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unstoppableforcce · 4 years

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girlfriend

— trivia night universe ( 2 )

pairing: Santiago Garcia x bartender! reader

trivia night 1 | masterlist | part 3

a/n: [18+]I’ve had this one in the works for a while but I’m finally really happy with it so I’m giving it to y’all !! I hope y’all enjoy, let me know what you think about these two ! (also, warning, not the most edited piece i’ve ever written but hopefully still enjoyable!)

“Fuck...” you hummed as you buried your face even deeper into his olive green sheets.

There was something special about good sheets.

It had nothing to do with the color or the thread count, though these were certainly nice in that respect. It also had nothing to do with the exhausting and pleasurable activities the two of you got up to in them. It was an unnameable quality that you could feel the second you covered yourself in them.

In the early morning chill, with them wrapped around your naked body, you felt just warm enough to be content but not too warm to be overheating. Despite being just a piece of fabric, they felt so homely tangled around your legs, you felt so safe with just them covering you...

There was something special about good sheets, you couldn’t describe it well, but you could feel it, and as you stretched your hands up over your head and under the few pillows of his that you had claimed as your own, you were sure that these were good sheets.

There was just something special about them.

There was however, nothing special about being awake at six in the morning.

“Fuck,” you moaned again as you pulled your eyes open to the onslaught of sunlight pouring in through the pulled-open curtains that the two of you must have forgotten to close last night.

To be fair, it had been a little late and you had been more than a little distracted.

It had been about 1 in the morning by the time you actually got off work, having to stay a bit later than usual to restock the bar and count inventory. But when you texted Santi to tell him you were getting into your car, asking him if he was still awake, he responded back in a matter of seconds telling you to come over.

And well... he was on you the second you stepped through the door.

He threw your shirt to the ground, and couldn’t even wait for you to get your boots off before he brought his hand to your belt, trying to get your pants off as well.

“What the hell has gotten into you, hmm, you can’t wait two seconds?”

He laughed at that, the chuckle echoing through his house that was much too large for him to live in alone. “I couldn’t sleep, too busy thinking about you.”

“Oh really?”

“Shut up and get undressed, honey.”

Let’s just say it didn’t take long for the two of you to end up upstairs, in these sheets, focused on something other than the curtains.

But now, you kind of wished you had spent more time focusing on the curtains, it was just so fucking bright.

Rubbing over your eyes, you adjusted the sheets over your body and found yourself alone in the bed, significantly colder than you had been mere hours ago. This wasn’t surprising though, far from it.

He did this every fucking morning.

At six, every morning, on the dot, he’d get out of bed and leave you alone in his good sheets.

The first time you stayed over, after the first trivia night he met you at, you thought it was strange, but found the breakfast he made too delicious to even consider complaining. The second time, two nights later when he called you after a dinner with the boys and asked you to come over, you eagerly accepted only to find yourself alone in bed again the next morning when six rolled around.

By the fifth time it happened, you meant to bring it up with him, but by the time you rolled out of bed, you had to rush off for an appointment.

Now the two of you were coming up on about three weeks of steadily spending your nights with each other and you were just flat out annoyed by it.

When work ended for you at eleven on a good night and two in the morning on a bad night, waking up at six in the morning was hellish. And it was even worse when it was nothing but empty sheets to wake up to, no warm body or smirking smile.

Lifting yourself up from the sheets, your sore body screamed at you to stay immersed in the warmth they provided but you fought through it, pulling yourself to your feet and immediately dropping to your knees to search for the underwear you had sworn he had tossed over here last night. And once you found them and pulled them on, you grabbed one of his shirts and pulled it on as well, definitely too lazy to go down and grab your own.

“Baby?” you called out as you stood back up and stretched your arms up over your head, but you got no response.

All you could hear was the sound of the shower running from his half-finished bathroom.

“Santi?”

Still no response, so you sluggishly pulled yourself across the cold hardwood beneath your feet and into the master bathroom that barely deserved that title.

You knew he was redoing the house, fixing it up, but damn, wouldn’t you start with the bathroom instead of leaving a sink with no body, no mirror and half a wall to be used daily.

“Santi?” You called again as you walked onto the tile floor and felt the warmth from his shower immediately.

“I’m in the shower, honey.” He finally called back from behind the opaque shower door.

“Why the fuck are you awake?” You huffed, rubbing over your face again as you sat back on the shut toilet seat.

He laughed at that, a good solid chuckle that was much to lively for six o’clock in the fucking morning-- “Do you want to get in, honey?”

“What?”

He nudged open the door and leaned his head out, a similarly lively perfect smile on his lips and sopping wet curls dripping down his forehead. “Do you want to get in?”

“No,” you scoffed, still rubbing over your face, “I want to go back to sleep.”

“So, go back to sleep, honey...” He still laughed, brushing his hair back as your gaze fell lazily to his chest where water beads dripped tantalizingly slow down his skin, all the way down his built abdomen and the dark happy trail leading down from his belly button... “Honey?”

You were annoyed with him, right, you remembered that.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep alone, Santi, why are you up so early, why are you always up so early?” You fought, you voice still drowning in your exhaustion.

“It’s my internal clock--”

“Fuck your internal clock, I’m tired--”

He laughed again at that, shaking his head and scratching over his shoulder, “if you want to have a conversation, you have to get in, we’re wasting water.”

“You’re wasting water.” Wow, your morning sarcasm did not come play. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Get in the shower, honey.” He chuckled even more as he said it, extending his hand to you and at this point, you knew you weren’t going back to bed. Rubbing your hands over your face one last time, you stepped out of your underwear and tossed his shirt to the floor before accepting his hand and stepping into the shower with him.

At least it was warm.

His hands were warm, wrapping around you and pulling you until your back was under the water, and the water was equally as warm. You nuzzled your face into his neck and released a deep exhale while he vibrated with a chuckle beneath you.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” He hummed into your ear before pressing a gentle kiss to your hair. “I promise I don’t mean to.”

“I know that... I’m just tired and I want to wake up with you...”

He rubbed his hands down your back, sending even warmer cascades of warmth down your spine. This was the kind of warmth that good sheets couldn’t even come close to.

“I’m sorry.” He dropped his voice to a low whisper, dancing along your skin like the droplets of water that dripped from his hair and nose onto your shoulder. “I don’t mean to, honey, I--”

He didn’t know how to tell you.

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew you hated waking up alone, he knew it annoyed you to no end. He could tell.

The first morning, you just seemed confused and sleepy when he was awake so much earlier than you expected. Each and every time after that, you didn’t mention it, but he could tell you didn’t like it. And he felt bad every time.

He just didn’t know how to tell you he didn’t do well sitting still.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he went out of his way to buy a house to fix up, even buying one much to big for his single living needs just so he’d have a way to keep himself busy.

He didn’t know how to tell you that if he slowed down in any way, that he’d drive himself insane with his own thoughts. If he laid in bed next to you while you slept, unmoving and peaceful, his head would get away from him. His nightmares would materialize in front of him, he’d see the people he killed, he’d see the gun in his hand, his heart would beat out of his chest and god, he hoped he wouldn’t hurt you but could he promise that?

Sleeping next to you was the best sleep he had in years, but when he was awake, he couldn’t keep it at bay. Laying there alone with his thoughts was dangerous if you weren’t awake to be with him, he couldn’t just lay there. He had to move, to work, and like this morning, to shower.

Hell, last week, he built a whole side table before he even heard your footsteps pattering around upstairs.

He liked having you over, you made his nights so much more bearable, he just couldn’t lie in bed and do nothing. Idle hands...

You pulled your head off his chest as he trailed off, his stare directed towards the shower wall but it went much further away than that. “Santi?”

He shook his head and turned back to you, placing a gentle and mindless kiss onto your cheek while he muttered, “it’s nothing, I just wake up early...”

He could see it in your eyes, you didn’t believe him, but just like your confusion from before, you didn’t press it. You just let your head fall back to his chest silently, holding close to him and shutting your eyes with an exhausted sigh.

The way his heart hurt... he truly felt bad.

And he felt even worse when the water quickly turned cold, sending you further into the heat his body provided but that did little to prevent the violent shaking chill that ran up your spine. No more hot morning bliss, not even a warm one anymore.

“Fuck, Santi--”

“It’s my water heater, it has good days and bad days--” He fought, quickly turning to put himself between you and the increasing cold water so that he could wash the rest of the soap from his hair before it became icicles spewing from the shower head.

“This is a bad day.” You argued as you shivered your way out of the shower entirely to grab the lone towel hanging on the rack.

By the time he had his hair washed out and the water turned off, he stepped out to find you already wrapped warmly in his larger-than-average bath sheet looking positively bashful. The smirk rising to his lips fought past his annoyed defenses, fueled solely by his heart as he let out a sigh, “that was my towel.”

“It’s my towel now.” You shrugged, swaying back and forth with it as your eyes trailed up and down his soaked and dripping naked body. “You pulled me into the shower, you brought this on yourself.”

“You stole my towel and I brought this on myself?” He took a small step forward as you took a small step back, and as you brought your back to the half-standing sink, he took a large step to catch up with you and tried for the towel again while you laughed.

“I’m the guest Santi, let me have the towel--”

“Maybe you were a guest the first night honey, but it’s been a few weeks, and this is my towel--”

“You live here, you can get another one--”

He chuckled at that, a deep and hearty chuckle. “They’re right in the hall, why don’t you go grab one and let me have mine--”

“I’m the guest--”

“You’re not a guest--”

Finally, after a futile fight of nothing but laughter and tickling hands on each other, the towel dropped between the two of you and Santi easily stepped between your legs to replace the warmth. But as your hands found the back of his neck and the light scar that laid there, you couldn’t help but voice the question that had been lingering in the back of your mind.

“If I’m not a guest, then what am I? Hmm?” You hummed as your lips hovered dangerously close to his.

God, he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t surge like something out of a rom com as your playful words met his ears.

“What do you want to be, honey?” He tried back playfully, stealing a kiss off your damp lips.

But your chuckle back had just a hint of something else in it, something foreign sounding. Like you were hesitant to answer and you were never hesitant with him.

“Honey...”

“I want to be the only person you’re doing this with...” You added softly as your fingers lightly tapped along the scar he assured you didn’t hurt anymore the first time you caught sight of it. “I don’t know if--”

“Easy. You’re the only one.” He answered quickly, but he couldn’t stop his mouth before it continued on faster than his brain could even process the words. “You don’t want to be something more?”

Because when you responded, “what? Like your girlfriend?”, his heart had to have stopped in his chest. And as you continued, he certainly lost all his breath as well. “You never struck me as the girlfriend type...”

Well, you certainly had a point. He never had been in the past. Actually, he was almost notoriously not the girlfriend type if he was being honest.

Frankie was easily the most “settling-down-type” out of the whole group, given the baby and the wife. Will probably would come in second, maintaining a few long-term girlfriends who just never worked out in the end. But even Benny had his fair share of relationships while Santi had...

Well, he had a thing for people. They all loved him and he, well he spent a few good nights with them and ended up messing it up when it ultimately never felt right.

You were different though, you felt right... better than right. It was too early to put a name to it but he knew it felt different than anything else he had ever had. You were the first thing that felt right since he moved here, you were right...

“Girlfriend’s have privileges, you know... they get a drawer and a toothbrush and they get to ask questions that you have to answer like ‘where did you get these scars’ and ‘why won’t you stay in bed with me’... they get to meet your friends, they get to have their own towel...” you hummed somewhat mindlessly as you trailed your hands down from his neck to his shoulders, and from his shoulders down to his chest and the few water droplets that remained.

He wanted you to have all of that, he truly did.

Following your stare to the racing drops that poured down from his neck to his pecs, he traced it back to your furrowed brow affixing your stare of concentration, and from there, his eyes fell to your lips. You had beautiful lips. You had a beautiful everything though.

How could you not? You felt so right, everything about you was perfect.

Perfect for him, perfect in general... he wanted to give you everything. He wanted to open his chest and pour his now rapidly beating heart out to you, he wanted to tell you what was on his mind and more than anything in the world, he wanted to hold you first thing in the morning.

He wanted to trace his fingers along your beautiful skin and kiss along every inch of your body. He might have good sheets, but he wanted to be the one there to keep you warm.

Santiago had never really been the girlfriend type, but he could be. For you.

He bought the house to keep his hands busy, but since you started staying over? He worked so hard because he wanted to make it a home.

“Okay...” He sighed, hoping he didn’t spend too much time alone in his thoughts with your stare now transfixed on the ridge of his brow. “Easy.”

“Really?”

There was no more hesitation in your voice, there was a hint of surprise but he knew he deserved that.

“Yes really--”

Your lips cut him off before he could even finish his thought, but he didn’t mind, not in the slightest.

He wrapped his hands around your back, holding you in as close as he could manage, pressing every inch of your skin to his that he could manage and he wouldn’t have it any other way. As you deepened the kiss on his lips, biting at his swollen bottom lip, he slipped his tongue into your mouth and dropped his warm hands down to your thighs to open them up just enough so that he was firmly pressed between them.

But before his hardening length could press any further into you, you pulled your head back, tilted your head and squinted towards him. The adorable display merely made him laugh again, “what are you--”

“Girlfriend?”

He couldn’t help but laugh again. “Yes, honey--”

“Really?”

“Truly.” He laughed, “Need me to prove it to you?”

“Well I wouldn’t say no but--” you held up your hand to stop his lips before they could reconnect with your own, breaking a laugh out of him again, “but we need to move to the bed if you’re going to be proving anything.”

“Deal.”

His knees would certainly thank him for it later so how could he say no.

Besides, as you turned the two of you around and walked back towards the bedroom, he had a perfect view of your bare ass and couldn’t stop himself from landing a playful slap as you passed. And before you could yelp or really manage any reaction, he lunged forward and met your lips with his, dragging you down to bed with him and his momentum.

“Santi...”

“What?” He laughed, falling back onto the plush olive green bedspread while you straddled him.

“Maybe we should just go back to bed...” you sighed, reaching your hands to either side of his head and stretching over him and into the soft, good sheets. “It’s so early...”

His lips fell right beside your ear as you stretched over him, his hands running up and down your sides where you laid over him.“I won’t be able to fall back asleep, honey. I wake up, six o’clock on the dot and —“

“I bet I can put you to sleep?” You countered, twisting your head back towards him with a smirk on your face.

“I’d like to see you try.”

And try you did.

Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down his neck to his chest, you were spurred on by the content him his chest let out and continued down until your lips were dancing just over his belly button. His hand moved almost unconsciously down to your head the lower you dropped and by the time your lips were grazing over his excited shaft, his hand was firmly weaved into your hair, keeping it out of your face.

Licking along the length of him, you heard a groan muffle in his throat, the grip he maintained on your hair growing tighter.

And as you wrapped your hand firmly around the base and pressed a soft kiss to his tip, he released an audible moan. Just in case you needed any encouragement to keep going.

As you lowered your mouth down onto him, pumping what you couldn’t take in your mouth with your hand, his sounds continued, clearly enjoying what you were doing to him. But as much as you were enjoying doing it to him, you couldn’t help but pull your mouth away entirely just to listen to him whine.

“Honey...”

And like you had just been engrossed in a simple conversation about so irrelevant topic, you changed the direction of the conversation while easily slipping your hand up and down his fully hardened length. “Does this mean I should change your contact name in my phone to boyfriend now?”

His laughter was broken apart with a small hitch in his breath as your thumb grazed back over his tip.

“What am I currently in your phone, honey?” He choked out, pulling his hand back and folding both his arms back under himself to get a better look at you at the foot of the bed.

“Santi (from trivia night)”

He laughed again at that, but again, stuttered as you put your mouth back into him.

“Do you know many Santiago’s, honey?” He countered, mesmerized by you as you bobbed up and down on him, sending waves of pleasure through his whole body and building a heat in his stomach.

And as you laughed around him, his composure slipped a bit more.

“No, just a force of habit, in case I forgot who you were,” you mused as you pulled off him again, continuing to pump him with your hand as you moved back up his body, “do you have me in your phone as ‘honey’?”

As your spit-covered lips hovered over his, he couldn’t help but chuckle again, “I’m as unoriginal as you are, it’s just your name.”

“Maybe you should change it to ‘girlfriend’,” you mocked as you swung your hips back over his and lined him up between your legs.

“Fuck baby,” he cooed our as you sunk down onto him, letting his head fall back onto the olive-green sheets. “I’ll set it as whatever you want.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s one of the perks a girlfriend gets, right?”

You couldn’t help your chuckle as you leaned down until your chest was flat with his and your hands were intertwined above his head, “I like hearing you say girlfriend.”

“Yeah?” He stole an easy kiss from your lips as he began meeting your hips with thrusts of his own, leaving your mouth hanging slightly open. “I like calling you that.”

He really did like calling you that.

He rolled the two of you over so that it was now you pressed into the olive green sheets and easily took control of the rhythm as he grew closer to his climax. You could tell he was close too, as he began to pant into the side of your neck between kisses and gripped your hands a little bit tighter in his grip, so you fought to free your hand and reach in between the two of you only to have his hand move yours out of the way and beat you there.

“Fuck, honey...” he moaned like liquid gold into your ear as he felt you clench around him. You just felt so right.

As he began drawing dangerously quick circles on your clit and thrusting into you even harder, you quickly caught up to him, dancing around the edge of your climax as you felt him begin to stutter in each roll of his hips.

“Santi!” You turned your head to bury your face into his neck as he pushed you over the edge and eagerly bit onto the skin of your neck. And after a few more thrusts, he was coming just as you were, not holding back a single noise as he spilled into you.

And as he rolled off of you to lay out of breath beside you in his good sheets, he couldn’t help but laugh then turn to you and jokingly ask, “hand me my phone, I’ll change your contact right now.”

You just swatted his hand away and climbed over him to get out of bed. “No, right now, I’m going to clean up and pee and you’re going to go back to sleep.”

“Honey, I still don’t think--”

“Just lay your head down,” you pushed his head back down onto the pillow as he sat up to watch you, “and go back to sleep.”

As much as he didn’t think he was capable of it, he held his hands up in surrender and watched you as you walked away. Not thinking anything of it, as you left his line of sight, he let his eyes fall shut and truly settled back into the good sheets.

And, surprising you as much as himself, when you came back in from the bathroom, you found him fast asleep. As much as you wanted to laugh and mock him, you took the high road as much as you could to avoid waking him and wore your bright smile as you climbed into the bed and cuddled in next to him.

It was some of the best sleep he’d had in years.

And when he woke, he changed your contact to your name with (girlfriend) at the end.

Maybe even a heart emoji, but don’t tell the boys.

—

tags: (these are the tags from the first part, let me know if you want to be added or removed from the trivia night list) @mandoplease @spider-starry @pizzahutmonkeybutt @mouse230 @kindablackenedsuperhero @shakespeareanwannabe @mylifeliterally @this-cat-is-dea @woakiees @imananxiousdriver

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac x reader #trivia night

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superhealthcbd · 3 years

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june2734 · 3 years

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The Short Lived Golden Age of Nerdy Web Shows

There was a time between the years of, let's say, 2007 to 2015 that I like to call the golden age of nerdy web shows. It consisted of a lot of small low to no budget productions that had a lot of heart, the kind you just don't see very often anymore for some reason. Many of these show have found a dedicated home on streaming services like The Fantasy Network, some have even gained enough steam to be featured on big name services like Netflix and Amazon like The Guild and LARPs The series respectively. I'm not exactly sure why the web show trend died out so hard, maybe the crowds just aren't there for them anymore like they use to be with some many pieces of high budget productions on streaming services vying for their attention. Every once and a while I'll jump onto Google to try and find new web shows that have that same heart and feel but rarely if ever do I come up with anything. As far as I can tell the only place new nerdy low to mid budget web shows or films gets any attention is at GenCon or small streaming services like The Fantasy Network. Who knows if there will ever be another nerdy heartfelt web show created that captures the spirit of those old series I hold so dear to my heart, but regardless if it happens or not I'd like to bring some attention to a few of my favorites. They may be old by the standards of the internet and maybe even cheesy by today's standards, but I really think they were something special and if you give them a shot maybe you'll think so too. If you have any others that you think would fit in with shows like this feel free to let me know.

