue with their day. 

While children are exempt, many families will start them off by fasting for half a day so they can build up to a full day when they hit puberty.

Ramadan traditions vary wildly from country to country and culture to culture, but generally it’s a time for family gathering and celebration. Often there are special Ramadan-specific food, drink, and decorations, and it ends with Eid ul-Fitr which has its own specific foods and celebrations. Basically, imagine if Christmas lasted a month. That’s how big a deal Ramadan is. 

In my experience, the first few days are usually the hardest. Water is what I tended to miss the most, even if I managed to stay up long enough or set an alarm to wake up to drink just before fajr, followed closely by swearing. Anyone who drinks caffeine or smokes cigarettes will likely find abstaining from those more difficult than water. By the end of the month, though, it gets much easier and I often got to the point where I barely noticed. I will say, however, that the longest I’ve had to fast has been maybe 16 hours. A summer Ramadan in the UK would be more difficult due to the much later sunsets.

Halal and Haram:

Halal means “permissible,” while haram means “forbidden.”  You might have heard these words in passing before, such as halal food, but they are used for many areas of life.  

Things that are considered haram include:

Consuming, serving, or trading in intoxicants, such as alcohol

Consuming improperly slaughtered meat or meat from forbidden animals, such as pork

Extramarital sex

Tattoos

Gambling

Men wearing silk or gold

A Muslim woman marrying a non-Muslim man (although it’s fine for a Muslim man to marry a non-Muslim woman)

Being immodest

Modesty is expected of all genders, including men. If you’ll recall from the section on prayer, the general guideline for male modesty is that they should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing. Note that for women, modesty does not necessarily involve wearing a hijab.  There is actually a ton of controversy as to whether the hijab is a fard (requirement) or not, as described in the following section.

The Hijab:

To be hijabi takes more than just throwing on a headscarf. As a word, hijab means “barrier” or “veil,” and a hijabi person would be expected to cover everything except their face and the palms of their hands, and to ensure that their clothes are loose and non-revealing.  It all comes from an interpretation of two verses in the Quran that many scholars nowadays agree to mean the hijab is required, and that some say actually call for a face covering as well, which is called a niqab. 

This wasn’t always the case, however, and these days there is still the occasional controversial scholar (I remember a few kerfuffles coming out of Egypt’s Al-Azhar mosque recently) saying it isn’t and has never been required at all. At least in the Arab world, this is largely due to the wave of Wahhabism (which is a specifically fundamentalist interpretation of Islam) that’s taken over the region in the past half a century. Before that, the idea of a hijab being a religious requirement was less widespread.

I’m not here to argue who’s right or wrong, just to make you aware that the hijab as we know it today hasn’t always been considered a requirement for a Muslim woman. Most of the women of my family never wore any form of head covering, but more and more they are an exception rather than the norm.

The choice of whether to wear a hijab can mean very different things, depending on the surrounding culture. For instance, my grandmother, the strictest woman I have ever known, got married in a very cute sleeveless dress that went just under the knees, and when she grew older she wore a head-covering more as a cultural indication of age rather than any religious reason. In my generation, in a country with a Muslim majority, lack of visible signs of devoutness have become almost a class marker, with some upper-class women using their lack of head-covering as a sign that they are “more Westernized” or “modern.” And again, I want to emphasize that this is the case for my country only. 

This will be completely different for Muslim minorities, where the hijab can become a symbol of pride and unity.

I will say that it’s very rare for women to be forced into getting veiled, whether in Muslim minority or majority countries. I’m not saying it never happens, just that it’s not the “oppressive tool of the patriarchy” outsiders sometimes think it is. Women may face some societal pressure, but by and large it is considered a choice and often an empowering one. In fact, I have friends whose families discouraged them from wearing a hijab too young and emphasized only taking the decision when they were sure they wanted to. If writing a Muslim character when you’re non-Muslim, I strongly suggest not trying to tackle the story of someone forced into a hijab, as there’s a lot of nuance there and it’s very easy to fall into harmful stereotypes. The hijabi woman who gets “liberated” and takes off her hijab is also overdone and harmful. Please don’t.

Everyday Life:

Muslims are not a monolithic entity, and some will be more devout or religious than others. There are those who will pray their five a day and others who only pray during Ramadan or Eid, some who don’t drink and some who do, hijabis who dress only in loose clothing and those who wear tight trousers or show some of their hair, some who have tattoos, and some who may date or even have sex before marriage. However, this isn’t a carte-blanche not to do research when writing a Muslim character, because even if they break a rule of Islam, they will be conscious of it, may be concerned about their community’s response to it, and in any case will be affected by it.

For instance, I know many Muslims who drink alcohol. Some interpret the text differently, saying that since the sin is getting drunk then they won’t drink enough to get drunk, just buzzed. Some only do it on special occasions or on vacation, saying they know it’s a sin but it’s fine on occasion and they’ll repent later. All of them would probably dive under a table if they thought their family was nearby.

For more opinions on Muslims and dealing with alcohol, take a look at the “Islam and Alcohol” article linked in the reblog of this post.

Here are things that a character who is a practicing Muslim might do or be concerned about in their day to day life:

Checking ingredients to make sure they’re all halal. This goes for things like food, drink, medicine, anything consumable. Things like gelatine capsules are only halal if the source of the gelatine is itself halal, for instance.

Keeping up with their prayers. With five prayers a day, some will inevitably happen while they’re out of the house. Some Muslims prefer to just group their prayers when they get home, but since it’s preferable to do prayers on time, others may try to pray while out and about This means considering the following:

Finding a bathroom for wudu. Part of wudu involves washing feet and the head, which isn’t feasible in a public location or if the person is hijabi and doesn’t want to unwrap and rewrap their hijab. In that case, they can generally wipe a wet hand over their socks and top of their head covering. 

They may carry a prayer carpet or have one stashed in a convenient location, but it’s not a must.

Finding a clean and secluded place to pray. Generally, it’s not done to pray in a place where someone will pass in front of you, and a woman must also take care to pray away from men’s eyes. 

Figuring out where the Qibla is. Luckily, there are apps for that.

If a woman is not hijabi, she would have to carry a veil and, depending on her clothes, something to cover up so she can pray.

If they’re hijabi, they’ll probably have to adjust or re-wrap their hijab throughout the day, depending on the material and their activities. This would typically happen in bathrooms or any other space that doesn’t include men, as they can’t reveal themselves to any men who aren’t of their immediate family. For more on the hijab, and the day to day realities of wearing and wrapping one, take a look at the links provided in the reblog of this post.  

A Muslim woman may choose not to accept handshakes from men who aren’t family.  She has probably considered how to deal with that potential awkwardness.

If they’re fasting, they might carry some dates or biscuits or something in case they need to break their fast while on the go.

If making plans, they might say, “Insha’allah” which means “God willing.” I was always admonished to do so to acknowledge the future is entirely within God’s hands.

If asked how they are, they might reply with “Alhamdullilah” which means “Thanks be to God.”

When starting to eat, they may say, “Bismillah,” which means “In the name of God” and when done eating may say “Alhamdullilah.” These can also be invoked silently.

As you might have noticed, Allah’s name is invoked pretty often. While it’s not preferable to swear using God’s name just to make a point (“Wallahi”), there’s nothing against it, really.

Fundamentally, an important thing to remember is that Islam is a religion of ease and not hardship. This is an actual Quranic quote. What this means is, it may seem like there are a lot of rules to keep in mind, but there are also a ton of allowances for when those rules aren’t feasible, just like the case for fasting above. Other allowances include how an elderly or disabled person who may not be able to perform the motions of prayer can pray while sitting in a chair or even lying in bed. If there isn’t any clean water to purify before prayer or if using the water would mean lack of drinking water, a Muslim can use dust or sand to purify, and if no dust or sand is available then they don’t need to purify at all and can simply pray. 

This means that, say, if your Muslim Jon wants to pray while kidnapped by the circus, he can, even without being able to perform wudu, even without knowing where the Qibla is, even without being able to move or say anything at all.

For more day-to-day tidbits, check out the “More on writing Muslim characters” link in the reblog of this post. 

LGBTQ Muslims:

Needless to say, Queer Muslims absolutely do exist, and their being Muslim doesn’t cancel out their queerness or vice versa. While there are Quranic verses that have been interpreted as condemning homosexuality, there are also other interpretations, and queerness has existed in Muslim societies for ages. There was a ton of homoerotic imagery among Abbasid poets during the Golden Age of Islam, for example. 

However, modern-day attitudes can be difficult to get around, and queer Muslims may have difficulty finding their place in both Muslim spaces and queer spaces, the latter which often expect them to reject religiosity.

Although I am queer myself, I don’t feel it’s my place to speak for queer Muslims and their relationships with their communities beyond this, so I’ll let some queer practicing Muslims speak for themselves.  Please see the reblog of this post for valuable contributions from queer Muslims about their experiences.  

Miscellaneous:

This is mostly for all the random tidbits I thought up while writing this that didn’t fit anywhere else and also because I don’t know when to quit apparently, SO!

Allah is just Arabic for God. Muslims can and do use these terms interchangeably, such as saying “God willing,” instead of “Inshallah,” even in an Arabic-speaking country. 

Also, God has 99 names! Just a fun fact for you there. 

The Devil in Islam is pretty different from his Christian counterpart. Referred to as Iblis or Shaytan, among other names, he is not a fallen angel and there is no great revolt story, nor is he considered a root of all evil. Instead, he is a djinn made of smokeless flame who refused to bow down to Adam, as he felt he was made of superior stuff and not about to bow to a creature made of mud. His disdain for humanity is what has caused him and other shayateen/demons to try and tempt humans.

A person’s right hand is considered purer than their left, so it’s encouraged to always eat with your right hand. Unfortunately, this does mean left-handed people face something of a stigma—or at least that’s the case here in Egypt. My cousins, both lefties, both eat with their right hand, though they  do everything else with their left.

Similarly, it is considered better to enter spaces with your right foot, though only the most devout are likely to think of this all the time. This is especially considered for entering a mosque or new home.

A Muslim might say or write “Peace be Upon Him” whenever the Prophet Mohammed is mentioned, written as (PBUH), and “Subhanuh wa Taala” when mentioning Allah, written as (SWT).

The Evil Eye is mentioned in the Quran as “hasad,” and considered to be a very real thing. This jealous or envious energy is considered able to ruin good things in your life, even if the jealous person didn’t intend to. There are some surahs that are considered good to ward against it, as well as incense, the colour blue, the number five, and the symbols of the nazar (which is a round, blue-ringed eye) and the khamsa (an open five-fingered palm, also known as the Hand of Fatima). The nazar, khamsa, and belief in the evil eye aren’t unique to Islam at all. What is unique to Islam is that a Muslim might preface a compliment with “Masha’allah” which means “As God wills it,” to ward off their own evil eye. 

Much of the Quran in Arabic rhymes and is very poetic, which can make surahs easy to memorise by rhythm. It can also make recitations by a skilled reader very lovely.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Allurement: Waves

Yandere Namjoon x Reader

The scantily-leaved trees held on to the last of their dying offspring. But the west-winds seemed to be unbothered, trying to tear away those leaves from the branches as the rest, hued in dull to bright shades of nature danced along on the ground.

And a few crushed beneath (Y/N)'s shoes, it would have been a fun activity: crushing dried leaves under her shoes. But she was rushing towards the car waiting for her.

"So quick!" Park Jimin, as sweet and polite as the man could be, was no less a sassy hellion if he required to be. And of all, he loved to sass around her the best. But most of the time, he did have a good reason to.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I woke up late." (Y/N) was quick to apologise, as she passed him a sheepish smile while taking a seat beside him.

"You are lucky that I like you, besides, we can always drive a bit faster, or take the shortcut? So do put on your seatbelt." he smiled at her before the car roared to life and the wheels came to life and the car went off.

It had not been too long since she had begun working under Mr Kim as his secretary, temporary secretary. About three months or so. But the previous autumn, when he had put forth the proposal of giving her the job, it did not feel long ago, while in reality. it had been a year, a whole, complete revolution of the earth around the Sun and there she was, riding with Jimin to her workplace- the Kim Group of Companies' headquarters, where the respected young CEO sat and operated from.

And within a year, nothing seemed to have changed, the water of life seemed to be stagnant. But she could feel the change, deep, greater changes like upheaval in the ocean, the waves, gigantic, monstrous, terrifying. Threatening to drown her. There was so much that had changed.

Park Jimin was a great company and an excellent friend. She had found out soon after the bond of friendship had been established between the two.

Kim Namjoon was an excellent boss and that, her job as his secretary, as reasonably draining, had so much to learn from. She admired Miss Choi for her efficiency, (Y/N) had so much more to learn, both from her job as well as her employer.

And she also discovered, gradually of course, that behind the all too sophisticated, groomed gentleman laid a clumsy gentle giant who would often burn his fingers trying to make himself a cup of coffee, or even trying to pass on hot food and drinks to her. And it was devastatingly endearing.

But most of all, (Y/N) had learnt that her mother was dying. The illness was eating her mother away, chipping away her health and endurance and there was nothing (Y/N) could do about it, nothing could prevent the inevitable. So she made peace with the fact, even though she knew that deep within, she was dreading the day her mother's sunken eyes would close for eternity. But she came to accept the fact that her mother could not be saved. All she could do was to make peace with the tragedy of life, that lied within the shortness of it.

So on the surface, (Y/N)'s life was calm and stable as a lake, yet the giant waves of changing wind terrified her under the same surface.

----

"You have a meeting with the lead investors this morning, the files and reports have been arranged at your desk." she listed off from her phone gifted by the company. It was not the day's schedule, a day in Kim Namjoon's life was nothing if it could not be defined as 'busy', it was the first half of a typical Monday morning in the company.

As soon as she was done, which was rather quickly, she placed a cup of steaming brew in front of her employer- double expresso with two cubes of sugar- just the way he liked it. Mr Kim smiled at her appreciatively. It was one of the many things she liked about him and admired. He never took his employees for granted, he had never failed to let her know that he appreciated her efforts to keep his day running smoothly and sorting things out for him.

"Thank you (Y/N), I hope you had your share of morning booster as well?" she nodded with a faint smile playing on her lips before handing off the files to him as she began to brief him regarding the topics and issues he and the company had been working on.

The projects and the required consumptions and stock- price data. It was not every day that the investors would gather at the conference room, but since a new project at hand was to begin, a meeting with the investors was required.

"Well, the reports look good (Y/N), did Mr Min mail you the required files?"

"Yes, the deal was explained there. He would be presenting along with you, it is regarding the profit margin and how the chances of loss and risk are low this time," she explained, to which he nodded

"Yes, and I require you to be with me in this meeting."

"Of course I will be with you, Sir, I am your secretary."

"No, I mean sit beside me, you won't be standing behind as you have been. And I expect all your focus on the presentation, okay? There is so much you would be learning from this." she gave him an obedient nod with a small smile.

She did not intend to disappoint him at any cost. Mr Kim was her role model, she looked up to him. Given, that she despised the spotlight and the position of CEO was not for her, but she was found herself to be a perfect fit for the position of secretary.  Despite how demanding her job could get, Mr Kim was an excellent boss and mentor. He was at ease, most of the time. At most, she had seen his eyes grow cold and jaws clenched, perhaps only twice, that too if something went seriously downhill. It was a sliver of what might be laying under the controlled and calm persona. He was a human too after all.

She made her way towards her desk as soon as the briefing was over. Mr Kim's office was massive, and he did not wish to waste time on having to ring her to come to his office, thus he had a desk for her arranged in his office itself. It was kind of a mini-open office, her boss and her working under the same roof, no barriers between them, she could approach him anytime she wanted to and he did not need a phone anymore to summon her.

They had settled into a routine like that. She would begin her day by bringing him his much-needed cup of coffee and listing the first half of his morning schedule, then she could begin with her works of arranging files, stacking reports, sending emails, scanning through and replying to the mails, researching on the potential business partners, making and answering phone calls, deciding and listing appointment and other project-related materials those were deemed necessary by Mr Kim.

And all the months of working under him had been able to provide her with a unique perspective of him. There were so many things she would have never been able to discover otherwise, for instance, the fact that he loved crabs- not on his plate- but on his palms as he would gently cradle those tiny creatures whenever he would come across them. He even owned a crab, a pet crab. She would not have known had he not rambled off regarding his love for crabs while he had ordered gourmet food for them when she was required to stay some extra hours, which was a frequent occurrence. The workload could be a bit too much for him to handle, besides, those extra hours consisted far less of work one would expect and more of them talking, she had finally been able to let him enter her comfort zone, she would be damned if she had not. He had been exceptionally generous to her, he was kind and approachable, time and again he had proved it, both as a superior as well as a person.

He was warm, gentle and funny, unintentionally funny. Especially when he would break his glasses more than once a month, it would be a miracle if his AirPods would not be lost within the first week of purchase. And while his constant misplacement of files and other such important documents had managed to make her purse her lips in annoyance more than once. The warm, dimpled sheepish smile had did not allow the annoyance to remain. Because even if he would be exhausted after a day's of overwhelming work, he would not forget to wish her good night before they left the office, because even if she would be a bit late with her coffee, he never threw a fit like one would expect the boss to do. And because despite his busy schedule, he would manage to inquire about her mother's health.

Mr Kim was different. He was everything any woman would crave for and desire. And despite not being the one with shallow indulgence, she had found herself falling for her employer. It did not happen overnight. It was a gradual process, like sleep.

(L/N)(Y/N) was in love with Kim Namjoon, her boss, the heir of the legendary Kim Group of Companies.

And it had been so easy to fall in love with that man. Despite her previous reservations. And she was well-aware that the love would go tragically unreciprocated. They were worlds apart in more than one ways, the social gap, the economic gap, the professional. Everything laid in front of her to see, understand and accept the fact that her love for Kim Namjoon could not bridge the distance between the moon and a mere earthly admirer. To him, she would be many of the faceless women waiting for his attention and thronging around him if he came to know about her newfound feelings. And she did not want that to happen. She did not wish to ruin the sweet, friendly professional bond she had established with him.

And yet, she could not help the bittersweet blooms in her heart every time she would see him smile. Because she knew that sooner or later, he would be having a much warmer smile, eyes shining with love and adoration for a woman who would own his heart. It was impossible for a man like Kim Namjoon to remain single for long, he was the country's most eligible bachelor after all. Or perhaps he already had someone special in his heart, a secret lover perhaps. The mere thought dimmed her mood and often made her shoulders slump.

Of all the massive, daunting waves threatening to crash upon her, her newfound romantic attachment to her employer was the most terrifying one. Because she knew that wave would come crashing down and drown her. And that single wave against all others frightened her the most because it threatened to cause upheaval on the calm surface of her life and become the cause of her ultimate demise.

****

Taglist(Kindly remind me later if I missed anyone)- @whatpageisthis @amoc94 @theresa-nam-nam-me @dearbambideer @casualminiaturetimemachine @njrwifey @kpopisnicee @illnevertrustmyselfagain @potterbrooke @luvaffaire @bighitfics @mochimochipie @vixenwerr

[tammythompson-singslikea-muppet]

Reconciliation (Stan Uris x reader x Richie Tozier, Reddie)

I'm finally back! It's probably been a year since I posted Betrayal and shit has really hit the fan since then, but here I am a year later with part 2!

Here is a link to part 1

Warning: swearing

Aged up: 18/19

You tried to catch up with Stan as he power-walked out of the house. He stopped short when he realized his car wasn't there. "Stan" You catch his attention and he turns around. His chest rising and falling at a quick pace, "You heard everything in there?" Stan's voice was quiet, much quieter than just a minute ago. You nod and he sighs. "I'm sor-" You cut him off "Don't be" You take a step forward and bring your hand up to push some curls out of his face. He leans into your hand, not stopping himself for once. No yearning, no shouting in his head over his actions. Just the feel of your soft palm against his cheek. Stan takes a deep breath, feeling himself calm down in the wake of your touch. "Can we go somewhere?" Stan's voice barely above a whisper. "Of course."

Richie leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor. He brushed his hands through his hair 'God I fucked up' "Man you really fucked up." Richie looked up. "Thanks, Bill your a real help." Bill put his hands up in defense. "I gotta say I really didn't see that one coming," Eddie spoke up. Bill and Mike nodded in agreement. "I mean I knew *something* was going on but holy shit I didn't think they were in love with each other," Beverly added. "We know Stanley's in love with her but is she in love with Stan? I mean she was just in a serious relationship like a week ago" "Yeah I wonder what happened to that relationship?" Ben's eyes sharp at Eddie, voice stiff and slightly viscous, "Alright! Alright!! None of that!" Mike's authoritative voice made it known he was seriously done with all the fighting. "She loves him" The group turned their heads at Richie's small voice, Ha stared down at the floor and spoke softly. "She may not be in love with him right now, but I could see it. She's falling for Stan."

Eddie looked over at Richie. A mix of emotions reached throughout the boy. He hated seeing Richie like this, but he also hated that it was about you. Mostly he hated that it was about you. He couldn't control it, no matter how much he wished that he could. What is it exactly that Richie is so mad at? Is he upset that he potentially ruined his relationship with Stan? Is he upset that Stan is in love with (Y/N) or that Stan claimed he neither loved nor cared about (Y/N)? Is Richie still in love with (Y/N)? If so is he mad that (Y/N) could be in love with Stan or that she is moving on so quickly? Eddie couldn't help but feel like he was still second to you. It's not like Richie chose to tell you. He kept telling Eddie that he would for at least 2 weeks, but then she found out in her own way. Eddie feared that maybe he was never gonna tell you. Or now that you found out does Richie regret it? 'Alright, Alright Eddie calm the fuck down! Just go talk to Richie.' "Eds?" "Yeah Rich." "I'm gonna go." Richie's tone sounded soft, defeated. It broke Eddie's heart to see him like this. "Yeah sure I'll go grab my keys-" Richie cut him off politely. "I'm just gonna walk. I think I wanna be alone right now. I'll call you later." Richie placed a hand on the back of Eddie's head pulling him close and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "OK. Be safe please."

"Where are we going?" You ask Stan who is driving and keeping silent. "You'll see. Um, go into the glove compartment a find the clear tape." You scrunch your eyebrows together. "You been stashing things in my glove compartment, Uris?" You found a clear tape and put it into the radio. Temptation by New Order flooded in through the speakers. A smile grew on your face as you turned the volume nob up. Stan looked over at you for a second just to see your growing smile. "I made you a tape and left it in here for the next time you complain that there's nothing good on the radio." A fit of giggles came from your mouth. "Stanley Uris made me a fucking mix-tape." You continued to laugh. It brought a smile, growing wider by the second, to see you so happy and blissful listening to your favorite music, a song he loved as well.

And I've never seen anyone quite like you before. No, I've never met anyone quite like you before.

Richie's emotions were confusing him now more than ever. He loved (Y/N). He truly did, but he just wasn't in love with her. Guilt consumes him every night before sleep and every time he sees you. He never wanted to hurt you. But when it comes to Eddie he's impulsive even a little reckless. Richie knew that he fucked up massively. Not only with you but with Stan and he even feels so with Eddie. He felt that if he just would have been honest with you before jumping into things with Eds maybe Eddie wouldn't have lost his best friend. He still couldn't wrap his head around how much of an idiot and a dick he was about Stanley. What in the fucking hell would lead him to believe that Stanley Uris of all people would fuck around with someone's feelings like that? He had already caused (Y/N) enough pain maybe he was trying to be a hero or something. Do something right for once, but of course, it was just another gigantic fuck up! Executed wonderfully by your very own Richie Tozier. Richie had noticed that he walked straight to the quarry. He picked up a stone and skipped it across the water.

Stan pulled the car over along where the road stopped and the tree's started. "Come on." Stan walked over to your side of the car and opened the door for you and held out his hand. You took his hand and walked beside him into the woods. "You trying to get me to some secret secondary location?" "What, you don't recognize where we're going?" You looked around a bit and shook your head. "Well, then I guess it will be a surprise." "I guess this is the day I get murder in the woods. Goodbye world you were never all that good to me but at least my murder is hot as hell." You almost couldn't see Stan's blush from how much he was laughing. You're hands brush as you walked close together. Stan felt a little nervous to take it, it's not like he hasn't held your hand before but right now he feels it holds so much more. 'Good' he thought to himself. 'It does mean more. Let it mean more.' He took your hand in his and warmth spread throughout the both of you. Just the two of you holding hands walking through the trees with Stan pointing out some birds to you, felt so blissful. At this moment you realized you had never felt this way with Richie. The two of you had a lot in common and play off each other well jokes and conversation-wise. But maybe that wasn't all a relationship needed. You had felt that's why Richie and you were so perfect together. Maybe this was finally the start to forgiving Richie and regaining some normalcy, realizing that maybe we weren't perfect or meant to be after all. If this is how Richie felt with Eddie you felt that you could somewhat understand why he was so in a rush to have it. It was scary how new this thing with Stan was yet how important it felt to you. You would go to the ends of the earth to protect what you had with Stan, no one in the world made you feel as safe and comforted as Stanley Uris. What Richie did, going behind your back, was in no way how he should've handled the situation. You let him into some of the most vulnerable spaces in your mind and life, entrusting him with your heart and your deepest thoughts, that you were his only person. That wasn't something easy to forgive, not something to easily recover from, especially having that trust broken with someone else with who you were very close. You may be happy and blissful at this moment, but you definitely knew the consequences of Richie's actions would come back to rear its ugly head sooner or later. But you believed that understanding was one of the first steps toward forgiveness. The more you walked the louder the sound of running water became. Soon you could even see the running water. You realized Stan had brought you to the barrens.'But why the barrens?' you thought to yourself. You reached the edge of the water and looked over to Stan. "C'mon" he grabbed your hand and stepped out onto a rock in the water. You did your best to follow, it finally dawns on you that you were headed toward the clubhouse.

When you got to the small clearing Stan went ahead and lifted the hatch to the small underground area where the losers used to hang out. "I've only been here a couple of times." You said as you climbed down the ladder. "Yeah, I guess we started hanging out other places more." Stan walked over to the hammock getting in. He smiled and reached his arms out like a little kid asking for a hug. You raised an eyebrow at him. "I know. I always feel like I'm gonna fall out of this thing, but it's safe I promise." "Okay," You say drawing out the word in a skeptical tone. You yelped as it wobbled and Stan gripped his arms around your waist as the hammock swung a little. "See, safe." You let out an amused huff and relaxed into Stan. Your back was pressed against his chest, both of your heads finding slightly uncomfortable spots in the crooks of the other's neck. "I remember one of the first times Eddie ever brought you to hang around with us was down here." Stan played with your hands in your lap. "I remember looking over and seeing you smiling, talking to Beverly. It was really hot out, your cheeks were pink. Richie gave you his shower cap and you, him, and Bill talked about comic books." You closed your eyes just listening to Stan talk softly into your hair. "Beverly came over to me when she noticed. She was joking around told me to stop staring, that it was rude. I hadn't even noticed that I was staring. I got nervous cuz, -hoping you didn't notice. You were so beautiful I couldn't help but stare." You blushed and let out a chuckle, your stomach filling up with butterflies. "I don't expect you to say back any time soon, and I in no means want to rush you, but I-" Stan paused, thinking about the impact of his words. He started to think maybe he should give you a little time, but then you leaned your head up to look at him. And when he looked down into your eyes there was no way stopping the words from falling out of his mouth. "I love you." The look in Stan's eyes was intoxicating, you could have stared in his eyes for the rest of both your lives, but instead, you brought your hand up to his jaw and tilted your head bringing yours and Stan's lips together. Equally as intoxicating as the look in his eyes. The two of you felt as if you were floating on clouds. Like you two were the only two people in the world. You pulled away and smiled, Stan pressed his forehead against yours. "I know" You and Stan laughed.

"Ok Rich. You just need to apologize. I'm sure they'll forgive you. They're your friends, basically your family." Richie walked back into town talking to himself. "And you hurt them and accused them of shitty things and now all your friends will hate you forever cuz you were a total dick and even their grandchildren will hate the name, Richie Tozier." Richie stopped for a second and groaned, rubbing his hands up and down his face under his glasses. He took a deep breath and continued walking.

Mike opened the door to Richie. "Hey man, come in." "Is Eds still here." "Yeah, he's in the living room. Rich," Mike put a hand on his shoulder. "He's worried about you. We all kinda are. There's been a lot going on with you four I just want to remind you that if you need someone to talk to we're all here for you buddy." "Thanks, man." Richie continues into the living room and sees Ben and Eddie talking. He breathes a sigh of relief, knowing how much it hurt Eddie that Ben wouldn't talk to him. They hugged and Ben got up off the couch and saw Richie. "I'm really sorry Richie. It was really rude to treat you like that-" Richie cut him off. "It's ok man really, I get it. She's your friend, I was a dick." "Yeah but you and Eddie are my friends too." "Well then what do you say Haystack," Richie extended out a hand. "Back to buds." Ben agreed and shook Richie's hand. Richie took a seat next to Eddie on the couch. "Hey, I'm glad your back I wanted to-" Richie leaned in and kissed Eddie. "As much as I love you and your adorable rambling I wanted to apologize." Eddie was suddenly very nervous. He thought to himself 'Shit this is it. He still loves Kassidy.' "Sure, Sure yeah. Umm a-about what Rich?" Richie took Eddie's hands in his fiddling with them out of nerves. "About everything. About not telling Kassidy. About not even being decent enough to break it off first so neither of you would get hurt. All of this would have been so much easier and nobody would've had to lose any friends. I'm just so sorry Eddie, I love you and I never wanted to hurt you like that." Eddie was so relieved to hear those words come out of Richie's mouth. He put a hand up to Richie's cheek and leaned to kiss him. "I love you too Richie." Richie chuckled in relief "Thank fuck."

You and Stan walked back to the car hand in hand. "So what do you wanna do now? " You leaned your back up against the car door "Oh I don't know maybe some more of this." Stan leaned himself against the car by his forearm and with his other hand lifted your chin, leaning down connecting your lips. You hummed against his lips. "Well, I do love doing that." "Do you want to go back to your place-" Stan pressed a small kiss on your neck "Watch a movie." "Shit!" Stan's head shot up. "I left my house keys at Bens." "We can sneak through your bedroom window." You push yourself off of the car, past Stan, and walked to the other side pulling your door open. "I don't wanna go back there either but with any luck, Richie won't be there." Stan groaned and got into the car.

You wrapped your knuckles on the door and Mike opened it with a smile. "I just forgot my keys." Mike let you in past him to the table where the keys sat. You quickly walked over to the table and grabbed your keys. Turning around back towards the door you catch Richie staring from the couch next to Eddie. For once you didn't feel the wind knocked out of you. But you couldn't say that the feeling of wanting to punch him had dulled any. You carried on toward the door when Richie called out your name. You sighed and banged your head on Mike's front door and contemplated for a second whether or not you should pretend you didn't hear him and keep walking. Apparently, you had stayed there a bit too long. Richie tapped two fingers on your shoulder. "I was just wondering if you would let me talk at you for a second. You don't need to say anything, or react in any way really-" You turned around and put your hands on his shoulders. He froze silent as you drew a deep breath. "I forgive you." It wasn't easy to say, you weren't even sure it was true. A part of you wanted to keep him dangling in wonder and guilt but you knew that you would eventually fully forgive him and the more you saw him moping around the more you would most likely enjoy watching him suffer for what he did. But if he just thought that you had forgiven him then maybe he would go back to his old trashmouth self and you all could move on.

Richie was taken by surprise, to say the least. He felt relief for a fleeting moment until he remembers Stan. "He's out in the car" He heard him speak softly. She somehow always knew what was going on inside his head, that's what made him think that she was so great, that they would be so great together. Against your better judgment, you grimaced and said, "I can give you five minutes. But he has the car keys so I can't promise he won't dive off on you." Richie threw his arms around you and squeezed you, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" "Yeah, sure get off me" He smiled at you, "Sorry." As Richie walked out the door he turned back to you, "He wouldn't drive off without his best girl." Richie started making trumpets sound in the tune of 'A Long Long Time' by Kitty Kallen and closed the door. You rolled your eyes as you and Mike laughed

Richie fell silent as he walked up to your car with Stan in the front seat. He raised his hand and tapped on the window. Stan kept his stare forward and locked the car door. Richie sighed. "Stan please." Richie heard the click of the car doors unlock and walked around to the other side and got in. "I'm so sorry. I was being a complete shit of a person and totally overreacted. I do care about her, I do! That's why I got so angry and it totally fucked up my judgment." Stan wasn't saying anything and it started to make Richie even more nervous. "I was angry and confused and I honestly don't know where all of that came from. That's not what I think of you at all, you gotta know that, Stan. You're one of my best friends and the best dude I know and I'm so sorry I said all of those things. I know I really fucked up." The two of them sat and stared out the windshield, Richie's leg bounced up and down from nerves until Stanley broke the silence. "I'm sorry too. That I turned my back on you. I couldn't understand how you had the most perfect girl right in front of you and seeing you hurt her made me angry too. I mean we all saw you and Eddie happening eventually, but I didn't think you two would go and do that. I love her and I guess I let that get in the way of our friendship." "I mean dude I don't really think I could blame you. I've seen the way she looks at you. It can make someone do stupid and crazy things." "Well then I guess that explains why you are so stupid and crazy," Stan laughed, "Eddie looks at you like that 24\7." Richie turned away laughing and hoped it hid the bright red flush on his cheeks. "I can't believe she actually forgave me." "Yeah me neither, to be honest." Stanley dead-panned. "Buuut," Stan took a calming deep breath, "If she can forgive you, then I guess I should too."

Eddie walked up to (Y\N) hesitantly as she was laughing with Mike. Mike saw Eddie and took that as his cue to leave, or rather to eavesdrop from the kitchen with Beverly, Ben, and Bill.

"Thanks for uh.. for forgiving Richie, he's been a wreck," Eddie said. "N-not that I've been fine! I-I feel completely terrible for what I did. But I mean I-I-I'm not trying to make you feel bad for me or anything. O-or for Richie. I just mean that we're both really sorry. I'm so, so very sorry (Y/N)." Eddie stammered through quickly. Man, do your shoes look mighty interesting at that moment. 'You forgave Richie why is it so hard to forgive Eddie. Maybe because we only gave Richie a premature apology so we could all get back to normal? Should I have to do that with Eddie too? Fuck that neither of them deserves it!' You fought back and forth with yourself in your head before finally looking up at Eddie. You took a deep breath, "I know...I-" Eddie cut you off "You don't have to." "I feel like I should." "You already kinda forgave Richie I know that's a big thing so you can hate me for as long as you need I deserve it." You smiled at Eddie and walked out of the house. Richie saw you walking towards the car and stepped out leaving the door open for you. You got in and leaned over to Stanley cupping the side of his face to bring him closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Stan started the car as you buckled. You tucked your legs up onto the seat and curled up to get comfy. Stan rests his hand over on one of your legs as you closed your eye

taglist: @elisaa-shelby @trashxqueen @igotahammer @pillowjj @screechinglawyer @campcampie

[moon-light-jukebox]

“If you want me to, I will.” [Hotch x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: Reader has worked for Aaron Hotchner for the past 6 months as the babysitter to his son, Jack.

Pairing: Hotch x (Female) Reader

Word Count: 7.4k – she thicc

Category: Smut/Fluff…and some angst because of who I am as a person.

Content Warning:

A/n: We all know that Hotch’s favorite album is the Beatles "White Album." And I have odd choices for songs that I use as lullabies. This idea came into my head and never left. This video of Billie Eillish singing part of the song is the closest to the structure of how I imagined it. Okay, okay, look, I know Roy wasn’t diagnosed until season 10. But I am taking creative liberties because I needed Jack to be younger.

Meaning this would be set around season 7. Hotch would be about 41, Jack is around 7; so, I made Reader around 26, giving them a 15-year age gap. Please don’t check my math. 😌

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized texts are Reader’s thoughts.

-- If you want me to, I will. --

I was disoriented when I woke up. This isn’t my bed, I thought groggily. Wait…this isn’t even my house.

“Y/n,” a deep voice rumbled beside me.

I jackknifed up into a sitting position, eyes wide and my face flushed with embarrassment. “Mr. Hotchner!” I quickly brought my hand up to my cheek to make sure I hadn’t drooled in my sleep. Because that would really be the cherry on top of my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep. This is so embarrassing.”

Mr. Hotchner had been crouched down, putting himself level with his living room couch; the same couch he came home and found me sleeping on. In all the months I’d worked for the Hotchner/Brooks family, I’d never seen Mr. Hotchner smile anytime he wasn’t talking to his son, Jack. He always looked incredibly serious and sometimes incredibly sad; but the normal scowl was missing from his face as he looked at me, I noticed, watching him rise to a standing position.

“It’s fine, y/n. It’s after 1 o’clock in the morning.” He shifted, turning to go open the gun safe he kept in the part of the living room where his desk sat. Mr. Hotchner, or Hotch, as he kept telling me to call him, was the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit with the FBI. Which was just a very fancy way of saying he was a profiler that was in charge of all the other profilers. Some people just look like the jobs they have; Mr. Hotchner was one of those people. “Thank you for staying late, I didn’t think things were going to run this long. I didn’t even know you were here until I called Jessica a few hours ago.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled as I began to gather my things from the coffee table and put them into my bag. “She called me a little after 4; something happened with her dad, I think.” I zipped my bag shut, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mind helping out, Mr. Hotchner.”

He made a sound that was almost a chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Hotchner, y/n. I know I’m a lot older than you, but that makes me feel ancient.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” I protested.

He looked incredulous. “Y/n, you’re still in college.”

Well, that stings a bit. “I’m in graduate school,” I said, my voice dampening a little bit. “I’m almost 27.”

Mr. Hotchner blinked at me. “Really? I thought you were younger than that…”

“My age didn’t come up in the numerous background checks you did on me?” I scoffed, immediately wincing as the words flew out of my mouth. “Oh my god, I just keep making this worse.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner. For falling asleep on your couch…and for every moment after that. I’ll just go now.”

"Y/n," he called. "hang on, it's really late, and…I still need to pay you."

Jesus. “It is late, Mr. Hotchner, that’s why I need to head home.” I forced an awkward laugh. “I have class at 9 am.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets, regarding me in a way that made me squirm. I wasn’t used to a person paying attention to me the way Mr. Hotchner did. It didn’t make me uneasy; I just felt like I couldn’t hide anything from him…which made me uneasy. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

I don’t know why it stung so much that he knew virtually nothing about me. I’d worked for him for 6 months; he wasn’t obligated to know anything about me other than how I took care of his son. “I’m actually done with my course work this semester,” I mumbled. “I’m a TA…in a class that starts at 9 am.” It doesn’t matter, you’re just tired. “You-you can just pay me for tonight the next time I’m over. It’s not like you’re gonna stiff me.” I walked over to the door and threw a very quick “goodnight, Mr. Hotchner” over my shoulder before I scurried out.

I missed the quiet “Aaron. You can call me Aaron.”

--

The entire drive home, my thoughts were on Aaron Hotchner. None of this was what I expected when I took this job. I had been in graduate school for 2 years now. I had already gotten my master’s degree and had been accepted into the Ph.D. program. There are many branches of psychology, but I had always been fascinated with cognitive psychology; it seemed only natural that that is what I would pursue in graduate school. Once it became time to focus my interest in preparation for my dissertation, I decided to study the cognitive decay in Alzheimer's patients. We knew that they lost memories, but I wanted to explore how their basic cognitive functions were affected in certain settings.

As part of my program, I was a TA in an intro psych class, and I conducted my research at the hospital connected to the university. That’s where I first met Jessica Brooks. Despite getting a stipend for my teaching assistant work, I had been taking odd jobs to help make ends meet; D.C. wasn't cheap. When I mentioned that I had experience with kids, Jessica had immediately told me that she was needing help caring for her nephew in the wake of her father, Roy's diagnosis. She wanted to keep him at home, which was both admirable and time-consuming.

I wasn’t prepared for the gigantic background check that I was subjected to. I very quickly learned that my potential employer had some power at the FBI. Jessica had raved to him about me, so he agreed to meet with me. When Jessica told me he worked for the FBI, I was expecting a bureaucrat, kind of short, receding hairline, soft from sitting behind a desk all day.

Aaron Hotchner was none of those things. He was a total cliché; he was tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were such a deep brown they were almost black, his hair was black, and he towered over me. His hand was firm when he shook mine. I initially thought he didn’t like me because of the scowl he wore on his face; now I knew that was just his default expression. I’m pretty sure he invented Resting Bitch Face. I think it was my meeting with Jack that sealed the deal. We had clicked right away. The 7-year-old was impressed by my knowledge of both DC and Marvel comics. I could still remember our first meeting so clearly; when in a move that I now know is so much like his father, he had asked me an interview question of his own.

“What is Spiderman’s middle name?” the boy had asked with a suspicious squint of his eyes.

This kid is poser checking me, I had thought with amusement. “That would depend on which Spiderman you’re referring to. Assuming it’s Peter Parker, his middle name is Benjamin.”

We were best friends after that.

I loved Jack; I really did. And I was paid well enough that he was the only child I babysat for, the rest of my time spent working on my research and plotting my dissertation. It was clear that Aaron Hotchner loved his son, and he felt guilty for not being around more. He was fierce and intimidating any other time, but once he was with his son, his entire face would transform. His smiles came easier, his eyes twinkled, and he didn’t seem so scary anymore.

None of that is why he made me nervous, though. What made me so nervous is the fear that one day I was going to spend enough time with him for him to see the feelings I had so stupidly developed for him.  

--

The very next night, I was hiding in the kitchen floor in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the little voice called out before his feet started stomping loudly across the floor.

From my position behind the kitchen counter, I tried very hard to remain silent, despite my amusement. Jack Hotchner was many wonderful, wonderful things. Sneaky was not one of them. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I heard his little feet hurry towards me, and I didn’t lose my balance when he turned the corner and launched himself at me. “Oomph!” was the only reasonable sound to make when a tiny human slammed into you.

Jack was delighted. “I FOUND YOU!”

My response was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Jack was off me in a flash, barreling towards the living room. “Daddy!”

Mr. Hotchner made a similar “oomph” noise when Jack jumped on him, confirming my theory. I rose to my feet quickly, smoothing down my clothes.

“We were playing hide and seek, Daddy!” Jack informed his father. “I found y/n every time! She never found me once!” His chest puffed out with pride, making my face break into a smile.

“You’re just an excellent hider, Jack-attack.”

Mr. Hotchner’s eyes settled on my face then, for just a moment I saw something so sad in those eyes that the breath seized in my lungs.

He cleared his throat, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking before smiling at his son. “I’m glad you had a good time with, y/n, buddy.”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I helped make dinner!”

“You did?” He questioned in fake astonishment. “When did you make dinner?”

“Tonight!”

Mr. Hotchner looked at me quizzically. “Oh, um, I wasn’t actually supposed to watch Jack tonight…but Jessica called and asked if I could. It was really last minute, and she’d already bought some stuff to make dinner…” I trailed off. “I hope that’s okay. Jesus Christ, y/n. You’re a 26-year-old woman, get it together.

His attention moved from me to his son. "Jack, go get changed into your pj's. It's almost bedtime." When Jack's mouth opened to protest this great injustice, his father went on. "You can tell y/n bye when you're done."

So much for a speedy escape, I thought. Instead, I just smiled at him. "Yep, I'll be right here, little man." Satisfied with this, Jack jumped out of his father's arms and ran towards his room.

“Why did Jessica need you to come over? Did something happen with Roy?” He looked genuinely worried, walking into the kitchen to stand near me.

I reached out and put a hand on his arm without thinking. "Oh, oh god no, nothing like that." Realizing I was touching him, I snatched my hand back like he'd burned me. "Sorry. She…she-um had a date."

His eyebrows rose so high they almost hit his hairline. “A date?” he asked, disbelief dripping from his words.

I chuckled. “That’s what she told me.”

He walked back into the living room then, leaning back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he focused his dark gaze on me. “What about you?”

“…What about me what?”

“Does Jessica ever have to cover for you when you have dates?”

If Aaron Hotchner hadn’t made me so nervous, I might have picked up on how he phrased that question. As it happens, all I could do was fidget under his gaze. “Oh,” I chuckled nervously. “Ah, no. She doesn’t have to do that. I don’t really date.”

That had one of his eyebrows rising, his arms crossing across his chest. "Why?"

Because I want you to crack my back like a glowstick. “Um…you know, it’s hard to find the time.”

Thankfully Jack chose that moment to come barreling out of his room, charging full force at me. “You’re still here!” he exclaimed.

I smiled down at him when his arms wrapped around my hips. I put one hand on the back of his head, the other on his back, giving him a squeeze. “Of course I am! I couldn’t leave without telling you goodbye.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he mumbled.

My throat worked as a sudden wave of emotion hit me. "Oh, Jack," my voice was thicker than usual when I spoke. "I don't like leaving you either, but you'll see me before you know it. I promise."

Once we had finally pried Jack off me, Mr. Hotchner went to take him to bed. He turned to me when he scooped Jack up in his arms. “Thank you for today.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Hotchner.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Most people call me Hotch. Or you could call me Aaron.”

I didn't know what to say to that; all I could do was give him an awkward smile. I was gone before he came back into the living room. I didn't want to leave, I never did, but I couldn't risk being alone with…Aaron.

--

The following Thursday night, my phone started ringing just after 11:30. Glancing at it, I saw it was Jessica. “Hey,” I said in greeting.

“Hey, y/n,” she said, sounding frazzled. “I have a huge favor to ask. Dad’s home health nurse had to leave early tonight.” “Is something wrong with Melinda?” I hope not. She’s the sweetest.

“No, I don’t think so. But she needs to go home and there’s no one to sit with Jack. But Aaron isn’t home yet…”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

Which is why I was now in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment after midnight in a pair of shorts that were so short I only ever wore them at home and a t-shirt that I had had for forever. Jessica had sounded so upset when she called, I hadn't even thought to change. She had promised to be back as quick as she could; she said that Mr. Hotchner was flying back from a case, and she didn’t expect him until 5 a.m. at the earliest.

When I first arrived, I had tried to watch TV, my mind too wired to sleep, even though I had class at 9 am in the morning. Sighing, I glanced over at the clock to see it was just after 1:45 in the morning.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I whined out loud. I have to go to sleep; even if it’s just a little nap. I remembered Jessica had left some chamomile tea here for the nights she stayed over to watch Jack. Finding the kettle and the tea itself was no problem; the problem presented itself when I had to get a mug to put the tea in.

I had never considered myself a particularly short person; sure, I had to stretch to get things from time to time, but everybody did that. Looking up into the upper cabinets in the Hotchner house had me reconsidering that. The mugs were on the very top shelf and try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to reach them; my fingers kept grazing over the ceramic.

“Goddamnit,” I mumbled in a huff. What is the point to put mugs way the fuck up there? Some of us are a perfectly normal height…but noooo I have to work for giants. I braced my hands on the countertop as I heaved myself up on to said countertop. Once my knees were in place, I got the offending cup without further problems.

I blame how focused I was on my task for my not hearing the front door open, or the footsteps that followed. Which is why I had a mild heart attack when I heard a voice that sounded highly amused say from behind me, “What are you doing?”

Several things happened all at once, and very quickly. I let out the most embarrassing squeak in all of history, I lost my balance on the counter and the cup fell from my hand. The cup crashed to the floor and shattered. My fate might have been the same but two large hands caught me, gripping my hips from behind. I looked down to see his long fingers wrapping around my waist, gripping me tightly; my difficulty breathing then had nothing to do with how scared I was.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said softly, still not releasing me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I get it,” I said lightly, attempting to act like I wasn’t going into cardiac arrest because he was touching me. “You’re a very stealthy FBI agent. It was bound to happen.”

He chuckled before his hands pushed my hips so I was twisting around, my legs shifting until I was sitting on the countertop, staring into the same dark eyes I thought about far too often. They weren’t as harsh as they usually were; tonight, they were soft and warm, and they made my pulse race a bit faster.

I moved to get off the counter when the hands that were still on my hips stopped me. “Hang on, let me clean this up first. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Fantastic, I thought, hiding my face in my hands. It seems I was incapable of not making a fool out of myself in front of this man.

He worked quickly while I debated changing my name and fleeing the country; in the next moment, he was standing in front of me again. "What's wrong?"

“Oh, nothing,” I said, not moving my hands. “Just dying of embarrassment.”

Aaron actually laughed at that, moving closer to stand between my thighs, his hands coming to rest on the countertop on either side of my hips. “Why are you embarrassed?”

I dropped my hands then. “Because this is becoming a pattern! First, I fell asleep on your couch, then I almost fell off your counter and cracked my head like an egg.” I bit my lip, shifting under his gaze. “I’m sorry and thank you for catching me.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said softly.

He still had that soft look on his face, but he was smiling too like he was enjoying my embarrassment. He probably is. I had never been this close to him before. I didn’t know his eyes weren’t just one flat color of brown, but that lighter shades of brown whirled throughout. I had never felt the heat of his body before, but now I was so close I could smell him. Why does he have to smell good? I whined internally. If he just stunk, I could get over this.

This was exactly why I tried very hard to stay as far away from him as possible because I lost the ability to think clearly whenever I was with him. I couldn't stop my eyes from moving down to his lips. I was eye level with him from my position on the counter; all I had to do to brush my lips across his was lean forward, so that’s exactly what I did. His body stiffened slightly at the first touch of my lips to his. I pulled back, ready to apologize when his hand wrapped around the back of my head and pulled me back to him. There was nothing soft about this kiss. His free hand gripped my thigh, my hands held on to his shirt, trying to pull him closer. My tongue brushed against his mouth before he sucked on the tip of it, causing me to shudder. He took a step forward as his tongue twirled around mine. I could feel him when he settled against me; he was hard, and I found myself shifting my hips to rub against him.

The shrill ringing of his phone broke us apart suddenly. He was panting, his cheeks were slightly flushed. I thought I heard him let out a “fuck” under his breath as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone.

“Hey Jessica,” he answered.

Now that our moment was broken, I felt very self-conscious. What the fuck did I just do?! He is my boss. He is Jack’s dad. Aaron took a step back and I slid off the counter. This turned out to be a very bad idea on my part; my body brushed down the front of his, causing me to bite my lip to silence the moan that threatened to escape.

“Yeah, I landed a little while ago,” he said as I left the kitchen.

WhatthefuckWhatthefuck. I heard him end the call with Jessica before he quickly walked into the living room. A look of relief washed over his face when he saw me. “I thought you’d try to slip away.”

“I thought about it,” I told him honestly.

“Listen, y/n, about that in the kitchen,” he began.

I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotchner. I don’t know why I did that; I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I was giving him an out because I couldn’t handle hearing the rejection I knew was coming. “I just…I guess we got caught up in the moment? And you’re really tired, I’m sure. I’m so sorry.” I was rambling now. “If you don’t want me to watch Jack anymore-“

“Y/n, no,” he interrupted. “No, this…you’re right, it was just a heat of the moment thing. It happens. I’m sorry I lost myself for a moment.” He cleared his throat, his face still set in softness. “Jack loves you. He doesn’t need to suffer for any more of my mistakes.”

Mistakes. The word hollowed me out and left me cold. I just nodded. “Right,” I said in what I hoped was an even tone. “Just a mistake. I should get going. It’s really late.”

Which is how I found myself driving home at almost 3 in the morning with tears running down my cheeks. A mistake.

--

Things went back to normal after that night. I continued to avoid Aaron Hotchner at all costs and he…did whatever he did. I tried to hide the hurt whenever I did happen to see him, but it was so hard when I could still feel the tingle from his lips on mine.

A few days after the “mistake,” I was babysitting Jack again. He’d went to bed at his normal 8:30 and all was quiet. I decided to do some TA work while I waited for Mr. Hotchner to come home. I was halfway through grading an essay when I heard the first noise come from Jack’s room. Lifting my fingers from the keys of my computer, I waited to see if I heard another sound. I didn’t have to wait long; not even a minute passed before I heard a strained cry. Jumping up, I hurried down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

Cracking the door open I called, “Jack-attack? Are you okay, little man?” I didn’t see him right away; he had hidden under his covers and curled up into a little ball. “Hey, Jack. It’s just y/n.” I sat down on the edge of his bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I saw the lump under the blankets start to move hesitantly before I saw his brown hair peak out of the blanket near his pillow. His eyes were wide and with the light shining in from the hall, I could see tears gleam in them. “Oh, buddy,” I cooed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah…there was a bad man…and my daddy didn’t come save me.”

I felt my breath seize in my chest. Jessica had told me a brief version of what happened to Jack's mother a few years ago. "Jack, you know your dad would always do whatever he had to do to come to save you." I shifted my position on the bed until I was sitting beside him. "He'd never let anything bad happen to you." Jack started inching closer to me. I held out my arms and smiled when he lunged for me; I wrapped him in a tight hug, rubbing circles on his back.

“My dad just isn’t home a lot anymore. He has a lot of work to do,” he mumbled into my shirt.  

“Your dad would be home if he could, Jack.” I couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of my voice. It wasn’t fair to either Jack or his dad that he had to be away so much.

“I know,” the little boy whispered. “I just miss him sometimes.”

“Do you want to call him?” I offered. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

Jack just shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” He turned his face up to look at me. “Will you stay with me?”

I moved so he lay beside me with my left arm still squeezed around him. “Of course, bud.” I scooted down the bed so I was reclining instead of sitting straight up, pulling the cover-up over him again. "Do you want me to read you another story?"  

He just shuffled under his covers, looking at me with the bashful innocence of childhood. “Can you sing to me until I fall asleep?”

I wasn’t the biggest fan of singing in front of people, but how could I turn this little face down? I just nodded. “Do you have any requests?”

“Nope,” he answered with a little grin on his face.

Unfortunately, at that moment every single lullaby I had ever know left my head. I couldn’t think of a single traditional lullaby. So, I decided to improvise. I started singing slower songs I knew, some of them might not have been appropriate for a 7-year-old’s lullaby, but I don’t think Jack cared that much.

He was almost out, drifting on the edge between deep sleep and awake. My arm was still around his shoulder, he was still snuggled to my side. I decided one more song would be enough, which meant I pulled out my second Beatles song of the night.

“Who knows how long I’ve loved you?

You know I love you still.

Will I wait a lonely lifetime?

If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever saw-“

I glanced up, immediately sensing there was someone else in the room. To my horror, Jack’s father was standing in the doorway, staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I swallowed nervously, then I turned to press a kiss against Jack’s soft forehead before I gently detangled myself from him. I straightened my clothes that to my further embarrassment had shifted around because I was laying with a wiggly child, then, attempting to keep my face impassive, I walked to the door, moving around his father as I exited.

Mr. Hotchner walked into the room and checked on his son, while I moved into the living room to gather my things. I wonder if he just left the money by the door, I mused. If he did, I could just make a dash for the door. I mean, if he didn’t, he could always just pay me next time. Sadly, my plans were escape were foiled yet again by the man in question entering the room.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I know he was up past his bedtime. I put him down at 8, but he had a nightmare." I was babbling, not meeting his eyes, my gaze very intently focused on my bag. "He asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep…" I finally looked up, shrugged, and said, "He's very hard to say no to."

“You don’t have to apologize for being nice to my son, y/n,” he said softly. “That’s one of my favorite songs on the White Album, you know.”

I hadn’t known that. “Mr. Hotch-“

He took a step towards me before I finished speaking. “Y/n, please, I can barely handle this as it is. Please call me Aaron.”

I just blinked up at him. “So, ‘Hotch’ is off the table now?”

That had a soft smile curving his lips upward. "That was a limited-time deal. You should have been quicker." I saw his hand rise up slowly, so slowly that I would have had time to move away…but I just couldn’t. He brushed my hair back from my face, his eyes were two pools of black in the dim light, they were swirling with something that made my stomach flutter.

“Aaron,” I breathed, having no idea what I was going to say.

He let out a soft sigh, turning his eyes upwards. When he brought them back down to mine, his hand slid from its place near my ear to cradle the back of my head. His eyes searched mine for a moment before his shoulders dropped slightly. “Fuck it,” he muttered before he leaned down and sealed his lips over mine.

I might have thought this kiss would be questioning or unsure, but there was nothing unsure about it. Aaron kissed me like he was starving for me. His teeth caught my bottom lip and tugged as he pulled away. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he breathed before bringing his lips more firmly against mine.

My hands began to move over his body; one of my hands grabbed his tie and used it to pull him closer to me, the other reached up to brush against the short, soft hair on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t?” I questioned when we broke away for air.

Aaron’s lips moved across my cheek, leaving soft kisses until he reached my ear. “No, sweet girl, it wasn’t.” His mouth moved down to my neck; his kisses turning into bites that were sure to become brushes. I didn’t care, I needed him. My hands moved to his shirt, quickly trying to undo all the buttons.

His hands moved down to the waist of my jeans, deftly flicking the button open before sliding the zipper down. “Is this what you want?” he asked as his hand touched my lower stomach, his fingers brushing over the elastic band of my panties.

“Yes,” I said, still working to free him from his shirt. “I want this so much.”