The Gamers: Hands Of Fate

Zombie Orpheus Entertainment use to be one of my favorite channels for nerdy fantasy related content back in the day. You could always see the quality and passion that they put into every piece of content they out out on their channel. They're still around today but they've shifted their focus to other ventures such as the ever popular trend of live streaming table top games rather then making scripted content. That being said their old stuff is still well worth a watch and The Gamers series, particularly The Gamers: Hands of Fate, is some of their best work they’ve ever put out. The series centers around a group of table top gamers(the same that can be found in most of the other The Gamers creations by ZOE), particularly the character by the name of Cass, as he steps into the world of one extremely popular card game hopes of impressing a woman who's a huge fan of it. But this is seemingly simple premise is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this series. The show also features a secondary narrative that involves the characters that actually exist in the card game as as the players decisions in the real world effect their lives and leads one character, Buckstahue(not sure if I’m spelling that right), in particular to start questioning what mysterious forces are controlling their lives. The show is a real treat filled with twists and turns I never saw coming, it's fascinating seeing how the real world actions of this card game effects the card characters lives as well as question if and when Buckstahue will figure out what strings control her actions. The stories surrounding the other characters in the party might not be as engaging but they are by no means a weak point of the series either, many of their subplots are engaging in their own rights and pay off certain character moments established in proper The Gamers creations. If this peaks your interest then the series can still be found on Zombie Orpheus's Youtube channel or as a movie on The Fantasy Network. ZOE had pivoted more towards live streaming as opposed to the scripted content of their past but I'd love to see more content from The Gamers one day. Source

LARPs The Series

LARPs The Series first premiered at GenCon 2014 and took home the award for Best Independent Series. The year after it was picked up by Geek and Sundry as a part of a push for more scripted content on the channel which was where I and many others first got a chance to watch it. When the short trailer for popped up on the G&S channel everything about it screamed that I was absolutely going to love it, and I wasn’t wrong. The series centers around a 4 man party of larpers (AKA Live Action Role Players) by the names of Will, Brittany, Arthur and Sam and their DM (Dungeon Master) Evan as we follow their lives in and out of the game. The show is surprisingly heartfelt and sympathetic towards the characters involved in this often misunderstood and mocked hobby as it shows how larping enriches their often turbulent lives and connects them all as friends on a deep and meaningful level. These characters felt real and you really rooted for them as they deal with, work, relationships and the many other hurtles of adult life as they wait eagerly to gear up for whatever peril might befall them in their next campaign session. The show was also pretty hilarious, seeing them play out classic predicaments that any party, whether they be larpers or table top roleplayers, have experienced such as one player trying to roll to kill a tavern owner or romances between PCs were always a joy to watch unfold. Another thing that most will notice right away is how the production value and direction are surprisingly astounding as well, especially in season 2. I was shocked by just how much quality was put into the show from the costumes and sets as well as from a writing standpoint. If you're interested in checking out the show then it can be found on Amazon Prime but they can also still be viewed for free on YouTube or in The Fantasy Network. Beanduck, the production company behind LARPs The series, is working towards a funding campaign in hopes of earning enough to produce a third season so if you have any spare change you might want to toss it their way in support. Regardless if you decide to help or not, LARPs The Series is a show that I think any nerdy individual will enjoy. Source

Glitch

Glitch was another show produced by the team over at Zombie Orpheus Entertainment, but it never seemed to get the same kind of love as many of their other productions. The concept was brilliant: What if one day you woke up and found out your life operated on the logic of video games? Well this is the predicament that a programing temp nicknamed Glitch finds himself in. Most episodes of the show centered around particular game mechanics causing problems in his and his friends lives and how he tries to figure out ways to work around or fix problems they've created. Glitch, Wyatt and Samus were all fantastic characters and it was always fun seeing Glitch trying to work through some real world problem with game logic like trying to flirt with a woman he likes using a conversation wheel like in Mass Effect or figuring out how to "defeat" his boss at work who he see's as an actual game boss. Another thing I liked about the show was how the characters really felt like real people I knew, they played games on the couch, debated about which Sci-Fi starship captains were the best, and they grilled each other in nerdy ways while working in slang from their favorite bits of nerd culture into their daily vocabulary. I always hoped that ZOE would eventually put out a second season but unfortunately for whatever reason that never became a reality. Now days the channel that originally hosted Glitch has changed their name to Burger Orchard and rarely if ever uploads anything, but luckily those original episodes of Glitch can still be found on their. Give it a watch, it's short but sweet and if you really enjoyed the show a lot there are little companion shorts that can also be found on the channel. Source

The Street Fighter

The Game Station was an early find for me back in my early college days, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I shaved away many hours watching all kinds of gaming related content on that channel instead of studying for exams. One production, created by one of the channels founders Layne Pavoggi, which came out in late 2011 and was a cut above much their already fantastic content was a short lived series was called The Street Fighter. The series centered around a single dad by the name of Phil who has just lost his job and decides to take up a short career as a professional Street Fighter player to provide for his son as well as keep his mind off of the stressful and highly competitive job market. This a real underdog story that’s extremely reminiscent of old sports 80s films where the protagonist has everything working against them, with that being said you might think that such a trope filled narrative would make things a little predictable and you wouldn’t be wrong but there’s still plenty to love since this concept has really never been explored with videogame to my knowledge. Phil is a guy you’d be hard pressed not to warm up to, especially when you see him interacting with his preteen son Ryan or his best friend/semi love interest Camile (played by former All That star and all around spectacular person Lisa Foiles). Seeing him trying to make his way into the job market, taking odd jobs here and there just to try and get by while also playing Street Fighter to destress and become better for the sake of winning a competition for money to support his son really makes to root for him through all of it. One aspect of the show that I really this is fantastic is how it feels truly authentic to the FGC (Fighting Game Community) when it comes to talking about all of the technical aspects of play Street Fighter on a competitive level. There are moments when Phil goes into detail about his “bread and butter” combos or talks about different strategies when it comes to taking on different characters compared to his main. The show was short lived but it can still be found on The Game Stations channel, if you’re looking for a heartfelt underdog story then I highly recommend giving The Street Fighter a shot. Source

Versus Valerie

Versus Valerie is a bit of series finale for a fictional character created by Hannah Spear for the character more commonly known as the Sexy Nerd Girl on her YouTube channel. Even if you didn't watch the characters vlogs over the years leading up to the web series I still think you'll find something to enjoy in this extremely charming show. It centers around Valerie Lapomme, the titular Sexy Nerd Girl, as she lives life hanging out with with her best friend Guy, shopping for comic books, going on dates, vlogging, and trying to make something of herself as a mid 20 something living in Toronto. The brilliant thing about this series is how each episode is structured like or makes homage to popular shows, films and games such as Star Wars, Doctor Who, Memento, and The Matrix just to name a few. On top of that the show is surprisingly well produced and written for something that spawned from a fictional vlog series, Valarie and Guy are much more fleshed out and all the characters including them have some really fantastic character arcs and moments in the show. Valerie’s awkwardness and extremely nerdy imagination felt embracingly relatable to me personally since I often imagine different situations in my life in relation to my own nerdy fandoms. What I was often taken aback by when I first watched the show years ago was just how enjoyable all of the episodes were in their own special way, and the pay off of it all really feels like a proper satisfying ending to the strange and imaginative journey we’ve been on with Valerie. If it peaks your interest at all then you can still find the full series on the Veruse Valerie YouTube channel as well as some of the vlogs prior to the series on the Sexy Nerd Girl channel as well. It’s well worth a viewing and aside from the fantastic lead characters of Guy and Valerie the show also managed to grab Mark Meer as a supporting character, aka the voice of COMMANDER MOTHER F^*$(^% SHEPARD BABY!!! Source

#Web Shows #geek and sundry #Zombie Orpheus Entertainment #LARPs the series #table top rpg #larping #web series #a few of my favorite things

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rainofaugustsith · 3 years

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SWTOR: On Flashpoints as Story and How to Make Them Better

No story spoilers.

I logged into SWTOR tonight and noticed that one of my alts was ready to do the Spirit of Vengeance flashpoint. So was another. And another. There's no motivation on my part to take these characters through because I have no motivation to do this flashpoint again. The story cut scenes and the plot they are setting up are amazing, but to see them you have to go through the flashpoint.

I can understand why the devs keep adding flashpoints to the story. It provides some repeatable content, as well as something for groups to do. It can be tuned to higher difficulty levels for groups seeking a challenge. It gives players a small taste of what it is like to go through the harder group content, without forcing them into groups.

Making them critical to the story also means that players can't ignore them, the way they could in the class stories. Those skips sometimes happened at the expense of the story. Someone missing the Taral V/Maelstron Prison or Boarding Party/Foundry arc, for instance, missed some critical plot points that led into Shadow of Revan. We have not had a flashpoint that does not tie into the main story since Ilum, and I think that is deliberate. I actually enjoy most of the flashpoints, and think they are positive additions to the story.

Having said that, adding flashpoints adds some challenges for story players. If they are too long, it poses a problem - unlike a daily area or class story mission, you can't usually log out to rest and return to exactly where you were. For certain disabilities, the faster pace of gameplay and more intense button hitting/mouse clicking can hurt the hands. And if it's tuned with too much difficulty, it becomes an arduous obstacle rather than something players enjoy.

Story players might enjoy a challenge of tougher gameplay - but they also might just want to play the story. They're doing the solo/story mode, not VM or MM. They may not be interested in ten minute boss fights that require knowing numerous mechanics. If someone really wants a challenge, they still have it in the two harder versions. The presence of a far easier story mode doesn't change that. I think the devs should keep this in mind.

Spirit of Vengeance IMHO is tuned too high, is way too long, and desperately needs to be toned down. I have completed it several times, but I really have not enjoyed the experience. I’m holding off on completing the flashpoint with any additional alts who still need to do it for the story. I really don’t think my weaker characters, such as my healers, will be able to do it without considerable trouble. And it is one place where, if they offered a story skip later, I’d consider taking it, unless the devs do tune it down a lot. I'm hoping they will listen to the numerous complaints and concerns players have raised about the flashpoint and make additional changes. I think there are things they could do for story-level flashpoints to make them better in general.

1. Long but not too long. I think the reason we may be seeing some longer flashpoints is because the devs are trying to give more content to play. But quantity doesn't equal quality, and it's a major problem that in most flashpoints, you can't take a break. If you're too tired, your hands hurt, or you just need to stop for a while, you can't exactly pick up where you left off most of the time. Expecting an hour or two of continuous, intense gameplay to advance the story is more than many can or want to do.

IMHO the Manaan, Rakata Prime, Korriban, Tython and Umbara flashpoints are the right length. Copero is slightly longer but the scenery and variety of game play are such that it's not boring. False Emperor, Spirit of Vengeance and The Battle of Ilum are way too long.

2. Stop giving guest companions. The Spirit of Vengeance and Copero flashpoints, in story mode, must be completed with companions you've never met before (or in the case of Copero, 7/8 classes have never met before). In Copero this companion was set to influence level 1. In Vengeance the companion's level was also originally 1. The devs recently patched the flashpoint to raise the companion's influence to 25, but their healing abilities are reportedly still lacking. For the Meridian Complex the player also had a guest companion or two. These companions had been bumped to influence level 10.

Expecting story players to do the hardest story content with brand-new, unfamiliar companions at low levels of influence is a rather low blow.

3. If there is a guest companion, let the player bring along the God Droid or a companion of their choice.

The player has a "god droid" to assist in combat for all solo flashpoints from The Black Talon/Esseles through The Battle of Rishi. They have two companions for some of Umbara and most of Nathema. There are two companions in Republic-side Meridian complex (which is uneven since Imperial players only get one). Thus, it's been shown over and over again that the player can bring additional companions along with them in flashpoints.

If the story insists or requires a guest companion, at least allow the player to have some stronger backup by choosing a companion of their own or allowing them to use the God Droid.

4. For the regular (non story) solo mode, bring back the God Droid.

The God Droid is missed. If the player wants to repeat the solo level flashpoint for some reason, let them summon the droid if they want. A player who prefers to try the flashpoint without the extra help can always dismiss it.

5. Mind the mechanics.

Someone playing a story mode flashpoint may not enjoy very long boss fights that require rapid, repeated button smashes. For one thing it's really more complex than they might want to bother with; for another it can physically hurt.

6. Mind the mobs.

It's not an Uprising. You don't need silver and gold mobs every five feet.

7. Make them interesting.

Copero has really amazing design. Nathema and Umbara aren't bad. Meridian Complex is just grey industrial wasteland, and Vengeance isn't much better.

If you want to encourage story players to repeat flashpoints, make it interesting. I've been through Copero more times than I can count, in solo mode, because it's got such rich design. I did the Meridian Complex once on each character to get it over with, and don't plan on going back to repeat it on characters that have already been through.

8. Listen to the testers.

The Public Test Server forum on SWTOR is the one place that isn't a hellscape. Players usually have a lot of really good constructive criticism and it's often ignored. In the case of Spirit of Vengeance, many were warning that it appeared to be too hard on the PTS. These warnings seem to have been largely ignored. There’s no point in testing something if you don’t listen to the testers. This doesn’t mean they need to change everything to cater to the testers, but if there’s a consistent problem being pointed out by many people, perhaps it warrants a closer look. 9. Keep the decorations! One of the very positive changes in flashpoints has been the addition of decorations, both as drops and mission rewards, in solo/story mode. I hope they keep this. This is definitely one of the reasons I kept going back to Copero; the decos were really wonderful. It’s also why I was finally tempted to complete Directive 7.

#swtor #rain plays swtor #swtor spirit of vengeance #spirit of vengeance #swtor flashpoints

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bouwrites · 4 years

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Maribat March 2020 Prompt: Roommates

Week 4, Day 4.

Maribat March 2020 Calendar.

Day 1: Sweetheart’s Dance, Day 3: Coffee Shop, Day 5: Fake Dating.

Ao3.

2281 words. Story under read-more.

Marinette is a simple girl. It’s been a while since she could say she has a simple life, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a simple girl anymore. She’s a girl who loves what she does. A girl deep in her passions, who feels deeply and maybe works a bit too much. She’s a girl who really wants to spend some quality time with her boyfriend. Cuddle a bit, maybe catch a movie. That’s all. She’s a simple girl who doesn’t think that’s too much to ask for.

She takes the moments where she can. Nudges, laughs, winks. Sometimes, she and Jon can even hold hands. When she’s tired, she’ll duck her head into his chest and pretend he’s all the world, so she doesn’t have to do anything but sit there with him. No other obligations or distractions. When he’s frustrated, sometimes he’ll bury his face in her hair and mutter for only her to hear. Little things, stolen moments that don’t take away from every other thing they have to handle.

But sitting on the sofa, legs tucked under her as she leans onto Jon, watching a bad romantic comedy while he plays with her hair? That only comes once a blue moon. It’s nice while it lasts.

Marinette is sitting there, calm, content in the simplicity of enjoying time with the boy she loves, when out of nowhere and completely predictably, Alya comes upon them like an angel falling from heaven.

Marinette hears a sharp squeak, then the click of a camera shutter, then a curse as Alya remembers her phone’s sound is on and hurries to silence it. It’s not worth it to say something. She can feel Jon move under her, attention moving to where Alya is, but even still it’s not worth it. They can stay in this moment. They can keep this. They will hold onto this moment for all it’s worth and no nosy friend is going to pry it from their hands.

Besides, Marinette is too exhausted to care. After the last heroic tragedy pushed her behind on commissions, she’s been staying up too late. Jon is trying to get her to sleep more, in fact that’s why he arranged to come here tonight, and Marinette is so lucky and grateful to have the best boyfriend in the world who cares about her well-being and loves her so much so she will not let this evening go to waste. This evening is for relaxation and cuddles and that’s it.

Marinette is just able to put Alya’s presence around the corner out of her mind when suddenly the lights dim. Goddamn it, Alya. She groans, beginning to rise, but Jon’s arms around her keep her where she is. “It’s alright.” He whispers in her ear, soft and sweet and everything she needs right now. “She’s just trying to set the mood.” He chuckles lightly, bouncing Marinette a bit on the rise and fall of his chest.

“She should mind her own business.” Marinette mutters into his shirt.

“She’s just trying to be a good friend.” He says. “In… her own way. Just focus on the movie.”

Jon’s right, of course, so Marinette sighs and settles back down. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth the energy to get up, much less chew out Alya. No, Marinette doesn’t want to be anywhere except right where she is, or do anything but exactly what she’s doing. Nothing beats this. Nothing beats the peace, the calm, of feeling his shirt on her cheek. Nothing beats the gentle rise and fall of his chest; its slow, even rhythm breathing into her the knowledge that he’s safe, and that she is, too. Or the steady bump of his heart; it’s unfailing beat like a message in code saying, “I’m alive. We’re alive.”

Nothing beats him nuzzling into her, grin lighting up the dim room like he’s sunshine itself, or the silvery voice, low and soft in her ear, just a little breathy, as if he can’t quite seem to catch his breath when she’s leaning against him like this.

Marinette can sit here forever, so long as he stays with her. Commissions and tragedies be damned. She’s sinking back into the mode to do just that when, opening her eyes again, she sees Alya directly between them and the television, holding up her phone. Her finger is frozen over the picture button, caught red-handed, so to speak. I’m going to skin you, Alya.

She feels Jon’s hand on her arm, gently rubbing the skin there. It calms her down more than it probably should. “Alya?” Jon says.

“Uh… yeah?”

“Please leave us alone. Mari’s really tired. We just want a nice night in, okay?”

Alya awkwardly, and slowly, lowers her phone. “Yeah! Of course! I’ll leave you to it!” Even as she gives him a thumbs-up, she’s sending meaningful and suggestive looks at Marinette, who is simply too tired to care. Before she leaves, she kisses Marinette’s head, whispering, “I want the deets later, girl! Rest well!”

Alya takes off to her room, finally leaving Marinette the living room with Jon, where Marinette looks to him questioningly. “Huh?”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t know. Sounds like she’s got something to talk to you about, though.”

“Mmm.” Marinette just turns her head back into his shoulder. “Who cares?”

Jon giggles. “While I’ve got you here? Not me.” He hugs her closer, a little tighter, and nuzzles her, drawing grins and giggles out of the both of them.

“You’re leaning forward. Are you asking to be taken down? And fix that stance!”

Marinette growls under her breath as she wipes the sweat from her brow, adjusting her weight and stance to be perfect. Mistaken as their intruder is, she is slightly off. That only irks her more. Jon, hearing her, groans loudly.

Their uninvited third doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. The latter is, admittedly, more likely. “And Jon, are you seriously going that easy on her? She was wide open! So are you. You shouldn’t be relying so much on your powers to muscle through every fight, you know.”

Jon sucks in a breath and sticks a tight smile on his face. “Thanks, Damian. I totally want to hear your advice right now.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “Whether you want my advice or not, I won’t allow you to keep practicing with such poor form. You’ll only make bad habits that way, and that’ll get you killed.”

“I understand that.” Jon says, far too patiently for his own good. “I do. But we’re not sparring.”

Damian furrows his brow, looking between them. “You are in the sparring ring, dressed for it. What are you doing, then?”

Marinette takes a deep breath. It’s only natural he’d think we’re sparring. Doesn’t excuse him barging in, but it’s fine. “Dancing. I asked him to help with a routine.” She says.

“Ah.” Damian says. “In that case, Jon, you’re still far too stiff.” His eyes move to her again. “And you were still off-balance.”

Marinette gives him a sardonic smile until he turns his attention back to Jon. Then, she rolls her eyes.

“Dance is helpful, but only if you do it properly.” Damian continues. “It will hurt you in combat if you slack off just as much as proper practice will help. You’re clearly not suited for this, perhaps I will be a better partner for her. She should practice with someone of her skill.”

Jon scowls. “Hey, back off. She asked me to help.”

Marinette sighs deeply. “You know what? I think we’re done for now, anyway.”

Damian tuts loudly. “You’re giving up halfway through practice? You’ll never master it if you don’t devote the time necessary.”

Marinette clenches her jaw. It’s not worth it. She reminds herself. It’s not worth the trouble. Just walk away. “I appreciate the thought, Damian, but has it ever occurred to you that just maybe we don’t have to be masters at everything we do?”

“Of course not. That would be ridiculous. We must aspire to excellence in any endeavor.”

Marinette runs her hand down her face. Normally, she would be more patient with Damian, but she’s just really not in the mood right now. “Alright. Let me spell it out for you. I like dancing with Jon. That’s it. That’s all this is. And you know what? We’ve been going at it for a while now! So, I’m going to raid your fridge and then I’m going to take a nap, alright? Good? Good. Goodbye.”

“Dang it, Damian!” Jon whines.

“What’d I do?”

“We were just having fun! Why’d you have to come in and ruin it? You put her in a bad mood, too…”

“If you had proper form, I wouldn’t have had to say anything. And if she gets upset at such minor critique, then-”

“Oh my God!”

Marinette growls some more as she rubs her temples. So much for date night. It was supposed to be fun, but now she’s all riled up from being interrupted (and from knowing Damian is right, at least about her technique), and once Damian tried taking Jon’s place as her partner?

That’s the night out the window. Even if she and Jon try to continue their plans, Jon will just be in a foul mood, and she’s not that much better. Jon’s usually better about keeping his cool, but Damian always riles him up, and the unintended implication that he’d be a better boyfriend for Marinette? Jon isn’t forgetting that tonight. Ironically, that’s exactly what spoils the night, but still. It’s just not worth it.

The only thing Marinette can do is let the boys fight it out, calm herself her own way – maybe she’ll make some cookies – and hope that she’ll still have time to pick up the tail end of date night and cuddle with Jon a bit later on. What a pain.

Both the boys smile, one huge and bright and happy and the other small and subtle and approving, when she bribes them with cookies she makes after a quick nap is worth it, though. And with their obligatory daily fight out of the way, Damian decides that a cookie is good enough and he has better things to do, so Marinette gets her coveted cuddle time.

At least it isn’t a total failure.

It doesn’t take them long to figure out that getting anything done with their best friends around is next to impossible, so Marinette and Jon start taking their dates out of the house. It goes well at first, but they’re sitting in a park, joking and people-watching and enjoying their little picnic, and all of a sudden, as if by magic, unseasonal flower petals begin falling.

Marinette and Jon just share a look and immediately sink their heads into their hands.

True to form, Marinette is happy to attempt to simply ignore it. Even when the music starts, she puts it to the back of her mind. She’s enjoying time with her boyfriend, and she will enjoy that time.

It’s about the time that the rickshaw rolls by and Marinette has flashbacks to “Operation: Secret Garden” that she just can’t take it anymore. She collapses into Jon, burying her head in his chest, muttering, “Kill me.”

Jon chuckles. “Sorry, darling. No can do. We should probably run them off before they summon an airplane to write in the sky for us or something, though.”

“Can they do that?”

“I can hear Damian. So, yeah, I actually think they could.”

Marinette groans again. “Okay. Let’s go. Where are they hiding?”

Jon takes her hand to guide her towards some nearby bushes, behind which Alya and Damian are crouched. “I told you they’d hear you!” Damian hisses. “Honestly, this entire ‘mission’ is so childish!”

“Then why did you agree to it?” Alya spits back. “Don’t act like you weren’t helping!”

“Because if they finally get over themselves, I won’t have to listen to Jon moaning abou-”

Marinette loudly clears her throat, drawing both of their attention. Alya at least has the decency to look sheepish. Damian just turns his nose up at her.

Jon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Damian. What, and I cannot stress this enough, the hell are you doing?”