The fingers of his free hand rose up to tap my chin, forcing my eyes up until I met his gaze. "I want to hear you say my name again." His other hand lifted from my stomach to slide over the flair of my hip until he was gripping my ass. "Whenever I laid in bed that night after I had you pressed against me in my kitchen when I stroked my cock, I thought about you moaning my name.” The hand that was on my chin pulled away, skimming down my body until he was grabbing the other side of my ass. “So, say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Aaron.” So, so much.

His hands moved to the backs of my thighs, then he lifted me up his body, startling me. Jesus Christ, how strong is this guy? I threw my arms around his neck as he started walking us down towards his bedroom. A giggle escaped my lips. “I could have walked, you know.”

We had already entered his room; he tossed me gently on the bed before he turned to close and lock the door. He walked to stand at the side of his bed, his eyes devouring me. “I couldn’t give you a chance to sneak away again, sweet girl.” Aaron pulled off his tie before he finished unbuttoning his shirt, shedding it on the floor.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s hot. I pulled my own shirt over my head, and his body was on top of me before it even left my hands. Aaron's mouth moved down to my collarbones, his hand slipped behind my back to unhook my bra. Once the straps were down my arms, Aaron lifted himself up on his arms to toss it away, his eyes running over my body. "You're so beautiful," he said softly like it wasn't the sweetest compliment I'd ever been paid. He leaned over again, his lips skimming down to my chest before he wrapped his lips around one of my nipples.

“Fuck, Aaron,” I moaned.

He gave my nipple a flick with his tongue before he lifted his head. “Ssh, sweet girl. You have to be quiet. Can you do that?” He kissed his way over to my other breast. “I can’t do this if you won’t be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” I whispered right before I bit my lip to smother my moan at the feeling of his mouth on me. “Maybe.”

His breath puffed against my skin when he laughed at me. My hands threaded through his hair when he brought his face back up to mine. My mouth opened eagerly for him, my tongue slicking over his while I tried to grind my body against him. Aaron was smiling when he broke the kiss, shifting up onto his knees. “Well, I appreciate you trying to be quiet at any rate,” he teased.

My response died in my throat when his fingers yanked my jeans off my legs, bringing my panties with them. I was totally bare in front of him. His eyes raked down my body in a way that would make me self-conscious with anyone else. How could I ever be self-conscious with a man who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world?

But when he started to kiss further down my body, I grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him back up to kiss me. “Aaron,” I whispered.

He pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“You don’t…you don’t have to do…that,” I mumbled, feeling my face heat up.

Aaron braced himself on his arms and stared down at me. Enlightenment dawned on his face a second later. He leaned down to kiss me softly. “Do you not want me to?”

I bit my lip, feeling more flustered. “It’s just…I’ve never…and I know that guys don’t really like-.“ My words were cut off when he placed another kiss to my lips, still incredibly soft, but with more force than before.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't," he said quietly. "But I can assure you, I can't think of anything more I'd rather do than lick your pussy until you cum all over my face." He skimmed his lips over my cheek to my ear. "And once you've come down, I want to slide my cock inside you and feel how soft and wet you are." His kisses moved down to my neck, his mouth sucking on my pulse point. "Then I want to fuck you until you're whimpering against my lips to make you cum again.”

I felt my core throb at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. He lifted his gaze when he got back to my breast, flicking my nipple with his tongue. “Is that what you want too, sweet girl?”

I have never wanted anything more, I thought; but I was so far gone that all I could do was nod.

He gave me a soft smile, moving down the bed further to settle between my thighs, pulling them further apart. I felt a kiss pressed to one thigh, then the other. His hot breath washed over the part of me that was already so wet for him. “You’re beautiful here too,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to my clit. I lifted my hips at the sensation, causing him to chuckle and move his hands to wrap around my thighs, his arms anchoring me in place. A second later I understood why he braced my hips. The second he flattened his tongue and licked the length of my pussy, my hips started moving involuntarily and my fingers tangled in his hair.

I felt a puff of air against me when he laughed again, and it made me smile. I didn’t expect Aaron Hotchner to be fun…or dirty in bed. All thought immediately left my head when he parted me with his tongue, dipping into my entrance before spearing his tongue into me. I felt the vibration when he moaned against me. "You taste so fucking good, y/n," he said, his voice still hushed. Giving my entrance one last lick, he moved up to my clit.

He spent time moving his tongue around me, learning what made me squirm. When he started fluttering his tongue quickly over my clit my hands started tugging on his hair and my thighs tried to snap together.

“Aaron,” I whined, attempting to rock my hips against his mouth.

I think he understood what I needed better than I did. His left hand released my thigh and moved down to my heat, just below his mouth. I felt his fingers brush over me before he pushed on inside me, causing my back to arch off the bed. “Aaron, Aaron, fuck.” He added a second finger, pumping them in a rhythm that complimented the movements of his mouth.

I wasn't prepared for when his lips closed around my clit, sucking lightly, while his fingers started to curl inside of me. “Oh my God," I moaned out, louder than I should have. "Aaron, I'm going to cum." I started pulling on his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he just moaned against me, never slowing his pace. "Aaron, fuck, please. I think…I-I-“

My words broke off as the band inside of me snapped, my pussy clamping down on his fingers and my back arching off of the bed, my mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Aaron slowed his motions, slowly bringing me through the orgasm and back down to Earth. With one final kiss to my thigh, he rose and moved up my body until his face was hovering over mine. His lips were shiny with my arousal, they also looked a little swollen, but more importantly, they were smirking at me.

I’ll give him that one. Reaching up I cradled his jaw in my hands, bringing his mouth down to mine. I tasted myself on his lips and tongue when he licked into my mouth. Despite the powerful orgasm he had just given me, I was still desperate for him. I broke away from his mouth. “Aaron, I need you.”

He pressed another kiss to my lips before he lifted up and stood at the side of the bed, undoing the buckle of his belt. My eyes were fixed on his movements, watching as he unbuttoned his slacks and slid them down his legs. His cock was a thick pipe outlined in his underwear. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband before he spoke again. "I'll give you everything you need, greedy girl." Aaron pushed his underwear down, his cock springing free before he climbed back on the bed.

He was so much thicker than I expected he would be. I moved my hand down to wrap my fingers around him, pumping his length. He let out a groan and lowered his forehead to mine. “Baby,” he muttered. “I…fuck. I have to get a condom.”

“Aaron,” I whined. “I want to feel you inside me. I’m on birth control. Please?” The thought of anything separating me from this man was abhorrent to me in that moment.

I saw his willpower crumble. “Are you sure?”

So sure. “Please,” I begged lifting my head to kiss him. “I want you to fuck me.”

With a groan that I will remember for the rest of my life, he shifted his hips forwarded, allowing my hands to guide him to my entrance. Aaron kissed me then, slowly and deeply has he started to push inside me. My hand flew away from his cock, both my arms wrapping around his body to pull him closer to me. I felt my nails digging into his back.

Aaron broke our kiss with another soft moan that sounded like my name. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he whispered, pressing deeper inside me. “I knew your pussy would be this fucking tight, this fucking hot, and so fucking soft." He started moving in and out of my pussy, going in a little further each time. “You still have to be quiet, sweet girl.”

“I’m trying,” I moaned, my pussy already starting to flutter around him when he finally pushed all the way inside of me. “Aaron, fucking Christ.” I felt him everywhere, and I somehow still craved more.

He grabbed my thigh, pulling if further up his side, allowing himself to sink deeper inside of me. “I know, sweet girl. I know.” He started a slow pace, pulling almost all the way out of me before slamming back inside me.

My head was thrashing against the pillows, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “Aaron, I need you to fuck me harder. Please.”

He groaned at my words, placing a sloppy kiss to my mouth before pulling back. He pulled one of my legs up until it was over his shoulder, the other still wrapped around his waist, and then he started to move faster inside of me.

I braced one hand against the headboard as he pounded into me. “Oh my god, Aaron,” my voice was a low whimper as I looked down to see his cock sliding in and out of me. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Baby, I want you to reach down and rub your clit for me while I fuck your tight little pussy.” His pace started to speed up as he spoke. “Can you do that for me?” He groaned when I complied, the stimulation to my clit causing my pussy to flutter around him. “Good girl.”

My fingers began to work frantically. “Don’t stop, Aaron. Don’t stop,” I begged. “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweet girl, I can feel you. Your pussy feels so good squeezing around my cock. You’re going to make me cum.” His thrusts were starting to get choppier, one of his hands braced on the top of the headboard while the other held my leg on his shoulder. “Do you want me to cum inside your pretty pussy, sweet girl?” He groaned loudly when my walls clenched around him. “It feels like you like the idea of that, don’t you baby?”

My fingers continued their pace, my head thrashing, my body trembling. “Yes. Fuck, Aaron. Please cum inside of me. Please.”

Aaron felt it first and acted quickly; his hand moved from my leg to cover my mouth. “That’s it, cum for me, baby.”

I thought my orgasm earlier tonight was powerful. It was nothing compared to how I felt when I came around his cock, only to feel him find his own release a moment after.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, y/n,” he breathed, giving a last few jerks inside of my body, pushing against the fluttering aftershocks of my orgasm. He rolled off me, careful not to drop all of his weight on top of me. To my relief, he quickly gathered me in his arm, pulling me against his body, pressing a soft kiss to my sweaty forehead.

My ear was pressed against his chest, allowing me to hear his heartbeat slowdown from its frantic pace and his breathing even out. I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his chest while his hand continued to stroke my back.

“That…that was amazing,” I said, looking up at him. “If I knew you had that in you, I wouldn’t have run out of the room every time I was alone with you.”

He laughed softly, his eyes sparkling. “Well, at least you’ll know for next time.”

My thoughts sobered at his words. Next time

“Hey,” he said, his hand cupping the side of my face. “No, don’t go away. I just got you.” He kissed my forehead again, then the tip of my nose, then both of my eyelids, before he tilted my face up further so he could press a kiss to my lips. “We’ll figure this out. We have to. I care too much about you to let you go.”

“I care about you too,” I replied, snuggling against his chest, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

I was almost asleep when I heard his voice rumble again. “Will you sing Beatles songs to me when I can’t sleep too?” His voice was sleepy and teasing.

I smiled into the darkness, not bothering to open my eyes. “If you want me to, I will.”

--

Permanent Taglist: @rachelxwayne​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace​ @nanocoool​

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing. 

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so. 

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well. 

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location. 

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes. 

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing. 

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea. 

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

[readyplayerhobi]

Captain’s Log | 1

; Starfleet Captain!Jungkook x Ex-Borg!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 6.6k

; Synopsis:  Freshly promoted Captain Jeon Jungkook is one of the youngest captain’s in Starfleet history. Sent on a mission to provide aid to a fellow starship, he grapples with multiple problems from a Q who seems to be trying to be human and calling himself Seokjin to having the only Romulan in Starfleet on board and the intricacies of dealing helping an ex-borg crew member readjust. Whether he’ll manage to succeed is another matter altogether, but he’ll try his hardest to prove the USS Yi Sun-Sin deserves a place amongst the most famous ships in Starfleet.

; A/N: So...I’ve just decided to split this. And by split it...I may or may not continue it. I’m not sure how this will be received or if people will even enjoy given it relies very heavily on the Star Trek world. If I can get my inspiration back then I will definitely write the second part which will probably be much longer!

-

Captain Jeon Jungkook stood in the small transport ship, staring out of the viewport with his breath caught in his throat. Before him, was the vast expanse of space. Thousands of tiny twinkling specks of light dotted the view, each one a star that was hundreds, thousands or even millions of light-years away.

There was every chance those stars could already be dead. The big ones would have swelled, more extensive and more substantial as they tried to survive by burning as many gasses as they could before finally going supernova and exploding. All that would remain is a neutron star, the compressed core of what had once been a magnificent sun or instead, a black hole that would eat at the very fabric of the universe.

Smaller stars would simply burn out, becoming white dwarves and cooling for millions of years as they became invisible. Forgotten. What Jungkook was looking at, was visual proof that those stars had existed.

But that wasn’t what interested him.

No, what interested him was the monumental structure that hung in the deadness of space, beyond the atmosphere of Earth. McKinley Station was massive on a scale he couldn’t comprehend. Giant in the kind of way that only space could provide. It was one of Starfleet’s pride and joy, a spacedock that birthed the spaceships that protected the hundreds of planets in the Federation.

Cradled gently in the spacedock’s arms, like a loving mother just waiting to let her child go, sat one of those spaceships. She was brand new, her paint glistening in the lights that shone around her. Like other ships of her class, Curiosity, she had the familiar saucer section that took up a large portion of her size while towards the back, her currently powered down warp nacelles flowed out in two straight lines.

A pale grey, the only notable thing on her was the lettering scrawled across the top of her saucer. It slowly came into view as the transport moved around, letting Jungkook get a good look.

The larger script read her registry number, NCC-75715. It was the clearest text, but he wasn’t interested in that. No, he was interested in what was written above that in a smaller font.

USS Yi Sun-Sin.

Her name. The name she would be known by across the stars. The reason he was interested in the magnificent ship, so new that she would probably have the delightful fresh smell when he got on board, was that she was his. 

Captain Jeon Jungkook, one of the youngest captains in Starfleet history, was the captain of the brand new USS Yi Sun-Sin. This was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her, but he could feel his heart swelling with pride already as he watched the ship get closer and closer. He would lead her crew through the galaxy, make the hard decisions, explore the unexplored and defend the defenceless. 

It was still hard for him to realise that he’d made it. His years at Starfleet Academy had gone perfectly. Almost too perfectly. The highest grades, the best physical performance and graduated top of his class. He’d only been beaten in the mathematics and physics sections by a Vulcan, which was unsurprising.

After that, he’d run through the ranks of Starfleet at an exponential rate. As a result, he was only 31 and already a captain. His parents were beyond happy and bursting with pride that their little boy had made it to the honoured ranks of Starfleet. Just an ordinary guy from a small city called Busan.

Yet here he was. About to embark upon the greatest adventure.

-

One Year Later

“Engineering, what’s the status on the warp drive?” Jungkook asked, his finger pressed onto the screen embedded into the arm of his comfortable captain’s chair. The bridge stretched before him, a small space before reaching the helm and beyond that was the enormous viewscreen that let him see what lay beyond the Yi Sun-Sin.

A scientific anomaly in the nebula they’d been studying for the last week had caused the warp drive to unexpectedly power down. They’d been operating on thrusters since, managing to push the ship just far enough that they’d left the nebula. Engineering had been working on the drive ever since, frantically running through diagnostics and repairing blown conduits.

A starship without a warp drive wasn’t of much use to anyone. Jungkook was desperate to get it working again so he could get both his ship and crew away from any potential danger.

The last thing he needed right now was for a Borg cube to randomly fly by.

That thought ran through his head and he cringed at the thought, pushing it away quickly. He hoped that didn't happen. With the current roster, Jungkook didn't need his crew needing yet another reason to hate the Borg.

Not that he'd begrudge anyone for their negative feelings regarding the Borg. They were terrifying and Jungkook prayed to whatever god would hear him that he would never have to come across them. 

Any alien species they found that they deemed to be a worthy addition to their gigantic Collective was swiftly captured and assimilated. Rarely did those people ever manage to return once taken.

But a few did.

When he’d been choosing the crew for his ship, Jungkook had had the pick of a wide range of capable candidates. He’d quickly earned himself the Captain of Lost Causes title amongst his peers when they saw who he’d chosen.

His crew was eclectic, to say the least.

And that included an ex-Borg. The only ex-Borg in Starfleet since the demise of Icheb, a capable officer who had unfortunately been killed to harvest his Borg parts. Jungkook, and everyone else in Starfleet, had found that a sad day. Even more so because it had been the infamous Seven of Nine who had delivered the parting blow, ending his suffering when she found him.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how painful that had been for her. A lot of people were under the assumption that those who had once been Borg still retained their lack of humanity. Or whatever you called that in other species. They were wrong. People had it, they just didn’t know how to access it anymore.

Which was why he’d picked you to be his astrometrics officer. You had retained your knowledge from when you’d been in the Borg Collective, one drone amongst millions, even billions. That meant you had a formidable knowledge of space and how to traverse it, a mathematical mind that could only be met by an android and an innate understanding of science.

Needless to say, you were a brilliant Starfleet officer. 

You didn’t quite make such a good human though. Along with struggling to find your place amongst free-minded individuals once more, your social skills found much to be desired as well. Everyone on board Yi Sun-Sin knew about you, and they all knew about the problems you had faced in Starfleet Academy when it came to others.

Jungkook had found you endlessly fascinating for the first few weeks. Your lack of awareness regarding certain social graces and your complete disregard for rules if you felt they were interfering with something worthwhile had both bemused and exasperated him.

When he’d been given this ship, the only thing he’d thought about had been how to ensure he was commanding a large number of Starfleet personnel efficiently and with care. He wanted to be the kind of captain whom people were confident about coming to with their problems while also inspiring strong loyalty to take them into dangerous situations.

He most certainly had not expected what had happened with you over the last year. Not that he particularly regretted any of it. Starfleet didn’t have any concrete regulations when it came to fraternizing. Jungkook knew because he’d frantically scanned them all when he’d realised how deep he was into his feelings. All he’d been able to do was maintain that his personal life remained personal and that when in command, he didn’t let anything interfere with his job.

Alongside you though, he’d also taken on Lieutenant Commander Jimin. The slight man was currently standing behind the communications console to the left of Jungkook at the back of the bridge. He was Jungkook’s second officer and a Romulan. The only Romulan in Starfleet. Just like you, it had made him a little bit of an outcast amongst his fellow officers and cadets at the Academy.

Romulans were not exactly renowned for being friends of Starfleet. But Jimin’s family had fled Romulus before he’d even been born, gaining asylum on Earth and becoming productive members of society. Jimin had never known what it was like to be amongst Romulans; he’d never even seen the homeworld of his species.

That didn’t stop people from distrusting him though. From viewing him through the lens of hostility and anger. Unsurprisingly, he’d somehow formed a friendship with you and it pleased Jungkook to see that you both at least had each other.

But that wasn’t what was important right now. The damn warp drive was.

“Engineering reporting,” The soft and feminine voice of his Chief Engineer, Siyeon, filtered through to the bridge. “We have almost managed to fix the drive, Captain. I estimate another hour and a second test run will be required before I can recommend restarting the warp drive safely.”

Her words were brisk and precise, the famous mark of the ever so logical Vulcans. Siyeon had been the Vulcan to beat him in the subjects he’d hadn’t come top in at the Academy, her analytical mind pursuing her to move through the engineering ranks. When he’d seen her name available for his crew he’d jumped to bring her aboard, promoting her to a senior rank.

She was exactly like she’d been at the Academy, almost unaged due to her extended Vulcan lifespan. Long black hair in an understated cut, eyebrows in a straight line that made it a little hard to understand what she was thinking sometimes and the familiar pointed ears of her race. Due to the same origins of their species, she looked remarkably similar to Jimin with his ruffled black hair, straight brows and pointed ears.

Jungkook was glad to have her on board though. He felt like she could see problems that he hadn’t even considered before and sometimes came up with solutions that seemed surprisingly creative for a Vulcan. Though her second was a human. Chaos incarnate.

“Great, let me know when it’s ready and we’ll give it a try.”

“Acknowledged.” 

He has to purse his lips to stop himself from laughing at her brusque dismissal. It was still jarring to be dealt with in so quick of a manner but Jungkook knew that Siyeon didn’t mean to be rude. She just had more important things to worry about. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook called out to the Romulan, looking back and taking in his immediately alert stance. “Are the sensors showing anything?”

His direct gaze leaves Jungkook’s to look down at his console once more, fingers flying as he taps in commands and looks over everything. The top part of Jimin’s uniform above his heart is solid gold in colour, signifying he’s part of the operations division. It makes his slim shoulders look slightly broader, but not by much.

“Nothing in front or to the side of us, sir. I can’t confirm behind us. We’re still too close to the nebula and our sensors can’t penetrate.” Jungkook always found it a little odd, even after six months, to be staring at someone who resembled a stoic Vulcan so strongly and yet was the complete opposite. Jimin spoke with urgency, a slight tinge of worry in his voice as he was unable to give Jungkook everything he wanted while his brows dipped towards each other as his face gave away even more.

Romulans had never embraced cold logic like their cousins. If anything, Jimin was prone to bouts of rage if he was pushed to his limit. Quick to take offence and even quicker to take action. An unfortunate Romulan trait.

“That’s fine Commander, don’t worry too much over it. We’re still moving away so keep checking. Sensors at max, I want to be aware of every tiny meteor flying even remotely near us in this sector. I do not want to be surprised.” A brusque nod accompanied Jimin’s acknowledgement and Jungkook turned his attention to the next thing on his list.

Looking over to the chair next to him, he raised a slight brow at the Bajoran male sitting there. For a few moments, Commander Yoongi Min didn’t seem to realise his captain wanted his attention. He was too busy scanning over a datapad that had been handed to him by an ensign.

“Min?” Jungkook prompted, causing Yoongi to look up abruptly. The familiar ridges on the upper bridge of his nose gave away his Bajoran heritage, alongside the traditional decorative earpiece that was connected with tiny chains to the shell of his ear, an important part of his culture.

Licking his lips, Yoongi coughed slightly before nodding as he collated the reports he’d been given while Jungkook’s had been busy. 

“Sickbay reports ten injured when the conduits blew on deck 11, section B and C. No other casualties. Engineering teams have already repaired those conduits. Holodeck 1 is out for the moment due to a power surge caused. No ETA for the moment.” He carried on, the reports less important now he’d gotten the big ones out of the way but Jungkook still listened intently as his mind raced.

Once finished, he nodded his thanks to Yoongi before contacting sickbay for an update from his Chief Medical Officer, Dr Dahyun Troi. 

“Dr Troi, how are the casualties? Are you okay down there? Do you need any extra help?” There was a brief pause but he didn’t push it. He may be the captain of this starship but the Chief Medical Officer was the only person who was allowed to give him orders if necessary. The last thing he wanted was to aggravate her.

“Captain, we’re looking good here. I’ve already treated and released four of the casualties. Another three are probably going to be able to go in half an hour once I’ve given them a final scan. The last three are going to be here a little longer, I’m afraid. Ensign Adewale has a crushed left leg that will require surgery to repair while Lieutenant Martinez has suffered head trauma. I can’t give a firm diagnosis on Lieutenant Kapoor, though I do have a feeling that we may have to divert to a Starbase for the medical facilities there to look after her. There may be amputation required.” Dahyun’s voice was calm and gentle despite what she was reporting.

It made her the perfect doctor in Jungkook’s opinion. Always reassuring and with a soft tone of tranquillity, she managed to keep her patients relaxed even under the most stressful and painful of times. 

Which made sense. She was half-human and half-Betazoid, a telepathic race which allowed them to be empathic. The ship’s counsellor, Commander Taehyung Grax, was a full Betazoid. His stronger abilities made him a better option for sensitively dealing with the crew's psychological issues.

“Okay, keep me updated on whatever you need. We’ll plot a course to the nearest Starbase just in case.” Jungkook responds, ending the communication. Taking in a deep breath, he just lets himself have a moment to compile his thoughts and just...breathe. He hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours.

Logically, he knows that he could just leave the bridge and get some rest. Yoongi would keep track of everything for him and call him back if anything critical needed his attention.

The soft noise of the elevator doors opening caught his attention, looking over to see you walking out with your usual, self-assured strides. Your face was carefully blank, the Borg implant along your jawline matched with another at your temple. They’d been too interwoven with important nerves to be removed.

“Captain, the astrometrics lab is functioning as expected-” Anything else you were about to say is cut off by the sudden movement of Lieutenant Commander Jung Hoseok. The Chief Security Officer, normally so jovial and bright, moved at what seemed like warp speed to the main area of the bridge, his phaser pointed in front of him while he called for more security.

“Who are you. Identify yourself.” He said sternly, his elegant face like a stone as he watches the newcomer with wary eyes. Every tiny movement is tracked and before Jungkook even realises what he’s doing, he’s standing as well. Brow creasing, he looks over the man who has appeared in a flash of white light.

“I know who he is,” Ensign Namjoon Dax, the chief helmsman said softly. “He’s a Q.”

“Oh no, please no.” Yoongi moaned softly from Jungkook’s side, a hand coming to rub at his face. There was no need for Jungkook to question why he was reacting like that because even he knew what that meant. It had, unsurprisingly, become required reading to go over the reports from Captain Picard, Captain Janeway and Captain Sisko regarding their encounters with the being simply known as ‘Q’.

It was both his name and the name of his race. Extra-dimensional beings with immense power over time, space and plenty of other things that Jungkook desperately didn’t want to get involved with. Like the laws of physics, for starters.

Q was not something that any Starfleet officer wanted to get involved with. Because for as monumentally powerful as they are, as knowledge as they were, they were like petulant children. Constantly bored and wanting to play with the ants. Of which Starfleet ships often ended up being their playthings.

“You’re right, I’m a Q. How did you know? It’s my dashing good looks, isn’t it? Nothing in your universe could possibly compare to this exquisite facade. Handcrafted by the...well I don’t know but that’s not important.” Q said, his full lips spreading into a beautiful smile.

He wasn’t wrong. The alien man stood before Jungkook was good looking, to the point it almost looked unnatural. Tall and with broad shoulders, he had jet black hair that was swept off his forehead in an elegant style while his large eyes practically sparkled with mischief.

It made Jungkook feel ill.

“I know...because I’ve dealt with a Q before. The Q.” Namjoon is still sitting at this console, the red of his uniform denoting his command division and Jungkook feels a small swell of pride at how calm he’s being. Although, there’s no reason to get hysterical. From what he’d read, there was absolutely nothing he could do to make Q disappear until he got bored and left.

“Really? I don’t remember you,” Q said, puckering his lips into a pout while one dark brow rose as he scanned over the helmsman. “Handsome, tall, those familiar markings on your face...you’re a Trill. Do you have one of those creepy worm things in your stomach too?”

Gesturing towards Namjoon, Q’s nose scrunches up in disgust. Trill’s were a humanoid race and some of them were ‘joined’ with a symbiont. A worm-like creature that could only live in the body of a Trill, which was passed from host to host. As a result, Namjoon had the memories and knowledge of all the former hosts of his symbiont.

Including meeting Q, apparently.

“I have a symbiont, yes. And you won’t remember me. I’ve only been joined for a year. You might remember one of my previous hosts though? Jadzia Dax? From Deep Space 9?” There’s a brief moment of quiet as Q thinks before his mouth drops open and he points at Namjoon.

“Yes! You were very beautiful. Though you wore blue then, not red? And you were a woman. Is it strange, going from gender to gender?”

“No. It’s natural. I’m the Chief Helmsman of the Yi Sun-Sin whereas Jadzia was a science officer. You don’t look like that Q though.” Clearing his throat, Jungkook tries to turn the conversation to himself. He was the captain of this ship, after all, it felt odd to be so clearly excluded from the conversation.

“Oh well, that wasn’t me. That was my brother, Q. He shared his memory of you, that’s why I know. I’m Q. But I’ve been quite bored lately so I thought I’d try out this whole...living like one of you things. So, you can call me Captain Seokjin! Reporting for duty!” He says this brightly, grinning as he salutes. There’s another flash of light and suddenly, the plain white robes he’d been wearing are turned into a Starfleet uniform.

A command uniform...with the relevant pips of a Starfleet Captain on his collar.

Letting out a groan, Jungkook tries to control himself as he realises that he wasn’t going to be getting out of this easily. A Q who wanted to be human, or at least act like a Starfleet officer? At least cadets at the Academy were going to remember his name after being forced to read this report as well.

“You can’t just...turn up here and demand to be part of our crew,” Jungkook states, as calmly as he can with high blood pressure rising this much. “Can’t you...go to one of the inhabited planets if you want to live like us? Find a city and-”

“Pssht!” He’s interrupted by Q, or rather Seokjin, lifting a hand and making a gesture as if he was trying to blow away a bad odour. Baffled at being interrupted so blasé, Jungkook just stares at him for a moment with wide eyes before looking over at Yoongi. His second-in-command just gave him an unsure shrug, uncertainty written all over his face.

“I said I want to live like one of you. That means on one of your fancy starships, getting into danger and fighting bad guys. I wanna pew pew everyone!” Finger guns at the ready, Seokjin pretends to fire at Hoseok. When his Chief Security Officer just scowls at the intruder, Seokjin just grins and laughs.

Pressing at his temple, Jungkook reminded himself that headaches didn’t exist anymore. They’d been cured long ago. He was just feeling a phantom headache, that was all.

“You can’t just...waltz onto a starship and give yourself a command. For starters, there’s only one captain and that’s me. Another point is that you are most definitely not qualified to be on this ship. You haven’t passed Starfleet Academy, therefore you can’t be given a rank of any kind. And even if I did give you a field rank, it would be Ensign. Because I don’t know what you can do. If I’d even want to let someone as...chaotic as you even touch anything.” Maybe he went a little too far with that. Some of his words felt a little bit harsh and Jungkook had to work hard not to give away that he was uncomfortably aware that he might have pissed the omnipotent being off.