Damian scowls. “This witch friend of yours dragged me out here on what she considers a mission. We’re supposed to manipulate you two into a-”

“Hey!” Alya leaps over to slap her hand over his mouth, but Damian just manages to dance out of range. She does succeed in shutting him up, though. “It’s a secret mission!”

Damian scoffs. “I hardly think matchma-”

Alya dives at him. “I said shut your mouth! You’ll ruin everything!”

Marinette quickly steps in between them to stop either of them from doing something they’ll regret. Jon steps in, too, back to back with her between their friends. “That’s enough!” Marinette says, leaving no room for argument. “Alya, I know exactly what you’re doing. I was there for Operation: Secret Garden, you know.”

Alya opens her mouth soundlessly a few times. “Y-yeah, but…” She gestures insistently over Marinette’s shoulder. To Jon.

“I also don’t need your help setting up a date with my boyfriend, so I’d appreciate it if you would just let us get back to the one we were already on. Please?”

Alya stares at her for a moment, slack-jawed, before screeching. “Boyfriend?!!?!”

Marinette blinks, moving a bit to find Jon’s eyes again. “Yeah. Boyfriend. Wha- oh…” Marinette frowns, tapping her chin. “Oh, we forgot to tell you, didn’t we?”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! You got a boyfriend and didn’t tell me?!!?!”

“Yeah…” Marinette mutters, resigned to Alya’s freak-out. “That explains a lot.”

#MaribatMarch2020 #Maribat #Maribat March #Event #Marijon #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #ML Fanfiction #ML x DC

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boku-no-loveletters · 4 years

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(1/3?)Hi! Idk if you're still doing match ups but I was wondering if i could get a prohero match up pls! If not, please feel free to ignore my ask, I completely understand and hope you're resting 💕 if soooo-I’m a straight cis Hispanic female that’s 5ft tall, I have wide hips, big butt/thighs, my top half ain’t special tho and I have black hair/bangs and dark brown eyes+glasses! I’m a cancer with an INFP personality, I’m shy and closed off at first but as I get used to you I open up.

Also, my favorite season is fall, I have been told that I have a motherly, clownery, therapist type of vibe. I’m stubborn, not big on commitment (when I commit tho, I COMMIT) My ideal date is napping, eating our junk foods and watching anime and movies! I’m a cancer sun, Leo moon and Libra rising. I’m an introvert and Hufflepuff.

I’m shy and closed off at first but as I get used to you, I open up. I like sleep, anime and boys (But I like anime bois more than real ones :( )…I also have daddy issues…the following info has nsfw/sfw, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, feel free to ignore it! My hobbies include dancing and singing! My turn on: Love and understanding (Nfsw-degradation and praise/daddy kink)-(I base my love life off of Disney movies and Wattpad)

LAST ONE! Turn offs: not willing to understand that I need space to cope with my moodiness. (NFSW-someone that doesn’t care about my consent!) I’m the type of person that tends to want to listen more than I want to talk. I’m always on TikTok cuz crackheads things. My names Larissa, but my friends prefer “Dummy”, “idiot, ”, or clown cus even though I may be book smart, I am very stupid. THANK YOU IN ADVANCE IF YOU DO CHOOSE TO DO THIS, MAKE SURE YOU DRINK WATER, REST AND PLS EAT!

Heyo, I did your match-up!

-I had a lot of fun with this one! I enjoyed reading your description and being really specific helped me determine which Hero was better for you. At first, I was torn between All might and Hawks since they both seemed to be really laid back in certain activities they do, but hawks and you seemed to have similar interests and similar attitudes.

-I felt that Hawks would like someone with an attitude like his, laid back and idealistic, yet healing and therapeutic. Hawks needs someone that he can confide in since he goes through a ton of pressure daily despite not looking like it. Having someone that is gentle to a level where he can let his guard down is important, trust is important for him. Plus, what kind of relationship is it if you don’t trust your partner?

-I think he would absolutely adore planning out little dates that specifically involved only you and him since he just wants some time with his girl alone, but if you asked him that you wanted to go out he wouldn’t mind at all. I think that he’d like Movie marathons with take out KFC more since that just kinda sounds like his thing. I think there’s also a really high probability that he’d like anime too, but I think he’d be a fan of sports animes like Haikyuu!

-Hawks is a thinker and I think he’d be more than happy to give you your space since he understands how much some people, like him, need their alone time or a break depending on your mood.

-If you dance and you sing, then you already have your number one supporter on your hands. This man will cheer you on and/or secretly videotape you doing one of your most beloved activities without you noticing and when you’re done, he will come to you and show you how beautiful you look or sound and compare it with the other videos he took of you.

-He has a hard time deciding which one is going to be his new ringtone, he thinks it’s nice waking up and hearing you singing before he gets ready for the day.

-Daddy issues? No worries! The number 3 pro hero, to the rescue! He will try as many humorous antics as he can to get your mind off of family problems, sometimes he'll go in for a scare to completely snap you out of the subject if it takes your attention away from more important things.

I think that the way you guys meet would be by pure coincidence, You are another citizen of the city while he was the number three hero, it ‘s bound to happen by some point unless of course, you both were known to come to a common place that you loved.

Ah, yes. Today was a Friday, AKA the perfect today to start on another one of your most favored series along with various amounts of snacks that you are sure will mess up your stomach afterward. But hey, who cares about that? It’s the weekend! That means no work, no worries, and certainly no more bothersome people!

You took in a deep breath and smiled happily, content that your day of work was already over which left you the remaining of the last day of your workweek and the rest of Saturday and Sunday! Your right hand gently steering the wheel of your vehicle while your left hand held the small wad of cash for the food that you were using for something special.

You pulled up to the parking lot of the convenience store, picking up your purse and stepping out of the car with your money already in your hand. The door opened ahead of you with a small ding, revealing the rows of food and the clerks' desk upfront.

You scanned over the store’s range and noticed how weirdly empty it was, not a lot of customers were present at the moment though the woman already at the front desk looked oddly excited. Maybe it was someone important? Well, it was probably none of your business anyways, you’re just a customer after all so you just paid attention to what you came here for.

Fried chicken. Hell yeah.

Fried chicken along with potato chips and drinks was the main ingredient for a great marathon to where you could binge-watch all the episodes you wanted. ALL the episodes, although your parents would probably scold you for your unhealthy habits, as you said before, you could care less.

So you began walking down the aisles, dragging your finger over the tags to look for your favorite brand of chips under their company name all the while obliviously ignoring the floating crimson object that drifted across the air.

You then felt a little tickle at your neck at which you swiped to the back of your head and grabbed what appeared to be..a feather? Which was strangely familiar as it was red too.

The only red feather you had ever seen was that of a certain famous hero's wings and it's not like he'd pick such a low profile store to get some food, right? But then you really couldn't think of him any less based on the current decisions you're making right now.

Just as you were about to inspect the small little feather, it zoomed from out of your grasp and flew ahead over the aisles. By then, you had finally paid attention to the conversations that carried over the wave of food and products.

You craned your neck over to look at the superintendent and... a man?

Much to your surprise, it was the number three pro hero, Hawks! His cheerful demeanor was just as laid-back as ever. His blonde hair was slicked back with a few stray locks framing his face while he donned a leather jacket and matching black pants for an outfit.

Your mouth was wide open in surprise, what a coincidence! You were right! So you leaned in quietly and began listening in on their conversations, being sure not to make yourself get exposed and labeled as another one of Hawk's stir crazy fangirls.

Your ears then picked up on Hawk's smooth yet rough voice, the volume of his speech echoing across the store as he asked a certain thing about the manager's day or what he'd thought about doing all the while digging through his pocket, both front and back.

He must've been looking for something...like money.

You clasped a hand over your mouth to silence yourself from laughing before you were caught. The number three pro hero, Hawks, had forgotten money to buy some things at the store...which was fried chicken.

Respectable choice, a faith that you had to save a fellow chicken eater from.

So you quietly walked over to their positions, being mindful not to interrupt their conversation and gently tugged on Hawk's jacket. He gradually turned around and met your gaze directly with just a hint of surprise and turbulence.

"Oh, hey! Another fan? You need me to sign something of yours?" he spoke in a cheerful manner to which you simply shook your head and brought his hand to yours and put in a couple wads of cash before walking out of the store and waving him and the superintendent goodbye.

Perhaps another time would be better, you could always wait for your paycheck and get a much higher paying. 'Yeah, that'd be much better than that shabby amount.' you thought to yourself while bringing your purse closer to your chest in giddiness and opening the door to your automobile.

He was confused for a moment before he brought his attention to his hand and gently opened it. The slips of cash you left in his care were just the amount he had been missing to get himself a quick snack ere going back to his house.

He felt a small blush creep up his neck when the realization hit him, you must've seen his crappy attempt at finding some random change in his pocket when you were just a few aisles behind him in the store.

So, wasting no time to say his thanks, he quickly paid for his food and said his goodbyes before rushing to the front of the store and catching your vehicle leave just at the last moment.

He used his large vermillion wings to wave to you while you left and hazily watched your car leave to the next street on the highway. How oddly nice of a citizen to give him some spare cash, maybe he'd repay you the next time you came around...that is, if he could find you.

-So after that, Hawks did manage to find you the next time around and he did keep his promise of returning your fair share of money. Although the other times you guys did meet up around the store was when you returned to get more snacks and he was simply buying more chicken, claiming that the store had good quality food.

-He tries to make small talk with you either by using the fact that he doesn’t have enough money as an excuse or that he’s just simply another pro hero passing by and checking in on his favorite citizen.

-The time when you guy’s actually agreed to dating was by him confessing and using chicken drumsticks as a gift for your first date. It worked.

-Both You and Hawks have energy that matches each other, you practically fit like puzzle pieces based on how I view it. You both share similar views on how the world could work if it would differ on a creative basis or when you know how to take a break from certain things and just be in each other’s presence.

-He tries to get as many breaks as he can from doing hero work, so if he consults his agencies about how much time he’s missing being away from you, he’ll try and send little trinkets from his workplace to you and let you know he’ll be home sooner or later.

NSFW!

-Now, this guy has the DNA of a hawk, you can definitely expect him to randomly go into phrases involving sexual matters such as mating season and i’d imagined that would happen mostly around the spring with the summer sometimes being an exception.

-Hawks is that one bitch that prays before eating you out, I will not hold a discussion for this. HE IS THAT BITCH and NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.

-Oh, a daddy kink you say? Hawks is going to enjoy this. No doubt this man here is going to get rough in the bedroom and he will waste absolutely no energy on you. Just one slip up of calling him that name and he will ravage into the bed mattress.

-If you’re really into making him wait a bit before actually getting into bed, this man will praise your body throughout the whole session as if he had never had a drip of pleasure in his life.

Hope you liked your match-up!

@animeboihoe

#Hawks mha #Keigo Takami #Takami Keigo #Hawks #bnha #mha match-ups

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ultrakeystotheheartblog · 5 years

Text

Not So Alone (Part 2) (Teen Titans x Reader)

Part 2 of 2

Request: Requested by multiple people.

“Uhm, your teen titans imagine was?? so great?? I would totally love a sequel omg (only if u want obv)”

“Omg please I just read the fic and want a sequel too so badddd you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I’d be super hype to see it and read and scream because the first parts great” - @laneygthememequeen

A/N: I’m back! I’m not dead! And I am definitely going to write an update some time soon to explain everything that’s happened, but for right now I’m just gonna go ahead and say thank you again for all the positive comments and support that the first part received. I wasn’t expecting so many people to enjoy it, so I was over the moon at the response. With that said, I hope you all enjoy this part too ♥♥♥

(PS: This was the imagine that got the most votes, so the final part for my Jason Todd fic will be coming next! And, uh, It’s already turning out like a novel guys, prepare yourselves).

Warning: Swearing. Little bit of angst, but mostly a whole lot of fluff.

*********************************************************************************

You can’t help but feel that something is not quite right today.

Things are quiet.

Too quiet.

There’s no bouncing music or flashing video games, no arguing, no laughing, no daily echoes of training or disastrous calamities unfolding in the kitchen. No doting, friendly teammates to regale you with their presence (as what’s been the norm for the past few weeks while you’ve begrudgingly, slowly, began to heal from your injuries). No, the Tower is practically, for lack of a better or less ironic term, dead. And has been for most of the day—a husk of boredom and loneliness and one too many pieces of cold, leftover pizza.

Not to mention that looming cloud that’s followed over your head, a suspicious kind of quiet that’s been pressing in all around you like a swarm of invisible hands, seeping into the very foundation of the room. It’s been keeping you teetering on the edge of a pinpoint for literal hours—your fight or flight response practically grinding its teeth in preparation for an inevitable...something. And all the while you sink further into the entertainment room’s monstrous, curved couch and try to focus on ‘relaxing’.

Ha.

You’d be more relaxed if you knew where everyone disappeared to.

But alas, you do not—no matter how much the urge to snoop is (and you so want to snoop), because that’s not what friends do. At least, you think it’s not. You have to admit, it’s been a long time since you’ve considered anyone a friend, but you’re trying. Trying to let go of the past. Trying to be vulnerable. To be good. To be open. And you very much find yourself liking all the ensuing, chaotic changes in your life recently. But you’re rusty and unsure, and always, always, waiting for some other shoe to drop.

You don’t want it to.

You really don’t want it to.

But sometimes you wonder if it would give you some sort of relief from all the waiting—if that metaphorical shoe just got it over with already and put its ugly, metaphorical foot down. So you could breathe without all this pinchy, backwards kind of guilt you’ve been storing up inside for years, waiting to finally punch out into the world like a nest of angry wasps. Like you should feel bad for wanting to be a part of something....something more.

You’ve always hated just waiting for something to happen. But here you are now; alone, completely over-thinking the meaning of life, and left to stew in a concoction of sulky feelings that leaves you nauseous in a way you’ve worked so hard to forget.

So.

With your sore legs propped up onto the coffee table for comfort, you just continue to glare at the blank TV screen and watch your faded reflection in the shine of the glass, biting bitterly into the last of the pizza crust from the plate balanced in your lap.

ZuZu (as declared by Star the morning you’d first woken up—words tripping in a rush of excitement and a stream of breathless chatter about some sort of inspiration from an earth movie—while she gently sits the little creature into your lap with a ceremonious flourish of her arms) flops onto their belly to find a more comfortable position beside you.

Their front legs tuck underneath their bulk, long, spiked tail curling around their body in looping circles, before they come to rest their head on your hip, staring intensely at the leftover crust between your fingers.

They’re about the size of a small dog, heavy and wide, with the hybrid body structure of some sort of lizard and a...well, a bear. Their face is coated in silky auburn fur, snout ridged and twitchy, large heavy-lidded, expressive pink eyes set deep in their sockets. The majority of their torso and back legs are scaled and shiny, while three stripes of that autumn colored fur zigzag down their back, their front legs thick and capped with massive fuzzy paws and hooked dark claws. But the most distinctive features are the large, pleated creases of skin which usually lay folded back against their head and neck.

A frill, like you remember seeing once, adorning a lizard from some travelling petting zoo. It’s supported by long spines of cartilage connected to each side of their jaw bone, and when spread to encircle the entirety of their head, is lined in pink and filled with bright orange scales.

Beast Boy called it a ‘deimatic display’ that first day, a behavior or reaction of patterns and colors used like a defensive bluff—akin to beady eyes on the back of a moth’s wings or selective changes in the body pattern of a cuttlefish—manipulated to startle, display a warning, or distract predators. But it seems ZuZu is able to use it a bit differently—a slight alien twist to the reaction, which allows them to communicate solely through a language formed by varying flashes and multitudes of color.

You’ve all been scrambling to figure out the meanings behind each display lately, trading yes or no questions with the creature at any given point throughout the day, before documenting any noticeable details in the Tower’s staggering, inexhaustible database.

Red, you’ve found quickly, suggests that they’re annoyed, or angry, or generally, exceedingly, unhappy about something. Yellow, on the other hand, simply implies content in the most peaceful sense. And pink? That’s become their version of taunting—something smug and annoyingly self-assured, which seems to be their more….colourful version of resting bitch face.

You grunt at the heavy weight of ZuZu’s head as it presses more firmly against bruised muscles and skin, hidden away beneath the cozy, cotton sweatpants you’d wrestled from the bottom of your closet. It doesn’t keep you from slipping deeper though, into the clouded memories shrouding that first dreamlike morning after finally waking.

Robin—grinning, more relaxed then you’d ever seen him, and already lying back in his spot beside you on the bed—had leaned over when Star finally took a moment to find her breath, voice dipping low as he casually filled in the most obvious, glaring blanks in her story. He explained how they’d come upon ZuZu while rushing you back to the tower for medical attention—left behind by their master, defensive and shaking, and hidden away beneath the burning hot rubble from unlucky buildings crushed during the Jump City attack.

You can vaguely recall those creatures and their part in the invasion, as you hold the curious, unwavering stare of your new housemate. You pinpoint a fuzzy recollection of hundreds of similar alien hybrids, large percents of them being used as cannon fodder against the city’s responding defense—some sort of attack dogs or bloodhounds originally breed for what seemed to be an unparalleled sense of incoming danger. And a lethal aptitude for sniffing out and marking targets, even in the most extreme of circumstances. All to make the invading attack’s that much more…. precise.

Equally as shaken and heartbroken, both Starfire and Beast Boy insisted on giving little ZuZu a home, one without the need for cold masters and needless sacrifices.

Robin admitted that it took some convincing to get him to agree, but that he caved to them rather quickly, like the truly soft-hearted dork you know he is on the inside. The one, you’ve been noticing, that is no longer carefully tempered behind masks both metaphorical and literal (like those you’d learned to cultivate for yourself, to ensure your own survival among the flocks of good and evil in this world)—all veils of enigmatic charm and cool leadership, strategy and logic.

(While for just as long, you had mused, you refined your wall of sarcasm and teasing, and strained, plastic smiles. Even as fate saw it fit to laugh and thrust you into the role of cosmic punching bag in both a figurative and literal sense).

Because Robin is never really one to deny a safe haven to someone, especially an orphan, in need.

And it’s not too hard to understand why.

It’s one quality you’ve only caught glimpses of, before the attempted invasion and one too many near-death experiences changed everything.

Your once positive opinion on lizards.

Your practical, humanly limitations regarding the ability to eat your weight in cold, cheese pizza.

Your mostly cynical take on all the possible wonders of this life.

Your team and their conduct—their outreach of friendship, their measure of trust and willing openness towards you.

Your place among them. Your.... the need for the permanence of those masks.

All while you’ve been learning to come to terms with this warm, slowly blossoming….strange feeling of finally belonging.

ZuZu shifts to find a different angle, and then they’re sliding their head further into your lap, situating themselves just underneath your hovering hand. Your sullen gaze darts down to examine them again in the cresting evening sunlight, their lithe body bathed in an orange light that softens the harsh lines and edges of bluish-green scales, until they’re all but glittering like some magnificent, stain-glass fish below rippling water.

Shit, they’re so wonderfully unique, maybe too much so, for a world that tears down all that’s different in the name of fear (and this you know all too well). They’re intelligent and hardheaded, and kind of an absolute dick if you’re being honest. But you can’t help but feel close to the little creature, and hope, however possibly (awfully) misguided, that it’s at least somewhat mutual. After all, for all their rough edges and guarded, worldly acceptance, they were learning to fit in here—just like you.

The flash of a long, forked tongue startles you from your thoughts, and you catch sight of it in your peripheral, snapping out towards the piece of half-eaten crust in your hand before you can even process where it’s suddenly emerged from. You jerk away clumsily on reflex, letting the crust plummet back to the plate in your lap as you lean to the side, trying to avoid the persistent little alien. You hoist the plate up and out of their reach at a safer distance—though not without a twinge of pain that bursts like fireworks in your shoulders.

You glare down at them in admonishment.

Well then.

Earlier sentiment revoked, actually.

ZuZu narrows their intensely bright eyes right back at you, their frill rising from their neck like the hackles of an angry dog. The trim pleats of skin folded there flutter in anticipation before finally sweeping open with the rippling, fluid grace of a hand-held folding fan. The pretty scales lining the exposed frill change colour almost instantly when they hit the open air, flaring a deep red when you stick your tongue out at ZuZu in an act of childish defiance.

Yeah, someone’s no longer a happy camper now, are they? Well, join the club, pal.

You can’t always get what you want. Because no matter what you do, life just likes to screw you in the—

It takes a total of three, distracted seconds.

The offending tongue snaps out at an impossible length to hit the surface of the plate. It’s like some cartoon frog catching a fly that’s far enough out of reach to be considered natural, the appendage wrapping around one end of the half-bitten crust, before proudly reeling it back down into a waiting mouth. Their jaw snaps shut again with an audible click of teeth, and they swallow their prize whole and much too slowly, flashing you a fanged smile that gives you the creeps.

Or you do, you find yourself bitterly amending in the wake of defeat, especially when you’re a terrifying space gremlin with freakish mouth biology. Why are you even awake again today?

You sag into the couch cushions with an unexpected wave of soul-weary tiredness, a full body and mind exhaustion creeping upon the fringes of your being, though you’d been fighting it off rather successfully for most of the month.

You lower the empty plate to sit on the surface of the coffee table—while grumbling under your breath about the reigning injustice of such snack-stealing gremlins in your midst—and lean even more precariously forward. Much farther than you normally would consider doing without others around, but you persist in you reach, getting a good grip on the propped up crutch you’ve left leaning against the table.

You struggle to your feet then, deciding to leave the main living room to find something more productive to do (rather than wallowing and getting your food pilfered from beneath your slowly healing, broken nose). ZuZu watches you silently from their cozy napping spot, gaze tracking you as you begin to hobble around the couch on your way from the room. You toss a half-hearted, parting wave to Starfire’s first adopted friend—a chunky, gooey, mutant moth larvae dubbed little Silkie, snoring away beneath an open side table near the couch.