But all Seokjin does is sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes and flapping his arms around in a remarkably childlike tantrum. 

Subtly raising one hand, Jungkook calls for the security team to stand down. They do so slowly, unhappiness at the order apparent but they can’t go against their captain’s order. Straightening, Hoseok keeps a firm hand on his phaser, the gold of his uniform clashing slightly with the red he’d decided to colour his hair with recently.

“Why not? I’m more powerful than you anyway. I could take you places you’ve never even heard of. How about the Kinmara system?” Clicking his fingers, there’s a flash of light and the view out of the large screen changes abruptly. Instead of the vast expanse of space, there’s a large planet creeping into view.

“What the...where are we?” Jungkook asks, looking over at Jimin with wide eyes. His operations officer is staring with equally wide eyes before scanning the information on his console, rapidly touching it as he changes what he sees. 

“I...I don’t know. The star charts don’t match up with any of the stars out there and we don’t have this planet in the system. From what I can see...it’s an M-Class with a breathable atmosphere. Gravity slightly stronger than Earth but within acceptable parameters. Multiple life signs across the planet.” He stutters slightly, eyes flickering from the view to Seokjin before moving back to Jungkook.

An M-Class meant it was habitable to life forms like humans or Vulcans. The fact that it wasn’t charted, or explored, meant that Seokjin had no doubt used his immeasurable powers to transport the Yi Sun-Sin who knows how many lightyears away from their previous location.

“Yes, it’s called Kinmara. The system is named after it. It has two moons, one of which is also inhabited and is called Breehana. Lovely place, the weather is beautiful and the ocean is just right. Only the ocean is pink, as you can see. I love pink, it’s so pretty to look at, don’t you think? Anyway, the Mara’s, the name of the race down there, don’t get many visitors so you might find it interesting to visit.” Looking back over at the Q, Jungkook realises suddenly that he’s also materialised himself into a fancy chair.

It takes a lot of effort to bite his tongue and not snap at the powerful being. Jungkook needs to get back to where they were, and Seokjin is the only one who can do that. Especially when they didn’t even have warp drive yet.

“I’m sure it’s a lovely place to visit, but right now I would appreciate it if you would just transport us back to where we were? You see, we need to make some final repairs to our warp drive so we’re not interested in exploring Kinmara right now. But if you let us know where it is on a star chart then I’m sure someone at Starfleet will eventually get round to exploring it closer.” Giving a genial smile, Jungkook gives himself a mental pat on the back. He didn’t even sound remotely annoyed then, perfect.

Only he forgot that he’s not dealing with some rational lifeform. He’d read enough about the previous encounters with Q, and read the regulations on how to handle an encounter with one, plenty of times to know that there was no such thing as rational to them. They did what they wanted, when they wanted and how they wanted.

Unfortunately, this Q had chosen the Yi Sun-Sin to be his plaything for today. Which meant that headache that shouldn’t exist was beginning to very much feel like it existed.

“Oh, are we not exploring today? How about some action instead? I know the perfect place.” Another snap of his fingers and everything goes white once more. What takes a mere second feels like minutes, with Jungkook dreading what they’ll be faced with. Because if there’s one thing he’s certain of right now, it’s that it would not be where they’d started.

He’s greeted with a vista of space when he finally opens his eyes, the twinkling lights of far-off stars as familiar to him as the back of his hand. A welcoming sight.

What is not welcoming, however, is the immediate alarm that begins to blare through the bridge. Automatically, the lights dim and a familiar, if unwanted, red light begins to flash throughout the bridge while screens begin to show what the ship deems to be important information. 

Red alert. The standard Starfleet setting for when enemy ships are detected or they go to battle stations. Automatically, the ship has put itself into red alert when something has triggered its sensors. Under normal circumstances, this would mean the Yi Sun-Sin would be primed and ready for battle with weapons ready.

With no warp drive though, it was just a foreboding sound that chilled Jungkook to his very bones. Because there was something out there. Something that his ship deemed a danger to itself and her crew. Something he couldn’t fight.

“Sensors?!” He barks, jerking into movement. Hoseok doesn’t even waste a breath, practically leaping behind the security console and tapping at the screen. There’s no need to ask what he’s doing, Jungkook already knows that he’s trying to see if there’s anything they could do to fight.

“One ship, sir. It’s spotted us, five-million kilometres out and closing. It’s…” Jimin trails off, his already pale face draining even more as his mind acknowledges what he’s reading. His reaction alone makes Jungkook feel sick. Romulans weren’t prone to fear when it came to fighting. They lived for this kind of stuff, beaten only perhaps by the Klingons.

“It’s a Borg sphere, Captain.” The soft words come from behind him and he spins around, eyes widening while the rest of his expression freezes in dual shock and dismay. Your face is carefully neutral, just like it always is and he watches as you work through the data on your astrometrics panel. The sensors for your area are far more sensitive than the general navigation, which makes it no surprise that you’d figured it out first.

“Borg?” He almost whispers. There’s no need to look at the rest of the crew. The subtle wave of fear at the incoming ship moves around the bridge like a harsh wind. But at the same time, he feels a thread of pride at the actions of his senior command. No one panics or starts shouting, instead there’s an odd silence that soon turns the fear into resolve.

There may not be a lot that they could do, but Jungkook would be damned if the Yi Sun-Sin didn’t go down fighting in some way. Even if he had to ram the sphere. Did it make him a bad captain if he’d much rather his crew die in a suicide mission than be assimilated into a lifeless collective?

Glancing back over at you, he sees what no one else does. The fear in your eyes. The pure terror at the knowledge that the Collective you had once been a part of was so close to taking you again. From many conversations with you over the months, both casual and a little more intimate just before sleeping, Jungkook knew that you would rather die than go back.

There was no individual in the Borg. No one person, no freedom of thought of free will. There was only the Collective. A central mind that connected to every single Borg throughout the galaxy, billions upon billions of minds all working as one with no thoughts of their own. You had immeasurable knowledge from all the information that the Borg had harvested from the races they had assimilated over time, but you were terrified of losing your individuality once more.

A Borg drone, which you had once been, was nothing. The Collective thought nothing of killing off drones they deemed defective or those that couldn’t be repaired. There was no compassion, no empathy. No love.

Yes. Jungkook would rather his crew die than put them through that. He didn’t think he’d have many complaints about it either.

Perhaps a little selfishly too, he couldn’t bear the thought of putting you through that once more. You’d finally learnt how to be an individual once more and were exploring your humanity. The thought of you lost forever once more was even more painful.

Looking over at Seokjin, Jungkook gritted his teeth and pointed at him with fury. If only the Q didn’t have the kind of power that Jungkook couldn’t even begin to imagine or understand. He would sincerely love to punch the smug, handsome asshole.

“Take. Us. Back. I told you, we have no warp drive! That means we have no weapons! You’re not going to get the battle you wanted. We can’t fight the Borg, not like this. Take us back! You can be on the ship, fine whatever! Just...don’t touch anything and let us just do our mission! Please.” He begged, about ready to get on his knees if necessary. 

Maybe it wasn’t very becoming for a Starfleet captain, but he didn’t care right now. He had no idea where they were in the galaxy and if the Borg got them, then Starfleet would never know either. The Yi Sun-Sin would go down as missing in action, just another mystery that would never be solved.

But Seokjin’s attention has moved onto you, a curious expression taking over. Tilting his head slightly, he walks over to you with long, elegant strides that make it seem like he’s been on this bridge many times. It annoys Jungkook and he has to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from lashing out at the Q.

You could take care of yourself, he knew that. Jungkook had far more important things to stress over than Seokjin taking a sudden interest with you. So it’s with great pains that he turns away and begins to bark orders at his bridge crew, demanding the status of weapons before patching through to engineering and getting an update from them.

“What are you?” Seokjin asks you, eyes of a deep chocolate brown scanning your frame up and down repeatedly. Unlike anyone else on the bridge, the colour of the top portion of your uniform is blue. A signifier of the science division, it was rare for you to be on the bridge; Jungkook wished that you weren’t here right now given the way Seokjin was looking at you speculatively. 

He shouldn’t have been concerned though because you handled the omnipotent being with the same, cool regard that you did everything else. It had been a little frustrating when he’d first taken command, even more so when he’d realised that he had a potential romantic interest but he loved it right now.

Because you just stared at Seokjin, your gaze not giving away a single hint of emotion or expression. A slight tilt of your head gives away that you’re considering him and Jungkook probably shouldn’t get as much satisfaction as he does by the way Seokjin shuffles, almost as if he’s awkward.

“You are a Q. The Borg have never met your species before. I have no frame of reference for how to engage with you except for the reports from Starfleet.” As usual, your words are straightforward and precise. No one ever has to worry about whether you hold hidden intentions, it’s simply not in your nature anymore to engage in subterfuge.

“The Borg,” Seokjin sounds surprised and he scans over you a few more times, brow rising. “You can’t be an actual Borg, they wouldn’t let you stay here. Not to mention you don’t have all that ugly machine stuff on you. Humanoid and in a Starfleet uniform. You were a Borg, but now you’re not with the Collective anymore. How fascinating.”

“Very. Captain, if you will excuse me then I have duties to attend to.” You’re looking at Jungkook now, lips pursed expectantly. Pausing in his questions to everyone else, Jungkook nods and permits you to leave the bridge. It’s not unnoticed by him the way Seokjin watches you in fascination as you leave. His stomach turns at the sight and worry fills him.

Not that there’s any point. You can take care of yourself and more importantly, none of them could stop whatever Seokjin wanted to do.

“How very interesting.” Jungkook can’t help but glare at the Q as he watches you leave, twisting his lips in a bizarrely human gesture. Finally, he reaches his boiling point and points in frustration out of the viewscreen.

“Borg. Danger. Leave. Now.” Part of him knows that he shouldn’t be as blunt and rude, not when the situation was this dangerous. But he didn’t care, he just wanted his crew and ship away from danger. Something that Jungkook couldn’t do himself. He’d begged, he’d argued and now he was being firm.

If Seokjin wanted to pretend to be part of his crew then he would have to learn to take orders from him. It was the only way this whole stupid thing was going to work without causing Jungkook some serious stress. The very fact that he was even considering this said volumes about the fear and pressure Jungkook was under right now.

Exhaling slowly, he pleaded with himself internally to keep himself calm. From what he’d read about the Q, and that was the race as a whole, it wouldn’t do to antagonise him. It’d do no one any good if he decided to just disappear, leaving the Yi Sun-Sin to its fate.

“Fine, fine. Urgh, you lower lifeforms have no sense of adventure. You’re all so boring.” A click of his fingers sends everything white once more. Once his vision clears, Jungkook immediately starts barking orders to his crew. He didn’t need to though, they were automatically moving like a well-oiled machine.

“We’re back where we started, captain,” Jimin confirms with a nod of his head, his gaze still focused on the readout from his console. He doesn’t say anything more, his fingers too busy darting across the screen as he takes in what he’s seeing.

“Well, this was a waste of my time. I’ll be back when the fun starts.” With that, Seokjin vanishes. The bridge is eerily silent for a few minutes after he’s gone, everyone looking at each other in confusion as the red alert status disappears now they’re safe again.

“Is he gone?” Yoongi asks, looking over at Hoseok. The security chief glances down to his console, lips pursing as he scans through the information before nodding his head slowly.

“No...Q life-signs detected on board. Or rather, only what we expect should be onboard. Looks like he’s really gone.” Something inside Jungkook relaxes and he suddenly feels so, unbelievably, tired. Groaning quietly, he flops back into the captain’s seat and rubs at his forehead. He should visit the medical bay, it’s not natural to have a headache.

“Okay. Okay, well. He’s going to come back, we know that. Just be prepared, warn everyone on board and I want to be informed the moment he turns out. Hoseok, you better make sure your security team is ready for anything he decides to do. I know you probably can’t do anything but it’ll sure as hell make me feel better. Yoongi, get onto engineering and see if they can speed this whole thing up. I want to be gone as soon as possible, is that understood?” Yoongi nods, automatically turning to the interface in his chair.

“Yes sir, I’ll collate reports from all departments and send them to your ready room.” Nodding to his second-in-command, Jungkook stands and stretches with a groan. He’d spent long enough on the bridge and he just wanted some time to relax. But he couldn’t do that, not yet.

“Great. I’m going to head to sickbay, check-in with Dr Troi as my head is killing after that incident. Then I’m gonna try and get some rest. You’ve got the bridge Yoongi, once the engines are fixed and working then get us going again. Warp 8, back on our path. And...send a report to Starfleet about what’s happened. Try and get some advice on what to do with all this. Everyone good with their orders?” Looking around, everyone on the bridge nodded in acknowledgement to him and a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He had a good bridge crew, and he knew that he could rely on them while he was gone. Heading over to the turbolift, entering the circular car and asking for the desk that medical bay was one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed as it began to move.

“Fuck.”

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

[ravenadottir]

so i’ve been thinking a lot about s3 (i’m going through rough times lol) and i’ve especially been thinking about how i would change with the islanders or just throw them away completely. so that’s my question to you. which islanders would you tweak a little (or a lot let’s be honest) and which islanders would you just completely get rid of and create new one?

“so i’ve been thinking a lot about s3 (i’m going through rough times lol)”

but like, same! also, it must really be rough for you to think about season 3, and for that, i salute you, brave soldier!

now, i could create new ones, but i would give other islanders, from other seasons, a second chance. well, in their case a first chance, at all! let’s be honest!

☠ bill! you know i would throw him in the bin right away! nothing is salvageable there. not the looks, not the personality, and definitely not his shitty conversations and mayo talk! the only cute moments he has happens with every other islander, so that’s not exclusive to him. i have no reason to like the guy.

rohan > bill

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☠ lily. i absolutely can’t say anything about her, but like, toss her too! no flavor whatsoever. that trope of the “flirty enemy” is garbage, and she doesn’t have enough personality to do it. ione would’ve been much better, and truly make me feels something, but lily??? nah, my guy. toss it!

priya > lily

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☠ rafi... meh. not enough time in the villa, “flirty enemy” is really dull, and definitely not enough of anything to make me like him. there’s only one line i thought it was cool, and it’s when he tells us about his younger brother. that’s it. his entire personality is his facial expressions and i-

short king tim > rafi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☠ ciaran. sorry, but... toss it! absolutely toss it! i don’t wanna date a child! “but vena, he missed his hometown, that’s why he gives the tour!” my guy, he was there for less than 24 h!!! they took the “friendly, sweet guy, that has a dog” and took it to a 1000 in 24 hours! sorry, it doesn’t cut for me, not even as a secondary character! the reason why i say this is because there’s plenty of people i didn’t romance in season 2, and were still essential to the villa. ciaran is definitely not one of those characters. he could’ve disappeared and i wouldn’t have noticed. toss it, and toss it good, so he stays there!

rohan’s twin: roman. juggler/law student > ciaran

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“stay the way you are” challenge:

❣ aj i would probably leave her the way she is. she’s not my cup of tea, romantically, but she is a good character, dumbness and puppiness included! she would stay the same.

❣ seb. i wouldn’t change anything. to me, he’s perfect the way he is, and i’m still butthurt he’s not an li.

❣ iona, to me, is great! i just wanted her to be more present, but aside from that, i like her! i like that she’s a bit prickly and if she was a li, even better!

❣ genevieve as well! i like her personality, and i think she’s really sweet. there’s nothing i would change, except for making her (if not your bff) closer to mc, regardless. ‘cause i do think mc and viv were meant to be friends, even if you don’t choose her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tweaking a little bit:

✎ nicky. keep him the way he is, but like, less sister talk!! i can’t when he talks about her, once is enough. they really gave him the “big brother” persona and that’s honestly a waste of potential, because he’s such a sweet guy. oh, yeah, and MAKE HIM AN LI, for fuck’s sake!

✎ miki... probably give her some more screen time, and maybe more of a stronger persona, presence wise. she’s not a bad character, but i often forget she exists, so maybe more of her own, not just participating on the group conversations. she really disappears into the background, and i’m certain an influencer wouldn’t be like that at all.

✎ camilo. more personality, and keep it consistent to the end of the season! and also make him think twice before calling me ‘mamacita’, because that’s kinda gross... i’m no one’s little momma! also, also, the family talk could’ve been way more interesting! it starts out so sweet, when he tells us about how loud and united they are, then he never says a thing about it, ever again! unless is about game night, proving the season is lame as fuck. and appearance wise, i would erase his pointy shoulders! it drives me insane! also smooth out his harsh-lines abs. it doesn’t look good. he’s a very handsome guy, but they did him dirty with that body outline.

✎ elladine. they did her so dirty!! she has zero personality on the bff route, and outside of it, we only get a glimpse from her past romances/life. i need more from her! waaaay more! she could’ve been the girl we all craved not only because of her looks!! a shy, thick girl that discovers she’s not straight??? come on, fusebox! spare some crumbs!

✎ harry i think is a good character. in general, he seems to be in tune with the personality they gave him. i just wanted him to look older. the size of his torso doesn’t fit in with an adult’s size, and he’s so adorably dorky sometimes! he would’ve been a great addition in the li’s cast if he didn’t look like an infant.

✎ yasmin started out great! i was intrigued by her personality and looks, and i was looking forward to get to know her better... then... that was it! everything she had to offer was everything she gave on the first date! like... what a waste of pixels!! she’s so dull, and so... unidimensional i think. no! she deserved more personality, waaay more lines and screen time! they did her dirty too!

✎ tai. CAN WE GET ANYTHING REMOTELY DRAMATIC IN HIM? no? ok, thanks so much! i know ten days is not enough to make someone have an arc, but that’s on fusebox, not on me. they did this whole season the way they did because they were saving up in character designs and customization. and for that, we lost the opportunity of having a longer season, and with it, arcs to be developed. tai is gorgeous, and his personality is great, but like... what you see is what you get, and there’s nothing deeper going on. he’s a bi guy that is gigantic and makes pottery. THAT’S IT. no heartbreak from the past, nothing he mentions about why he teaches rugby, and doesn’t play it. no family talk or anything. he’s just there, ready to go, and we didn’t contribute with anything in his personality. that aches me so much!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the season ruined amazing characters that deserved to be developed. i hate this garbage season, and i reckon it’s not the characters’ fault! we missed the opportunity of being an influence on their lives. so many boys and girls grow up from his insecurities in season 2, and it’s because of us! US!! for fuck’s sake, nothing happened in that villa. absolutely nothing!

[pathofcomet]

and it’s just around the corner

fandom: stardew valley 

pairing: sebastian/player (female)

summary:  She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back.

rating: explicit // word count: 25k // AO3

She cannot remember the farm per say, just the proof that she’s been there once: a dusty, yellowed photo of herself, smiling in a pink sundress under the shade of a gigantic oak, 4 years old and beaming. She can vaguely bring back the savour of cranberry jam on her tongue, the authentic, slightly sour taste that only meant home-made. She thinks they had a gray cat, and she can feel the smell of gasoline in her nose, from the long car ride there as a child. That’s all she remembers about her grandparents’ old farm; and anything of that lifestyle is completely lost upon her, or her memories of her grandpa. They haven’t been crazily close either: she was busy pursuing her education too far away to allow proper visits, and the phone signal failed the old man too much to allow even constant communication. When he died, they buried him in the city, next to his wife, and everything about the way he lived his life became hazy and forgotten in the lives of the living.

Which is probably why it is so hard to comprehend what she’s reading now, in her cubicle at work, defeated under her 16th time this month of overwork. Her grandpa was known for being eccentric, which is why she expected to see a card with hey, we all die in the end! or something written on it, and not the dreams of her childhood offered on a plate to her. She stares at the paper, reads and rereads it for 7 times before she’s convinced it’s actually real.

She’s touched at the care in his words, at the oozing affection on that piece of paper. It’s something that she didn’t know she was missing until now. A care sent across generations, to reach her – and when she feels like she needs it most. She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh.

She looks around: there are only a couple of other workers left in the office at the moment, in the late hours of the night. There’s delivery food all across the others’ empty desks, and a few of the girls switched their shoes, from heels to sneakers. And yet, as she stops, the clanking on the keyboard never ends around her, and the neon light remain buzzing above her, the static noise of her real life nightmare. The sigh coming from a co-worker several seats away is deafening in her ears. As she’s writing her resignation letter, for her boss to find on his desk at the first hour in the morning, she can’t help but notice how her vision shakes, how she can’t quite straighten her back under the pain of hours and hours of being hunched at a desk.

It’s not even the irony of it all, dying in a storm of unfair overworking while those above her wallow in money, that upsets her more. But rather, the way in which she cannot have any satisfaction out of it anymore. As a graduate, she thought she’d find happiness in a corporate job that pays well, but now the comfort of money means nothing when she doesn’t have the time to even spend it, and she can’t even recall what her hobbies are, let alone when’s the last time she did anything else but work, do house chores and sleep.

She cannot recall the last time she met up with some friends, visited new places or ordered online something else but a new pair of heels or a new shirt for work. Gods, now that she hit the brake on her wreck of a life, she can’t stop noticing how pathetic she’s been.

Her hands tremble as she signs the paper, as she tosses her meagre office belongings into her bag, as she pushes the elevator button. She’s already overthinking the decision, but it’s already made and she can only worry about what’s to be done next now. She’s 100% sure she’s not made for this, she has zero knowledge of how to take care of a farm and she still screams when she sees a spider in her apartment. But she’s tired, there’s a tiredness that never seems to let loose, and no matter how much she sleeps on Sundays, she wakes up feeling like she has her hands and feet tied. Even if to only rest for a while, and the whole ordeal would still have been worth it.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to her that night. She reads the letter over and over again, she measures the weight of the keys in her palms, she tries to put puzzle pieces together, from old photos she brings up from hidden boxes. Nothing tells her she made the right decision, though in her old photos, everyone looks so happy while on the farm. Maybe she didn’t even truly get to the end of her patience, just a bad day, maybe she still could have taken it for a while. After all, it’s not like she had that bad of a life. But then, it’s not like it was that good either. And once she started thinking of it, the idea of change became hauntingly tempting. The potential in this new place is infinite, and so, so terrifying.

But a change nonetheless.

She spends the next couple of weeks in a frenzy: selling most of her belongings, keeping only the strictly necessary. She keeps the pictures, of course. A few books, only those that she read during university and she felt like they changed her life, though she hasn’t revisited those stories since. Maybe she’ll finally have the time to, now. She sells or donates all her office clothes, expensive shirts and bags – all gone, because they remind her of some kind of work she never wants to do again in her life.

When she stops to count what’s left, looking at her near-empty apartment, two suitcases and a backpack put aside, she’s overwhelmed at how pointlessly she lived her life up until this point. She has nothing to show for all the efforts she’s made, and she can feel the skin all over her body itch with the realisation, itch for something else to do.

She doesn’t look back, as she’s returning the keys of her rented apartment. She has been paying expensively for the chance to live on her own in the big city, and there’s nothing but bitterness towards that idea anyway. She waits in the bus station with music playing at the highest volume, drowning out an incoming panic attack – as she’s struggling to count up to 10, reassure herself that she’s a grown fucking adult and that she can do something as easy as just moving someplace new.

Still, the scenarios roll in her mind, unperturbed, and she almost throws up thrice before she reaches her destination – and then she almost throws up again, as she’s watching the bus pull away, leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere. The sun is bright, but too bright and her clothes are sticking to her skin, even if it’s barely early spring, and the air is fresh. A fairy-tale start to her new adventure, and yet she feels like crying right then and there, a fain headache booming at her temples from all the anxiety she had to push away.

She’s already exhausted and it’s barely noon. She starts pulling at her suitcases, though the road makes it a tricky and tiring job. Then, just as she’s ready to take her first break, a hand grabs the handle, and she stares up in the face of a kindly looking old man.

Mayor Lewis; she still remembers the face, as he is the kind of person who probably always looked the same. They’ve last seen each other at her grandfather’s funeral, so there’s a bit of awkwardness hanging between the two of them, as she’s allowing him to help her with her luggage.

A redheaded woman is waiting for them in her truck, a bit of a distance away, and she helps them with her stuff. It’s easy to make conversation when friendly people are pushing it forward, and they seem way too enthusiastic about her presence. They don’t even comment about her sneakers, totally unfit for most of the roads in the town, or her outfit, that would rip or get dirty the second she’d encounter a field.

She already has a room prepared at Lewis’ place, there’s no way her old house can offer her proper living conditions just yet. That’s not a jab directed at her, rather at the passing of time and the overgrown state of her courtyard. But there’s nothing mean behind their comments, and they’re even offering all the help they can.

She’s trying to come up with a list of things that she might need, but Robin is already writing one of her own.

“She’s our architect,” Lewis whispers, winking at her in secrecy.

It’s weird and scary and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. Back in the city, she could have crumbled on the sidewalk and nobody would have cared. Here, it seems everyone jumps at the chance to do just that, help and care, and she’s terrified out of her skin. Her thanks are muffled by the weird knot in her throat. When balancing things out in her head, there’s nothing she can give them in equal measures.

The key in her hand feels foreign, but yet it’s that thing that grounds her to the moment, doesn’t let her slip away in that part of her brain that makes her forget things even happened. The house is, of course, a disaster, though someone had the good thinking of covering the furniture. The place is small, and it needs a good dusting, maybe even a new coat of paint. Robin, by her side, is still doing her job.

“Is there anything you want in particular?”

“No, not really. I don’t think so?”

She’s lost and overwhelmed. She’d like to just sit somewhere and start unpacking, maybe go and switch all of her things again actually, because there’s no way she can fit in with these people. But Lewis’ arm is around her shoulder, urging her back the way they came, promising her his special vegetable mix and green tea.

Once finally out of his sight, and comfortably settled in his extra bedroom, she squeezes a pillow close to her chest, hiding her face in it, and starts crying. She sobs – for the grandparents she didn’t properly appreciate while alive, that still left her with so much. For the chance that not many have to switch things around. For the state in which the farm is, and the immense effort she’ll have to put in building it back together. For the pain in her arms, the burn so unfamiliar that it must be only the sign of something new. She’s overwhelmed and scared, and hours pass before she finally falls asleep,

The next morning, she refuses even the breakfast, and immediately heads towards her place, luggage in tow. Mayor Lewis promised he’ll solve the problem of electricity and water running back to the place, so at least she can forget the administrative part.

She greets everyone she passes by, because otherwise the staring just gets too unbearable, and though they’re curious, they also remain polite too. But her courtyard and house are truly disastrous. She’s glad it’s still so early in the year, so the weeds didn’t grow yet on the path towards her door, so at least she can focus on dusting off the room, polishing the floor. She unpacks with nostalgic music blasting from her phone: plates in one drawer, her clothes in the other two. She builds herself a nightstand out of all the books she brought with her, and she washes the curtains by hand, letting them dry out in the sun.

She goes to the town for bedsheets and even more cleaning products, buys a basil plant for the windowsill. The place is small, smaller even than her city apartment, and she has nothing of her own to properly decorate it with, give it a specific charm, so she allows herself to get lost between the small isles of the store, and pick whatever piques her fancy. But this is fine, she thinks. This is, after all, the true definition of a new start.

She watches the sun set from her porch – she thinks she’d like an armchair for the place, it’d make a lovely reading pace if it’s not rainy, and there’s a soft lull from the TV inside, where the weather prognosis for the next day rattles on.

She finds grandpa’s old gardening books, and she starts reading them. She cleans up a small portion of the land, plants some seeds she picked based on Pierre’s recommendations. Gathers wood from the end of the forest that runs almost up to her house, practices splitting it in smaller branches, that she can carry and gather in the small tool shed, for the winter.

During the first night that it rains, she opens her door to a stray, lost dog. She hugs him close to her all through the night, as he whimpers and warms up – and in the morning she names him Max, and buys him dog food and a colourful bowl. She stops feeling so alone, so lost, a purpose forming, even though she can’t quite name it.

When too many days pass with her cooped only at her place, letters and requests for visits start pouring in her mailbox. Sometimes mayor Lewis comes pick her himself, walking around the town with her, stopping to present her to any villager they encounter. She feels like a circus freak being paraded around like this, but she smiles, wonders if Max is getting bored at home or if she could walk through the forest in search of some fruits.

 ***

Then, when the weather prognosis tells of many sunny days in a row, Robin shows up at her doorsteps, can of paint in one hand, brushes in the other – and her son behind her, to help her out.

She watches him, fiddling on the spot, looking like he certainly doesn’t want to be here and she smiles. Well, that’s at least a feeling that she can relate to, even when in her bed after a tiring day, she still sometimes yearns for everything that this place is not. Max helps. In this case as well, as he runs to the door and immediately jumps on him.

“Max, no!” she chides, though he settles calmly on panting up at the man for pats. Luckily, he hasn’t slammed him to the ground, as he tends to do with her, but that’s still no proper way of greeting strangers. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sebastian,” he says. “There’s no problem, really.” He’s scratching the dog between his ears, absentmindedly looking in through the door, at the small place she now calls home. There’s nothing much in there, but she finds herself growing protective over it anyway, at his gaze.

Max, the traitor, is now cuddled down at his feet. From the side, Robin laughs.

Her and Sebastian move the furniture, as Robin tapes newspaper on the wooden floor. She prepares fresh lemonade for her visitors and helpers before they start painting, and she takes a short break just to water her crops. They do the work in silence, mostly, just her phone turned on to fill up the space – and without mayor Lewis’ fast mouth, she isn’t certain what she could possibly talk about. From time to time, Robin asks Sebastian something – regarding his sister, or some things she asked him about before, which sounds a lot like nagging so she prefers to stay out of it.

She thanks them many, many times before they leave for the day. Especially since it was the weekend, and she’s sure they just threw away a perfectly free day on helping her put together her house. She just feels more and more indebted towards all these people. Even if Sebastian didn’t look her way even once.

 ***

She starts going to the local library, borrowing books and learning more and more things about the farm. She accepts the quests from the bulletin board, and in exchange she asks for fishing tips or some town history. She starts taking evening walks, with Max, picking up acorns. She gets stronger and better at all the farm work. She places various orders, starting to gather syrup from the trees near her house – and one lazy day, she makes jam, that she then sells.

She starts counting the money, making plans for the farm. She buys two chickens, and the one day when no one in the town sees her, it is because she struggled all the time to build a fence so that they won’t step all over crops and no fox would reach them during the night.

 ***

Everyone is friendly, showing up at her door with gifts for her new move: a handmade mug from Leah, a beautiful seashell from Elliot, an actual functional first aid kit from Harvey. She suspects the mayor’s doing behind all these kindness acts, and yet it’s with a reverent kind of gestures that she finds a place for all of them in her small house. She starts adding some kind of adjectives to this cast of characters that enter her life.

But with Sebastian, something’s different. She doesn’t know what makes her notice him again; that something that made him stand out from the mass of people she met in the past few weeks. Maybe it’s not even just one single thing, but a mix: like how he is the son of the kindest lady, paler than the farmers or football players, how he doesn’t want to stand out at all, how she has to go out of her way to find him, instead of the other way around.

Most of all, it’s the desperation she can feel off of him. There’s a force in him that cannot make peace with how things are for him at the moment – and it’s the familiarity of it that pulls her in, lets her gaze linger on him for a bit longer, makes her ask about him while smiling in the most innocent way, sipping tea in Robin’s office.

***

They’re not that different; she’s easy to fit in the village life, mostly because she’s so pliable for others, knowing the memory of her grandpa is attached to her as well. She sometimes feels like the older residents of the town look through her, instead of directly at her, and see the ghost of someone else they used to know. And the days pass, things fall together, and yet in her chest, there’s a clock ticking away, counting down the time spent here, because if she was looking for something like belonging, it seems this town buried it away with her grandpa, and things don’t seem that different from how they used to be. She just has dirtier nails now, and some decaying make-up skills.

So she never visits without a purpose, doesn’t get too friendly with most of them. She spends days in a row on her farm, ploughing the land, watering the plants, feeding the animals. Task upon task, she goes through all of them, grateful for how it’s silencing her mind, giving her the time and space to breathe. If she finishes early, she likes to go fishing, the breeze nice against her sun-warmed face, especially as the dusk approaches.

It’s the simplicity of life that lulls her into wanting something more, eventually, tentatively. She visits Robin, as she’s closing the store, so they can share some fresh-picked fruits while watching the sun set. She meets up with the mayor for chess during Sundays, stories of two best friends half a century ago embedded in every sigh, and she wins every time and that’s how she knows he just lets her. When she passes by to drop something for the museum, she spends the remaining afternoon in the library, browsing the collection, reading for the children fresh out of classes that ask her to do so.

But if anyone in Pelican Town would be asked, they wouldn’t be able to tell people that much about their newest villager. In truth, even for those closest to her, there’s an aura of mystery: whatever her life was before, she doesn’t go into details. Whatever and for however long she might remain in their lives, she doesn’t say.

To Sebastian, that’s what makes it easy. He doesn’t expect her to tell him anything, since she’s not pressing her curiosities either. Probably why she opens so willingly, why she creates a routine around his. She always stops at the edge of the river, where she knows she’ll find him in the evenings. They never talk for long, or of important things – but she thinks, the magic is in staring together at the same scenery, feeling much of the same things. After the third time, she asks for a cigarette from him, and she winks at him when he looks just a tiny bit surprised.

This is how it begins. The rest she almost doesn’t even notice.

 ***

She remembers the Egg festival; she’s sure she took part in one of the hunts back when she was little, though the details are foggy in her mind. She doesn’t remember any of the villagers, but she’s been a very shy child, and not even the promise of bunny chocolates was enough to persuade her back then.

Still, she worked for so long in a corporation, at this point the spirit of competition is embedded into her. She wakes up early, and she wears one of her dresses from before, even if she has to match it with grandpa’s old jeans jacket. She even puts on make-up, manages to water her plants as well before she’s walking towards the town.

She officially meets Maru and Demetrius, as they’ve been so busy during her past visits. Marnie clasps her in-between her arms, exclaims how pretty she is when not trying to imitate her house’s looks, and loudly kisses both her cheeks. Gus waves at her, and keeps presenting various plates to her, and by the time she can excuse herself, she’s glad she hasn’t eaten any breakfast. Jas and Vincent come at her yelling tag! and she spends the next half an hour running around, followed by the sometimes annoyed, sometimes happy smiles of the other villagers.

She buys strawberry seeds, more on a whim, because she was craving for some, and gets herself a cute bunny plush, since she’d had trouble sleeping, and she’s sure Max would appreciate her hugging a non-living thing more. She feels like she fits more, now, that she’s surrounded by everyone else, and she realizes that she knows them all, that they know her back – and there’s no outright hostility.

She greets Sebastian, and meets his friends. She compliments Abigail’s hair, Sam compliments her instead. He’s friendly and outgoing, compared to the other two in his group, but she notices Sebastian’s fleeting smile at the toy in her arms, so she straightens her back even more.

As soon as mayor Lewis starts his announcement, Abigail immediately seems more excited, especially since she is presented as the winner for the past decade. However, by the time the day ends, Pelican Town has a new Egg Hunt winner.

The straw hat doesn’t fit her outfit, and it’s not quite yet a necessary accessory, but she’s beaming at every villager that comes to congratulate her, even if she’s already so old and she shouldn’t be so happy about beating a few 10 year olds. Even Abigail is a good sports and promises she will beat her next year.

Next year – she wonders if she’ll even be around for that long. Her saved-up money is slowly trickling down, as she keeps buying things that she needs, and she has no idea yet how much profit she’ll be able to make at harvest time. She feels better knowing her doubts don’t show to others.

She walks part of her way home with Robin and her family. Maru is happily telling her something about her research, though it goes over her head and she doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. Demetrius and Robin walk several steps ahead, arms linked, and it’s a sweet sight to see, that they can be so close even after so many years.

Then, before she takes her turn to her farm, after everyone else said their goodbyes, Sebastian looks up at her.

“It suits you,” he says, so low she almost misses it, nodding his head at her hat. She blushes under the street lamp, but he’s already turned his back on her and he can’t see, so she can go on her own way and pretend it never happened.

 ***

She starts going to the mines, even if everyone tells her she better not. But she needs better tools, more resources and something to do on rainy days, so she goes anyway. She comes out late into the night, dirtier than she’s ever been, spider cobwebs stuck in her hair, but her backpack heavy.

The next morning, she struggles packing some presents for Robin and Lewis, for all the help they’ve showered her in ever since she moved. She doesn’t have much to offer, some syrup and a jar of jam, a few eggs. But as she’s going into town, there are three presents that she’s carefully carrying around in her bag.

She stops by Lewis first, sits on his stairs with a steaming mug of coffee between her hands, as he waters his small garden – and they chat about the weather, the fishing days that Lewis has programmed, their favourite Stardrop meal. The days get warmer and warmer, as they’re slowly rolling towards summer, and she’s feeling peaceful, listening to the mayor’s chatter, his grunts as he digs around, his yelling when she offers to help him around.

She drops by Clint to let him examine some of the stuff she found underground, and by the time she reaches Robin’s place, the older woman is taking her lunch break. She’s exclaiming happily at the gift, and invites her to stay for lunch. She helps her with the plates, and while Robin goes to gather the rest of her family, she sends her to get Sebastian.

She has to breathe deep, count to 10, before she has the courage to knock at his door. There’s the sound of something tumbling to the floor, and she winces; more shuffling, and the door finally opens to reveal a somewhat sleepy looking Sebastian. It looks like he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, as it sticks out in odd directions, and in his own space, he’s wearing some old, washed-out t-shirt that is several sizes too large, and sweats. She stares at him, entirely endeared, but also deeply aware that there’s a line she has just crossed by seeing him like this – and she’s not sure she was allowed to.

“Hi,” she says, at the same time he says “Shit”, closing the door on her. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to come up with a proper way to reach to this, but her mind coming up blank.

Eventually, she lamely says “Robin said lunch’s ready,” before she leaves for the kitchen again. Demetrius is already seated at the table, looking up at his wife like she hung up the sun on the sky. Maru refuses to show up, as she’s too invested in her research, but there’s the slam of a door from downstairs, and Sebastian eventually shows up, just as his step-father takes his first bite from his plate of spaghetti. Their guest has not yet picked up her fork.

Sebastian is now wearing actual jeans, and his hair looks a bit more tamed. He sits next to her, and the four of them eat in relative silence, though she’s obsessively thinking of her knee, against Sebastian’s, under the table and she wants to fucking swear at herself, for acting like a fucking cowardly high-schooler.

“So, why did you move to Pelican Town?” Demetrius asks her, in the end. She notices him wincing immediately after the dull thud from under the table, and she imagines that was Robin kicking him from asking a question that no one had dared poise to her until now.

She finishes chewing the food in her mouth, swallowing a bit more painful.

“I needed a change,” she says eventually, entirely too vague.

“From? You should tell Sebastian about your city experience, because he’s obsessed with leaving the town.”

There’s a disapproving tone in his voice that makes her wince, but her head snaps up at Sebastian, who looks both entirely annoyed and disappointed. She’d like to press her finger to the frown now so obvious on his forehead.

“Really?” she mumbles lamely instead. Sebastian’s now looking at her, and although across the table his parents are bickering with each other in low whispers, he doesn’t break the eye contact. He just nods at her question, grabs another bite of food – the words won’t make it any better.

She always thought that the people in this town are happy to live here, heck even she’s trying to understand the charm of the place and why her grandpa never left it. She always thought that if there is someone to leave it, that’d be her, in an example of another of her life’s failures. But here’s Sebastian, burning with a yearning for a city just as hers to leave it was.

He takes her back home, assuring her that his lunch break is long enough to allow him to do that. They’re walking side by side in companionable silence. Sebastian, unlike his father, doesn’t ask her anything, so when they reach her property, she hands him her last package.

“Can I?” he asks, a hand already tugging at the ribbon, and she smiles at him. Inside, there’s an assortment of minerals: quartz, obsidians. She’s found them during her time in the mines, and the only thing she somewhat remembers from her dialogue with Maru is that her brother loves this stuff.

“What’s this for?” he says, voice a little chocked, laughing at the end, embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Thanks for that day,” she says. Then, more unsure… “And good luck for the future?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She’s already turned around on her feet, a hand up in the air in goodbye.

The next morning, even if Sebastian never eats breakfast, he makes toast and eats it with strawberry jam, from a jar cutely decorated in stickers, where in cursive, their newest villager wrote for Robin and family <3.

 ***

She goes to JojaMart to buy an electric kettle; she can’t quite yet afford to get her kitchen built in, so she’s been eating at the Stardrop Saloon or lived on oatmeal and salads. But the mornings are dreadful with instant coffee and cold tap water, so she’s finally investing in something to make her life a bit better. This lifestyle reminds her of being a student in the dorms, and it’s not something she thought she’ll ever return to.

Sam looks around for his managers, and when there’s none around, he stops next to her and they chat by the vegetable stall. She’s frowning at the price, way higher than what they can find in the town and what she sells her own products for.

“Capitalism,” Sam says brightly, tugging at his employee lanyard, and she laughs at him.

“Oh, trust me, I know all about that.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, which makes her snort. Shane, his co-worker, turns to stare at them, but he’s not telling them on, so she moves one step closer to him.

“I’ve worked in customer care for Joja Corporation.”

Sam mimics throwing up, turning serious again only when she’s elbowing his side. She’s painfully aware of all the cameras in the store, after all this time away from anything of the sorts.

“But for real, you’re way better in Pelican Town,” he says, even if she’s not yet quite convinced.

But he doesn’t continue pressing the matter. Instead, Sam invites her the next Friday for an evening at the Saloon, where him, Sebastian and Abigail are supposed to play live a few of their songs. She clasps her hands together, and agrees immediately. She used to love this kind of thing: but it’s been so long since she allowed herself to take an evening off, both in her life back in the city, and the life here.

 ***

She’s already a regular, so Emily nowadays greets her with a hug. Though this time she whistles suggestively at her outfit. Since it’s supposed to be a more special night, she chose a low cut blouse to go with skinny jeans, and she’s no more a formless body buried under work clothes. The only make-up is a very dark lipstick. Her… friends, she supposes, are already on the side, tuning their instruments. Sam grins at her, waving her at the table Gus saved up for them, where he ordered pizza for everyone.

They’re not playing for a long time, maybe half an hour, but by the end, everyone is loudly clapping at their performance. She’s the only one whooping, and Sam is loudly laughing at her embarrassed grin afterwards, runs to fall into her waiting arms and twirls her around in the air, feet not touching the floor.

“Who knew our biggest fan would be you?” he says, helping her pat her hair pack into place.

“I did. I mean, your band has Abigail.”

The girl in questions frowns a bit at her, suspicious that it’s less of a compliment than she tried to make it, turns on her feet as she moves to the music box, tosses a coin in and picks a song. It takes a few seconds for her choice to start loudly booming in the saloon, but as soon as she does, she moves to grab at Sebastian’s arm, dragging him to the dancefloor, though he looks like he’s a lamb taken to sacrifice.

Sam laughs at the two of them, then turns back to his new friend.

“Do you think these two will ever hook up?”

She chokes on the slice of pizza that she’s eating, punching at her chest so she can breathe again. Someone slides in the chair next to her to the table, a hand slapping her hard on the back until she can breathe properly again. Then, frowning, she turns towards the newcomer, because she can’t bear looking at Sebastian and Abigail, together, dancing. She doesn’t think she can look at them without imagining them doing exactly what Sam asked her about, and it’s a shaming thought that she burns down. Shane, the one sitting next to her now, has already picked a slice of his own from their order, and nodded in greetings at Sam.

Sam leaves to talk with Penny, spending enough time as it is in Shane’s company, so Shane moves even closer to her, so he can be heard over the loud music. He’s a bit of an asshole, as he’s looking nowhere else but at her cleavage and the skin she’s showing with her choice of clothes. He’s not even trying to hide it, licking his lips, speaking without even trying to lift his eyes.

“Didn’t know the sunshine and the emo buy are hiding such a beauty between themselves,” he says, snaking an arm around her waist, shoving the second pint of beer he arrived with in her direction. He already smells like the stuff though, which means he’s at least tipsy, if not outright drunk yet. There’s offense in the way he said those nicknames, horrible on their own as well, but she’s sitting between the wall and his body and he’s a man showing interest in her, clearly going out of his way to make it obvious.

She takes several big gulps from her beer, and then turns towards him, smiling. He can’t tell it is strained.

“Well, I’m here now,” she says, and the hand around her squeezes in response. She lets him talk, mostly shit about the town, then shit about himself, and she keeps drinking and drinking, glass after glass of alcohol, because then at least she doesn’t have to reply. In the dark, they must look pretty cosy to the others, because no one else returns to the table – and by the time she remembers she is supposed to have friends around, and looks around for them, her vision is unfocused and she can’t make out the shapes and figures all around.

But she can notice the slightly grown stubble on Shane, how he’s now so, so close to her, his lips brushing against her ear each time he tells her something. She feels like she’s about to suffocate. But he tells her about how beautiful she is, how hard he makes her – and he guides her hand to his pants, where she indeed can feel her effect, and it’s a surge of pleasure and power. She squeezes him through his pants, and he groans in her ear. Her nipples perk up. And then his lips move closer, to her neck, where his tongue is lapping at her skin, sucking against the space. She feels hot all over, in a way that she doesn’t know if she likes or not. His other hand is now fondling with her breasts through her blouse, and she gasps – which only makes him to go at it harder. His mouth finds her, his tongue moving against hers immediately. She’s lost in time, doesn’t know for how long he does it – her body becoming lighter and lighter with each swipe of his saliva against her lips.

Then, a cough from behind Shane. She snaps out of her daze, looks up. Makes eye contact with Sebastian, which feels as effective as a cold shower to her fogged mind. She yanks Shane’s hands off her, but he’s unbothered, turns to look at Sebastian with something like disgust and boredom.

“Can we help you?” Shane says. She hates how the word we sounds from his mouth.

Sebastian doesn’t bother to even look at the drunk guy, instead addressing her only.

“Do you want to go home? The others left already, but it’s getting pretty late…” He stops to stare at Shane, and she wordlessly nods at him. He starts moving instantly, shoving Shane away so he can grab her wrist and help her out of her chair. She needs a few seconds to stabilize herself on her feet, stop the dizzying headache that hit her at the sudden movement.

“Come on, man, what do you think you’re doing?” Shane asks, though he also has troubles standing on his own feet. He makes do with leaning against the table, doing his best to look as menacing as possible.

In his arms, she shudders at the sound of his voice, clutches her fingers around Sebastian’s leather jacket. He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t want to touch her either, so he just stands still.

“She’s coming with me,” is all he says, and when he starts towards the door, she follows silently. He offers her jacket, which he picked up earlier, before checking on her, and she hangs her head even lower in shame. The cold, outside air is quickly sobering her up, and she really can’t believe she lost herself, just as if she were a college freshman. She burns with embarrassment.

Once out, Sebastian moves a bit away from her, offering her space, though he always extends an arm in her direction when she stumbles on both existent and imaginary obstacles. The silence now is excruciating.

“Say something,” she croaks, her throat hurting from all the alcohol.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, and he stops, looks at her for the first time since the start of all this situation. She knows she probably looks like a mess, lipstick smeared all around her mouth, clothes hanging awkwardly, but his eyes just search hers. She suddenly feels like crying. He must see it too, because he’s moving closer to her.

“Can I-” he tries, sighs, moves a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can I touch you?”

She nods, but he doesn’t move.

“I’ll need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes.”

She’s outright staring at him now, as he makes his way to her, cups her face in between his hands. His fingers are cold against her flushed skin, but it grounds her to the moment. Sebastian’s eyes are moving now, across her face: stop at her jaw, her neck, where Shane sucked painful love bites against her skin, visible even only in the light coming from the street lamps. He hesitates before moving his gaze downwards, where similar marks were left by his fingers against her tits. She feels like used goods, even if there is no judgement from Sebastian.

“Did you want that?” he asks again, sounding deadly serious, so she’s trying to think equally as seriously about his question. It’s hard, her thoughts all jumbled up, a soft kind of edge to everything going on in her head.

“I don’t know,” she answers finally, her head pressing more firmly against his palm. Sebastian’s thumbs are now moving softly against her jaw, and she wants to purr, just like a cat, maybe hang on to him for more of his warmth.

“God,” he says, and it sounds like a swearword. He unglues himself from her, extends an arm that she gracefully takes as they continue on the road to her house. He doesn’t say anything more until they arrive on her porch, though he looks like he’s thinking very hard. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

Max is happily snoring on the warm ground, and she lets go of Sebastian to run the short distance to her dog. She goes on her knees, grabs Max’s head in her hands and coos at him like she would to a baby, talks lovesick nonsense to the dog, pats him all over.

Her voice sounds fucking cute, Sebastian thinks, but instead he fishes something from the pockets of his jacket, bends down so he can press it in her palms. She immediately turns to look at him, eyes big and questioning.

“Take those in the morning, okay? You’ll need them,” is all he says, raising a hand and waving it in a goodbye.

 ***

Sebastian is right. She wakes two hours later, empties all the contents of her stomach, tears burning at her eyes, and when she wakes again, she thanks all the gods that outside it is raining, because she only gets up to get a glass of water and swallow the pills. Her head is killing her, and her heart aches in embarrassment at the way she acted. She hangs between screaming out in frustration at her own self and complaining about being hangover the whole day, hating herself so, so very much.

She still shoots Sebastian a text, thanking him for taking care of her, in so many ways, the night before. He leaves her on read.

For the next week, she busies herself with work on the farm. She makes another batch of jam jars, which she sends to Lewis for selling. She plants a new tree sapling, harvests strawberries, even builds an ugly-looking scarecrow out of an old broom. She cuts down wood, saves up stacks of it for when she’ll eventually afford Robin’s services. She goes in the mines, once or twice.

Then one of Lewis’ invitations is waiting in her mailbox, for another festival. Spring is coming to an end, already a sweeter, warmer breeze in the air, so the whole town is to celebrate the exact thing.

 ***

But Pelican Town is a small place, and so it never forgets gossip too easily. On that evening, enough pairs of eyes saw her fumbling in the dark with Shane, and so enough pairs of eyes are now watching her suspiciously as she greets the mayor. She’s wearing some city dress again, though more modest, and ribbons in her hair. She’s forcing herself to smile at everyone she encounters, trying not to seem so affected by the outright cold shoulder.

Sam still greets her, though, grabbing her in his arms.

“Oh, handsome!” she says, and laughs when he’s looking around, to check if anyone else heard her. But he is wearing a suit, his hair is gelled down and he smells like his mother. His eyes are searching hers though, and she thinks Sebastian might have said something to his friend. But thankfully Sam mentions nothing.

She looks behind him, at Sebastian, dressed in a costume as well. Her heart starts beating faster in her chest; his hair is pushed back, and his forehead is now uncovered. He sits relaxed, his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t really want to be there and she hasn’t seen someone look that heartbreakingly gorgeous.

“You too,” she says. Sebastian raises an eyebrow at her. “Look good, I mean,” she clarifies, and she clears her throat before the awkwardness chokes her.

It’s a big understatement, but it’s the best she can do right now. There’s a small smile that she gets in reply. On the other side of the field, by Robin’s side, Abigail, Penny and Maru look absolutely stunning in their festival dresses, with the flower crowns on top of their heads. They’re laughing at one of Abigail’s stories, and they’re just beautiful and young and entirely enrapturing. She wonders if she didn’t fuck it up so badly earlier, she would have been invited to be one of them.

This time around, there’s not as much mingling with the people as earlier in the season; people are a bit warier, though she supposes she deserves it. She’s busy setting down a mat under a blossoming tree, preparing some kind of picnic and viewing spot at the same time.

“You look beautiful,” she hears from behind her, and she turns around to find Shane. A bit behind him, Marnie is engaged in a conversation with the mayor, and by his side, there’s Jas, who immediately shoves her sandals away so she can step on her mat and sit next to her.

She offers her tea and strawberries, places her own hat on top of the child’s head to protect her from the sun, who squeals in delight that she can show off the winning prize of the egg hunt. Then, she turns back to Shane:

“Is she your daughter?”

“Gods, no. She’s my goddaughter.”

She sighs, relieved a bit. In the morning, Shane looks just scruffy, some kind of sober, but his face is still red and puffy, sign of alcoholism. She knows Jas lives with him and Marnie, and it can’t be a good environment for a child, but she’s heard the rumours that he’s not that much at home anyway. She’s worrying for the young girl, but she also trusts Marnie to handle the subject, not really her place to say anything anyway.

Shane moves closer, his hand grabbing the end of the scarf she’s wearing around her neck, tugging so it comes undone between his fingers. She gasps, palm gluing to the skin there, reaching out for him.

“Give it back,” she all but growls it out, eyes frantically looking around, hoping no one is actually looking their way, since everyone is focused on preparing for the dance.

“I did that, right?” he asks, finally stopping, and she takes back her scarf, hangs her head low, so that her hair can cover her movement, as she ties it back in place.

“Yes, you fucking asshole,” she spits, but doesn’t move away from him.

“I was honest, you know. About you looking beautiful. Then and now too.”

“Thank you,” she says, and stays in place even as Shane gets closer to her. He’s also dressed up, wearing an actual shirt and everything, his jaw freshly shaven. He even looks somewhat attractive, and just like last time, she’s grateful for the attention. Back in Zuzu City, no one bothers with any kind of dating, no one bothers to notice someone else at all – no sweet lies, no prelude, just a dick and a cunt. So this feels new and flattering at the same time.

She sits down on her mat, reluctantly serves Shane too with some of her freshly picked strawberries. Jas moved over to Vincent and Jodi, her hands carefully holding on to the hat that’s still a bit too big for her, so it’s only the two of them in this corner. The music can’t start soon enough, because she can feel stray eyes looking to them.

The dance starts, and she watches, transfixed as the pairs walk towards each other, meeting in the middle in an embrace. Almost immediately the dresses flutter in the air, twirling. There’s an admiring exclamation from somewhere in the crowd, Jas happily clapping along to the rhythm. She looks at Sam, all but drinking up Penny’s laughing face. She looks at Abigail, tightly holding on to Sebastian’s shoulders. She looks at her friends dancing with the girls they have a crush on, and something in her chest rips apart.

“Hey,” Shane says. “Wanna get out of here?”

She nods wordlessly, and he takes her hand. No one looks at them, as they discreetly make their way behind everyone else. Once out the field, Shane breaks into a run through the woods. They stop in a clearing, both breathing hard from their run, and Shane grins at her, before straightening his back, walking purposefully her way and deciding to kiss her. It’s hard and rough, much like he’s been handling her until now too, but she still moans.

His hands are already moving at pulling his belt apart, and he takes her hands and moves them towards his dick.

“Come on, play with it,” he whispers breathlessly, as he’s pulling apart her scarf for a second time today, mouth finding the tender skin, reinforcing the fading marks. She’s feeling needy herself, she’d like him to shove down her panties and eat her out, but she makes do with moving her legs one against the other, seeking some kind of friction, as her hands are moving from his tip towards his balls, slower at the beginning, and faster once he starts grunting in her ear, pumping into her hands.

Then, he grabs at her hair, and she has to bite her tongue to stop from yelping.

“On your knees,” he says, already pushing his weight on her shoulders, and more or less willingly, she gets to the ground. The uneven dirt hurts her skin, and yet she has to ignore it, because Shane is already guiding his dick with his hands towards her lips. She forces herself to open her mouth, hopes he’ll better get down to do the same thing for her.

Her mouth is warm, and she’s fucking good at what she’s doing, sucking hard and taking him all in, like a good bitch, even if tears are forming at the corner of her eyes and her throat is burning. He pulls out, just to slam, hard, back inside her wet, welcoming hole – and in just three shoves, he comes undone, half coming in her mouth, half out just so he can have his fantasy of his cum leaking on her face.

Her dress is stained, and almost all her arousal is out of her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, presses a palm against the painful strain in her jaw. Shane hurries to put his now flailing dick back inside his pants, and he’s not helping her back up.

“Gotta go,” he says, and he’s patting down his pants, where she held onto and left some creasing.

“What?” she asks, suddenly annoyed. “What about me?”

“Solve it yourself, princess.”

He starts walking away. She screams after him.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“My pleasure, next time!” he shouts back, but he doesn’t stop, as he’s making his way back towards the festival.

She shoves the middle finger up in the air, stomping her feet at the same time, shrieking.

“You fucking asshole!”

He chuckles at her tantrum, but he’s spent and satisfied, while she’s there frustrated and fucked over, so he’s not bothering to take her too seriously.

There’s no way she can go back there without everyone else figuring out exactly what she’s been up to. Of course, Shane looks no different than his usual, maybe he’s even surrounded by some post-orgasm glow, but there’s some bleeding from one of her knees, his now dry cum on the front of her dress, and her hair is nothing but a mess. She can’t believe how fucking stupid she can be, and how she fell again in the same old game of “I give you some attention, you give me some sex” that she’s been playing for ages now. It seems like habits don’t change, no matter if she’s in Zuzu City or Pelican Town.

And for what? Just because she felt lonely and jealous, because she felt like no matter how much she’ll try, she’ll never be anything but a passing fancy to these people that know each other inside out?