It’s good going, until something unexpected flutters down from the ceiling with the grace of falling snow—just as you’re about to cross the threshold into the hallway. Your gaze follows the swirling path of the shiny, red and black length of foil as it lands near your feet. A candy wrapper.

Huh.

Strange.

You pause in your journey and peer down at it for a moment, bewildered enough to take a full step back before finally looking up to retrace its fallen path.

And okay, so in hind sight, you kind of wish you hadn’t left the couch.

A single, suspiciously green, bat drops like a stone from the ceiling once it’s seen, swooping down over your head with a panicked flutter of leathery wings. You shout and unashamedly curse like a drunken sailor, ducking in surprise to further avoid the little needle talons that brush across the top of your head. Beast Boy turns human once he clears your form and hits the floor, once again completely, frustratingly, naked when he hops up to his feet.

He tries to quickly console you, only to jump back in order to dodge the fear-driven swing of your crutch.

“Hey! It’s just me!!” He exclaims, hands held out towards you. You sling your cast over your eyes and wonder just how bad it would be if you bleached them clean of the searing, full-frontal image that lingers just behind them.

“WEAR PANTS.” You demand in alarm.

“They’re not comfortable!” He complains. Eyes still tightly shut, you shake your head and gesture wildly at him, throwing out your plaster covered arm to wave it around in loose, frantic circles. “PANTS!” You insist in a higher voice. “Fine!”

He mutters something else, low and displeased under his breath, and then goes to dig out a familiar non-descript bag you’re used to finding at random—usually full of extra clothes and stashed around the tower, or other frequent hangout places around the city—hidden away within the grassy, potted plant next to you both. You choose to ignore the obvious sass he’s exuding in protest, cracking open an eye just a bit to make sure he’s following through.

He smoothly tugs his purple and black uniform free from the depths of the shiny leaves, wrangling on the bottom half with a pout as quickly as he can, and before you know it, he’s already shrugging the fabric up over his narrow shoulders.

(Though to your satisfaction he’s careful of the stitches still lining his spine). You sigh in relief, “Just—oh my god, what were even you doing up there in the first place?!”

Beast Boy works his mouth in silence as though he can’t find the right words to explain at the moment, bottom canines glinting as he squints up through the fluorescent lights and tosses the empty bag to rest beside the plant. He seems to be thinking hard about his answer (you hope), his gaze dropping to you after a few seconds of awkward, disbelieving silence. He shrugs, apparently deciding it’s appropriate to simply respond with a pair of finger-guns and a strained grin. “....hanging around?”

…..

You think you’re starting to miss those dragon-tailed, sumo alien’s from space-hell.

Your shoulders slump as the pent up energy from your frustration and sudden scare seeps from your body all at once. You groan, lifting your crutch up to point at him, the tip barely brushing against his chest. “You’re dead to me.” You proclaim lightly. Beast Boy rolls his eyes, and after securing the clasp on the back of his suit with a small chuckle, reaches out to gently lower the makeshift weapon. “Oh, come on—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, moving to hobble around him and retreat to your room. You shouldn’t have gotten up today. Nope. Call it a bad feeling. Something is going on around here and you are getting the hell out while you can. He slides into your path immediately, cutting of your escape with a smooth glide across the hardwood flooring. You narrow your eyes, shuffling to move around him again. He meets you like before, lunging closer still with each attempt to counteract your movements. You huff and stare him down, feeling like a Spanish bull in the ring, ready to charge the moment you see an opening. “BB, move.” You warn lowly.

He throws out his arms to either side of him, blocking your way when you take a threatening step forward. “Can’t do that.” He chirps, puffing out his chest to seem more confident in his current position, while beginning to look as though he’s starting to regret his life’s choices, what with the way you’re gaze is cutting into his very soul. (Positively icy. You’d practiced that, rest in peace).

But he doesn’t move.

You frown and glare at him suspiciously, forcing your heavy limbs to cooperate with you for a moment. You take a step to the right, and as expected Beast Boy mirrors your movement, but your body isn’t as fast as you remember it. And he knows it. You careen to the left to try and complete your fake-out, but Beast Boy anticipates the slow sway of your body, following the uneven momentum like a puppet on strings to block your way yet again.

He reaches out to steady you when you wobble, legs shaking with the sudden quick strain on your knees, and you wince at the flair of pain. Crappy broken body. You shake him off angrily, more upset at yourself then at him, and strike your crutch against the floor with a wave of strength (propelled simply by the heated frustration you feel festering in your chest like icky, wriggling worms). “Beast Bo—Gar, I’m serious.” You hiss in annoyance, ignoring the ricocheting twinge of pain that shoots up into your shoulder at the action.

“Believe it or not, so am I!” He defends, hands flying to his hips.

“Debatable.” You snap back.

“Rude.”

“Twenty bucks on (Y/N).” A new, deeper voice declares with obvious amusement. You spin to face the living room again, Beast Boy peeking around you to get a better view. Cyborg and Starfire are standing before you, having appeared out of thin air and quiet as can be, the latter of the duo looking as though she could just burst with excitement. More than usual. Cyborg’s gaze cuts to you when he notices the way you’re staring at her in confusion, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently to sooth the absurd tremble of her body.

Okay. Double suspicious.

They’re dressed in casual clothes; Starfire in high-waisted, purple shorts and a stylish pink sweater that hangs off her shoulders, her wild red hair tied back into a ponytail and her feet bare, smile wide. Cyborg is donned in sweatpants and an old blue and yellow football jersey you think might have seen better days once, newly buffered limbs gleaming under the lights. Beast Boy pursues his lips and squints up at his friend when he catches sight of the teasing smirk Cyborg trains on him.

“Thanks, dude.” He responds as sarcastically as he can. Starfire spins to face Cyborg with glee, hands clasped in front of her.

“Friend Victor, I too wish to attribute money to the outcome of this argument.” She reveals enthusiastically, leaving you to trade an exhausted look with Beast Boy at the spiraling situation. Cyborg’s grin grows larger, and he winks at you both before giving Starfire his undivided attention.

“Okay.” He relents, staring down at her curiously. “Bettin’ on (Y/N) then?”

Starfire pauses, nose crinkling as she considers the question. “Can I not take part of the betting for both?”

“No, Star, it doesn’t really—” Cyborg begins, sighing with reluctance when she only continues to look up at him expectantly. “You know what? Sure.” He amends with a shrug, rubbing at the back of his head. Starfire claps her hands excitedly and laughs, her feet lifting from the floor in her in a rush of elation.

“Glorious!” She exclaims. You almost miss it when Cyborg turns away from her, but you’re able to barely catch the sly way she throws a wink at you too, the quick gesture leaving you reeling in amusement.

Oh shit, what a hero.

You can definitely appreciate a good swindle win you see one. And that was great.

You slump against your crutch and chuckle tiredly, massaging your forehead with the tips of the fingers peeking stiffly from your cast, before raising your arm up to draw their attention.

“Alright, seriously, what’s going on with you guys today? Where’ve you all been? Some secret club within our secret club?” You question fervently, on a new mission as you hobble closer towards them. “I have to admit, I’m kind of offended if that’s the case.”

“Oh, you know, out.” Cyborg says much too casually and unhelpfully for your liking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. Simultaneously, Starfire responds much too quickly.

“In my room!” She declares loudly, unable to stop herself from flinching at the sharp, wide-eyed look Cyborg cuts her. She mouths an apology at him and flashes you a sheepish smile, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

Oh, something is definitely going on. Not on my watch, secret keepers of the crypt.

You squint at them, “Sure. I’ll believe that. But why do I suddenly have a five-foot-furry shadow? One who doesn’t seem to know the concept of the word shame?”

Beast Boy gasps as though he’s never been so insulted in his young life (okay, so you may have possibly taken it a little too far that time. But in your defense, there’s a lot of stressful things going on right now, and the bat thing may have thrown you a little too far over the edge), scurrying around you to passionately wave a random, uh, peace sign in front of your face.

Wait, what?

“Five-foot-two.” He stresses firmly, wiggling both fingers for emphasis. You lean your weight on the single crutch keeping you gloriously upright, reaching out to tug his hand down with a groan.

“So not the point, batboy.”

“Hey! Bats are cool!”

“Ha! You know what else is cool?” You question sarcastically, nestling your casted arm against your chest as you lean forward to regard him with an arched eyebrow. “Not scaring the living shit of a person who’s already legally died twice from heart failure.”

Beast Boy concedes to your logic with a grimace, no doubt fighting off a burst of vivid memory on the subject.

“Point taken.” He agrees.

Cyborg pads over to you with a muffled laugh, giving your upper back a hearty, friendly slap that propels you forward a few steps. “Aw, B.B.’s just doing his job. Lighten up, (Y/N/N).”

You stumble with a strangled sound and work to regain your balance yourself through burning muscles, gripping the handle and uprights of the crutch as tightly as you can. You always forget how strong he is. And sometimes, though not often, so does he. Cyborg winces, flexing his fingers while he graces you with an apologetic smile. You raise an eyebrow at him; eyes locked intently on his face, as though you could simply reach into his mind and know all with a simple blink, and subtly tilt your head towards Beast Boy.

"And that means I can't leave one single room?"

"It was more to keep you busy." Cyborg admits with a grin that makes you all too nervous.

Okay, red flag. Were you sweating? You might be sweating. They weren’t the…vengeful type, right? It’s not really your fault you tend to stress eat. Though….

"What are you all planning?" You ask again, unconsciously scanning the corners of room behind them for your two missing team members. Why do you feel like you’re about to be ambushed? Starfire hops forward like she’s stepping on air, looping her arm through yours and shaking it gently as she leans into you. Then she begins to drag you forward the smallest bit.

"Something wonderful!” She responds in that giddy way of hers, green eyes simmering with something impassioned and restless when they focus on your dumbfounded expression—fire brimming from her touch and her very being. She leans in closer and continues in a secretive whisper, which you think was meant to be soothing at some point between her thought process and strange execution. “But you must come to the roof to see it, my friend."

The….roof?

What’s so special about the fucking—

Oh.

….

Sonuvabitch.

To be completely honest, you knew it would somehow end like this. Betrayed by a moment of weakness and reduced to seething shame and broken trust, only to be real-life ghosted and then unceremoniously Mufasa-ed by your own team. A dramatic, imminent doom of Disney proportions. Ugh, what an embarrassing way to go. You really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning like some normal, model citizen with an inane urge to contribute to society. What an idiot.

Still….maybe you’re just being a little over-dramatic here. Heroes usually have non-murdery morals, don’t they? Which is a big step up from your last group of…yeah….they weren’t even close to friends. Still, you can never be too careful these days. Right? Right.

You pull back from Starfire, trying to sound teasing as you respond, while barreling through your baseless internal panic and sprinkle of sugar-riddled guilt. How do you always get yourself into these messes?

"Is this the part where you throw me from the top? For finishing off the leftover cake without telling anyone?"

Beast Boy’s jaw drops.

"That was you?!"

Of course it was.

You laugh nervously and much too awkwardly to be convincing while you scramble to backtrack, "What?! Of course not!"

It was so good.

Starfire looks kind of horrified at your earlier insinuation about the roof, and she pulls away from you completely, eyes wide and unbelieving. She gasps, "We would never!"

Cyborg’s eyebrow shoots up as he studies your reaction. He frowns, lifting a hand to rub at his chin with an exaggerated sweep of his arm—as though he’s taking a moment to think more deeply about the matter—his metal fingers clunk-ing in the blanketing silence when they meet the thick, metal plate covering it. He sounds playful when he speaks up, and you know he’s not taking the news as hard as Gar currently is.

"Well, now you've given me a lot to think about." He says slowly, amusement thick in his voice and vibrantly pulsing beneath his already crumbling, disappointed façade.

You wonder when it was exactly—when you’d unconsciously began to find his eagerly outspoken and protective spirit, his overly intense and personal pride (in all manners of technological tinkering and projects), and awful, awful acting, somewhat endearing. Maybe it was around the same time you’d grown rather fond of Beast Boy’s organic simplicity with life or perfectly-timed wit, his endearing, steadfast spirit and dorky, down-to-earth charm (though you would deny any accusation that says otherwise, pretending to find his endless stream of puns nothing but annoying).

Or Starfire’s unfathomable warmth and, mostly smothering, overzealous passion in all things, no matter how small—a burning, extraterrestrial sun with a warrior’s soul and an open heart. Or Raven’s sarcastic calm and quiet disposition, a hopeful kind of darkness—as encompassing as it mystifying—which brings peace in ways one wouldn’t expect or think they needed.

Or Robin. Noble and kind, brooding, insufferably stubborn, Robin—with an annoying competitive streak that rivals even you. Your outwardly, fearless friend and leader, a little birdie who keeps you from slipping back into your cold, old ways while still wanting to be a part of something better. To be a Titan. Time and time again. And—

Ah, fuck. You’ve gotten so sappy lately.

Near death experiences are the worst.

You roll your eyes at Cyborg, regardless of that grating, growing itch of sentimentality crawling up from your chest and into your throat like a rock, all the while fighting down the upwards twitch your lips.

"Oh, shut up.” You mutter, ducking your head so he won’t see as you move to hobble past the group back into the centre of the living room. “Even though I'm at my weakest right now, it doesn't mean I won't fight you."

Cyborg drops his arm and laughs, "I don't doubt it."

Beast Boy ducks around him; sparing no time as he shrinks down to the form of a chattering, green squirrel. Without breaking stride, he dashes towards your slowing figure, leaping forward to scale the rungs of your crutch.

You jump at the sudden weight and list sideways, the vibration of his hurried ascent and the clattering of his nails against metal throwing you out of your concentrated state. You lean back too fast in surprise, catching the back of the couch with the underside of your cast to keep yourself somewhat upright, and wait with a raised brow as he moves to pull himself up onto the crutch pad at the top.

"Besides, you proved you’re anything but weak when you kicked Death’s ass! Multiple times.” He chirps proudly, settling back onto his little hind legs to stare up at you, bushy tail twitching and dark eyes round and glinting when they catch the light. “You're a survivor. Always have been.”

You grin, feeling satisfied that he finally seems to be more…relaxed about your injuries now (as opposed to the annoying, but much appreciated, panicked mother-henning you’d experienced throughout the first few weeks back on your feet). You have a sneaking suspicion Cyborg had a hand in this recent development—bless his beautiful, understanding soul—and you make a mental note to treat him to a pizza night soon. Or just hug him really, really tight in relief.

You heft your cast from the couch to hold out two fingers towards Beast Boy.

"And always will be." You agree. He reaches out with a shrill, happy squeak, tapping a front paw against them in a painfully adorable semblance of a high-five. Starfire joins you by the couch and lays her hand against your upper back, right between your shoulder blades, the swelling heat of it soothing the ache and strain of your poor muscles. Her gentle touch slides up, mindful of the bruises still splattered like patchwork across your skin, until you feel her lightly squeeze your shoulder.

"Very much like the warriors of old from my planet." She tells you softly, a smile pulling at her lips when your eyes dart up to look at her. It’s then you realize that all three of them are now looking at you rather expectantly, attention solely trained on your face as the room falls into an eager kind of silence. One that is quick to twist your abdomen into fluttering, nervous knots.

Right, you think with a start, there was something about the roof—something they wanted me to see. You hesitate (is it getting hot in here, or is that just you self-combusting?), gaze jumping to each of your friends in turn. They continue to stare you down with purpose, waiting for your consent to be dazzled and thoroughly surprised, before you catch the barest hint of movement in your peripheral vision. You glance down at the back of the couch, wanting to scream your frustration to the sky, when you take in the wide, furry face peering back up at you.

Oh, not you too, ZuZu. You traitor.

She locks those intelligent eyes on you. He glowing pink gaze is intent and reprimanding, and god, you’re actually—silently, awkwardly—getting told off by an adorable lizard-themed care bear, who hails from the far reaches of infinity and beyond the known galaxy. What has your life come too? And the worst part is you don’t think you’re strong enough to—oh, goddamit. Peer pressure is a bitch.

"Alright.” You relent with a groan, throwing ZuZu a pointed, disgruntled look (which she simply counters with a glowing pink frill and mischievous wink, a move that has you breathing deeply to avoid just chucking your crutch across the room in defiance of it all). You turn to gesture at the others, “Fine. Let's get this show on the road then."

Beast Boy leaps down from the top of the crutch before you’ve even finished talking, his tiny shape shifting into the much larger form of a tiger once he touches down (more gracefully than you’d expected him to). He gives a little throaty growl in excitement, circling in place to get his bearings. And then with a sudden focus that makes you laugh, he’s bounding in a rush to slink between Cyborg and Starfire—his gaze already intensely trained down the hallway that leads towards the elevator.

"Sweet! Now you’re talking!" He exclaims with a swish of his tail, pausing only for a moment to throw a look back at Cyborg, the familiar imitation of a fanged grin even more terrifying with larger, sharper teeth on display. "Dibs on the donuts!"

Uh, donuts??

Cyborg groans and scrubs a hand over his face, stepping forward with his other hand outstretched, as if he could keep his excited friend from moving with just sheer force of will. "No! You don't get to just—Gar!"

Starfire tilts her head and watches until Beast Boy disappears around the curve of the hallway, "You have to admire his will power up until this moment." She points out, reaching out to brush a soothing touch to Cyborg’s shoulder.

He gives her a solemn nod in agreement. "...true." "Hi, yeah, still confused." You slowly iterate, when it’s clear they’re going to say nothing more on the manner, and looking hilariously haunted, just stare out into the middle distance like some kind of dramatic dork-asses. You can’t help it though—you want answers. You’ve been officially intrigued (donuts are always a good sign and nothing will convince you otherwise) and that cat-damning curiosity in you can never be quieted for long, so help you.

“Are we still going to the roof?”

Cyborg is the first to shake himself to attention, and he swings around to look at you with a knowing grin that tells you’re probably about to regret opening your mouth again. Probably. You guess?

…..

Okay, so you might be already exhausted enough now, with all this moving about and floundering, moral turmoil, to deal with any mysterious roof meetings and their possible consequences—and there’s no truly hiding it, or just burying it away for future you to worry about come morning (damn, why is past you always such a dick?).

Which leaves you decidedly awash in a ‘My mind is an emotional dumpster fire and all I want is to hibernate for forty years’ kind of way, unable to completely distinguish the nuances of your feelings on anything happening within a 10 foot radius.

Especially since you’d….broken that quiet morning after the attack, finally reconciling with a screeching realization you’d been pushing back for years—even with all that damaged purpose, all that strength and determination and precious time you’d flooded into looking after yourself and only you, instead of worrying about others and how they might screw with you this time, you’d left yourself open anyway. Unwillingly, accidently, raw—like an exposed nerve adrift in the cosmos and crying out for relief.

Someone in power must have had mercy on you at last though, because you have friends. Good friends who are good people. And you love them in your own rough-around-the-edges way (is that the right word here? Love? You hope that’s the right word—it feels like the right word); but there’s no chance you’re ever going to tell any of them that. It’s become too embarrassing to even think about in your own mind, let alone out loud where they could actually...hear you.

But you’re not going to let all your personal baggage stop you now. Not while there’s the promise of donuts anyway.

Yeah, your priorities might need a little sorting out.

"Come on." Cyborg says, already treading backwards in the direction Beast Boy had gone. Starfire zips past you with ease, cutting around the corner like a fish would dart through deep water.

Her laugh echoes through the hall as she vanishes from sight, "Oh, this is going to be such a joyous occasion!"

Cyborg takes his time to snicker at the nervous grimace on your face. But you valiantly choose to be the bigger person here (no matter how much you want to knock your head against the nearest wall and see if your middle finger still works within the stiffness of a cast), simply rolling your eyes as you hobble to catch up to him around the bend in the hallway. He slows his pace without a word until you’re following closely at his side.

“So why aren’t we taking the elevator?” You inquire, watching as the thick metal doors slide past in your peripheral. It’s then you spot the other two loitering around by the door to the stairs.

The plot thickens.

Cyborg struggles to squash his playful grin, “Occupied.”

“By...”

“A second surprise. Now come on.” He diverts smoothly, waving his hand over the sensor for the door once Beast Boy and Starfire step away to make room for you both. It slides open from left to right with a mechanical hiss, and you peer in to the brightly lit stairwell with a raised brow. The glaring, white fluorescent lights are already giving you a headache.

“How do you expect me to get up the stairs?”

“Easy.”

“Oh, really? Easy? What are you even—”

The world shifts like a seesaw in your vision and you can barely comprehend the next few seconds: the way Cyborg stoops low enough to knock out the backs of your knees, the simultaneous rush of weightlessness—a fluttering, dizzying drop in your stomach that stalls the very breath in your chest—or even the jumbled burst of restrained laughter and disapproving click of a tongue which dissipates almost as soon as it starts.

And you tip backwards into his arms with flailing limbs and a startled yelp as you’re gently scooped up, hanging shocked and boneless until he swings you up to cling onto his back like some sort of panicked koala. Cyborg laughs more boisterously as you lose your crutch in the commotion, grip loosening in your surprise until it slips entirely from your hold and vanishes from reach, the telltale clattering of metal against ground echoing from somewhere off to the side.

“—goddammit, Vic!” You gasp when the world stands still again, sucking in air for your breathless lungs. “A little warning!”

He simply cups the back of your knees and holds your legs tightly over the ridged, triangular slab of metal casing his hips, slowly straightening to his full, giant height again. It gives you a moment to throw your arms around his neck for safety and squeeze with all your reprimanding might. Cyborg turns to look at you with a teasing smirk you’re all too familiar with, before stepping further into the doorway.

“Comfortable there, Grumpy?”

“You’re the worst.” You announce without any real bite, leaning back to scan the floor for your missing crutch. It doesn’t take you long to realize that Starfire has already rescued it, hugging the dented metal pole to her chest with a look of determination. She catches your relieved gaze over Cyborg’s shoulder and nods as if reassuring you that she’s got everything handled now, gently patting the cushioned padding at the top of the crutch.

And then her eyes eagerly snap to Cyborg.

You can’t see his face from your vantage point, but you think he’s relaying permission with the way he tilts his head towards the stairs. Both Starfire and Beast Boy rocket forward in any case, barely sidestepping around you in their race up the first flight of stairs. Cyborg follows them without hesitation, and you can hardly wait another moment once your little group hurriedly passes the third floor, before the mystery of the roof becomes too intriguing to avoid any longer.

“So...are Rob and Raven in on this too?” You carefully begin, speaking to no one in particular but hoping someone might answer you anyway. “Cause they've been more mysterious than usual.”

"Grumpy and observant. You know…you'd make a pretty awesome detective too—give Dick some healthy competition around here." Cyborg returns in an innocent manner, which you know for a fact is bullshit. So you lamely thump a fist against the point between the heavy, metal plating circling his neck before it tapers down into his chest, and grumble your displeasure.

"Annnd you're dodging my questions, big guy. Again."

Cyborg says nothing this time and simply uses the firm hold he has under your knees to toss you up a few inches, jostling you free from your comfortable koala cling as though he`s trying to readjust your position. Only you know that’s not what he intended at all—evidenced by the irritating way he starts to laugh while you groan at him and shimmy urgently at his back, trying to right yourself from the haphazard tilt you’d landed in.

"Ugh! I miss being able to walk up a flight of stairs like a normal person!" You whine, bonking your forehead against the smooth, climate-controlled casing covering the back of his head, the vibrations of his full-body laughter rattling straight through you.

Beast Boy goes still ahead of the group, front paw hovering above the next step up. That unsettling tiger grin as he turns to regard you is the only warning you get before the inevitable.

"Eh, I wouldn’t trust these stairs though,” Beast Boy drawls with terrifying purpose, “They always seem like they're…up to something."

Starfire pipes up from her place hovering beside you and Cyborg in perfect comedic timing, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"Well yes, up to the roof—oh...that was..."

Yeah, Kori. Damn.

He waits in the ensuing, hollow silence of the stairwell for a reaction, gaze expectantly darting from person to person until you don’t know whether to laugh or just get mad.

....both?

Alright, okay, here’s the thing.

Though you may have...secretly....begun to appreciate Garfield’s endless arsenal of jokes and puns as much as that next person (you’ve got a reputation to uphold after all), that....was not so good.

You’d face palm if you had complete confidence in your upper body strength as of late, but you definitely do not—especially after that embarrassingly sad attempt to escape to your room earlier (feat. the interference of your awkwardly unexpected, five foot-two bodyguard). And you’d very much like to keep securely clinging for your life atop mount ‘Victory’ Stone instead, rather than somehow (ridiculously) finding some way to slip from his back and fall to a more permanent death down the tower’s two-hundred stairway to hell.

So, you’ll just lock away this existential breakdown for another day and move on. Be the bigger person here, again.

....

Or.

"I think I'm starting to miss the coma." You deadpan with unabashed pettiness (because you’d actually had to listen to that with your own two ears), refusing to give him even the slightest satisfaction of a job well done.

Step up your game, Gar.

You can pinpoint the exact moment Cyborg winces with regret for his friend—his chin dipping down, the glowing blue machinery encasing half his skull whirring with a soft, discomforting humming like he’s finally reduced to just screaming on the inside.

"Oof,” He eventually adds through a long exhale. “I've heard better stuff from you, man."

Beast Boy sniffs in displeasure at your less than positive reactions, "Yo, give me a break; I'm still getting over the pizza thing."

You heft your body up straight to stare him dead in the eyes and lift your unbroken arm, wiggling your fingers over Cyborg’s head in a teasing way. "Let it haunt you for the rest of your daaaays~"

You don’t think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a hulking, green, murder cat roll its eyes so hard before. But there it is—in all its uncanny, cartoon-like glory. Beast Boy shakes his heavy head and resumes slinking up the stairs, leaving the rest of you to catch up while he throws another line over his shoulder, in a way you know is meant to be a playful declaration of war.

"Which reminds me...” He purrs slyly, “….what did the ghost say when it arrived at the party?"

Starfire taps at her chin in thought, "Ummm hello?”

Beast Boy’s enthusiasm swells with her genuine attempt, and he turns to coax his best friend into answering as well.

"Not quite. Come on, Cy, this is all you dude."

"Can I get a—"

"Victor don't you dare!"

Cyborg merely hums at your desperate interjection, "Uh-oh full name. That's never a good sign."

"Oh!” Starfire’s expression lights up in a way you’re entirely used to by now, and she leaves your side on the flutter of a giddy laugh, hovering quick up the next few steps. She smiles down at Beast Boy once she reaches him, titling her head as he looks up at her with an animated flick of his tail.

“I believe I know this one. May I?" She quietly gushes, twirling to lounge back gracefully in the air beside him. His head bobs once, long and slow, still flashing that sharp grin.

"Dazzle me, Star."

"Can I get the Boo-ya!!?"

"HA! Yeah, that’s wassup!"

You thunk your head against Cyborg’s shoulder this time, wincing at the brief pulse of pain from pounding metal against skull. "Oh my god, are we there yet?"

"As a matter of fact..." Cyborg mysteriously trails off, hopping up the last step to the top landing of the stairway. You peek up in interest and immediately want a better look when you see that the access to the roof is propped open the slightest bit, squishing your cheek against Cyborg’s as you lean forwards with the anticipation of it all. It’s easy to spot the flickering movement from just beyond the door—shadows moving fast from one end to the other. Is someone already there?

You suck in an anxious breath when Cyborg lowers himself to one knee and releases his hold on you, carefully helping you dismount from your cling, and Starfire is all too eager to return your crutch, pushing it into your arms and waving you forwards. Your friends let you nudge open the door then without another word, following you out as you bravely take your first few steps and—

…..

You think you might’ve blacked out for a moment in shock.

Beast Boy circles your legs as you silently take in the state of the roof, rubbing against them with a gentle brush of his body before he exclaims, "Surprise! Did we getcha??"

You blink a few times to get your bewildered mind working again. Because out of any possible scenario you could have—and did—invent within your imagination….it was nothing like…well, this.

The smell of hot food wafting through the summer-like air reaches you first, and you’re drawn to admire what is definitely Starfire's touch in your unexpected surprise.

There are two tables set up across the roof directly ahead, side by side and pushed flush against the lip of rectangular ledge boxing in the space. Each wooden surface is filled with cutlery, food and drinks in jade colored bowls and glasses, and adorned with fun, rainbow coloured table cloths—the cheap, plastic kind you’d find from a dollar store—and regal centre pieces among the clutter. These consist of wreaths with beaded jewel strings and alien metal shapes, forms that remind you of branded symbols you’d once glimpsed from the hilts of her homeworld weapons.

There’s a fancy new boom box sitting on the ledge, just to the left of the food tables. It’s silvery and shiny in the late evening light, akin to the small heap of patterned presents sitting below it, or the bouquets of metallic balloons weighed down by sandbags in each corner of the roof.

Cyborg’s own creative touch is more quiet, but still obvious in your racing mind, reflected in the large blue and white fairy lights the size of your fist, strings of them hooked beneath the ledge and spaced along the entire perimeter of the roof. They remind you of mini lava lamps—slowly swinging, each casing filled with swirling, pulsing energy, casting loops of light and shadow which dance across the sleek stone of the rooftop ground.

Your gaze finds four, dark green bean bag chairs next, moved from the game room to sit in a circle further down the left side of the roof. A neat, tent-like canopy, reminiscent of Raven’s more gothic looking style, is set up over them and affixed with steel piping, made of sheer dark sheets in purple, blue, and black—a cozy, magical lounging spot that makes you long for the calmness and dark that only sleep can bring.

You slowly turn to your right, noting that access to the elevator on the other side of the roof is surprisingly clear for once, the usual pile of rickety telescope gear stored away to make room for dancing. And through an odd urge to cast a look behind you, you easily catch sight of the cute, homemade banner dangling above the door you’ve just stepped through, green and bubblegum pink letters scrawled across a white strip of poster board: Party Like It’s Your Birthday!!

You recognize Beast Boy’s handwriting the moment your eyes trace the first few letters.

It takes you a moment, still staring out at the culmination of your surprise, to realize that it all clashes terribly, although you don't find yourself caring in the slightest. It’s beautiful and endearing and makes sense to you in every way that matters—and you wouldn't have it look any other way.

Huh…look at that.

You're actually getting a hang of this sappy feelings thing. "Uh, wh—I…what's all this for?" You finally manage to sputter out, once your friends go back to watching you with those barely contained grins and expectant gazes. Even Raven, already in the midst of final preparations, standing by that glorious canopy as she methodically smoothes out wrinkles in the overlapping fabric—both manually and magically—is smiling shyly at you over her shoulder. Her dark, purple-colored eyes are carefully mapping out every hitch in your expression.

Like the others, she’s dressed more casually than you’re used to seeing around the tower; ripped dark-washed skinny jeans with a cropped tee to match and clunky, black combat boots, a leather choker that looks uncomfortably tight around her neck. But the most unexpected difference has to be when you realize what she’s missing. Her signature, purple-blue cloak has been swapped for a hooded, bomber jacket—black with gold zippers and detailing, and one size too big. It’s so strange a sight that it’s actually….kind of weirding you out a little.

Starfire grasps the wrist of your cast and gently tugs you forward, guiding you further into the organized mayhem that was once the tower’s roof. "The happiest day of birth to you my friend!"

Oh. Oh.

Now this is awkward.

"It's my…birthday?" You ask dumbly. Beast boy’s tiny head, that of an adorably, fluffed up squirrel monkey this time, pops up from the depths of a bowl sitting on the first food table—like some knock-off whack-o-mole game (and wait a goddamn minute, when the hell did he even get there?). His little hands grip the lip of the bowl as he chatters through crunching pretzels.

"Duh! At least yeah, I think so…uh, right?"

You clasp a hand to your forehead when you remember the date and groan, "No, no, you’re right, I think it is. Crap, I feel like I lost an entire year."

Starfire’s whole body slumps at your reaction, floating down until her feet touch ground.

"You are unhappy." She concludes sadly.

Aw, cripes, why are you like this?

"NO! No, Kori, I'm happy!” You hurriedly reassure her, “I just....I haven't really celebrated it in a long time. I never had anyone to..."

They hear your unspoken implication clear enough and offer you sad, little smiles—varying degrees of empathy seeping through into their expressions. Empathy. And not pity. Not judgment. Just compassion from people who understand it all.

An alien princess far from home who embraces difference and is learning to choose a life for herself, a half-cybernetic football star who had to learn when to let go and walk a new path in life, a troubled half-demon not wanting to be defined by the past or her heritage, a metahuman menagerie of animals fighting the pull of loneliness while still finding strength in his friends, and an orphan circus boy turned vigilante—given not only a second chance to make a difference for others, but unwavering hope as well.

Your own Breakfast Club of heroes.

"Well now ‘ya have us." Beast Boy says with serious resolve you haven’t often seen when it comes to your loyal jokester, the others agreeing simultaneously as he bounds closer in small leaps from across the table. There’s a painful clenching in your chest at their sentiments, and although it feels like you’re on the verge of a heart attack, it’s a good kind of hurt that brings relief to your entire being.

Because thinking it is one thing, but hearing it out loud dregs more emotion to the surface than you ever thought you had—makes it all the more real. You swallow thickly and try to keep composed through another monumental shift in your perceptions.

"I know." You return softly. Starfire takes your hand and holds it firmly in hers, mindful of the strength in her grip.

"And you are indeed truly....happy?"

Well, that’s a heavy question.

You never truly belonged anywhere, in the past. Too unnatural for everyday civilians, too angry for heroes, too kind for villains. You never understood why no one could just let you be....something in the middle.

But now, you think you’re finally learning that happy is something you can be, even while half-existing in that kind of grey area. So you squeeze her hand in reassurance and take a page from Beast Boy’s book—you attempt to lighten the mood.

"I will be once we get this party started." You tease, pulling away to turn on the boom box and click through stations in search of something party worthy. With that, the others move to disperse; Starfire and the boys already picking through the food tables with interest, while Raven briefly ducks beneath one to retrieve an opaque, plastic storage tote.

It’s blue and more than decently sized in her arms, but she carries it easily and without a word to the bean bag canopy, sitting (legs crossed and back perfectly straight) to methodically sift through its contents.

Starfire waves you towards the food tables once you settle on a popular radio station known for their mix of genres and artists—a little something for everyone hopefully.

"Come then, you must partake in some of this delicious food. I tried earth recipes." She proudly tells you, scooping up some sort of rice dish to wave under your nose as though hoping to entice you further. It smells pleasant, of grilled vegetables and egg, but all your attention has latched onto a single word that equally intrigues as it concerns you.

“Tried.” You echo, leaning to balance on your crutch and free up your unbroken arm. You press a single finger against the rim of the dish in her hands, lowering it down and away from your face. Starfire looks a little sheepish as she curls an arm around the ceramic, rounded dish and fits it into the crook of her elbow to rest, lifting her own newly freed arm to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear. A nervous tick.

She hugs the dish even closer, “There were…the incidents.”

“Nothing you couldn’t handle.” Raven adds from afar. Starfire leans around you to beam at her welcome encouragement; seeming as though she’s already seconds away from just fly-tackling her into a vice-like hug—a very Starfire act of affection.

Which you should probably redirect now, if you want to keep that beautiful canopy standing.

"Everything smells great, Star. Thank you. In fact..." You select a spoon from the first table and a tiny serving plate, before gesturing in silent question to the dish still in her arms. She’s ecstatic at your offer, extending it to you at once with bright, shining eyes. You carefully ladle out a few spoonfuls of the rice mixture, and with a playful cheers and raise of your spoon, you taste your first dish of the evening.

"Oh shit, that's good." You groan in surprise.

"Oh wonderful, I knew you would enjoy it!"

Beast Boy whoops eagerly from the centre of the second table, crouching among a spread of simple desserts. "Wicked! I call the donuts next!"

Cyborg anticipates his movement before you can, firmly squashing a hand against Beast Boy’s monkey head to keep him from leaping towards an open tray. Beast Boy whines openly at the injustice.

"Dude, come on, be cool!"

Ah, now that makes sense.

Starfire sighs and returns the tasty rice dish to its rightful place, hesitating only to shoot you an apologetic look as she steps towards the commotion. But you just smile in understanding, gesturing for her to go on and deal with the boys before they decimate all of her hard work.

And now it’s probably a good idea to clear the blast zone.

You make a rather slow beeline for the front entrance of the canopy, lowering your body down to sit in the place Raven silently offers you by shifting pointedly to the side—content to be off your feet for a moment. Raven picks up on your underlying curiosity though, the second you glance at the box still under her scrutiny, her gaze cutting up to regard you with the slightest touch of amusement.

You observe the way she tips her head, a pulse of darkened magic lighting up around the mysterious container, and it slides in a short burst to rest in front of you.

Well, well, what do we have here?

You peer down into the depths and react too late to stifle your gasp.

It’s filled with boxes of classic party games and entertainment, stacked upon each other in neat little towers along the inside: video game cartridges and two portable games devices, a deck of cards, Connect Four, Cluedo, and yep….that's definitely Twister, oh my fuck (you may be a little over excited for this. Which is strange for you...considering you can't even remember the last time you've ever so passionately, deeply, viscerally, wanted to roll out a stupid, colorful tarp and contort your body into unhealthy positions), a wooden board and an accompanying game-piece tin for Checkers, Pictionary, Monopoly, Jenga, Uno, the Game of Life (aaaannd too real with this one actually, might be avoiding that), Guess Who?, Snakes and Ladders, as well as games you hadn't seen since your earlier days of childhood—Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots and Hungry Hungry Hippos (meaning your small child self is living right now).

Only one person knew about this, knew about your stupid birthday-candle wishes from the short, hopeful part of your childhood that's since been eradicated by harsh realities; the longing desperation to make any kind of worthwhile connection, to know love or be wanted outside of a means to a quick pay-day.

To swing with others at a crowded park, to play games and join clubs, or have a sleepover with greasy food and late night truths—to be free (and you blame this emotional vomit entirely on exhausted, blabbermouth you, spilling your guts in a tired stupor while sharing stove-top hot chocolate in the kitchen at 3 a.m. Feeling vulnerable when he'd quietly shared his own frustrations with the role of leader and recent disconnect with his father, letting you lament in return about never getting the chance to just…be a normal kid. Something he understood. Something he remembered).

Oh, Dick Grayson.

You are the best of us.

You shake your head clear of any vivid memories, reaching in to unearth the Twister box and hold it up to admire its magnificence in the rapidly fading light. "So.” You start in what you hope is a casual enough tone, exchanging the box for another to seem busy. “You put all of this together, huh?"

She shrugs, "We figured you could use some...fun. After everything that's happened."

You grin and fish out an exceptionally old classic next, pointing the vibrant box of colourful, caricature hippos at her. "I didn't think this was your kind of fun, Rae."

"It's not.” Raven admits bluntly, floating the game from your hands despite your protest and back into the storage container with a challenging raise of her brow. “But I can enjoy the value in it. And in spending time with my friends."

(You don’t do enough of that. Why don’t you do enough of that?)

"Pfft are you going soft on us?" You say, weakly avoiding eye contact while wrestling away the any more intrusive thoughts and stabs of related guilt.

You watch her fight the beginnings of a smirk, "I could ask you the same question."

"Oh man, that's disgusting even for you B.B!" Cyborg grouses suddenly in the distance, and you’ve never felt so relieved for a distraction in your young life. Your friend is standing in front of the farthest food table when you look over, his hands on his hips and a frown of disapproval trained on something among the mass of dishes and delicious smelling cuisine.

You find out why when you follow his line of sight, your body and gaze lifting a tad to seek out what’s happened—and you can’t say you’re all too surprised with this inevitable development.

Beast Boy is laying, dramatically draped, across the tray of donuts he’d been denied earlier, monkey toes wriggling to dispel powdered sugar from between them.

"Let me live my life, man." He jokes between fistfuls of sweet pastry. Cyborg makes a grab for him in retaliation and he jerks back out of reach as if fully expecting this outcome, throwing himself to the side in a graceful dodge.

"Halt! Oh please do watch out for the—"

In his flurry of movement—kicking out his legs for momentum and rolling head over feet to a neat stop a few feet further down the table—Beast Boy accidently whacks the side of another bowl near the edge, the dish teetering dangerously on the precipice of destruction.

But Starfire is always quick on her feet. She lunges for the bowl and makes the catch before it can fall victim to the laws of gravity (those you’re already painfully aware of), cradling it safely in her arms and sighing in relief as she cordially lifts it in your direction.

"Do not fear! I have saved the mac of the cheese!"

"Though it has its moments." Raven deadpans, flipping up her hood with a shake of her head.

"Speaking of moments…is this a good time for a dramatic entrance?"

Starfire whirls around unearthly fast at the familiar voice, the echo spiking through the low, near constant beat and rhythm drifting from the speakers of the boom box—none of you having heard a door open or close, or even a single footfall drop onto the roof.

"Robin! You have made it!"

Alright.

You know he’s practically a ninja (because it’s what he’s been dutifully trained to do), but you still think this deserves a hearty what the hell anyway.

How long has he even been standing there?

Though before you can reflect too deeply on the matter, you find yourself bearing witness to Robin’s handling of the fly-tackle hug. To his credit, he takes the sudden, colliding weight like a champ; a short laugh ripped from him at the initial breath-stealing thump, and he stumbles back to restore his balance without falling on his ass.

You can tell that he’s definitely a pro at this by now.

He gives her a generous, friendly squeeze before they part, turning his attention back to the rest of his team. It’s then you fully take in how he’s dressed; slim-fitting jeans, a dark blue tee, a solid, gray flannel shirt over top—unbuttoned and left hanging open, long sleeves rolled up at to his elbows—and red converse.

His knee is still in a brace, a black watch with a stiff Kevlar strap fastened around his left wrist, its face square and rimmed with silver. And from your place you can even study the state of his dark hair—soft and without gel, but noticeably mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

"There's our fearless leader!” You warmly call out, letting Raven ease you helpfully to your feet so that you can welcome your newly arrived team member. You lightly bump your cast against his shoulder once you reach him, and then again just to be annoying when he nudges your arm away the first time (but not without a fond roll of his eyes).

With less distance your gaze finds thin, pink marks left like badges on his skin, the stitches having already healed and dissolved from under his chin and across his collarbone, his blue eyes a little hazy in their focus.

All in all, he looks tired up this close, in small ways you might overlook in passing—his grin beginning to wilt just at the upper corners of his lips, dropping eyelids and subtle bruising under his eyes, and the barest smudges of oil left neglected on his person; freckle-like specks across his jaw, staining the toes of his converse and the collar of his t-shirt (that particular one looking especially dark and ingrained into the fabric, like he’d hastily blotted at the spot in a rush and then gave up half-way through)—though you wouldn’t guess it from his posture.

He’s all squared shoulders, a confident lift of his head and a soft, delighted glint in his eyes despite the heaviness you’d noticed before. He’s proud even in the face of exhaustion, so you elect not to bring any attention to it.

“I was beginning to think Batman whisked you off back home for some clown-punching and father-son bonding." You continue impishly, mimicking his mentor’s cowl by placing an index finger on either side of your head. You bounce them up and down in a tease.

"No, that was last month.” Robin reminds you dryly, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the open elevator door he’d obviously emerged from. “I was actually just finishing up some final touches on an old friend of yours."

Huh. O…kay?

"Ominous." Cyborg offers before you can voice your own confusion, settling back against a food table with a deviously knowing smile.

Best Boy huffs with palpable disappointment instead, climbing swiftly onto the ledge behind his friend. He scuttles around a portion of the roof to sit beside the thumping boom box, while still taking time to throw out his own affirmation on the matter, before shifting back into his human form and swinging his dangling legs to the beat of the current song.