She makes her way towards her farm stomping her feet, swearing at Shane and mumbling curses all the way. Once back, she draws herself a hot bath and, in the tub, finally somewhere safe, she touches herself, moans out into the air a name she doesn’t dare to even say out loud, and thinks of someone who never even looked at her in any way to indicate she might want her too.

So, she must make do with fucking Shane?

But as she succumbs to her orgasm, moving lower into the water, maybe she can just order a dildo online and leave it at that.

*** 

On the first summer days, she takes up fishing. She buys a bottle of mead, because she’s heard from mayor Lewis that’s the favourite drink of their local fishermen, and she goes down the beach to beg.

She wants to learn fishing, she says. Just a couple of lessons, whenever he can leave his store and he’s willing to – she really just wants some new hobbies. It’s dreadfully awful to have only three functional TV channels, and only a dozens of books. Even Max is just a dog, and there’s a limitation to what he is capable of. Willy is funny and wise in the way only old men who love the sea can be, but he’s patient in his explanations – and sure enough, very soon, she catches her first fish.

She takes a picture of it on her phone, proud of her achievement. She sends it to Sam, to boast a bit and to annoy him, because he’s currently stuck at his part-time job. Then she goes shell hunting, because she’s too giddy to do any actual work. The villagers recently rebuilt the small bridge on the beach, and it’s lovely to get to take a walk like this. She wants her house to have the same fresh feeling, so she visits Robin for an upgrade.

And she knows she’s paying for the work, but with Robin, she feels like she’s asking for a favour, so she must give something back. And because she feels guilty, for having thought so angrily and jealously about Sebastian and his life, she wants to say sorry in a way, even if he has no way of knowing why she’s doing it in the first place.

Robin’s outside the house, just having come back from an exercise class at Caroline’s. She greets her visitor just a bit more strained than usual, and well – there’s no doubt that if there’s a gossip mill in the town, that’s probably the weekly gathering of middle-aged wives.

The farmer sighs, agrees to wait in the house while Robin takes a shower, before they can discuss about work.

“Is Sebastian home?” she asks, and the older woman makes a dismissive sign with her hand, which means she can go and check for herself.

The door to his room is slightly open, and he actually asks her to come in when she knocks. She greets him from the doorway, suddenly shy when he speaks, suddenly guilty that she’s interrupting him. She sits down on the couch, starts by watching him work, and then eventually she gets distracted by the posters on his walls, and the huge book collection he is showcasing on his shelves. It’s work that she’s familiar with, the stuff she liked to read before, when she used to have time for her hobbies, about worlds that she could escape to only by reading about them in books, featuring magic and dragons and robots.

He doesn’t seem to mind her looking around, as long as she’s quiet. Then, he eventually finishes, and sighs, stretching out his arms.

“Sorry about that, had to finish what I was working on.”

“Ah,” she nods. “And what is that?”

“I do freelance programming,” he answers. “I just want to save up enough to move from here. You know, if I’d gone to college, I’d probably be making six figures right now… but I just don’t want to be part of that corporate rat race, you know?”

“As a rat,” she says, a smile already on her face, “I totally agree with you.”

He looks at her; this is the first hint he gets – of something more about her. He’s heard from Sam, of course, about her actual job in the city, but it’s different to know it from her, to know he has her trust, to hear the defeat behind her voice, even as she tries to hide it with humour.

Then the moment is broken, the ping from his IM breaking the companionable silence between them. Normally, he’d have to explain to people why he is not in the mood to meet up with others, his introversion something out of a freak show with the villagers, but she just nods at him in understanding.

But the next interruption is almost brutal, Robin returning to pass on Abigail’s message, so filled with dismissal at his work, and indifference at his preferences. The easy air about him, as he was talking about a work he clearly loves and his dreams, is now entirely stifled – and instead he, defeated, just accepts all of this, even if he complains. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

This situation makes her blood boil, though: because she’s been in his exact spot. She’s had people look down at her choices for as long as she’s decided to walk her path, out there in the city – and now that she knows what it’s like not to, she can’t take to be the witness to it happening in front of her. Of course, some people will always have something to say, but it should be different with those considered friends – considered family, no?

From the kitchen upstairs, Robin is calling out her name – now, suddenly, she doesn’t really want to go, especially when she knows her presence is soon to be replaced by someone else’s. So, she acts daringly. She touches his arm, as she raises to go:

“You know, I think you’re doing an amazing job, especially considering your conditions. And trust me, it really is better than being a clog in the corporate system, and your work is important, even if it’s important for you only.”

As soon as she came, she’s gone and he loses his chance of asking for more. She left behind another sloppily packed present on his desk, a piece of quartz inside. He gets up, moves to put it up on his shelves – and shit, he wonders if she noticed the other stuff she’s given him, up there.

 ***

So Robin starts coming around with her carpenter tools, sometimes so early in the morning that she’s welcoming her still in her Disney pyjamas. They drink instant coffee, warm this time – and they discuss recipes that she’d like to try in her new kitchen, or the kind of animals she’ll grow in the barn. She learns that Robin loves goat cheese, and she shares that she absolutely hates peppers. She asks about Sebastian and Maru’s childhoods, she tells of her grandpa’s favourite magic trick.

The sound of Robin’s hammer accompanies her through her motions, as she’s ploughing the land for the summer crops. She didn’t really understand how lonely she has been all these months, just going through what she has to do. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if just for a few stolen minutes.

Sebastian drops by during his breaks sometimes, to bring his mother’s lunch, and both women nag at him so much that he ends up eating with them, Max nestled at his feet under the table.

Once, she walks back with him towards the town; she needs to drop by Pierre’s, to order some kitchen utensils – and by Lewis’ house, to leave him a note with info on her next batch of syrup and honey, that she sells for some good prices. He strains himself to walk in a pace that matches hers, even if he just wants to hurry home and take a nap.

She noticed, how tired he looks lately: hair more dishevelled, the slight stubble on his chin, the dark under his eyes. She knows, from Robin, that he spent even more time than usual in his room, refusing to meet even Abigail or Sam. She’d like to press her palm on his forehead, check for any signs of sickness.

“Are you working a lot these days?” she asks, fumbling with the edge of her t-shirt, feeling shy and worried that she might be overstepping.

“Had a tight deadline, but it’s over now.”

He pushes the hair out of his eyes with his hand, pats the pockets of his jeans with the other. He takes out his cigarettes, and then swears.

“Shit, do you have a lighter?”

In fact, she does. Sometimes, when she goes to the mines, her flashlight flickers and dies out, so she started the habit of carrying candles on her expeditions, and always a lighter in her pocket. She offers the fire; she has to stand on her tiptoes and he has to bend down to make it work.

Sebastian looks at her; she’s determinedly staring at the ground. They’re so close that even in the summer heat, she can feel his breathe on her cheek. Once the cigarette is lit, she almost scrambles away, pressing her palms to her cheeks, complaining about the hot weather.

She starts walking faster, afraid of what she might do if Sebastian looks into her face. There’s a small smile on his face that she can’t notice.

 ***

Pierre’s store is more of a general hangout spot for his daughter, though – Maru is eating her lunch with Abigail in a corner, and she waves at the two of them as she turns towards the counter. Of course, Pierre convinces her to buy several types of flower seeds – and she walks around the town with those in her arms. She thinks she might actually be his best customer. Or easiest, which in his case, it is one and the same thing.

That’s how she meets Evelyn: in the town square, taking care of the flowers. In truth, she never stopped to think about who maintains the town, and now she seems to have her answer. There are many people around; Penny with the kids, playing in the water fountain. Mayor Lewis and Harvey discussing in front of the clinic, Gus sticking a request on the board.

But the old lady spots her shopping, and sits her down on a bench, where she lectures her on the proper way to take care of them.

Then, the tone shifts – and the older woman asks her about the animals she’s growing (they’re well), how she finds Pelican Town (nice) and what’s her favourite flower (hyacinth).

“You know,” she laughs. “I almost married your grandpa.”

She sputters, unsure how to take this wild what-if she’s presented with. Of course, if Evelyn would have ended as his wife, she wouldn’t be here at all. And still, her curiosity gets the best of her.

“What happened?”

“Oh, George – that’s my husband, dear – bought an old farm here in town and moved one day. The next thing you know, everyone was smitten with the new farmer, me included. And by then, your grandpa was already in the army.”

And when he returned from the army, he returned with a wife – that’s a story that she knows. Grandpa met her grandmother at one of the dance evenings organized for young soldiers, and if the story she was told as a child is to be believed, he danced with no one else that night, the next and all the other ones that followed.

“How was he like?”

Sometimes, when it comes to someone you love, it’s hard to consider them from another point of view than the one you were always familiar with. He has always been just her grandfather to her, yet Evelyn here has seen him growing, becoming all those things to all those many people: son, neighbour, husband, father.

“He always worked hard, stirred trouble wherever he went and loved this town like no other,” she says, a faint smile on her face, lost in memories.

That sounds like the old man alright.

“Th-thank you, Evelyn.” Her voice sounds a little chocked. Just a little.

“Psssh, please. Call me Granny.”

The old man takes her hand, squeezes her fingers in hers – and pats her butt when she gets up to go home.

 ***

“Hey, mom,” she says, pressing the phone closer to her ear. It’s the first phone call she’s making from the landline, and there are jitters all over her skin. She hates that she has to stay still, glued to one spot the length of the phone’s cable. Her brain goes in override.

“Darling!” her mother exclaims from the other side. There’s some shifting, the sound of a door closing, then a sigh. “How are you? How’s Pelican Town?”

She tries not to sniffle outright, tries not to cry that she wants her mother when she’s a fucking grown-up adult, but that really is how she feels. It was all okay, the construction almost to an end, her crops growing beautifully – and then Max gnawed at her only good pair of shoes, and the thing sent her into a spiral of self-pity. She really has no idea what on earth she is doing here.

Instead, she asks: “Did you like living here?”

She is grandpa’s only living child. After her older brother’s death, she simply packed her stuff and moved to a shitty dorm in city, got married in two months and had her almost immediately after. Nowadays, her father is drowning in alcohol and her mother is drowning in work – and she wonders if the first coping mechanism may be more useful than the latter, though her last experience seems to point to a no.

“No,” her mother says. “But depends on what you’re chasing, or what you’re running away from. So, do you like living there?”

She tugs at the phone cord, shifts on spot, looks at Max sleeping a few feet away.

“M-maybe? I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no,” her mother says, ending the call immediately afterwards.

She sits on the same spot, with the tone dead in the background for a very long time, just staring out the window at the setting sun.

 ***

With the new barn built, she visits Marnie about filling it with the appropriate animals. She’d like a sheep, just because she thinks knitting would be a useful hobby to pick up by winter. Maybe a goat, so she can make cheese and thank Robin properly for all the overtime work she put in finishing her house so early.

Jas is out with Vincent, but before discussing the price of the animal, Marnie hands her the straw hat and her picnic mat. She burns as she takes those from her, not knowing what to say. It’s been two weeks since she ran from the town’s celebration, and even now, she burns with the shame of that day. She starts looking around.

“He’s not-”

“At work, dear,” she says, and finally she starts calculating and writing down something at her desk.

“So you know.”

“Everyone knows,” she says and sounds forcefully cheerful, although she must understand what weight her words have, because the farmer is slouching in a chair, head hanging in her hands.

“There’s nothing going on,” she wails, looking up at Marnie, begging her to believe her – even if she’s just a stranger, asking for a bias against her own blood relative.

“Nothing going on anymore?” Marnie corrects, moves to pat her on the shoulder, signalling at the same time for the young woman to follow her. She nods her head, defeated, and Marnie has to wonder what exactly did this hard-working farmer see in her drunk nephew. She feels relieved to know that she put an end to it. Maybe exactly because she got involved with her good for nothing boy that she feels a bit more forgiving towards her.

She talks her in getting another chicken too, as an apology for having fucked around with her nephew. She doesn’t have the heart to correct this motherly woman that it was, in fact, the other way around. But either way, she’s forgotten.

She knows that because the next day, Penny calls her and asks her to spend the day together with the kids on the beach. She shouldn’t be that surprised to see Sam there too.

 ***

She asks everyone she gets along with over, after the house expansion is finished. She spent most morning just preparing various recipes, to fit everyone’s taste. Penny arrives first, dropping an apple pie on her kitchen counter and moving around the house to admire Robin’s work. She’s been thinking of doing something about her trailer-living situation for a while.

Abigail and Maru arrive together, with a plate of Robin’s spaghetti. Her and Demetrius decided it’s better to skip the evening, seeing how everyone else there is the same age as their children. She learns that Abigail is supposed to start her second year of university in autumn, and that Maru is going to do her master’s in astrophysics.

She whistles appreciatively, makes fun of her literature degree on the way. The two then huddle together in a corner of the porch, feeding Max stray bits of food and cooing at him when his tail starts wagging.

Sam and Sebastian arrive the last, each carrying a board game in their hands. It’s smart thinking on their side, because she’s not sure what she would have entertained her guests with otherwise. They huddle around the table, filling up plates with at least five different food recipes, passing iced tea and lemonade around. Abigail has this perfect skill of being able to imitate Lewis’ announcement voice perfectly, which in turn makes Sam snort his drink out of his noise. It makes everyone else lose it, and afterwards there’s no awkwardness hanging between them.

Penny helps Sam clean up in the kitchen, and they’re gone for way longer than necessary, though everyone else at the table is polite enough not to comment on it. Abigail and Maru, sitting one across the other, keep looking at each other while the other is not looking, and Abigail might be eating so much chocolate cake that she risks getting sick.

Sebastian sits next to her, smiling softly at a story that Penny is telling, from their time together in high-school. She should, technically, feel left out of the loop, but each time she mentions someone unknown, or a habit they used to have as a teenage group, Sebastian leans over closer to her, and whispers explanations into her ear. His voice, low and smooth, makes her feel like she’s melting down her chair.

Sam and Sebastian go out for a smoke, and she’s following them too, asking for a cigarette from Sebastian, letting her lighter pass around in a circle. The sun has already set, and there’s only the soft buzzing sound of her lamp in the air. The boys are talking about their rehearsal schedule, ask her over sometime, which she happily agrees to.

“Hey,” Sam says, kicking at her leg with his shoe. “Are you single?”

“What the fuck?!”

Sam raises his hands in the air, talking with his cigarette between his teeth. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

She was ready to punch his elbow, but is now lowering her arm, frowning at him. Behind Sam, Sebastian continue smoking, refusing to get himself involved in this mess.

“Whose messenger?” she asks, though there’s a teasing edge in her voice, clearly proving that she doesn’t believe anything else but his own curiosity brought him to this rudeness.

“Look man – uhm, woman I guess, we’re all friends here, no judgement zone.”

“You just laughed at Maru for liking math two minutes ago!” she points out, this time her kicking his leg.

“You can just not answer the question,” Sam says, pacifying, turning towards Sebastian to offer him his lighter, as he’s already on his second cigarette.

“No, it’s fine.” She feels embarrassed for causing a scene, when it’s not even such a big deal. “I am single.”

She starts walking a bit away, making it seem like she’s inspecting the shrub just next to the stairs.

“So no Shane?” this time it’s Sebastian asking, which is surprising because she did not expect him to care.

“No Shane,” she confirms, her voice a bit weaker than she intended it to be.

Sam punches the air in a victorious movement, grinning at her.

“Thank God, that guy’s a fucking asshole.”

He shivers a bit in the cold night air, wearing only a t-shirt, and with a goodbye thrown over his shoulder, he goes back inside. Sebastian moves his hand in the air a bit, gesturing to his unfinished smoke, but she’s still not making a move to go back.

“But him and Penny… totally a thing, right?”

“Totally,” Sebastian says, and they both burst out laughing.

***

When Abigail phoned to tell her about Luau, she actually mostly whined that summer festivals are the most boring ones, because everyone is so busy tending to crops and making the most out of the long days. The farmer herself was actually taking a break, at the height of the summer heat, with a glass of iced water, but counting down the minutes before she’d be back in the garden, pulling out the weeds and gathering ripened fruits.

She still gets invited to Luau with everyone else; somewhat of a temporary, potentially forever fixture to their group. There’s a gaping hole opening in her stomach when she thinks of this, anxiety bubbling all inside her body making her feel sick. She feels like something terrible surely must happen soon, considering how much joy she gets from all these people.

She has sent some stuff to mayor Lewis, to add to the potluck soup: fresh tomato, some mushrooms, basil. But still, the thing looks completely inedible.

“Are we trying to kill the governor?” she asks, as she’s carefully looking at the bowl in her hands.

Sebastian laughs, turning his upside down in the sand. She’d really like to do the same thing.

“It’s tradition!” Maru explains, frowning at her brother.

“Are we choosing governors based on the quality of their stomach?” she tries again, this time sniffing at the stuff. Its consistency looks absolutely… gluey.

Sam joins the laughter this time, and Sebastian pats Maru’s shoulder in some attempt at an excuse. Abigail is the only one who actually eats the stuff, though her face turns somewhat pale as soon as she is done. The governor looks like he is perfectly fine, and even praises their soup, which makes everyone visibly relax.

 ***

Maru’s birthday was a solitary thing; just another ordinary working day, celebrated only with chocolate cake in the evening with the entire family. Robin builds her another bookshelf, Demetrius and Sebastian get the money for a new telescope. No other guests are invited, though random gifts still find their way to her mailbox: a stray astrology book, a new case for her glasses.

Sam’s not that different, though they all heard the rumours that immediately after his shift, he visited the museum, and spent a very, very long time there. They meet on Friday night at the Saloon though, so that the band can play and the others can cheer. They’re spectacular, as usual, and when doing something they love, all three of them look younger than she has ever seen them.

Penny is at her side, an arm looped around her waist, and they’re both swaying their bodies on the rhythm of the music. Sam winks in their direction, though the redhead pretends she doesn’t see it.

 ***

On one of their river discussions, Sebastian mentions frogs to her once; something she’s been terrified of for as long as she remembers. But there’s just such a soft smile on his face, and his voice is so calm: and as such, she thinks to give it a try. Which is exactly why he finds her one day, as he goes to visit Sam, by the river bank, on all fours, staring into the water.

She yelps when he hears him calling out to her, fluttering her arms in the air in a panic. It’s that movement that makes her stumble forward in the water. She doesn’t know how to swim, but the water is low enough to not be a problem, but as she gets up, sitting on her ass in the middle of the river, she scowls at him.

“I hate you,” she says.

He smiles, and with the sun at his back, it’s the most beautiful sight she’s seen. He offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully, trying to remain as dignified as possible, considering that her clothes are now stuck to her body and there might be some mud on her butt.

“What were you doing?” he asks, and she immediately reddens under his attention.

She mumbles her answer; she’s a terrible liar, so she doesn’t even try. This time, Sebastian actually laughs at her, and she crosses her hands at her chest, both indignant and cold.

“I hate you,” she says again, this time accentuating each of her words. But there’s no fire behind it, so he ignores her remarks. Instead, he unzips his hoodie and, slowly, places it on her shoulders.

“But-” she starts, already moving to remove it, give it back, refuse the help, her natural instinct kicking in. He hasn’t stepped back, and having him so close, she notices the subtle smell of his aftershave, the dark marks under his eyes. She wants to get on her tiptoe and let her fingers run through his hair, so soft from up this close. Then he speaks, the magic breaking, and she moves her eyes down to her shoes, shy all of the sudden.

“Sam’s living real close, so it’s really no problem.”

He’s trying very hard not to move his eyes away from hers, face burning red with embarrassment – and only then does she realize she’s wearing a white shirt, and she’s wet –

“Oh,” she says, lamely, moving her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. “I… I’ll wash it and bring it back to you.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, before awkwardly saying his goodbyes. Sam will chew him out for being late, and Abigail will frown at him for not letting them know about this ahead of time.

But their new farmer will stand by the river bank for a long time still, looking down at the water, even when Vincent passes her by and laughs at the wet pool that dripped at her feet.

***

She likes taking the mountain path, especially during hot summer days: less people to stop and chat with under the sun, more shade from the trees, chances to see a wild bunny or a squirrel, maybe picking up some wild fruit. She learnt to enjoy these things, that felt like such a chore back in the day, when she was simply a child helping out her relatives. Maybe because, from start to finish, in everything she does for her farm, she leaves a part of herself in there.

She’s as familiar with Robin’s garden as she is with her own, and that’s why it takes her brain a bit to catch up with what she is seeing.

She didn’t even expect to see Sebastian at all, and especially not like… this. Sprawled under his motorcycle, the picture perfect of her dream boy from high-school. It’s then when it dawns on her that she might have some other reasons too, for visiting Robin today, for picking the mountain path, for going to the mines so often, even if she’ll never admit it to anyone else.

For a second, she hates him so much for having been so kind to her, for having taken care of her, for his beautiful smiles and his unending understanding. For having made her like him so much, when this recluse and silent man seems to dislike everything that she is starting to like lately.

She crushes the feeling coming up in her chest; the despair and the need to go and run as far away from him, before they make eye contact, before her beating heart goes into override.

Sebastian heard her approaching footstep though, and as he’s coming up, t-shirt clinging to his chest, she closes her eyes. God help her not to jump this man right here and now.

“Hey you,” he says, the corner of his lips lifting up a bit seeing her.

She waves, taking a deep breath as she approaches him, taking a seat on the outside bench. He picks up the tool that he needed, and goes back to work. She stays put right where she is, watching him.

“You know, it’s fascinating to watch someone do something I know nothing about,” she laughs, thinking of her useless literature degree as well, her dirt stained nails and her dead-end job back in the city, so opposed to his programming skills and the coppery smell of his motorcycle.

“That’s how I feel when you talk about farm upgrades with mom,” he says, and then asking her for another tool – it’s the round one with a yellow handle.

She shifts closer; he gets out from under the metal labyrinth of his bike enough to nod at her in thanks when she hands it to him. But he understands her feeling better than he manages to put it into words, especially since he’s been an outcast in the village for so long; heck he’s not sure anyone else but her even accepts what he’s working, let alone understand it.

But if there’s someone who can get it, it’s certainly the city girl who gave up everything to become a farmer. Much as he wants to drop everything here just for a shot at the big city. It’s the same strangling hope in his voice, that she’s detected the first time they met, when he talks about his short escapades.

He gets up, wiping his hands on a dirty old rag. There’s a dark stain on his cheek that makes him so incredibly cute, and yet the contrast couldn’t be more obvious with his muscles.

“You could come with me next time,” he says, and he purposefully looks at her, digging out her reactions.

She blushes, all red, prettily and opens her mouth to say something, closes it again. Then, with a bit too much eagerness, that makes her seem just a bit too desperate to do the right thing, she says:

“I’d love to.”

“Great,” he says, and this time it’s a full smile that he graces her with.

They move to enter the house now, the sun setting at their back, and he holds the door open for her. She has to squeeze by him, so close that she can feel the smell of oil mingled with his sweat, and the always present soft aroma of soap.

Robin is in the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate for everyone; Abigail is over too, in Maru’s room, the two’s laughter loud enough to be heard from downstairs. Demetrius is in his office, researching something in one of his biology tomes.

She immediately moves to help Robin; now familiar with the layout of her kitchen, with everyone’s favourite mug. His mother yells at Sebastian to go and take a shower before even daring to enter her kitchen, which is exactly the reason why he moves closer to her instead, loudly kissing her cheek.

Robin shrieks, hitting him with the spoon she’s holding in her hand. Their guest watches the scene with a soft smile; she likes it when there’s no bitterness between the two, which is something that comes way easier when no one else in their family is around.

She presents Robin with her first goat cheese; it’s experimental yet, really I have no idea if it’s any good, but she gathers her in her arms anyway, thanking her from the bottom of her heart. She carefully places it in her fridge.

And while Robin goes to Demetrius’ office, forcing a break out of this man as they plan to drink their hot chocolate together, she’s tasked to bringing up the girls’. She knocks, but it still doesn’t feel like sufficient incessant to stop whatever they were doing, because when she opens the door, Maru’s in Abigail arms, having a somewhat lost look on her face. Abigail’s lipstick is all over Maru’s neck, and smeared around her lips, and both their mouths are pulsing red with the pressure of shared kisses.

She blushes under their eyes, hates to have interrupted what she just did. It’s worse than if they were having sex, because the tension in the air is so thick she can choke on it.

“R-Robin said-” she tries, but she’s so embarrassed that she just leaves the tray on the desk, and all but bolts down the stairs.

Shit, she thinks.

“Shit,” she exclaims out loud as well. She’s so wind up she doesn’t hear the footsteps following her, and she almost screams when Abigail’s hand comes down her shoulder.

“Hey, look, let’s be chill about it and keep it a secret, yeah?”

“Of course,” she nods her head. “And I’m really sorry…”

“Our fault for being daring enough not to lock the door. But in our defence, we didn’t think that would happen,” Abigail says, winking at the other woman, before moving upstairs, probably to calm down her lover.

The theme of her life is that she is a big, stupid, idiotic fool. She’s been jealous for months on a relationship that didn’t even exist, and now she feels guilty and embarrassed all over again for what she did when overcome by those emotions. She stands in the middle of the hallway, hating herself so much that she would burst into flames if she had magical powers.

Sebastian finds her eventually, grounds her back to reality with a soft touch against her elbow and a soft call of her name. She startles like she’s been shot, almost jumping out of her skin, before things start refocusing around her. Sebastian, after his shower, smells like pine and mint, and he’s wearing shorts.

“Come on,” he says, slowly guiding her back to the kitchen, where their drink probably went cold already. At the back of his leg, Sebastian has a tattoo: a man lying face down, ten swords hanging above his body.

“That’s cool,” she nods her head at the design, sipping from her hot chocolate.

“Thanks. Sweet sixteen present, teenage rebellion and everything.”

“I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” she says, and Sebastian rises his eyebrows, clearly sceptical.

“For real!” she laughs. “I came here, to gramps.”

“Can’t remember you ever being up here,” he says, but now he’s curious.

“Well, of course, he called my mom the second I entered the house, and next morning she came to pick me up, but still.”

Sebastian snorts at her story, and she’s beaming at him with the largest smile possible, having gotten such a reaction out of him. It seems like it’s so easy for her to rile him up, or to get him involved enough in what she’s doing that he can’t filter his reactions anymore.

He walks her home that evening; she insisted he didn’t need to go through the trouble, since she’s out even later all the time, but Robin pushed, especially since Abigail was to sleep over, so she didn’t need Sebastian to walk her home.

In the end, she had company on the way home.

“Sorry for the trouble,” she says. Sebastian is smoking again, and only shakes his head. They continue their conversation from earlier, about how they used to be as kids and teenagers, periods in time that feels very far-away. Then she tells him of her past job, how she used to want to kill herself every time she entered the building, how there was no more city around her, and just the clutch of overwork and need for money.

She breathes easier here, she says. She hasn’t seen the stars in years, she adds.

She’s looking up at the sky, but Sebastian is looking at her.

She’s seemed lost on that first day, overwhelmed as she looked around at her inherited plot of land, and he’s given her two weeks maximum to survive in there. And here she is, rounding on six months, looking like she’s always belonged.

She hands him his sweater, thanks him again, in that sweet voice that matches her face, but not her personality when she’s swearing. He wishes the road between their houses was longer, longer than to Zuzu City, so long that they could have the entire night at their disposal.

 ***

“You’re late,” she says, from where she sits on the pier, her feet just a few centimetres above the water surface.

She’s barefoot, and she’s wearing a thin and short dress, and showing so much skin that Sebastian is a bit distracted at first. Technically, they haven’t set a meeting time, but he is indeed the last of the villagers to arrive on the beach for the dance of the moonlight jellies. By now, the others are also grouped together, leaving her alone.

She pats the space next to her. He sits down, yawning.

“Sorry, I was up until 3am reading a new book.”

She lights up then, shoots question after question at him: about his favourite authors and books, hints at the volumes he knows she’s seen on his shelf. They decide to buddy read a book together, and the next day he finds her favourite novel in his mailbox, he sends his instead. His are in pristine condition, while hers are underlined all over, notes scrambled over the margins that he spends a lot of time trying to decipher, corners dog-eared. The first few are a hit and miss, then slowly, as they go through the volumes, writing long texts and handwritten note with their thoughts on it or calling each other late into the night, they start to figure each other’s state, collections growing on each side.

On Penny’s birthday, no one can find the young woman almost the entire day. For that matter, they had the same problem with Sam too.

On Abigail’s birthday, she knocks on the farmer’s door in the middle of the night. The other woman is sleepy, bleary eyed, and she knows that something serious is going on because Abigail doesn’t even make fun of her pyjamas. She opens the door, wordlessly. Makes some tea, as Abigail plops on the rug on the floor, nuzzling Max.

She passes her a steaming cup of tea, sits in front of her in much the same manner.

“What happened?”

It takes Abigail a long time to reply, and when she does, she stumbles over words.

“I-I came out to my parents. Let’s say they didn’t take it too well. Sebastian lives with M-Maru so it didn’t feel like the smartest move, and Sam’s mother already has enough things to worry about. I had no-nowhere else to go.”

She shouldn’t be this surprised when the farmer leans closer, wrapping her arms around her, squeezing her close. Abigail reaches up her hands, tugs at the pyjama top and starts sobbing. There’s a large wet mark on the other woman’s shoulder when she is done, though she doesn’t seem to notice it as she’s running around her house, pulling out a rolled up mattress and building a make-shift bed in the middle of the room. She’s gentle as she moves Abigail to her bedroom, helps her in bed, petting at her hair, and chanting it’ll be okay over and over again.

Abigail’s already asleep when she moves to the kitchen, scrolling through her contacts list. It takes a few seconds before the person at the other end picks up, and Sebastian’s voice sounds muffled. She imagines him for a second, face half-hidden in his pillow, dishevelled hair. Then:

“It’s Abbie.”

The next day, Sam and Sebastian show up on her doorstep at 6am with chocolate cake, and they barely even greet her before moving inside, slamming open the door to the room where Abigail’s sleeping, essentially waking her up. But they also jump on the bed, squeezing themselves in the small space, peppering her face with kisses, even as she screams at them to stop, that they’re gross. But she’s laughing.

Over breakfast (eggs and salad and chocolate cake), they discuss what they should do next. There’s enough space here for two people, and it makes most sense to have Abigail live here for a while, until things calm down a bit.

“Did,” Abigail starts, unsure, playing with a tissue, “Maru tell your parents?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, and he feels like he really needs a smoke.

“I guess it went well.”

Abigail ends with a laugh that resounds dry and bitter in the room. Sam’s leaning towards her, holding her hand.

“Your parents will come around,” he says. “They just need to get over the initial shock.”

Except Abigail, everyone else nods. It’s hard to imagine Pierre staying mad at anyone, let alone his own daughter. But Pelican Town is a small enough place that such a thing might take a long time to forgive in the eyes of others. After the guys leave that first day, Abigail spends the entire day in bed. The next one, she joins her host for coffee, asks about the pumpkin patches.

When the Stardew Valley Fair rolls around, she helps the farmer fill Robin’s truck with her products. The older woman hugs Abigail that day like she’s a long-lost daughter, which makes her cry all over again.

 ***

The Fair itself is nice; the trees around had already started to turn orange, and it gives the place a really cosy atmosphere. Almost everyone in town buys something from her stall, and Marnie even comments that she fits right in. She enters Lewis’ competition with her pumpkins, but she loses to Shane’s chickens, which is a totally deserved win on his side, though she hates to admit.

Abigail makes up with her family that day, because the second she steps in town, her mother drops a crane of jars, swears, and runs up to her baby girl to hug the life out of her, cry and apologize. Pierre is sniffling at his stall, next to her – and she passes him her handkerchief.

Then, because Abigail is Abigail, she kisses Maru in front of everyone. George whistles, loudly and everyone laughs, which ends any discussion on the topic. With this scene, the farmer thinks she has just fallen a bit in love with the man herself.

Shane approaches her, to boast his win.

“Congrats,” she says, though she is pointedly not looking at the bow pinned to his chest. Jas has already been over, stopping everyone and showing it off.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and she’s glad the stall stands between them, because she knows he would have liked to be much closer than this.

“Glad you took the hint.”

“Is the freak gang that entertaining, little girl?”

There he goes again, with his horrible nicknames and that shit-eating grin. She hopes he’d choke on all the bullshit he’s spewing, some day.

“Yes.”

She sounds firm, serious and soft at the same time. There’s a small smile on her lips as well, and probably it’s that combination that makes Shane realize she’s entirely truthful. So, he laughs. For sure, he must find her stupid and foolish, and yet she only feels relieved as he watches him walk away, shaking his head like he’s disappointed.

As evening approaches, Sebastian stops by her stall. It’s almost empty now, most of her products sold earlier in the day. He sits next to her, smoking, looking at Sam winning the big prize at darts for Penny. She all but swoons.

Sebastian gets up, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

“Do you want to walk around?”

She nods, he helps her up. She asks Pierre to watch over the rest of her stuff, and when they move from stall to stall, her and Sebastian are so close that their shoulder almost touch, though none moves to put more space between them. She keeps stealing glances at him, as he explains to her about his favourite stalls, and how it used to look like back in his childhood.

They eat Gus’ famous burgers, and her heart almost stops beating when he leans closer, pressing a tissue to the corner of her mouth. He starts by looking her in the eye, but then her own eyes drop to the flutter of his eyelids, the curve of his nose, eventually settling on the plumpness of his lips – and his gaze follows suit, tracing the same path on her face. They sit in silence, staring at each other, until Gus’ boisterous laugh makes them both startle.

She mumbles her thanks, looking at her plate, too afraid to look at Sebastian.

They play darts too, though she only manages to hit the target only once, and only on its furthest ring.

“Sam rigged this game, didn’t he?” she asks, which makes him smile.

Sebastian pays for his turn, raises his eyebrows at her when she’s expectantly watching him. He throws the first dart while still looking at her, and it hits bull’s eye. She screams in delight, clapping her hands together.

He moves his hand to the back of his head, embarrassed at her reaction, even if he so desperately wanted it in the first place. He asks her if she wants any of the prizes, but she shakes her head. As cheesy as it might be, for her it’s enough that she can enjoy the fair, and that she can do it alongside him.

 ***

When she counts her savings the next day, it’s not as much as she would have liked. So she starts going to the mine again, because she can sell well everything that she finds in there, and for a couple of weeks, it works out just fine. Until it doesn’t anymore.

She knows the place is old, but the crack of the stair giving way under her weight was not an expected problem. The lurking animals and the unmapped areas, sure. But not the wooden step of the stairs.

It takes her by surprise, and she doesn’t have fast enough reflexes to find another footing, so she falls all the distance to the ground. She lands on her side, and there’s a terrible crack in the shoulder that makes getting up so, so painful afterwards. She’s bleeding heavily from one of her knees as well, and several bruises are already blooming on her legs and arms.

Her flashlight also went out on impact, so at first she is disoriented, her head booming with the sound of her fall. Then she gets scared, her heartbeat in her throat, and before she can even think more of her wounds, she forces herself to count up to 100, as slowly as she can, bringing her breathing back to normal, forcing her body to refuse the incoming panic attack just yet.

No one knows she’s in the mine right now, so technically even if they were to notice her disappearance, it will take a while until they find her. And it was already dark outside, judging from the last time she looked at her watch, which makes searching for her unsafe until at least tomorrow morning. She can’t just stay here and wait for someone to find her, even if that is all that she truly wants to do.

She winces when she finally raises to her feet. She’s unstable and everything hurts, but she’s most worried about her arm. She tried to pick up her discarded flashlight, but the movement hurt so much she left out an agonized wail.

Tears start biting at her eyes when she bumps into the stairs, after fumbling through the dark for it. She tries not to think of all the steps until the surface, and then her walk back home – and instead tries to take it one step at a time. She can support her weight only on one arm, and her legs hurt each time she raises them, the skin at her knee ripping open a bit more with each move of her leg up. She takes it one at a time, stops often to breathe deeply, give some part of her body some respite. She struggles even more when she finally gets to the broken stair, and she has to cover twice the distance.

When she eventually collapses on the ground at the entrance to the cave, she can smell the fresh night air, and she can hear the rustling of the leaves, and she starts crying. Somewhere down there, where the mine caved in, trapping workers under the stones and dirt and in unending hallways, is the body of her uncle. Of course, she could have easily shared the same fate today, if she would have been a bit higher, if she would have fallen on one of the sharp stones littering the lower floors instead.

She forces herself, again, to just breathe. But even as she makes herself stand up and walk the long way home, her mind is drifting further and further away, the pain now more dulled at the edge.

That’s why she doesn’t catches when someone calls out her name, doesn’t realize she’s not alone anymore until said person catches her arm to make her stop. Unfortunately, it is her hurt arm, and she shrieks, tears pooling at her eyes, as she’s stumbling away.

Sebastian stares at her, mouth agape, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. He moves his eyes over her body, taking in her state, though he’s unsure in some spots, if the stains on her clothes are blood or dirt.

“Shit, you need to see a doctor,” he says, moving closer again, but she flinches upon his approach.

He passes a frustrated hand through his hair. Dumbly, she wonders what he is doing out here, by the river, in the middle of the night.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. He’s still keeping his distance, though he’s looking at her in a strange way, like she’ll fall off her feet at any moment. Although she nods, this time more aware, more in tune with her surrounding, this time around he approaches more slowly, careful with his movements.

She leans onto him, sighing in relief.

“This will hurt,” he says, and before she has time to think about it, he gathers her in his arms, head at the crook of his neck, her good arm around his shoulder, as he starts carrying her. She just whimpers pathetically, at his chest, blushing furiously and trying not to overthink the gesture, or her weight, or the fact that they’re stopping in front of Harvey’s clinic at fuck knows what time.

Harvey answers on the second knock, looks at the state she’s in and simply mumbles I need my coffee, allowing them inside. Sebastian is still carrying her the flights of stairs up, before finally setting her down on a bed. He’s breathing hard by now, but he’s not complaining. In the light, she can see how wild and panicked his eyes are, how deep his frown is as he searches her body for wounds.

Now that they can see, her shoulder is at a weird angle.

“I’ll have to set it back,” Harvey says, sipping loudly from a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on a chair next to her bed. He looks up at Sebastian, checks the time on his wrist watch. “You can go if you want to.”

“I’ll stay,” he replies almost immediately, making her shiver on the bed, a movement that both men catch. “If that’s okay with you.”

She nods, pleading with Harvey to let him stay, to which he agrees. His job is not made any more difficult, since Sebastian looks perfectly healthy, the weird sleep schedule aside. She doesn’t notice when Sebastian moves, shifts so he can sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Harvey descends like a shadow above her, snapping her bones back in place. She squeezes Sebastian’s hand in her good one, so hard that his bones crack, her fingers digging in his skin until they draw blood. But she only inhales sharply, letting out a string of soft curses, teeth grinding together in pain. When she looks at them, she feels only betrayed, because they both clearly knew what was to come, and did their best to make it as fast as possible.

Harvey hands her a glass of water and some painkillers, and only then does she realize she’s still holding onto Sebastian’s hand. She lets go slowly, smiling at him, patting his hand in silent thanks, though Sebastian cannot smile back at her.

“So what happened?” Harvey asks, moving on to cutting open the leg of her pants, cleaning up the cuts, disinfecting her wounds.

She speaks, evenly, though her panic shows through in some parts, and Sebastian rubs calming circles on her back with his palm. She leans into his touch, swaying in place, eyes fluttering closed, opening them again at a slower and slower pace.

“You should sleep here tonight, so I can monitor your condition,” Harvey says, and Sebastian rises, helping her lay down on the bed, covering her with the blanket, as she’s already fallen asleep.

The two men move downstairs in silence. The clock on the wall shows 4 a.m.

 ***

She wakes to Granny knitting on a chair next to her bed. It’s such an odd image that it takes her a while to recall all the events of the night before. Then, she startles upright.

“Easy, darling, all’s good,” Granny says, though she didn’t even look up at the younger woman.

She learns that Marnie visited her farm earlier, feeding her animals. Abigail took Max to her place, Penny came by with pie. And Sebastian is downstairs, on his 3rd coffee of the day, not having gone home since he first dropped her at the clinic.

Granny smiles to herself when the patient looks longingly at the door, her skin on fire.

 ***

Harvey keeps her for one more night, though she is feeling alright, and she insists so to everyone coming around to check on her. She thought Robin will pick her up, something that she agreed to after much pestering from the woman, but instead the one waiting for her in front of the clinic, leaning on Robin’s truck, is Sebastian.

“Mom had something come up,” he says, moving to get her backpack, filled with the stuff from the mine and some clothes that Abigail picked for her. He opens the truck’s door for her.

“I could have just walked,” she says, though her leg is still stiff.

He shuts the door on her, and until he joins her in, she has time to mull over what exactly she wants to say.

“Thank you,” she beings. “For everything and I’m sorry.”

She fidgets on the spot, as he starts the engine and begins driving.

“Why are you apologizing?” his voice is soft, the corner of his mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit.

“For all the trouble?”

It sounds more like a question,

“You know I’d gladly be troubled for you.”

She does not know that, in fact. She turns to look out the window, at the stretch of trees on the road to her farm, and she wonders when she became such a person to others.

When they arrive, she invites him in, but he politely refuses. She needs to rest. But he does walk back to the car, fiddling with the gloves compartment, coming back with something in his arms. He presents it to her, carefully wrapped, and watches attentively as she opens it, catching her reaction.

In her hands, she has the first volume of what she knows is Sebastian’s favourite comic.

Abigail will tell her, later on, that before he came to pick her up, he drove all the way to Zuzu City so he could pick a copy for her. So on an autumn rainy day, she makes herself a cup of tea, and curls in her bed, opening the book.

She takes her sweet time, searching every detail in the art, rewriting particular quotes in her journal. Then her thoughts fly without her even wanting to, to a particular someone she’d like to have next to her, to explain her favourite parts. She’d like to have him by her side more than that though, as she wakes and works, a person that makes it so much easier for her to just be.

She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself, hugging the book close to her chest. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back. But the image is now stuck on a loop in her mind: stray sun rays filtering through the curtain, and Sebastian in the door frame, with her mug of coffee in his hands, offering it to her as she wakes.

She tortures herself with thoughts like this afterwards, whenever she finds a moment of respite in her work, as she hurries to sell the last of her crops, to preserve the mushrooms, fill the sill with grains for the animals and the storage outside with wood.

 ***

The first time she gets out of her property after the accident is to attend a dinner on Robin’s birthday. In the town here, it’s not a big deal, so she feels particularly honoured to have the older woman invite her.

However, Robin sends Sebastian to pick her up. She’s on the porch, bundled up in her favourite sweater and a shawl, petting Max, when he pulls up in her courtyard on his motorcycle. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and as he moves to get her helmet, she’s only staring at the way his muscles are straining under the material.

He helps her put it on, clasping it under her chin, his fingers lingering on her skin, and they stare in each other’s eyes for a few long seconds. Then, he holds out a hand, helping her get up, and guides her arms around his waist.

She’s basically glued to his back, and she wonders if he can hear how loudly her heart is beating. He tightens his hold against her arms, signalling that she should hold on tighter, and she does, even though she closes her eyes to will the embarrassment away.

Robin welcomes her with an enthusiastic hug, and she’s delighted to see Abigail has been invited as well, and she’s now sitting next to Maru at the table, discussing something with Demetrius. She’s sent her present in the mail earlier this day, more goat cheese and a few quartz pieces, and the redhead thanks her happily.

When she passes Sebastian on the hallway, she stops for a few seconds to thank him for the ride, warmly clasping his hand in hers. Then just as quickly she lets go, joins everyone else in the kitchen.

Most of the conversation is just the parents dotting on the newly formed couple, though there is a passing comment of the pumpkin soup currently served being Sebastian’s favourite food, so she makes a note to ask the recipe from Robin the next day. There’s an anecdote about how Demetrius and Robin first met, though it makes both their children cringe at how young and lovesick they still sound recalling it. Abigail talks about her studies, Maru continues, though their degrees are vastly different.

The farmer turns to look at Sebastian.

“What about your work?”

The conversation stills, a bit awkward. No one ever asks what Sebastian is doing, since freelancing is such a grey area in their mind – though they fail to see that almost everyone in this town is the goddamn owner of their own work.

“Well,” he starts, playing with the food on his plate. “Actually I’ve got a promotion recently and a really big project coming up.”

She clasps her hands together, beaming up at him.

“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Everyone at the table nods politely, Robin even congratulation her son. But he thinks of her question, and lately the answer seems to be no, because each of his successes brings him closer to leaving Pelican Town, and he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

 ***

By the end of the evening, everyone is more or less tipsy, made soft by the drink and the warmth of the house. Robin insists that she should sleep over, afraid to let her return home this late. She almost puts Sebastian and Maru in one room, but the daughter refuses so vehemently, that Sebastian instead just tells her he’ll take the couch. Their mother stares for a long time after both of her children, as each turns to their guest, and instead decides to retire for the night, together with Demetrius.

That’s how she ends up sitting on Sebastian’s bed, as he’s searching for a towel and some clothes for her.

“Maru is leaving next spring for a research program,” he explains. “That’s why-”

“She wants to make the most out of it,” she continues.

“Yeah.”

He understands the feeling; it’s why he’s more often than not out of his house these days, afraid that one day he’ll have to root himself out of this place, and he will leave many things behind to regret. And many people he will miss.

He throws the clothes in her direction, points her to the direction of the bathroom.

She’s feeling more awake after the shower, and she’s drying her hair with a towel as she enters his room again. She wears one of his hoodies, but on her it looks almost like a dress, coming down halfway to her knees, sleeves rolled several times over. The sweatpants are equally as large.

“I like your socks,” she says, wiggling her toes, an ugly, green gooey face dancing with the movement.

She’s way too freakin cute, Sebastian thinks, though he only smiles at her as he passes her to go and take a shower. When he returns, she’s snuggled in his bed, a comic book in hands, the sequel to the present he’s given her before. She doesn’t hear him come in until he plops on the couch, and then she looks up at him, cheeks immediately flushing.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He’s wearing a tank top, loose enough around the chest area that she can see his collarbones. She knows she’s staring, yet she can’t tear her eyes away from the skin of his arms, or the taut stretch of his top against his chest. When eventually, finally, she moves her gaze up to his face, he’s smirking, clearly having caught her in the act.

“I never get cold,” he replies, shrugging, though he tenses the muscles on his arm, and her gaze immediately snaps back there.

He’s outright laughing right now, which makes her turn her back to him, pulling the blanket over her entire body and mumble an embarrassed good night.

But she has a very, very hard time falling asleep.

 ***

“I don’t wanna go,” she whines at Sam, pulling at his clothes, dragging him away from the maze.

He just laughs, tugging her harder instead. His little brother scared her as soon as she arrived for Spirit’s Eve, and since then she refused to leave his side, on edge all the time.

The town is decorated in skulls and supersized spiders, and Abigail took to walking around with a witch hat on and a sword in her hands, which everyone agreed was cool but also relatively worrisome.

She swears, loudly, clinging even closer to Sam’s arm, when Sebastian joins them, carrying two glasses of punch. He chuckles, but still passes one of them to her.

“You don’t celebrate Spirit’s Eve in the city?”

“Well,” she says, taking a large gulp of her drink. “There it’s more about getting shit-faced in a club, and less about your heart going for a run when you turn the corner of the street.”

“Amen, sister,” Sam yells, grabbing her glass and downing it all in one go.

“Hey!” She punches his shoulder.

“It made you laugh though!” he says, leaving so he can get her a refill, and well, he’s not wrong, because now she feels way more at ease than before.

Sebastian shifts closer to her, for which she is grateful.

“Is it really that bad?”

“I just hate jump scares,” she whines, again. “And I’m sure the maze is filled with them.”

“You know you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, right? We can just sit on a bench and watch the skeletons.”

“We?”

He’s pressing his palm to his neck. “Well I’ve cleared the maze every year, so.”

So they sit, together.

 ***

Back in the city, she can never tell when it will snow anyway – but here in town, the air is crisp and cold for days before. Robin shows up one early winter morning, and helps her isolate the house as much as possible, around the windows and the doors, so that no cold seeps in, so that all the warmth stays. She might need to renovate the house next year, but for now, it will have to be enough.

Robin sips at the coffee she’s been offered, and pretends not to see Sebastian’s books sprawled all around the farmer’s house, on the kitchen counter, on the bed, next to the TV. She also equally doesn’t comment on one of Sebastian’s jackets hanging on the back of the chair that the young girl is currently occupying. Robin takes another sip, and smiles in her cup.

Back in the city, when it snows, it never piles; part car fumes, part all the people walking around doing their business. But here in the town, when she wakes up one morning, all she can see around her house is a wide expanse of whiteness. Max runs past her, jumps into the snow, comes back in so wet but so happy, that she doesn’t mind having to towel him near the fire from the fireplace.

But she’s left with too much time on her hands; she watches Queen of Sauce almost obsessively, following along in her own kitchen, surprised when her food is actually good. She starts knitting, phoning Granny each time she stumbles through a row. She reads, almost obsessively. And she does go to the mines, but for shorter periods now, scared of not repeating her injury, even if the Adventurer’s Guild repaired the broken stairs.

Then Sam calls her over one day and welcomes her to the world of DnD, him and Sebastian more or less forcing everyone else to start a new campaign with them. It’s the happiest she’s seen them both, so she tries to keep up with the characters, stops to ask about plot holes. They explain things in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences, for almost an entire hour, because you see, this race can’t have this magical power. Sam pulls out his guide, passing it around so that everyone can look up the kind of character they want to create.

That first evening together, that’s all they do in fact: filling stat sheets, searching reference pictures on the internet. And they eat Jodi’s delicious snacks, gossip a bit about Marnie and mayor Lewis’ affair, that the whole town knows about but somehow only the two of them missed this detail.

They turn it into a weekly meeting, rotating their meeting place through all their houses, sometimes the Stardrop Saloon in the days when they know it’ll be more empty and calm. They fight imaginary battles, Sam’s voice guiding them through cities and enemies and friends, saving each other’s asses and forging alliances. It’s the best fun she’s had since arriving in the town, though if anyone were to tell her this a year ago, she would have laughed directly into their faces.

They break the tradition only once, when instead they decide to go ice-skating. Each winter, if the temperatures are low enough, the lake freezes, making it a perfect rink. To be fair, it’s her favourite sport – probably only sport that she’s so excited to do, that she jumps on the spot as she waits for her turn to lend a pair of skates.

She’s looking a bit ridiculous, wearing 3 different layers and one of her grandpa’s padded vests, a beanie on top of her head. Sebastian finds her just really cute. She skates around holding one of Maru’s hands, Abigail the other – because she’s the only one who doesn’t really know how to do it.

Then Sam starts a game of tag with Jas. So they start chasing each other around, yelling when they’re caught only to start again. Penny almost trips, but Sam’s catches her hand and stabilizes her, even if he’s it now. Abigail and Maru skate around holding hands, working more like one person than two separate ones, though Abigail lets go only when it’s her turn to chase someone; and she’s fast as a flash, her turn over in under a minute.

She touches the farmer’s back, and she’s left in the middle of the frozen lake, trying to think who to go after. Her intention is to go after Vincent, his voice shrill with happiness when he realizes he has to run away from her, but her skates catch in the ice.

She only has time to gasp out a swearword, preparing to fall flat on her face. But there’s an arm around her waist, though the angle is awkward and her weight too heavy, so both of them fall to the ground.

She blinks, trying to make sense of the new position. She didn’t hit the cold ice, instead Sebastian’s body cushioned her fall. She’s on top of him, hands on either side of his head, and she’s staring into his eyes. She’s so close that she can feel his chest heaving.

“You good?” he asks, a hand moving to settle around her waist.

It snaps her out of it. “Shit, I’m the one who should be asking that.”

She’s trying to get up, though she’s embarrassed and fumbling, and her first movement just positions her ass on Sebastian’s thighs and crotch area. He shudders, inhaling loudly – and she can feel him stir under her.

“Oh,” is all that she can say, eyes blown wide catching his. Though there’s something more there: curiosity, and a growing interest.

“You guys okay?!” Sam’s voice is distant to her ears, though she waves a hand in the air, to both show that they’re okay and ask for a break from their game. Sebastian says nothing, looking up at her like a man found guilty of murder, face flushed, though he hasn’t moved his hand from her waist.

She grinds her hips, pushing harder against Sebastian’s body, watching in fascination as he’s squeezing his eyes shut, a frown on his forehead.

“Stop,” he says, sounding wound up and chocked.

So she does, rolling from on top of him, pulling herself to her feet, smiling when offering him a hand up. Though he’s not smiling back, he takes her hand.

***

“Happy birthday!” she shouts, when Sebastian opens the door to his bedroom, holding up her present to him.

Behind him, music plays loudly, and she can see Sam and Abigail arguing about who gets the last slice of pizza. She’s the last to arrive, but that’s also partially because outside there’s a real blizzard. Penny comes to hug her in greeting, and she high-fives Sam. Most of the time, they just drink and joke around, chatting about random things, his oldest friends telling tales of Sebastian.

After a couple of hours, Sebastian catches her eyes, motions towards the outside. Sam has given up smoking, being more of a social smoker, just like her. But since he got together with Penny, a fact to which they finally admitted after merciless teasing from Abigail, he quit.

They stop in the hallway, putting on their coats – and she hands him the present again, though he hasn’t noticed her coming up with it.

“You might find useful what’s in here.”

So he opens it to find a matching hat and scarf, in a dark navy. They’re clearly handmade, and handmade by her he suspects – and he’s touched by the time and care she had to put in her gift. Nestled between the material, there’s also a frozen tear.

“God, I-I love this. Thank you.”

She beams at him, obviously relieved. He puts the frozen tear carefully in the pocket of his jacket. She helps him with the scarf and the beanie, her hands lingering on his shoulder for a second afterwards, admiring him.

Outside, in the courtyard corner where they’re smoking, there’s a snowman. Sebastian almost feels like kicking it when she mentions in passing that it’s cute.

“I built a snowgoon but Demetrius made me get rid of it, yet Maru’s cute little snowman still stands…”

He didn’t mean to sound this bitter. She shifts, coming in closer, taking his empty hand in hers.

“If I just disappeared, would it even matter?”

He means it like a rhetorical question, just for himself – but she’s strengthening her grip on him, forcing him to look at her. She wants him to understand that she’s entirely serious.

“It would matter to me.”

 ***

It’s drizzling, a mix of snow and rain, weather suddenly warming up. On the beach, anyway, snow never piles up, and when Sebastian turns around, he finds her standing a few feet away, staring out into the sea. She is drenched, shivering lightly with each gust of wind, and now that her concentration has been snapped by his movement, she’s staring at him instead.

He gestures her closer, and she stops by his side. Now, closer, he can see that she’s shivering more violently than he initially though, and she’s certainly not dressed properly for the weather.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, head leaning toward his touch, and he finds himself cupping her cheek without thinking too much about it.

“What are you doing out here?” she counters, blinking up at him.

Maybe it’s the absolutely pathetic state that both of them are into that makes him answer honestly to the question. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s her.

“Looking out at the bleak horizon… It makes me feel like it’s worthwhile to keep pushing on.”

He shrugs, trying not to look as serious as his statement. Lately, he’s been having more reasons to believe that same thing, but old habits die hard, and there’s a particular calmness in being somewhere where no one else is. Or, he thinks, looking down at her, almost no one.

“I just like the sea,” she says, and any awkwardness that he still felt dissipates with her admission. The water is raging, stirred on by the storm, crashing violently against the pier, and they stand in silence, his hands carefully petting her hair, pulling her closer when she shivers again.

“Fuck, do you want to catch your death?”

He undresses quickly, placing his jacket over her shoulders. It doesn’t make much of a difference, but it’s more waterproof than what she’s wearing, and also carrying his warmth. He pops open the umbrella he’s carrying, and with an arm around her shoulder, pulls her to his chest.

“You know,” he starts, his palm rubbing circles on her back. “I would normally feel anxious doing this with anyone. But somehow, you’re the exception.”

Her head turns, chin resting on his chest so she can look up at him.

“I want to kiss you,” she says, and Sebastian chokes on whatever he wanted to say before. “Can I?”

She’s on her tiptoes now, her lips so close to his that their breathes are mingling, yet she’s giving him the choice of covering the remaining distance. Which he does, hungrily, almost desperate for it, both hands cupping her cheeks as their mouths clash. The umbrella falls into the water, and yet they don’t care enough to notice it.

They stop for a moment, coming up for air, and then they’re back at it, and despite the fire growing at the pit of her stomach, the kiss is languid, exploring, tongue pressing against tongue. Slight movement, a change in their position to deepen the kiss, her fingers now playing in the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands at her waist.

He kisses her like he never kissed somebody else, and went hungry for it all this time. His fingers move under her sweater, and the sudden cold touch makes her break apart. His touch turns comforting, pressing against her skin, and she sighs. Their foreheads meet.

“Fuck, I wanted to do that for so long,” he breathes and she laughs.

“We are two idiots, right?”

“Big idiots,” he nods, and she takes his hand in hers, starts pulling him in the direction of her house.

 ***

She starts the fire in the house, as he’s slowly undressing layer after layer. In the bathroom, the bathtub is filled with hot water, waiting for him. He’s down to a t-shirt and his boxers when he cups her elbow in his hand.