"Yeah, way creepy, dude."

Robin frowns, “I was being mysterious!”

Cyborg seems to be enjoying this immensely for some reason, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, don’t.”

“Damn. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Do not worry, Robin.” Starfire remarks with a pat to his shoulder, “I still find you the mysterious.”

You try to stifle your sputtering laughter as Robin sighs in defeat, reaching up to touch her hand in wordless thanks. He motions for you to stay where you are then, swiping his finger across the face of his watch. It lights up blue like a touch screen, and something large and humming (a machine?) darts from the inside of the elevator.

The futuristic motorcycle that slides to a near-silent stop in front of you is like something right out of Tron. There’s a high leather seat and bullet-proof windshield among sleek, rounded black metal and glowing, magnetic green lights. They detail the length of the body like racing stripes, circling around the headlights and up into the shape of a triangle above them, as well as lining the inside rims of its large, treaded wheels (two in front and one in the back). The padded, silver handles poke through the front casing like devil horns.

It’s a familiar, wrenching image—one you could only dream of seeing again after the brutal attack on Jump City.

"Lucy!” You burst out instantly, and much to the Robin’s immense enjoyment, hopping forward in your excitement to reach your beloved cycle. You trace your fingers over the glowing triangle, pressing your palm to the leather seat with stinging, blurry eyes. It feels warm. Alive. “Oh my crap, you resurrected my bike!"

Cyborg gently pats the cycle with pride, "Rob and I spent weeks trying to fix her up. Finally got all the parts working again."

"You—this is—holy shit."

"Glad you like it."

Robin throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, pretending not notice your muffled sniffling like a super-star best friend. "Happy birthday, (Y/N)." He mutters, loosening the fancy watch so he can clasp it around your unbroken wrist in a nimble flourish.

Cyborg pumps his fist in the air when you choke out a disbelieving laugh, victoriously striding to the centre of the roof to proclaim:

"Well, what are we standing around here for? Let's get this thing started!"

“Oh yes, let us start the celebration my friends!”

“Eh, sure.”

"Party people!" Beast Boy cries out in agreement, finally leaping down from the ledge.

"Alright, Alright. You don't have to tell me twice." Robin chuckles, gesturing for the others to go ahead with the festivities. He stays to hover around you though, and is suspiciously quiet at first, simply stepping around you and your newly built cycle to pluck a can of soda from a food table. He idly brushes away condensation with a broad swipe of his thumb, waiting for the others to further disband around you both.

When the coast is clear, evident by the way he glances from side to side, he turns towards you with his head down, popping the tab on the can and taking a heavy gulp. You raise a brow and wait, more than aware of his tendency by now to try and constantly torture you with the value of patience. He purses his lips in thought, before he finally meets your gaze with a playful twist to his usual smirk.

“So, hey.” He begins somewhat offhandedly, drumming his fingers across the surface of the table, “We should take a team picture at some point. All of us. Like a…memory of tonight’s occasion—if you want.”

You shouldn’t make it this easy for him—because he’ll never stop teasing you about how quickly you caved—but you find that you truly do like the idea. He just doesn’t need to know how much at the moment. So you settle on feigning tired reluctance, hoping (fooslishly) that he doesn’t see right through you.

“It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

“You guess?”

….

It’s really annoying when he does that.

You pout at the light amusement in his tone and follow his earlier path to the table, seizing a donut in a moment of pure impulse from the tray Beast Boy had previously vacated. You feel satisfied when you notice that it’s one of the unfortunate monkey feet ones, and then thrust it into Robin’s free hand.

He must have been around long enough to see the offense for himself, because his nose crinkles in distaste when he registers what you’ve given him, letting the tainted pastry dangle from two fingers.

Sweet revenge.

You dole out smirk of your own.

“Eat your donut, dick.”

*****************************************************************

It’s well into the evening, sunset colours already fading calmly from the sky, when Robin parks himself next to you on the ledge of the roof, smoothly swinging his legs over and dropping to sit with a long sigh of relief. Huh…it seems like someone definitely had a longer day today than they let on.

And honestly? Mood.

You tap him with the rounded bottom of the crutch lying across your lap, throwing him a cursory glance and a smile in greeting. But he doesn’t respond the way you expect him to, no. Instead, you’re surprised to see that rare, relaxed grin of his already peeking through all of the obvious exhaustion.

"What are you smiling about, Grayson? You're creeping me out." You muse gently, brow arching at the amusement that grows all the more in the curl of his smile. It’s like he’s proudly uncovered some great secret in the time it took you to voice your thoughts, and is now going to make you work for a satisfying answer. Which, you have to admit, isn’t a very unusual outcome when it comes to your friend and his bat-crazy mentor.

Heh.

Gar would love that one.

"Oh, you know…nothing too important.” Robin counters with a non-committal shrug of his shoulder.

Uhhh, yeah, that’s not comforting in the slightest, you decide.

You narrow your eyes at him and poke at his upper arm accusingly, “You’re never really this terrible of a liar usually.”

“Well, usually isn’t now.”

You pause to let his utter nonsense sink in.

“Are all detectives this uselessly cryptic or is this just a you thing?”

“I think it’s a family thing actually.”

“That I believe.” You laugh, gripping tight to the edge of the concrete ledge with one hand as you lean forward to admire the twinkling darkness of the water far below—a beautiful, convoluted gloom in the beginnings of silver moonlight. You catch his lingering stare in your peripheral when you shift, an odd amount of softness there you’re not exactly used to seeing directed your way.

“What?” You ask again in exasperation (and maybe a tad more overly sharp than you wanted). He only winks when you turn to get a better read on him, and looking much too smug and unconcerned, tips his head back to study the distant, firefly-like pinpricks of light just now glittering through the encroaching dark above you.

There’s a blissful beat of silence between the continuously wafting smells (of heavy spices and cheese and the lingering sweetness of fancy chocolate) and the nearby ambient sounds of your friends locked in an intense game of Jenga (their laughter and conversation—Raven is definitely on a roll by the sounds of it—the clinking of cutlery and plates, and the low, near-constant pop music blanketed beneath it all), and then—

“Welcome home.” He says quietly.

You stare at him a moment longer; hesitant, flustered, warm—like some kind of utter punch-drunk goober—until your gaze slips mercifully back to the sky, drawn in by the trembling might of the stars far out of reach.

And you let the moment sit within the unexpected, peaceful calm his voice brings, unbroken without a sarcastic quip or cynical remark, just this once. A moment to find value in.

Because this is your family, or….what you’d always imagined one to be.

So, even though you’d never truly been privy to a lot of happiness before this—this tiny, momentous moment right where you need to be; sitting on the roof ledge of your home—you find your own sense of peace in thinking that here and now, if there ever was a happy place in this life for you—

This is it.

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etherealblasphemy · 5 years

Text

You Never Seemed So Tense, Love

(what’s this? some actual content? on my blog? it’s more likely than you think)

hello again, y’all! it’s been a while since i’ve posted any writing, but at last, i’ve finished another fic! i hope y’all enjoy this one, i found it really fun to write. (title from “gives you hell” by the all-american rejects)

Trigger Warnings For: mild language and mentions of alcohol

Summary: Logan Guiscard loves his simple, mundane life. He most certainly does not love his next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage.

Length: 7,476 words

Kudos are appreciated, reblogs are adored, comments are loved!!

Logan Guiscard loved his life. Honestly. He loved his little suburban house that looked like almost every other home in his neighborhood. He loved his shiny car that he had to wash every weekend because if it wasn’t shining then obviously someone would think something was wrong and wouldn’t take him seriously. He loved his job as an astronomy professor at the local university where nobody cared about what the constellations were named because the Greeks were all dead, and it’s not they couldn’t just Google the names, anyways. He loved waking in the morning to see a lawn full of native plants and a little garden, because he might live in the affluent suburbs, but that didn’t mean he’d give into lawn culture, the horrid thing.

The only thing he didn’t love was his unfortunately next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage. Everything about him was simply illogical. The first thing the imbecile had done after moving in was paint the house bright purple, a stark contrast from the pastel grey every other home sported. He had a rather irritating habit of playing music a decibel too loud for Logan’s taste. He had absolutely no sense of self-care; Virgil seemed to throw on whatever clothes were clean— they were mismatched and rumbled, as if he had just taken them from his floor—and his skin was dull and most likely caked with makeup, which could easily be fixed if the man would just wash his face in the morning. Virgil Savage also had the miserable mannerism of being at least partially nocturnal.

Logan first found out about this “lifestyle” within a week of Virgil moving in. At first, he thought his neighbor was simply having trouble adjusting to his new house. And then the music started. Had it been any other time of day, perhaps Logan would have learned to let it by, to continue with his daily life. But because it was nine-thirty on a Wednesday night and Logan happened to teach Introduction to Astronomy on Thursdays at seven a.m., he marched over to the Savage house with a glare that burned hot enough to set Pluto alight, and knocked three times on the heavy door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited for a response.

Virgil had opened the door with tired, bleak eyes the color of the Milky Way, full of enigmatic monachopsis that seemed to scream for human contact like an abandoned astronaut, and all arguments fled from the tip of Logan’s tongue. The music was even louder with the door open; the most prominent instrument was a piano that sounded like someone was slamming their fingers down on the keys in a desperate rage. Someone was screaming about friends and not wanting to leave, their voice raspy and broken.

“Do you… need something?” his neighbor had asked with a gruff voice, clutching at his elbows as if the sooner Logan left, the better. Logan had snapped out of his daze, pushing his glasses back up as he looked up at the man standing in the doorway. He couldn’t see much from where he stood on the porch.

“Yes, actually, I would like for you to turn your music down. It is impeding my ability to sleep, and I have to teach a class in the morning,” Logan explained crisply. Virgil looked him up and down, sizing up his new competitor with a smug smirk.

“Well, I dunno, teach.” Logan’s heart stopped for a full second at the nickname before his face morphed into a mask of contempt. “There’s a party going on right now, and what party is complete without music?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he glanced inside. He couldn’t see much besides a very much empty living room. “Apparently, a pity party,” he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. For a quarter of a second, a single frame in the movie of life, Virgil’s face had contorted, full of hurt, before quickly losing its emotion, replaced with cool nonchalance. Logan had had half the mind to apologize for his unsympathetic behavior before the song grew louder and Logan was reminded that it was late at night and he was too exhausted to deal with this sort of tomfuckery.

He was about to launch into a full debate to convince this heathen to turn his music down to a respectable volume when another figure came careening through the living room by way of an unseen doorway, crashing into Virgil with raucous, drunken giggles.

“Broooooo…” the newcomer slurred, his arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck for support. “You gotta finish that assignment of yours. You wanna pass the class, donya? Come ooooon,” he wheedled. Virgil’s face flushed as the stranger whined.

“Roman, how much have you drunk?”

“…a bottle.”

“A bottle?! Dee let you drink a whole bottle?!” Virgil’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as he turned, facing the living room that still held no-one despite the “party” raging on inside. “Dee! I’m gonna kick your ass!” he yelled as he unwrapped Roman’s arms from his neck. Virgil’s eyes glanced back at Logan. “Sorry about my friend.”

With that, Virgil pushed Roman further into the house, muttering in exasperation as he shut the door without another word to Logan. The teacher blinked before he regained his senses. He scoffed at the sudden cut-off from his neighbor, rolling his eyes. There was nothing else he could do now besides head back home and shove a pillow over his ears to muffle the music.

It was only when he finally slipped into bed that he realized he could only hear the sound of crickets and someone’s air conditioner whirring in the late August night heat.

The music had been turned off.

He hated himself for believing that it would end that night with a simple confrontation. The next week, the music was up again. Logan was too busy grading incomplete and frustratingly incorrect constellation maps to tell off Virgil, and let it be. But then it happened again the next week. And the next. It seemed to Logan that Virgil was just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. When he called his brother he ask for advice, the only promising words he got was “talk to him.”

“Patton, you don’t understand. I have talked to him, he just won’t listen,” he sighed as his brother listened intently over the video call, constantly adjusting his round glasses.

“Now, Logan, you know that everybody communicates in different ways. Maybe he is listening, but he just can’t communicate in a way you understand.” Patton adjusted his glasses again as he tilted his head, a thought striking him. “Maybe he’s trying to get your attention?”

Logan sighed, thinking about Virgil. Would he really be the type of person to annoy him just to get his attention? Virgil didn’t need to play music at an irritating volume for Logan’s consideration of him—those sonderous eyes plagued him almost as much as the music did.

Hold on. What did he just think?

“Are you alright, Logan? You’re making face you always do whenever I correct on your grammar. You know—like someone just ate all the second cookies,” Patton giggled. Logan heard someone talking in the background as Patton turned away from the camera, listening to the person off-screen. “Yep! Do you wanna come say hi to him?” Logan heard a sound of acquiescence and the pounding of footsteps as someone ran down the hallway of his brother’s apartment.

“Hiya there, Logan!” He flinched as Patton’s partner, Emile, popped up in front of the camera. “I heard you were in a jam!” The psychiatrist held up a jar of jam as Logan groaned at the pun, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know which is worse—your puns or Virgil’s music,” he grumbled goodnaturedly as the partners collapsed into laughter that sounded choppy in the low quality audio of his laptop. He ran a hand through his hair as he checked the time, cringing at the late hour. “I’m sorry, Patton, but I’ll have to sign off now. It’s getting late and I have the wonderful blessing of teaching a morning class tomorrow. I’ll see you next weekend, correct?” His brother nodded as he and Emile wished Logan goodnight.

As he turned off his computer, his mind wandered back to the original topic of his and Patton’s conversation—Virgil. He couldn’t possibly be engaging in this childish feud because he was, what, interested in him? Logan snorted aloud, shaking his head. Virgil was obviously only toying with him.

“Well, then,” he whispered aloud as he slipped into bed, ready to fall asleep. “Two can play that game.”

He wasn’t able to put his plan into motion until the following weekend, just before he had to pick up Patton from the airport. It was quite simple, in Logan’s opinion, but then again, he reminded himself, he had to be on the road by at least nine so he could pick up Patton from his eleven-o-clock arrival, so complex schemes were out of the question until he had the time and reason to do such. Thus, he found himself setting a heavy speaker down on the edge of his front porch, his phone already connected to it. He had deliberated for a while on what song to use before settling on the timeless classic of “Hooked on a Feeling”.

He was about to turn on the speaker when he felt his phone vibrating in his hand. He turned it on to see a text from Patton: “So… I might have told you the wrong arrival time…” Immediately, he called his brother.

“What do you mean, ‘wrong arrival time’?” he questioned as soon as Patton picked up.

“Well, I’m here now. At the airport. It turns out the flight isn’t as long as I thought it was…” He could hear incessant chatter in the background and could clearly picture the dismal little airport that never seemed to stop renovating one wing or another, resulting in utter chaos when it came to an orderly flight schedule. “If you’re busy, don’t worry. I can wait a few hours—”

“Don’t be silly, Patton,” Logan interrupted. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes if the traffic’s alright.” He was already grabbing his keys from inside, throwing on a jacket, and unlocking his car doors. “Have you eaten yet?” The silence was answer enough for him. “There’s plenty of options around. Just be sure to eat something healthy, alright? And remember to get your bags,” he sighed as he started the car, the engine a gentle thrum beneath him.

“Alright, Logan, I will. See you in a bit. Thanks for picking me up.” The call disconnected, leaving Logan in the silence of his car before he decided surprisingly that he couldn’t stand the quietude and turned on the car radio as he backed out of the driveway, unaware of the jet black eyes that watched him go sadly.

Logan made to the airport in forty minutes, actually. He found Patton sitting at the counter of a small shop selling dumplings and baobaos, giddily eating the delicious food. He watched with a soft smile for a moment as Patton snuck a bite of a dumpling to the golden retriever laying on the floor beneath him, her vest proudly displaying her role as a service dog. As Patton straightened, he finally noticed his brother standing several feet away.

“Logan!” he called excitedly, waving him over. Logan’s feet moved on their own, small steps turning into bounds as he ran to his brother and hugged him tightly. “I’ve missed you, too, Logan. It doesn’t seem that university can end soon enough.” Logan’s grip tightened before he released his brother. He felt something nose at his leg and looked down to see Lola nudging at his leg, staring up at him with puppy eyes, despite knowing full well she was not a puppy, by size nor age standards.

He crouched down and ran a hand through her fur as Lola’s tail began beating excitedly. “Hello to you, too,” he said as Lola barked softly in greeting. “You’ve got your bags?” he asked as he stood up. Patton nodded, finishing the last dumpling, and clambered off his stool, thanking the shop owners as he grabbed the handles of his two suitcases in both hands. “I’ll hold on to Lola.” He grabbed the golden retriever’s lease, untying it from the chair’s leg, and began guiding the dog and his brother through the dim airport to the parking lot.

It was nine forty a.m. when they got home. The sun was glimmering, bearing down with no qualms onto the earth with a fierce intensity that seemed to rake across their backs with a near unbearable heat. Patton took one look at the speakers still set up on Logan’s porch and turned around, stopping in his tracks.

“Logan, what are you planning?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to listen to some music while I washed my car,” he explained, even though he knew his car was clean and it was pointless to try and wash it when it was supposed to rain that night, anyways. Patton’s eyes narrowed with a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

“You’re going to play music, aren’t you?” he proclaimed, twirling around and pointing at Logan with one finger and a sly smile as though he was a detective who had just solved the most difficult case ever presented to him. “Oh, I knew that look meant something! You looked so starry-eyed when we were talking about Virgil!” Logan blanched as he gasped in indignation.

“I did not look starry-eyed! He’s not even my friend, he’s just my neighbor!”

“A neighbor who you call on every Wednesday night,” Patton teased as Logan brushed past him with a groan of frustration, unlocking the door and shoving it open.

“It’s his fault, Patton, he’s the one who plays punk rock from the 2000s and 70s and 80s pop songs played on what I think might be an organ louder than a plague of cicadas at ten-thirty at night.” Patton could only laugh at Logan’s description as he made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge, already making himself at home.

“Sure, Logan.” Patton’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the fridge and its contents. “How many jars did Mom give you last time?”

“I counted twenty—wait, don’t change the subject, Patton!” Logan chastised. Lola spoke—or, rather, barked—up, woofing at the brothers as if to say, “stop talking about your neighbor and feed me.”

When at last Lola was fed and Patton had dropped his suitcases down in the guest room, it was nearing ten a.m.; he was finally able to step outside and stretch in the sun. Out of habit, he glanced at Virgil’s house, half expecting to see strobe lights flashing wildly behind the curtains, and saw nothing. He paused, his thoughts turning to the speaker still sitting abandoned on his porch. Was Virgil still asleep? An evil grin split across his face as he pulled out his phone, finding the song easily.

“I hope you like the taste of your own medicine,” he mumbled as he pressed played. Immediately, sound poured out of the speaker, the lowest notes tapping a familiar rhythm on his heart. He could just barely hear the sounds of confusion in the other house, following by the door slamming open as Virgil stumbled out in his pyjamas.

Well, he couldn’t really call them pyjamas. Virgil was covered—thankfully, of all the bad habits Virgil partook in, sleeping in the nude was not one of them—but just barely. He wore grey boxers beneath a violet tank top at least two sizes too big for him, and not much else. And perhaps Logan blushed furiously at the sight of sunshine on Virgil’s lanky arms and pale legs, but it was just from the heat. Just the heat.

Not that any of that mattered. Logan was too busy watching Virgil nearly trip over his feet as he shambled about in his lawn, momentarily blinded by the sun, to think any more about Virgil’s limbs. As his eyesight adjusted, Virgil noticed Logan standing in his own yard, then saw the speaker blasting music, and put two-and-two together.

“Do you know what time it is?” Virgil groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Logan snickered.

“It’s nine-fifty-two a.m., which is a more reasonable time than ten-forty-five at night,” he shot back. Virgil snorted before covering it with a cough. “Even if you wake up late, you should at least go to bed at a reasonable time. A good bedtime is crucial to a healthy life,” he lectured as Virgil raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Oh, getting worried about me, now? Careful, teach, or someone will think you’ve caught feelings for me,” Virgil chaffed, his eyes bright now in the daylight, intelligent and unrelenting in their mirth. Logan spluttered, unable to form a proper response. “Beware, Logan Guiscard. You’ve opened up a Pandora’s Box now.” Virgil’s voice was deep and full of laughter—like Logan was missing out on the funniest joke ever told. “I hope you like punk rock.”

He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It’s you’ve been playing, how could it ever get old?” This time, Virgil snorted for real, chuckling uncontrollably as he backed away towards his house. Logan knew he wouldn’t get that sound out of his head for weeks. Virgil paused as he reached the doorstep of his home, glancing back over his shoulder.

“…I was finishing a report for my theoretical astrobiology class, by the way. I finished a little past midnight. Sorry for wanting to sleep in. I’ll make sure to let my professor know next time that I wasn’t able to finish my paper because my neighbor cared about me.” Logan physically stepped back, stunned. Virgil was taking university classes? And astronomy-related classes at that? Sweet heavens. Somehow, Logan’s face grew even more heated in the August sun.

Too bad Virgil had already left before Logan could find out more.

It wasn’t like Virgil hadn’t warned him. Logan could clearly recall him referencing Greek mythology (which another one of his passions that just so luckily gave him an advantage in astronomy) as he swore to wreak havoc on Logan’s life. Now, perhaps he hadn’t used those exact words, but it was exactly what was happening at nine p.m. on a Tuesday night in the middle of his late-night astronomy class. The class was too far gone now to be reigned back in, the music was still pouring in through hidden speakers, and all Logan could do was stare at Virgil like his whole world had been shattered as his neighbor laughed with his whole body, the sound loud and full of life and shaking Logan’s very core.

He had been in the middle of explaining which constellations appeared during which seasons—it was the beginning of the semester and he had learned the hard way to always begin with the basics—when the music first started. He had been so envirgorated in his explanation of the importance of the North Star that he hadn’t heard it until one of his students asked if whoever was listening to Fall Out Boy would please turn the volume down. Logan had stopped in his tracks, eyes snapping back to reality with a sinking feeling of déjà vu, and listened.

Unfortunately, his dread was well-met. The sounds of Fall Out Boy’s “Thnks fr th Mmrs” were pouring in from all sides of his classroom; Logan scowled, already searching for the familiar pair of inky eyes that bedeviled his dreams and late-night musings. “Virgil Savage!” he yelled, praying that the incident was actually Virgil’s fault and not some poor student who just happened to have the exact same music interests as his neighbor. “You better show yourself before I make you!”

The laughter was more of a giveaway than anything else. Virgil slumped in the doorway, his smirk so infuriating yet charming all the same. He gave a two-fingered salute to the professor as he held up his phone, waving in his trademark teasing manner. Virgil paid no mind to the students staring at the occurrence with rabid curiosity; his focus was on Logan as he bit his bottom lip and held out the phone towards the professor as though inviting him closer.

“You want the music off?” he asked, his deep voice gliding out of his mouth and wrapping itself around Logan’s body like venti of the ancient age. Logan nodded silently and unceremoniously, unable to think of a good retort. “Come and turn it off yourself.”

That was what had sent his class into chaos. One of them had yelled “Dance party!” immediately after, jumping up from his seat and flailing his arms around in what Logan could only assume to be dancing—an attempt at dancing, at the very least. Logan glared at Virgil as he stalked slowly towards the interloper, the sounds of students nothing but background noise at this point. He leaned closer to Virgil, his eyes full of wrath.

“Turn that music off right now,” he hissed.

“You’re staying up too late. If I can’t sleep in, you can’t stay out,” was Virgil’s only response. Logan stuttered.

“You—I—I am teaching a class!”

“And I’m not turning the music off,” Virgil continued. “I told you, if you want it off—” Virgil other hand grabbed Logan’s waist, pulling him into a dip as the professor yelped in surprise and the students cheered Virgil on. “—you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

It took a full five seconds to pass before Logan’s brain rebooted, shutting down the moment Virgil’s warm touch had met his starved skin. Once his reason returned, he wrangled himself out of his neighbor’s arms with several muttered swears and all but ripped Virgil’s phone out of his hands, turning the music off quickly and shoving the device back towards his neighbor. He glared daggers at the interloper for good measure as he retreated back into the comforts of his classroom with a scowl on his face.

“You’re not getting enough sleep either, teach. What was it you said? Yeah, I remember now: ‘a good bedtime is crucial to a healthy lifestyle.’” Virgil smirked as he watched Logan try to reign in his class, to no avail, those dark irises of his eyes holding something mysterious Logan would love to unravel if it weren’t for the classroom of fifty students in the process of losing their minds. “Of course, not letting loose every once in a while and refusing to humor your everloving neighbor really takes a hit on you, doesn’t it?” Logan glanced at Virgil as he paused from removing a recording phone from particularly stubborn student, focusing on the annoyance swirling through him instead of the rapid, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wave of warmth that overcame him at the sight of Virgil’s eyes, half hooded by his black-painted eyelids and full of curiosity—curiosity for Logan. That particular feeling he shoved back into the recesses of his mind.

“Virgil Savage, escort yourself out of this room or I will have security do so. We will continue this at a later date.” Virgil only grinned wickedly as he saluted once more and slinked behind the door frame, disappearing in the myriad of hallways.

“How about we continue it tomorrow at Bourbon Coffee? I hear they make great croissants!” Virgil shouted back. Logan stopped dead in his tracks, his head whipping towards the door in shock. But in true Virgil fashion, he was gone before Logan could find out more.

His only hope to gain another piece of the puzzle that was Virgil Savage was to meet him at Bourbon Coffee tomorrow morning.

He prayed he would survive their encounter.

Logan woke up to the mouth-watering smell of french toast the next morning, a smile already on his face. He found his brother in the kitchen, slipping Lola little bites of bacon as he cooked.

“What is all this for, Patton? Don’t you trust me to make my own breakfast?” he asked as he patted Lola, who showed off her canines with a beam.

“One of Emile’s former patients is one of your students. They told a little story on Twitter, and Emile found out and told me!” Patton swiveled around, almost whacking Logan in the face with his spatula. “How come you didn’t tell me you were going on a date?” Logan huffed, swiping a slice of bacon from the plate where they were cooling.

“It’s not a date,” he argued. “This might be my only chance to actually deal with Virgil besides throwing a pillow over my ears.” Patton chuckled, leaving the conversation as he finished cooking and slid two slices of french toast onto a nearby plate and handing it to Logan, throwing a smaller slice on the floor for Lola to wolf down. He continued his points as he ate. “Besides, I wouldn’t even call our relationship a friendship—”

“Alright, first off, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Patton interrupted as he maneuvered them both to sit at the dining room table. “Second of all.” Patton waited until Logan looked up at his brother, holding his gaze. “Do you want it to be a friendship?” he asked gently, knowing the look that was growing in Logan’s eyes.

“…Truth be told, Patton… I do. Virgil…” Logan sighed, unsure how he could ever explain his interest in Virgil if he couldn’t explain the greatest mysteries of the universe, which were far more comprehensible than the mind and soul of his neighbor. “…Virgil is unexplainable. I try to understand him. But I can’t… Am I wrong to want to understand him?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Patton’s lips as he regarded his brother. “No. Not at all.” Patton’s grin turned mischievous. “But date or not, I still get to be excited! You never go out, it’s nice to see you having fun for once.” For once, Logan did not respond to Patton, allowing himself to genuinely grin.

Fun…

It wasn’t a foreign word in his dictionary, but its page wasn’t dog-eared the way other words were. It didn’t have the significance of ebullience (bubbly enthusiasm—it reminded him of his brother), it didn’t have the importance of syzygy (the alignment of celestial bodies—he always found some way to weave it into his lectures), it didn’t roll across his tongue with the same effortlessness of hiraeth (homesickness for a place that never was or cannot be returned to—plus, it tied into his efforts to learn the Welsh language). Fun was not an unknown word, but it was not one mulled over like wine as he pondered his place in the universe.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t reintroduce it to his vocabulary, relearn the way it sounded, the way it felt running along his vocal cords.

Patton could tell what was going through his brother’s mind. He sat back lazily as he ate his breakfast, his smile just barely concealing his pride. “It’s almost nine, by the way,” he added. “You should get ready soon.” Logan nodded, only a little disappointed that they had to end their moment of peace so quickly.

Far too soon, he found himself ready to go, with the exception of a stomach that wouldn’t stop churning. Logan had no idea why he was so nervous—at best, he and Virgil would get coffee and talk without tearing each other’s head apart, and at worst they would just continue their feud like normal. It wasn’t like things going wrong would ruin his life irreversibly—so why did Logan feel the need to impress Virgil, to make things go perfectly?

He pushed those musings to the back of mind for later analysis. He headed outside to be met with the uncomfortable heat he was so used to yet hated all the same. Wearing a black cotton button down did nothing to relieve the suffocating heat against his body. Silently, he cursed the sun as he glanced about, wondering where Virgil was. It hit him that they had never agreed to a specific time. For all Logan knew, Virgil could already by at the coffee shop waiting for him.

Swallowing thickly—he didn’t know why, he had no reason to be nervous—Logan walked over to his neighbor’s house and rapped his knuckles against the door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited.

The door opened to reveal… not-Virgil. Logan vaguely recalled him as the drunken man who had popped up behind Virgil the first time he had given his neighbors a visit, though he could not remember the man’s name for the life of him. The man yawned, staring at Logan.

“You’re that teacher Virgil’s obsessed with, right?” he asked.

“…Yes?” Logan wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, even if his heart did flutter a little bit at it. “Is he inside? We’re supposed to meet at Bourbon Coffee, but he failed to give a time. I thought it would be logical to go with him so we arrive at the same time.”

The man at the door chuckled. “Virgil’s got a date, eh?”

Logan flushed against his will. “Alright—first of all, it is not a date, and second of all, would you please just tell me where he is?” he pleaded. The man nodded with a lopsided grin, glancing behind him.

“He’s still asleep. Probably thought the date would be a late one,” he drawled, laughing at the way Logan grumbled at the continued use of the word “date.” The man stuck out his hand, at last (re)introducing himself. “I’m Roman. Nice to properly meet you.” Logan took his hand politely, shaking it as he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he looked inside the house to hopefully see Virgil.

“I’m Logan Guiscard. Pleasure to meet you as well,” he said, biting back his frown when he couldn’t see his enigmatic neighbor. He drew his hand back with an awkward sigh. “Well, please let me know when Virgil wakes. I would rather go with him to the coffee shop than wait for him.” Roman nodded, saying he would, and closed the door to leave Logan standing on the porch with a heavy heart, though he decided it was better not to analyze why he felt disappointed that he wasn’t able to see Virgil.

Logan felt his phone vibrate and saw a text from his brother. Are you there yet? it read. He texted back a quick response, smirking devilishly when a notification from his music service popped up, giving him a positively evil idea. He tapped on the notification, opening the app, and scrolled until he found a song Virgil would adore waking up to.

“Would you mind if I listened to some music while I waited?” Logan asked Roman as innocently as possible. The neighbor shrugged. He bit back his sly grin as he subtly turned his volume all the way, connecting to his speaker, which remained on the porch from their last morning encounter. He pressed play, and let himself smile at last as chaos erupted to the sound of My Chemical Romance’s “Planetary (GO!)”.

The first thing to happen was Roman bursting into laughter as he realized what was happening. The second thing to happen was a series of shouts from inside Virgil’s house. Two people emerged from the shadows—someone Logan had yet to meet, and Virgil. He felt himself smile without thinking at the sight of his neighbor. Virgil’s eyes were hooded and full of exhaustion, bent on the murder of whoever woke him up so early. They cleared upon seeing Logan, lighting up like fireworks, but quickly narrowed as he put two and two together and realized Logan was behind his early wake-up.

“Y’know, if it weren’t for the fact that I love this song, I would be throttling you, you damn player,” Virgil mumbled with a tired laugh. He was murmuring along to the lyrics, holding out a hand to the teacher. “Come on, aren’t you going to dance with me?” For a moment, Logan felt like he had landed on an alien planet, because in no galaxy would this ever happen, but the moment passed as soon Logan realized, foreign planet or not, there was no way he would ever refuse.

He took Virgil’s hand with a sheepish smile, a silent apology for his lack of skill when it came to the aesthetic movement of his awkward limbs. Virgil didn’t seem to mind as they danced—well, to call it dancing would be pushing it. It was more like what Patton had once described as “moshing”, a frantic but energizing thrashing of arms and legs with no regards of what others thought. It was fun. Logan found that he actually liked it—or perhaps it was only because Virgil was dancing with him, and in a few minutes they would be grabbing coffee together like a real couple… of friends.

When at last the song ended, both of them were gasping for air as they laughed like the idiots they were. Logan was grinning so hard it hurt, but he found he didn’t care. I like him. I really like him a lot.

For once, the thought didn’t scare him.

“I’m guessing you want to head to Bourbon Coffee?” Virgil was asking him. Logan nodded wordlessly, unable to speak as he regained his breath. Virgil smiled softly. “I’ll go change, then. I’ve shown up wearing pyjamas too many times, they’ll probably kick me out this time.” Virgil hurried inside to change out of his night clothes, leaving Logan alone with Roman and the new person.

“We haven’t met before, I’m Logan Guiscard,” he introduced, holding out a hand to them. Their eyes flickered over Logan for a moment.

“Desmond Inoni. Call me Dee. You’re the teacher Virgil’s obsessed with,” the man stated cooly, amused as Logan blushed furiously, spluttering incessantly. The teacher was unable to voice his objections further, as Virgil came running out, hopping on one foot as he shoved a black sneaker on. “You two have fun,” Dee called as they set off. Virgil flipped him off playfully over his shoulder as Logan motioned for him to get in the teacher’s car.

In ten minutes, they were sitting down in the cafe with their hot coffee. Logan had gotten a simple black coffee, with about a bucket of added sugar, and Virgil had ordered some complex drink the bartender seemed to have had memorized. They sat in a corner booth by the window, enjoying the company of some calming, though probably fake, spider plants. Logan tried his best to be inconspicuous as he studied Virgil Savage, the mystery himself. He studied the way Virgil bobbed slightly to the cliché electro swing, the way the sunlight lit up the dusk in his eyes, the way his lips curved when he smiled as he spoke about his short-lived endeavor to become a musician to pay his way through college.

“What about you?” Virgil inquired. “How did you pay for college?”

“I won a scholarship by writing about astronomy. Being a teaching assistant helped to pay for the rest,” he explained. “I had to work quite hard to keep my scholarship, so I never had as many chances to make relationships—platonic or otherwise.” He caught Virgil’s gaze as he mumbled, “This is actually the first time I’ve been out with someone besides my brother and his partner…” Virgil’s eyes visibly widened in disbelief.

“Never?!” Logan shook his head, less melancholic than the last time he had mused over the young adulthood he never had. Somehow, sharing his woes with his neighbor lessened their meaning. Virgil took a sip of his drink before continuing, looking out beneath his thick eyelashes. “…I’m glad you thought my company was worthy enough for you, Logan.”

Logan knew he would treasure the way Virgil said his name for eons, forever and ever until the final star burned out and left the universe dark. He would always remember the way his heart skipped a beat, something slotting into place. Even if nothing came of this experience, even if by some reason he never saw Virgil again, even if the world ended right that moment and he was the last being alive, he would know that he had fallen in love with Virgil Savage.

But his neighbor was not meant to be his soulmate. Virgil didn’t love him.

“Logan? You okay?” Virgil was waving his hand in front of his face, worry swimming in his eyes. “You kinda disassociated for a moment. Don’t worry, I do it all the time.” Logan almost chuckled at Virgil’s small blush. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he promised. “Just… glad you think my company is worth an early rise.” Virgil cracked a smile with a huff, shaking his head.

“Don’t think this changes things,” he warned. “I have a whole playlist you’re going to fall asleep to.”

“That would sound adorable and affectionate if I didn’t know what a scoundrel you truly are,” Logan fired back with a smirk of his own. “I promise I’ll have my own songs to share with you in the early morning hours.” Virgil laughed loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

They sat and talked for what must have been hours, trading anecdotes, questions, and life advice. He learned that Virgil had grown up half an hour away in the backwoods of suburbia, that his favorite color was violet, his favorite animal was a bird of paradise because their dances were beautiful and stupid at the same time, that his parents were divorced but were still friends, that his biggest wish as a young, dumb kid was to be an astronaut and die among the stars. In return, he told Virgil about himself, how his mother had died when he was nine but he loved his stepmother just as much, how his adoration of space began when an astronaut came to his school, how his favorite article of clothing was an old baggy sweatshirt from his first year teaching.

Yet all good things must come to an end, and eventually Virgil had to ruefully apologize that he had an appointment he needed to go to, and had to leave.

He watched Virgil leave wistfully, stirring what remained of his coffee with a cheap plastic stick as he let his thoughts wander over mountains and meadows. Somehow, by some chance, he was in love with Virgil Savage.

Even if Virgil never loved him back, he would make sure to cherish him. He would love and he would lose, yes, but he knew it would be better than to love and to imagine what could have been.

The climax to it all came about a week later, after many continued meetups. Virgil had been hinting at some big finale to it all for the past few days, and Logan was both incredibly excited and incredibly terrified of what his neighbor was planning.

It happened on a clear October night, just as Logan was winding down from a particularly tiring day. Patton was packed and ready to leave tomorrow morning, already sleep despite the early evening hour, and as much as his puns and jokes exasperated Logan to no end, he was going to miss his brother.

The teacher was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up reading a student’s paper. He rubbed at his fluttering eyelids, trying to keep himself from falling asleep as he took another sip from his water, determined to have all his papers graded before he went to sleep. He glanced at his watch every few minutes, chastising himself for checking so often as though he were waiting for something, quickly righting his course of focus back to his yet-to-be-graded papers.

He was about to call it a night and resign himself to an early morning finishing yesterday’s work when it happened. Through the window, which he had left open so he could enjoy the sounds of the night, came the telltale beginnings of trouble, a faint rumble Logan had come to recognize as a bassline emanating from his neighbor’s house.

As he began to hear the lyrics, he tipped back his head with a groan that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be exasperated or amused. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” he muttered as he pushed away from the table to stumble to the window and stand bewildered at the apparent absence of life in the Savage household. Not even a bedroom light was on inside, and it seemed either Virgil had fallen asleep to The All-American Rejects, or this was Virgil’s finale. He knew it was the latter.

Sighing, he pushed away from the table with a clatter of his chair. Running a hand through unkempt tangles of hair, Logan all but shoved the door open and walked out into the brisk night, letting the overwhelming intensity of the song wash over him and take all worries of the papers on his kitchen table away from his mind. Then he noticed movement from one of the windows, and Logan knew to prepare himself for an overly dramatic performance that would have cemented his love for his neighbor if the secret space enthusiasm and the wistful eyes hadn’t already done so.

Logan’s hypothesis proved correct when the bridge of the song began, and people poured out of the house, just like in the music video—which he had watched dozens of times, in a long playlist titled “virgil’s favorites -- memorize!!”, because if he was going to be in love with the man, he might as well know more about what he liked.

And, just like in the music video, they began chanting the ever-plaguing verse as Virgil, playing the role of Tyson Ritter, strutted slowly and calmly down the steps to the teacher’s driveway, where Logan was waiting for him, an exasperated smirk greeting his neighbor.

As soon as Virgil was within an earshot, Logan called to him. “Is this your finale, then?” Virgil’s eyes lit up with playfulness as he stood toe to toe with the teacher, his grin bigger than a full moon.

“Was it too predictable for you?” Virgil retorted with a glimmer of affection in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Logan replied in the same dramatic air as Virgil. “Though I’m beginning to think maybe it’s because I’m rubbing off on you.”

“And maybe it’s because I’m letting you rub off on me. Maybe I like it,” Virgil laughed as he stepped but an inch closer. Logan could see the little discolored speckles in Virgil’s eyes now, from how close they were. Almost close enough to kiss, his brain supplied (un)helpfully.

At once, Logan’s entire demeanor changed. They were close enough to kiss, weren’t they? He’d been fantasizing about it on more than one occasion, though Logan always classified them as nothing but. Nothing but fantasies to tuck away for reminiscing. But here, under starlight, with Virgil looking like a Lunar Queen, with those mesmerizing eyes trapping his, those fantasies seemed more like memories.

“Logan,” Virgil whispered. And like that, the spell was broken. Logan broke from his dreaming to hear a silent night once more, the song having ended without his notice. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Virgil beat him to it. “Look up.”

And, oh, wasn’t that a sight.

“I was wondering why you weren’t outside watching the meteor shower, and when I texted Patton, he said you were grading papers. Can you believe it? Missing the coolest thing in the world for a couple of dead trees?” Virgil was saying, his voice soft and gentle as a blanket.

Logan, of course, was too busy looking to hear him.

Not looking at the meteor shower—oh, no, no. As gorgeous as the black-blue-purple swashes of paint across the heavens was, as breath-taking as the falling stars were, as inspiring as the night sky captured in pure happiness was, none of it compared to the beauty he was so enraptured by—the beauty, of course, being the look of pure awe in Virgil’s eyes as he watched the meteors shoot across the sky.

Without thinking, Logan leaned over, and kissed him.

It was brief, but as soon as he pulled away, he said, “I think I love you.” Just to cement it, of course. To make sure Virgil knew.

The man in question stared at Logan, his eyes wide with surprise, and lips parted in an unspoken gasp. Virgil said nothing. He only grabbed the back of Logan’s neck and pulled him for a second, better kiss.

Two shooting stars crossed the sky together above them, as if in love.

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dysphoric-affect · 4 years

Text

A Hero In Most Worlds, A Survivor In All

I’ve made it through the boring scenery where I live to arrive at my dead-end job. It’s time for the daily routine of repetitive, meaningless work, which I’ll still try my hardest to excel at out of an arguably misplaced sense of pride in my work. This is the little reward that I can hope for, as I watch most of the rest of the crew given breaks, raises and promotions I’m never privy to for some reason. There’s no sense of accomplishment and no sense of respect for what I’ve done to be found here...

I, the Dragonborn, have made it through the expansive and breathtaking vistas of the western plains of Whiterun hold in the province of Skyrim to arrive at the scene of a dragon assaulting a giant’s camp. It’s time to go to work: both of these powerful beings have great rewards if I’m successful. My focus is the dragon though, my sworn enemy; I’m generally content to leave the giants be and am in no hurry to piss it off and bring its large club to bear on my skull. My first arrows find their mark, but the next I try while the giant is lunging for a temporarily groundward dragon ends up finding the giant’s side. Right about this moment the dragon takes to the sky again and the giant turns toward me. Uh-oh. I’m not ready to spar with it up close, so I temporarily beat a retreat. The dragon’s next attack ends up scorching the giant’s mammoth, bringing it to charge out of the giant’s camp and wade into the fray. There’s no avoiding striking the mammoth as well while it and the giant are teaming up on the dragon the next time it lands, so now it’s a four-way clash with loud, defiant roars from the three massive denizens. I seem small in comparison...but my Shout is louder still and my own strength is not to be trifled with. One by one, the dragon falls, then the giant, and finally the mammoth. I loot the giant’s camp and their bodies, the dragon disintegrating and its soul absorbed into mine as I pass it. I stand triumphant on the crest of the hill where we fought. A couple passerby including one of the hold’s guards run up and remark at the feat. “By the gods...the legends are true” one says. There’s much I’ve accomplished here, and much respect it has earned, but I know there is much more I’m capable of still...