“Join me?” he asks, voice a bit strained, but firm.

She can only nod, dazed, not trusting that this is not just a dream, afraid that speaking will ruin the moment. He sits down on the edge of the tub, gesturing for her to come closer. She’s standing in front of him, and he’s gentle in guiding her out of her clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He strays from his purpose sometime, to press a kiss against her hip, or at the tip of her fingertips.

When she eventually ends up stark naked, his eyes are hungry, but his touch not, as he guides her inside the hot tub. She sighs in pleasure, closing her eyes. She opens them again when she hears the rustling of clothes, to watch him undress. He’s a bit slow, a bit shy, joining her inside the tub. The water almost spills over. She tries not to think of his cock, the precum leaking. She tries to ignore the uncomfortable heat growing between her legs.

She helps him shampoo his hair, he washes her back. They go off track from time to time, kissing lazingly for a long time, his hands massaging her breasts, her teeth grazing his neck. Until she moans, a loud sound. Until he gasps, her name caught between his lips.

Then, with ease, he helps her out. They share one, large towel, huddling together until they reach her bedroom, giggling like children. They’re almost to the bed when he stops, looks at her.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

He’s a liar, because his cock is pulsing with want and she can feel him against her hip. She pouts.

“But I want you.”

He kisses her pout away, pushes at her shoulder until she falls to the bed with a yelp, hands wrapping against him, taking him down with her. She’s laughing, pleased with having him on top of her, when his mouth moves downwards on her body, kissing against her collarbones, sucking at the skin, biting at the skin, until there’s a dark mark behind. He throws her a pleased grin, moving lower yet again.

Sebastian takes one of her nipples in his mouth, a hand moving up to tease the other. Her hands immediately wrap in his hair and she gasps. He pulls at the sensitive area, with his teeth and his fingers, licking it better immediately afterwards, and she writhes under him. He kisses his path downwards, though his lips kiss at her hips, he bites at her thighs, always circling around where she most wants him.

“Seb,” she whines. “Please.”

He stops his ministrations to look at her, frowning and pouting, hair dishevelled against her pillows, her body flushed all over, his marks so obvious against her skin. He feels himself growing at the sight, though he smirks at her.

“Please what?”

She blushes.

“Please eat me out?”

It sounds like a plead and a question and a prayer and a command all at once, and he’s on her in the blink of an eye, tongue lapping at her folds. Her back arches, but his hands are keeping her in place – and he maintains a constant, slow rhythm.

Until he doesn’t, one of his fingers entering her in full, with ease. Sebastian chuckles.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

Her walls squeeze at the nickname. He adds another finger; watches, transfixed, as it disappears inside with the same ease. He starts pumping them inside her, and the sound of her wet pussy taking it all in is so hot, that he groans.

Buried down in her to the knuckles, he opens his fingers apart. She moans, pushing down, searching for more, more, more. He scissors her, spreading her wide – and his head moves lower yet again, lips kissing against her clit at first.

Then, he adds a third finger. He can feel her stiffen under him, so he pulls her clit in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, just as he starts pumping his fingers inside her. Now her hands are holding on to her sheets, and she’s mumbling some curses, halfway lost to her pleasure, moans louder and louder as he speeds up.

He raises his head just for a second, to chuckle against her heated pussy.

“Come, baby.”

So she does, and he continue pumping inside of her, letting her ride her orgasm. She still sighs when he pulls out his fingers, immediately missing the feeling of being filled up with him. He moves to pepper her face with kisses, petting at her now sweated forehead.

“You did so well, baby.”

He’s teasing her, knowing how much she likes the nickname. So instead she looks down between their bodies, his cock against his navel, leaking – and looking like the most beautiful dick she has ever seen in her life. It’s not the biggest one she’s seen, but he’s thick and she’s never wanted to taste something more than the cum that’d spill out of it.

Still staring, she moves her hands to grab it, her fingers dancing over it, starting with his leaking tip, spreading his precum all over his length, before stopping with a slight squeeze at its base. Sebastian shivers over her, eyes closed, mouth open in an unspoken prayer, because he’s not sure even god can help him now.

Holding his dick in her hands, she helps him adjust at her entrance. At first, he teases against her cunt, pressing his cock between her folds, rocking his hips back and forth as they both moan in tandem. She’s already dripping over the sheets again.

He grabs at her hand, fingers entwined.

“You ready?”

“For that dick? Born ready,” she says, chuckling, but not moving her eyes away from where he’s starting to push inside her.

“Fuuck,” he says, just as she moans, only the tip in. The stretch is painful, but so fucking delicious and she’s a blabbering mess begging for more, pulling him closer with her free arm. He slams inside her, forcing the rest of his length inside in one go, and she swears. He kisses at her eyebrows, at the tip of her nose, apologizing softly.

“Tell me when to move again,” he says, and true to his words, he seems content to just kiss her, tongue at her neck, words whispered and lost in her hair, but making her shiver nonetheless just because there’s the hot breath so close to her skin. She’s trying to adjust to his entirety of him inside her, not hurtful but not entirely comfortable just yet either, and his mouth now licking at her hypersensitive nipple seems to slowly do the trick.

“Move,” she says, and he does.

He’s slow at first, almost frustratingly so, pulling out almost entirely, before slowly filling her up again. She moans, drawn out sounds, with each movement – and she almost doesn’t notice when the speed picks up, when she starts moving her hips to meet his actions. They’re a mess of grunts and moans, gasps and swears – and he squeezes so hard at her hip when she comes again, the orgasm washing over her with an intensity that it’s almost blinding, that she’s sure he’ll leave bruises.

Sebastian looks like a man in pain, inside her as she’s coming back to herself after the orgasm. She kisses his cheek, hands rubbing against his chest muscles.

“Do you want to cum all over me?”

He almost trips with the haste that he’s pulling out of her. She’s waiting, on her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Sebastian rises on his knees – it’s embarrassing that he only needs two more pumps to come. Most of it falls on her tits and neck, though she’s happily licking every bit that she can reach with her tongue, swallowing it all like a good girl.

“Fuck,” Sebastian says, falling next to her on the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

She beams at him, getting closer. They kiss for a while, bored and tired and messy, teeth clanking together, tongue at the corner of the mouth. There’s a string of saliva between their lips when they separate.

She gets up, goes to the toilet, returns all cleaned up, before coming back to the warmth of the bed, dragging the covers over both of them. Sure, the sheets are dirty, but that’s a problem for her future self, because right now, all she wants to do is snuggle at Sebastian’s back, an arm draped over his waist. So that’s what she does.

 ***

When they wake, they fuck on the kitchen counter, the angle hitting her just right. Truthfully, half of her butt is in the air, her legs wrapped around Sebastian’s torso, as he snaps his hips up in her, deeper and deeper each time. She’s never been so glad she doesn’t have neighbours in her entire life. Maybe because it’s been so long on her part, or because Sebastian is really just that good, she’s loud – and she loves to feel him stirring inside her, with each of her moans and praises.

“So good,” she gasps, fingers digging almost painfully in his back, and he proves his point by ramming into her, ripping a sob of pleasure out of her.

He’s wearing a condom this time around, so there is no mess to clean up, and they drink their coffee afterwards – talking about this and that, not even skimming the topic of what they’re doing, or why.

He kisses her goodbye though.

And on Winter Star, while she’s getting ready for the feast with everyone else, Sebastian comes by. He welcomes him warmly, and he sits on the side of her bed, watching her finish her make-up and doing her hair, and though he doesn’t move, she keeps catching his eyes in the mirror, looking at her every movement hungrily.

“We’re not fucking after all this effort I just put in,” she says, pointedly plucking her lips and applying a bright, red lipstick.

“I want to take you out on a date,” he says, ignoring her childish theatrics, but shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Sure.”

She tries to sound nonchalant, but her heart is beating in her chest. As much as she’d like to have him bend her over the table and take her like a bitch in heat, she’d much prefer him being her boyfriend while he does so.

“Good, let’s go then.”

“Now?” she yelps, when he grabs her hand and walks her towards the entrance.

“Now,” he says. He helps her putting on her beret, she straightens the scarf around his neck. “I’ve already called Sam and told him we won’t make it to the feast.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“To have condoms on me,” Sebastian says, face serious, which is why it makes her snort.

“And?” she’s wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Do you?”

He slaps her butt as she’s getting out instead of a reply. She turns at him, the slightest darkness in her eyes.

They go for a ride, promise not forgotten. They drive for a long time, and when they finally reach their destination, he tells her to keep her eyes closed, keeps his palms against her eyes as he guides her steps.

When he moves his hands away, she gasps. Spread ahead of her, the lights of Zuzu City against the usual darkness of the night. Sebastian moves next to her, grabs her hand in his.

“I come here when I want to get away from everything and just… think.”

He’s been doing this a lot lately, ever since she came to the valley, became his friend. Torn between his dreams of the city and the familiarity of home, he came here often thinking about what he should do.

He’s fumbling with his cigarettes, before eventually lightning one. Leaning against his motorcycle, she’s still looking out at the landscape in front of them.

“It gives such a strange, sad feeling…”

She’s almost saying it to herself. She doesn’t understand why he is showing this to her, and she can only think of how much he wants to be a part of those lights shining in the distance. She knows, if he is to walk that path, there’s nothing she will do to stop him.

Sebastian gets close to her, slings an arm around her shoulder. His gaze is still fixed to the city out in the distance, but when he speaks, it’s all just for her.

“The city used to draw me in… but now I’m finding myself happier at home in the valley.”

Her head snaps up so fast that it almost hurts. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, afraid she’s overstepping, afraid she actually misunderstands whatever is going on, afraid to hope too much.

He turns to her, knuckles slowly caressing her cheek.

“You’re the only one I ever brought to this place. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

She shakes her head; wants to hear it. He leans down, pulling her close with his other arm, covering her sound of surprise with his mouth, kissing her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to his kisses; he’s a passionate but patient kisser, drawing out the movements for as long as possible, biting and licking at her lips, smiling smugly and lazily at her when he is done.

“I want us to be together. For real.”

She jumps in his arms, the move making him stumble a bit, but they’re not falling. She looks in his eyes, the gaze as touching and passionate as it’s ever been.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“Wha-”

But she kisses him.

 *** 

She’s obsessed with saying those three words. Now that she has the right to say it, it blooms out of her at his every gesture. She says it out loud without embarrassment or care as to whoever else can hear it. She says it as good morning and as good bye. She says it when he stays the night, and when he asks her over to play a new game together. She says it in front of Maru and mayor Lewis. She says it when he comes inside of her. She says it when he lets her borrow his sweater. She says it when he calls her in the evening after work.

It makes him dizzy with how wanted she makes him feel.

It’s the middle of the night and they’re waiting, alongside everyone else from the city, for the clock to strike exactly 12, and the fireworks to blast into the sky. She’s holding onto his arm, chatting happily with Sam about a cover song they’re planning. Her weight, next to him, is something new to get used to – but she’s always fitting herself right there with so much ease, that it seems almost natural.

The countdown begins, mayor Lewis’ voice booming across the square. At 8, she joins in. At 3, he does too. The fireworks blast with a loud noise, and she squeezes herself closer to him, her eyes to the colouring sky, her lips to his ear.

“Make a wish, babe.”

She closes her eyes, thinking of everything she wants in the upcoming year. He looks at her.

“So, what did you wish for?” he asks.

She tugs at his jacket, kisses him.

“You.”

[deltaengineering]

that was the winter anime 2021 that was

Still not quite ready for a dozen posts about how terrible the likes of Combatants Will Be Dispatched are, sorry. Watch Vivy though, it owns. Here’s some more things that are (mostly) good. As always, worst to best.

Yatogame-chan Kansatsu Nikki S3

Yatogame has long run out of hot Nagoya facts and its ensemble comedy never amounted to much, so now it seems mostly content to just spam more and more wacky character designs. About the only thing that it has left going for it is that 3 minutes a week are more effort to drop than to watch, so I expect them to make a movie next. 4/10

Go-toubun no Hanayome S2

Quints is a weird one. S1 was a barely good enough (i.e., well above average) implementation of the ages old harem chestnut. S2 is actually better at the core of its appeal, since it gives all the characters a sharper profile (things like taking Nino from joke to badass and making Ichika a villain are no mean feat), but it does pay a steep price for it. You see, to deliver a steady drip feed of meaningful character moments it apparently has to rush through the source material at a breakneck pace, which completely wrecks the "story" part of this story and makes every episode seem like a recap. And it still keeps wasting precious time on vestigial nonsense like its framing device and the Kyoto flashback scenario that was already the worst part of S1. But by far the most annoying aspect is its insistence on keeping all the options valid, since it prevents any real progress and makes everything seem arbitrary and pointless. So sure enough, after a season of much ado we still don't end up anywhere — you can't really raise the stakes if all at stake was "who wins" to begin with. It's watchable and even enjoyable scene-for-scene but it's getting harder and harder to call it a solid show overall. 5/10

Skate Leading Stars

I was watching this primarily because I didn't like Yuri on Ice much and wanted to see if something that is a blatant attempt to cash in on it would be better — because while YoI delivers on one aspect (being hella gay), it really is an absolute shambles of a sports show. And sure enough, Skate Leading has none of the auteur appeal of YoI, but it just works much better. In particular I appreciate how it managed to make me care even a little about a cast of assholes, which is a nice contrast to the nauseatingly ingratiating way YoI tries to make you love its characters. Also, Skate Leading is just generally cheap and unambitious, so not susceptible to trying hard and painfully flaming out on the presentation side like YoI is. But at some point you gotta let go of these comparisons and on its own Skate Leading is... just fine, I guess? Competent, mildly engaging, not very memorable. And that's probably where it loses to Yuri on Ice in the end after all, even if I think it's "better". 6/10

Idoly Pride

Idoly Pride sold itself on me with a really good (and hilarious/tragic) first episode that was just too bizarre to ignore — I mean, how can you ignore GHOST IDOL MANAGERS. Well, the majority of the show isn't like that. It's a competent and solid version of the idol franchise show, yes, but it really had more potential than that. Especially midseason, it gets lost in these dozens of characters, and while they're all likeable, it does seem like a waste of a good story just centered on Mana/Kotona/Sakura. By the end it comes back around to the heart of the matter with a Maeda-style sob story, which could be a disaster but seasoned veteran Jukki Hanada makes it work anyway. Overall, there's quite a bit of ridiculous hacky melodrama in this, but quite honestly that's the best part and I wish it would concentrate more on it. The rest is just okay. 6/10

Yuru Camp S2

Yuru Camp is still likely the best pure iyashikei show when it gets down to business. Compared to S1 though, this seems to happen less and less. At its peaks (i.e., basically any quiet moment with Rin) it's at least as good as ever, and there's some good cast additions like Mini-Inuko, but it appears that Yuru Camp simply has run out of things you can do with camping and it fills up the time with other... stuff. This stuff includes the generic school club shenanigans it was never particularly good at, and a gigantic helping of crass consumerism. Yeah, I would say the majority of Yuru Camp is just a straight up infomercial at this point, which itself ranges from the perfectly acceptable (which cute anime isn't about food constantly), to the sketchy (I don't know whether the Izu tourism board cut this production a fat check, but if they didn't, Yuru Camp still gives its best effort to make it seem that way) to the highly irritating – I am aware that camping requires gear and you can't just ignore that, but you most definitely do not require whole arcs dedicated to talking about raising funds for the purposes of acquiring the Lamp of Comfy Happiness at your friendly local Caribou™ either. Not to mention an arc where the aforementioned lame school club does the same, for double irritation. Make no mistake, this show is so riddled with scenes that beg for a solution to embed affiliate links in video files that it makes me wish I was watching something as anticapitalist and underground as Love Live. And irritating really is the last thing a show with this core concept, as stellar as it is at that, can afford to be. Bummer. 6/10

SKOO the Infinity

Skoo has one really huge asset: ADAM, its magnificent villain. It also has one really huge liability: Reki, its not magnificent protagonist. To be more specific, it's very good at anything outrageous, physics-defying and silly, such as most scenes ADAM is in, and quite bad at anything serious, dramatic (in a serious way) and down to earth, such as most scenes Reki is in. So, what's the verdict? Well, the rest of the cast is more ADAM-like, and Reki's co-protagonist Langa is fine as the straight (yeah, right) man. The tedious buddy drama is a comparatively small part of this show, and at least it pays off quite well in the end. Seriously, I was ready to give this a 6, but the final episode is probably the best one of the show, in all of its aspects. That's really not something you see often. Skoo's a great time. Except when it's not. 7/10

Non Non Biyori Nonstop

Speaking of the rare good ending, what about we gave one of those to a slim and inconsequential slice-of-life show? NNB has always been solid, comfy and amusing quality with a couple of standout moments (usually something with Renge), and Nonstop has that plus an ending as conclusive as any show of this type is ever going to have. Besides, it does a lot of things right by focusing on more characters than the central 4 (especially Konomi has great material in S3), it expands the universe just enough to not get stale, and it moves things forward — It's definitely a lot better than the movie, is what I'm saying. Apart from that, well, we're three seasons in, if you have any interest in this you probably don't need me to explain what's good about NNB at this point. Bonus points for being nothing but an ad for the manga. 7/10

Wonder Egg Priority

Oh boy, so here's the big one. Wonder Egg is the rare Meaningful Arthouse Show About Real Issues You Guys, as you might have heard. And well, the long and short of it is that it's a very good show with quite a few glaring problems (besides not actually being finished due to production issues, but what we have is enough of an ending to be able to meaningfully talk about it). In particular, one problem: WEP is, at its core, one of these metaphorical Magical Girl-ish series that are just a thin layer of abstraction over coming-of-age or societal problems. The issue is that "metaphorical" in this case means "literal" and "thin" means "basically nonexistent". This show is not subtle regarding what it's about, at all. This is a double-edged sword — on the positive side, some things really should just be said aloud, and I'm really, really fucking tired of the Ikuhara style of "here's some wacky things, maybe a blog post will eventually tell you how it's actually about the most important thing ever" obfuscation — if it's really so important, just spell it out. On the other hand, there are limits to this and when a second, different Ai appears I don't really need a voiceover line telling me that yep, this show is about parallel universes now. WEP spells out many important things, but it also spells out many things that are implicitly clear or better left vague. Not to mention that with being so obvious up front, the show's tendency to leave figuring out what it's actually saying about it up to the viewer can leave the wrong impression. Again, I settled on the opinion that it's subtle after all where it counts the most, but you might easily get the impression that it pulls its punches (Ikuhara does this the exact other way around — once you figure out what the fuck he's talking about it's abundantly clear what he's saying about it).

In fact, this show is so good at subtle, quiet character moments that it calls into question the need for big huge fighting fantasy layer in the first place, especially since I'm not a fan of the fantasy designs and the fights aren't great. Sure, they look impressive on a technical level (this show is very good looking in general), but the lack of actual impact or rhythm makes me think this is not made by people who are very familiar with action and maybe they should have asked some seasoned shounen veterans for this — or just, you know, not do it. They can (and do) impress with character acting in quiet scenes just the same. And while Ai's character story actually does pay off quite nicely by the end we got, and Momoe and Rika are also handled well, Neiru's backstory is significantly less good, not to mention the whole Frill subplot regarding the show's mythology that they introduced just before (and that's the part to be resolved at a later date), which is a huge can of worms. We'll see how well they handle that, I suppose, but as it is it's a weird and vestigial detour that doesn't add much besides thematic headaches.

But yeah, apart from all that — I like it, a lot. Great character writing in the details, cool looks for the most part, tons of ambition, and a message that I consider to be appropriately handled — for the most part, and for now. Not quite ambitious arthouse anime at its finest, but also not a pretentious disaster like Sarazanmai, Monogatari et al. 8/10

[aaluminiumas]

Die for Me

あなたこそが “ 海賊王 ” に なる男

Lukewarm blood gushed out from the deep wounds. Ripping apart huge chunks of flesh and feeling the solidity of a bone inside, Monet genuinely relished her superiority savoring every note of the harrowing, blood-curdling shriek the woman in her deadly embrace emitted.

That Marine girl was no good at all; her tactics may not be exactly lame or useless, nor did she lack fervor or courage, but she turned out to be too modest and polite to attack – and also feeble. While the Marines claimed to have implemented a variety of brand-new top-notch techniques that would improve fighting skills of nearly any novice, they tended to send weaklings barely able to resist a simple scuffle, let alone serious combat with high ranks such as her or Caesar. This one wasn’t an exception to the rule: though promoted, Tashigi proved her disability to be on the offensive, thus confirming Monet’s expectations and dispelling the illusion of power Smoker had successfully created earlier.

“I adore it when you yell so desperately,” the Harpy muttered nonchalantly in the unctuous voice, her lips smeared with blood. “So I might break your scapula just for fun. My fangs can go through bone like butter. What a lovely day we are having, aren’t we?.. Care to brighten it further?”

Monet’s viselike grip tightened, and a bone cracked; Tashigi’s scream of utter anguish pierced the chaos and turmoil. In a moment, the woman limped in the Harpy’s wings. This last shrill seemed to have deserted her internally, leaving little to no stamina to stand up for herself and resist the throes shooting through her fragile body. The Harpy, though, felt no remorse or contrition. Quite on the contrary, she yielded into the perverse pleasure of being in charge – her well-nurtured sadistic inclinations and proclivities could finally splurge and flourish. Normally, it was Doflamingo whose hatred of the Marines came unwrapped. He was always in command; he was always aware of the potential threat and danger that could strike at any given moment, and now she could defend him from this invasion without an innuendo on his part. He had protected her in the past, bestowed a shelter, and took care of her younger sister—

“Enough.”

A low voice, hardly louder than Tashigi’s shallow breath muffled all the sounds, including explosions and the clash in the distant rooms. A swordsman with cold resolution in the single eye stood there, unmoving, his face serious, yet completely unreadable.

Monet’s fine features contorted in a lopsided smirk, her head withdrawing from Tashigi’s injured shoulder. Spoiled by pride, the swordsman didn’t seem to see a worthy opponent in her. Good for him, she thought. The Marine’s death would be on his hands – after all, he couldn’t compare to one of the best soldiers among the Donquixotes.

“I said enough,” he growled quietly, advancing and raising his katana, the silver eye narrowing. “Didn’t you hear?”

“She shouted too loudly. Should I shut her up?” Monet’s voice remained vaguely flirtatious, her antics jaunty, but the swordsman betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Instead, without a single warning, he pivoted forward, sword at the ready. Prancing at superhuman speed, the man neatly cut her in half – her logia powers weren’t a mere obstacle to him or his blade.

“I’m a Logia, you fool,” Monet spat with a haughty grin, “You think I’m scared?”

That fact alone contributed to her arrogance and hoity-toity attitude. While the majority of the Donquixote Family had to satisfy themselves with commonplace and hackneyed Paramecias, she got lucky – Doflamingo brought in a Logia fruit, the rarest type, and presented it to her. He might have intended to give it to Vergo, who hadn’t joined the number of the fruit-eaters and preferred to use his innate physical force. At any rate, such thoughts barely intruded on her mind: Doflamingo, the Young Master she worshipped, literally made her a gift desired by many. And what a scenery it was: he called in a meeting, ordered his favorite delicacies, thus forcing the whole city to cook for him, and sprawled across his improvised throne. Trebol, giggling under his breath, Diamante with his ever-lasting smirk, the imperturbable Pica, Vergo with the rigorous mien… Well, she was never part of the elite – nor did she plan to climb higher. The seat beside Doflamingo’s feet seemed comfortable enough to occupy – this position turned her into a valuable asset, who caught all the messages and orders intoned in a low, seductive voice. Despite that, the Young Master did not banish her – he remained seated, asking her to tell them all about her first murder – committed with a taste.

Logia powers made the bearer almost invincible, and Monet, a proficient user, trained by the best, especially by Vergo, knew what she was worth.

“I’m a Logia,” the Harpy repeated, the blizzard howling louder. “It doesn’t hurt me.”

“We’ll see,” came the answer.

Not even looking at her, the man grabbed the wounded woman and hurried to the exit, while Monet, absolutely dumbfounded, discovered that she could not get together. What appeared to be a single cut turned out to be a series of swift swishes in the air that slashed her snow-made body in a split second with the power that significantly surpassed her own. The result unfolded in slow motion: the more time went, the more it hurt; paralyzed, she listlessly perused the gashes opening in her skin – the man had inflicted much more damage than she had initially anticipated.

Furious, lacerated by what seemed to be a hundred blades, Monet yelled – and realized that it caused another wound to splay. The flesh got torn apart somewhere in her stomach and sent an impetus to the lungs prompting another incision to dehisce. The blood spurted up and flushed out from her mouth, staining the green shirt. Coughing, gagging, and covering her lips with a defective wing that had also been slit and now painted vermillion, the Harpy leaned over a gigantic machine with a red button on its panel. Half-conscious, she stared at it – it certainly was a way out. If she pushes it, the whole island will go up in flames. Nobody survived, case closed. Nobody discovers the dirty scheme Vergo had initiated in the Marine to abduct kids; nobody learns about the dubious experiments of the ambiguous nature performed by Caesar. Nobody connects Young Master – her Young Master – to the helter-skelter in the lab, nobody–

Her consciousness drifted away; small lacerations proved to be even worse than the deeper ones – blood didn’t stop from dripping, and she couldn’t control the amount she had lost. Falling to the ground, quivering, Monet twitched her wings in a fruitless attempt to maintain balance. It was overkill, anyway, at least she deemed so. Her wounds were fatal; she very well understood that she was a goner – but it was still in her power to prevent future events from happening.

Suddenly, Monet heard the quiet mumbling of a snail. Caesar, concerned about Joker’s supervision and unremitting control (the notion he strongly believed but which wasn’t true to the fact: Doflamingo, after Monet’s infiltration, called every once in a while, just to give the man heebie-jeebies, in case he felt lazy), installed snails everywhere, each equipped with a unique number. Only Joker could have access to them – no one else would be able to call here, the sanctum sanctorum of the lab.

The injured wing reached for the receiver, then twitched and fell. Trembling, the Harpy moaned in agony, choked on the blood, and made a feeble attempt to get up. Didn’t work; her face contorted in pure anguish. Invincible, trained, fortified by a number of experiments conducted under Doflamingo’s supervision, she never expected a failure. Especially a failure like this.

The snail kept grumbling, Monet whimpered; struggling to stand up, the Harpy felt a million needles skewering into her body, avulsing the thinnest and the tiniest blood vessels. She had to be slow not to disturb the veins that still remained intact. Making a superhuman effort, Monet propped herself up, her chest heaving, her wings jittered ever so slightly.  Panting, leaning over the tremendous apparatus towering over her, the Harpy managed to answer the call.

“Monet?” called a low, mellifluous voice coming from a snail. “Monet, do you read?”

“Yes, Young Master,” she mustered her shattered self to respond.

“I do not have the slightest idea what is happening right now,” he drawled pensively, “But it is certainly far from the plan I have drawn up.”

“They– they snatched Caesar.”

Doflamingo paused, pondering over her words. That loudmouth fool, calling himself a genius, failed to kick the teenager’s ass and let himself get captured by a bunch of mere kids playing real pirates. It had been funny to hear that that Strawhat Luffy defeated Sir Crocodile, one of the most feared and infamous warlords; after all, Doflamingo shook hands with the man and knew exactly what his weaknesses were, but Caesar Clown was another thing. First off, he claimed himself to be a brilliant scientist, and, in fact, he had managed to synthesize a drug that made children comparable to giants in force and probably in size. Furthermore, he used his earlier formulae and calculations, retrieved the readouts of the past experiments to create artificial Devil Fruits. So, he clearly was not a complete idiot. However, he employed none of his ingenious tricks to kill the annoying brat on sight when he had the opportunity.  Too bad the factory couldn’t work without his involvement – otherwise, Doflamingo himself would’ve got disposed of Caesar as well.

“Monet,” he finally spoke, his voice dropping down a notch. “You were loyal to me.”

“Till the end, Young Master,” she muttered, her voice not louder than a susurrus of wind.

“Die for me.” He commanded coolly, his eyes staring into space unwinkingly. “Monet, die for me and send this place to hell. Take them all along with you.”

“Yes, Young Master. I will do as you please.”

Her lips, covered with blood and gore, stretched in a gentle smile addressed to no one in particular. He cared about her. He wanted her to perform this last task for him, in the name of his future achievements and accomplishments, and she would not let him down.

She raised her wing, slightly quavering, preparing to hit the red button. Exuding a quiet hum, the Harpy lowered it – and gasped, immediately falling onto the ground with a loud, heavy thump.

“Monet?.. Monet, what’s happened? Monet, can you hear me?..”

She uttered a wheezing sound, and her visage froze in a rictus of death.