Another planned date falls through, and once again I don’t understand. Our conversation had been going great. We had a time worked out to finally meet up and knew where we wanted to go. Everything was fine. Then, a few hours before it’s set to happen, I’m ghosted. I look back on our conversation for clues. Where did I go wrong? But, of course, it’s a fruitless endeavor. Short of talking to them, which isn’t going to happen, it’s impossible to decipher where I went wrong, or if I even really did. It stings more than I feel like it should, but in my defense, this keeps happening. Combined with the times I do meet, but their interest isn’t in more than temporary fun, I find myself left feeling hollow. I know I have good qualities...don’t I? I’m just tired of this...

After my latest successful mission, I, Commander Shepard, have to make an obligatory stop to check on my crew...which certainly includes a particular squadmate I’ve had my eye on for some time now. They’re great in a fight, but I also really dig their personality and I’ve grown to care about them over time as I’ve come to see more of that personality and know what they went through in their past. We’ve exchanged some tense, heated moments up to this point, but things are at a fever pitch now. With some reflection on our time together and how much they trust me, they can’t resist any more. We kiss. They tell me to meet up with them before we head out on our final mission to assault the Collector base. So I do, and they are where they said they’d be, when they said they would. We share a romantic evening together. Even after that evening is over though, we still are standing by each other’s side. To be there for each other emotionally, as well as through any battles that lay ahead. They can count on me to be there, and I can count on them...

It’s another all time low and I can’t take it any more. Nobody cares I’m here, nobody shares my interests, nobody looks up to me, I’m nobody’s priority and nobody will really notice or care when I’m gone. I feel like hanging is the way to go. I don’t like the idea of it being messy. Not that death is ever pretty, but still. I feel like I have more conviction this time because the low isn’t going away. It should have by now, but it won’t. I’ve even tested out what I would use a little. Seems dependable and as far as my feelings go about it, I’m surprisingly at ease with the sensations. Seems just like passing out and I’ve done that before, with the added bonus of never waking up to feeling worthless again. I don’t have a set day in mind or anything, but I’m very close. There’s no hope left, after all. I’ll play a game while I work myself up to it in the meantime...

I am Master Chief. Marines who’ve hunkered down just inside a building front are pinned down by Covenant forces assaulting from the outside. The Marines are as desperate as you can get in their situation. There’s no hope left, after all...but there is. I feel like a sniper rifle is the way to go. I don’t like the idea of it being messy, at least not at this early stage in the fight. I pick off nearly half a dozen before the Covenant knows what hit them. I rain down a couple grenades from my vantage point, killing more and causing those agile or tough enough to survive to scatter. I use this moment to drop down from my vantage point and land with a low thunder, iridescent green armor glinting in the afternoon sunlight. The Marines call out in enthusiasm upon the sight of me. They care I’m here and look up to me. Helping me is now their priority and they will absolutely miss my presence when I’m gone. And they and I share a common interest, in protecting any innocent human life. Their hope restored, they emerge more and lend supporting fire as I bare down on those who would take the hope of others, who would lead to innocent lives ending for no reason. Alien bodies fall from headshots and melee blows and grenade blasts until only I am standing. Me, the consumate survivor. I know it’s not over. There are more battles ahead, more battles than I care to think of that make up this war. But I know that I can survive and I can win, just taking it one battle at a time like this. Maybe I can win the war in the end after all, somehow.

I put the controller up, and go back to another shift at work.

I put the controller up, and start talking to someone new I think is cute and seems nice.

I put the controller up, and I decide to go on living.

Life is often disappointing. One of the great virtues of gaming that so often goes underappreciated is just how much they can help us cope through the forms of escape they provide when real life becomes too much. This isn’t to say that it should replace trying to make a genuine effort to solve those problems in real life, but I think it’s certainly healthy at times for us to be able to get away in the way video games uniquely allow when the solutions to those problems aren’t there at the moment. Maybe solving the problems in a game’s world is a more vicarious satisfaction on the surface, but more deeply it can help us to emotionally find our way forward outside of it, through our own power to manifest our problems into that world’s problems and to see our ability to deal with those problems as a parable for our ability to deal with the real thing. Whatever helps get us to that better place eventually when we are struggling right now is escapism well worth indulging in.

———-

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this post, please consider liking, commenting and reblogging, as well as following me. All support is greatly appreciated.

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s-n-arly · 4 years

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A Peek Into the Indie Writer World - Part III: Output Options

Many apologies, this was posted elsewhere weeks ago and I missed getting it up here.

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Once you’ve chosen the indie writer path, you need to decide what products or outputs you want to provide. Common options include print, e‑book, audio book, and online serial. There are advantages and disadvantages to each, and there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Looking at your target audience to see how they prefer their media, and deciding what you can afford to spend on your launch are good starting points.

Indie publishing doesn’t have to break the bank, but there are some expenses; these will depend on your skill-set and the products you’re creating. Even if you’re able to do all the technical work yourself, you’ll need to buy an International Standard Book Number (ISBN) for each publication or version of a publication.

Print Run vs Print on Demand

If you decide you want to offer a print edition of your book, there are still a lot of choices to make. Do you want hardcover or paperback? If paperback, do you want mass market (sometimes called pocketbook) or the larger trade size? Do you want regular print and large print options? Are you going to do a print run or go with print on demand (POD)?

Print Run

In traditional publishing, many copies of a book are printed all at one time. This is a print run. The goal is to sell all or most of the print run. If a book’s print run sells out early enough in its publication life, it will go back for a second printing. Indie writers can duplicate this process, working directly with printing companies to produce hardcover or paperback books, paying for the print run and hoping to sell enough to break even or make a profit.

An advantage of a print run is that it’s easier to sell something that people can take with them right then and there. There are also some nice finishing features that a print run can make available that don’t exist in print on demand, such as a variety of bindings and maps on the inside front cover and/or endpaper.

Each printed format of the book (hardcover, paperback, large print, etc) requires its own run. If you’re planning multiple print formats, or if you don’t have investors or ready money to cover the outlay, a print run may not be the best fit for you.

Indie writers who go exclusively with a print run, rely on hand-selling their book at conventions or events, and are directly responsible for all sales. Independent book stores may carry your books on consignment, but it can be very tough to get big chain stores to carry your books outside of their distribution channels.

Print on Demand (POD)

Print on demand is a publishing model where physical books are individually printed as they are ordered. Modern technology has made POD an affordable and common option. If you order a book from an online retailer, and the book is scheduled to take a week or two to arrive, odds are good that it’s POD book. POD printers can provide hardcover and multiple paperback formats.

POD printers often work with both print and e-book outputs. Many have arrangements for distribution to retailers, national and world-wide, which can take some of the burden of selling off the writer’s plate. You must follow designated formatting standards if you want your book to qualify for distribution. This is a detail-focused task that results in a professional product.

Unless you’re buying additional services, POD has a very low cost to the author. You will need to buy a proof of the book, a copy for you to review and make sure it printed properly, before it will be released to the general public. You may need to make changes and order an additional proof to confirm the end product is as expected.

Once you’re happy with the output, you can order your own mini print run of ten or twenty books to hand-sell at readings or events. There’s usually a price break at certain levels, making it worthwhile to buy a larger number, but the per-book price will not be as low as it is with a regular print run.

A disadvantage with POD is that many online retailers have contracts with various printing shops around the country (or even the world), ensuring the book is printed closer to the delivery address. These shops may not have the same quality or standards, and indie writers can’t possibly know how that quality compares. Like a print run, it can be very difficult to get your books carried in brick and mortar stores, but big chain retailers may have them available for online ordering.

E-book

Electronic books, or e-books, are one of the easiest ways to dip your toes into the indie pool. Many e-book providers also offer distribution (sometimes referred to as aggregation). To qualify for wide distribution, your end product will need to meet specific criteria ensuring that it looks professionally produced.

There are many advantages of going the e-book route. It’s relatively simple to set up and produce. Depending on your skill set, and willingness to work through the technical elements, this can cost as little as $25 (the cost for an ISBN). Some e‑book production companies provide a free ISBN; just read the fine print to ensure you aren’t going to regret not being the owner of that number.

E-books become available relatively quickly, often the same day you complete the publishing process. Because of the low cost of production, these can be priced low enough that curious readers may be willing to take a risk on someone they’ve never read or heard of before.

A disadvantage with e-books is the difficulty in standing out from the deluge of e‑books published daily. While libraries are starting to carry e-books, it’s not universal, making this a tough bottleneck to get through. Not all audiences have embraced e‑books, so it’s critical that you know your audience’s preference.

Audio Book

Audio book is an output I’ve researched significantly but haven’t been able to provide. I have friends with visual disabilities who would benefit, and I know several people who enjoy listening to books on the bus or long car rides.

Like a print run, audio book has more up front expenses than other outputs. You can expect to pay your voice actors at least $200 to $400. If you’re doing your own recording, be careful not to over-estimate your ability or your equipment. Theatrical or voice training can definitely help you out, but they don’t guarantee a successful product. The reading quality and audio quality will make or break your audio book.

Online Serial

Online serial publication is another easy place to start, especially if you can stick to a schedule. It doesn’t require an ISBN, but it does require participation in a service that is set up for subscriptions and donations. If you’re tech savvy enough, perhaps you can program this into your own site. Most writers use something like Patreon or Wattpad.

This route is still relatively new in the industry. The advantage is that writers can more directly connect with their audience. Some writers use this to gain a following, posting short stories and teasers for free to draw people in, while providing subscribers regular chapters and higher level content.

Disadvantages can include difficulty in getting enough traffic, the pressure of providing routine content for subscribers, and random changes in terms of service (a problem Patreon has had several times in the last year). Some writers don’t feel this counts as truly publishing, but if you are providing content to readers, it does fit the definition.

⁂

On the surface these options can seem really intimidating. If you’re finding yourself overwhelmed, pick one to focus on at a time. There’s no reason you can’t roll out various editions as you get more comfortable with the formats. Many writers provide only one format, and that’s fine too. Going indie, means you can do what works for you.

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For the first article in this series, check out Part I. Or if you just missed the previous article, check out Part II. For the next article, check out Part IV.

For more articles on writing, check out my Reflections From the Sol section.

#reflections from the sol #indie author #indie world #publishing outputs #Indie Writer Series

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neetu-uplifts · 5 years

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Learning from Death

July hit my family like a storm. We experienced some highs and some major lows. We lost my Aunt in early July. She had been sick for a while, in and out of the hospital, but we were hopeful that she would recover. God however had other plans. Shortly after, my 105-year old Grandmother broke her pelvic bone and was hospitalized. Emotions were high as everyone prayed for her recovery - she is such a fighter (and thankfully returned home just yesterday). A few weeks later, we came together in strength and good spirits to celebrate a close family wedding. The wedding was the uplift our family needed but it didn’t last long. 10 days after the wedding, we lost my cousin. His death was completely unexpected and it shook us all to the core. He was young and had so much life to live. He was such a jolly, loving, hard working, honest and joy-filled member of our family. He had such a pure heart. It’s still so hard to believe that he’s actually gone. Nobody saw it coming. Hours before he left us, he was visiting with family members and chatting with neighbours - just being his lively, welcoming self. We are in a state of shock and dismay. His death came so suddenly, like waking up to an earthquake. It feels as though we are living in a mental blur, still trying to piece together what happened.

Throughout this emotionally difficult time, I’ve been reflecting on life and death, perhaps as part of my own personal grieving process. I keep asking myself what I can learn from the tragic losses my family has recently faced. The thing is that death is guaranteed to become a reality for every single one of us. No one is protected from death - neither young nor old. We are powerless against it. Yet, we tend to forget this truth, as we get caught up in the many “distractions” of life, spending our living days without that ticking clock in mind. I’m not saying we should live every waking moment in constant fear and anticipation of death. It’s not about fear of death but rather, acceptance. If we deeply accept and internalize that our time will come and we have no control over when that day will be, perhaps that will ignite and awaken us to use the time we’ve been given towards the absolute best possibilities. As I reflect on the many thoughts and emotions running through me over the past several weeks, I think about the raw learnings that I have. I hope you too will sincerely contemplate what these learnings mean for you and how you’re approaching your life. No one has it all figured out. We are all works in progress, taking it one day at a time. But the more we keep this stuff top of mind, the better our chances are of living life fully, without regrets.

We all have an expiry date

Just like a carton of milk, we all have an expiry date. Life is so short and temporary - this means 2 things:

1) Stop sweating the small stuff. Let things go. Don’t find reasons to complain about things that in the grand scheme don’t matter. Adopt a big picture mindset. When you find yourself getting upset about someone or something, try to pause, zoom out and ask yourself if this issue that is bothering you right now will even matter in a year, a month or a week from now. Chances are it won’t. Awareness of the ego mind (the thing that’s constantly on and causing all that noise in your head) and disidentifying from it will help with this. How? Because the things we stress about always stem from a place of ego. Ego being anything that isn’t your true self (you are an infinite soul - not a body/human). So anything that comes from a place of identification with or attachment to your body, the story of YOU or any material form = ego. When you find yourself getting upset ask who is upset - you (infinite soul) or that sensitive ego that constantly feels the need to protect/defend itself? Just smile, breathe, pause, surrender, laugh, accept, look for the silver lining - LET IT GO. Easier said than done, I know. But we need to keep working on this. Conquering the mind is the true purpose of life. But why should we care? Because the most tragic way to live (and then die) is lost in the confines of your ego-driven mind (negativity, drama, scarcity mindset, lost in materialism/attachments/superficial things, etc). If you operate from a place of higher consciousness (big picture mindset) with a perspective of oneness, abundance and connectedness with everyone around you, you align with the Universe, experiencing a state of bliss/joy/nirvana. In other words, the most beautiful life possible - peace of mind, inner contentment and joy - is within reach if you want it.

2) How you spend your time is super important. We all have an expiry date so that means our time is very limited and precious. Do you want to spend that time operating from a place of fear or a place of love? Something changes in us from childhood to adulthood. We put up our guards, parts of us harden into clay, we adopt the belief of “other-ness” and we all become extremely “busy”. How do we return to that child-like quality of being open, curious and loving towards one another? Think of a small child smiling at you with the most loving gaze. You used to be that child. What happened? Be kinder than is necessary. See the ONE in everyone. Bring love and positivity into every interaction, whether with a loved one or a complete stranger. How differently would you show up if every person you interact with today was going to die tomorrow? Seems morbid to think this way but it could be a reality, for them or for you. Don’t hold back on telling people you love them. Express it. Replace your ego with honesty. Much better to be overflowing with love and expression than pained with the regret of restrained and bottled emotions. Push thru the uncomfortableness. Think about the people in your life who you cannot imagine living without. Make an intentional decision to prioritize spending more quality time with them, especially your parents, siblings and grandparents. Everyone is too busy, pick up the phone, plan that potluck, take your Mom out for a nice meal or to see a movie, get the friends or fam together for a weekend getaway. Don’t wait for them to call or text you - take the initiative. Love only attracts love. Reach out and start a chain reaction. Just do it. You will not regret it. Again, you do not have infinite time. None of us do. At some point, time will be up.

Cherish your family

Growing up in a big, tight-knit, loving family has been one of my greatest joys in life. When I’m surrounded by my large and lively family, I feel like I’m home. This past month, I realized the power and strength of family to an extent I had not before experienced. The tragic losses we faced have reinforced our greatest blessing - each other. We are incredibly lucky to have a family that is so close and connected. Everyone has come together in such a loving way to give each other strength in these difficult times. Every obligation and priority was dropped to gather on a daily basis to spread love, run errands, make meals, grieve and reminisce, cry and laugh and instill faith and strength. We made sure that my cousin’s house was full of family, love and community - and we will continue to do that. I love that our idea of a low-key family dinner is 70 people (no joke) showing up to make a meal and eat together. My heart is so full just thinking about how much I love my family and how they have given me so many reasons to love deeper and to feel deeply loved throughout the past month. Perhaps that’s also why the loss of my Aunt and cousin has been so difficult for us because family truly is everything for us. Family is precious and you realize just how precious when you lose a family member. And family doesn’t have to be based on blood lines. Family is anyone who feels like home for you. Look out for one another. If you know someone is struggling, check in on them and remind them they are not alone. Hug and kiss your loved ones. Tell them you love them. Even if that’s not something you grew up doing, start doing it. Even if it’s awkward or “corny” or not “macho” just do it. No harm was ever created through more love and affection.

Remember who you really are

Beyond the flesh, the body, the hair and the story of you, exists a content, infinite and powerful energy - your soul. That is who you are. We forget this once we adopt a body and personality, among other attachments and identifications. This is a core spiritual belief of mine but witnessing the lifeless body of my cousin made it all come home for me. As I stared through heavy tears at his body, and touched his ice cold forehead, I realized it looked like him but the thing that made him HIM, the thing that gave him life, and enabled him to see, talk, hear, touch, walk, love and laugh - that thing was gone - it had left the body. That “thing” is the soul - the infinite, energetic life force that “turns on the lights” inside our flesh and bone-filled bodies. The love and attachment we have with a loved one’s personality and character and all their quirks and “isms” are all powered by the soul, not the body. It’s interesting how once someone dies, everyone begins to refer to them as “the body” rather than by name. Because the name/personality/identity is gone. The body dies but the soul never dies. And yet, ironically, while we’re alive, we’re so attached to and identified and obsessed with the body - both ours and others. Looking at a dead body makes you realize how misguided we are. It’s the soul we should be connecting with. That’s the truth of who we are, not the body. So, when someone dies, where does the soul go? It just flows from one body/form (vehicle) to another or becomes liberated in the omnipresent source of all life. Knowing this gives me some internal peace. May my Aunt and my cousin’s souls rest in love, light and peace.

Respect and take care of your body. Enjoy it. It’s the only one you have for the duration of your human journey. But don’t just get lost in the toning and adornment of the body. Go deeper. Look inside yourself and connect with that energy that allows you to actually be alive, literally makes you alive. I strongly recommend reading A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle and Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life by Wayne Dyer. These books have helped me connect more deeply with my soul. And it’s a commitment to stay connected because the world has many outward-driven distractions. Staying aware of the truth of ourselves will help us build a stronger and more loving relationship with ourselves and with others. And perhaps most importantly, it will give us a broader perspective on life and death, enabling us to develop acceptance (rather than fear) of our inevitable (unknown) expiry date.

In sum…..

Love deeper

Be kinder than is necessary

Live more fully - embrace adventure and spontaneity

Stop taking everything so seriously - stop taking yourself so seriously

Tell them you love them - push thru the hesitation

Intentionally make more time for family and friends

Open your heart to seeing the best in others - drop the judgment

See the ONE in everyone

Work hard with passion, enthusiasm and gratitude

Know your truth, connect with your soul - it will set you free

Knee2

#life #death #grieve #purpose #soul #love #family

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namjoonchronicles · 6 years

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dear barcelona | nj

Now. Incheon International Airport.

People ushering in and out, the sound of chatting in the ambiance, and announcement through the speakers declaring flights arrival and departures. Something is so foreign to you. You have never left the country, and here you are, leaping as far as your head could get you. The irony of a non-believer, finally believing what she loath with every fiber in her blood.

You held your passport and placed your ticket inside the flaps, so you won't lose it. Your hands are cold, shivering and trembling underneath your skin as you keep wetting your lips because it kept getting dry from the nervousness, the unfamiliarity of the atmosphere. Will you be okay? Luna signed. And you nodded, finding the words unequipped to decipher how you felt, but Luna knew better than to ask more. Leap of faith, something you have never done in your life. What if you found him, and he doesn't love you?

"Calling passengers of Flight BC1223 Korean Air, please proceed to Gate 9E..." you spring up and dragged your roller bag to the said gate. Stopping at the desk, you asked the direction of Gate 9E. The staff carefully instructed you that if you go straight this hall, 9E will be on your right and there will be Korean Air Flight BC1223 written on the top, "You can't miss it," she politely smiled. Her sharp work attire, neat and and dandy showed how trustworthiness should look in a person. "...Thank you very much, you have been a great help," you said and bowed repeatedly as you scampered away with your bags, sprinting. And the staff looks down to gasp loudly.

"Miss! Your passport!" She ran after you and handed them with a small brush of her hand on your back, "Be careful" She reminded and went away. There's not much people around yet. You thought you were late. Boarding time is in an hour. "I trust you've done your immigration checks?" the male staff and somewhat snobby appearance gave you a side-eye to which you replied with a smile. There's no need to steep low to his level and give him exactly what he gave you, an attitude. You were too mature for that. "I have no idea what you're talking about... it's my first time flying abroad, well. My first time flying anywhere, really..." you cared to explain to him. Slowly, he began to wane his stance, and asked you for your passport. Unlike the tone earlier, this one was a bit inviting and not standoffish.

His mouth frowned and his eyes squinted at your name, and the fresh passport. "...I think it looks great, names all registered, you have stamped out of South Korea and once you arrived there, you will receive a stamp in, and then once you come back, you'll have the same thing again... I wish you good luck and please have a seat while we wait for the other passengers to come," he finally smiled and put you at ease. He also added, "...Everything will be alright." You sighed out of relief and placed yourself next to the wide windows where you could see airplanes parked in their consecutive places, some of the stations are empty, probably waiting for arrival, holding tight to your roller bags.

Now that the chaos has finally died down, and all you had to do is board the plane, you smiled to yourself feeling rather proud that you've come this far on your own. His voice came seeping into your thoughts, and just the sound of it made you calm, "...Life is what you made of it. If you feel contented to waiting around for miracles to happen, then you're missing out on what the world had to offer, and the world, has a lot to offer...

Every places, every nook and cranny of the streets, are lessons no one could teach, but you. Every faces, every knowledge you're obtain, those are love letters. Love letters from God. Even heartbreak...

...and with every heartbreak," you rested your chin on your hand and finished his words, "...proves that we could heal." I really hope I can find you

I wish things were easier. I wish I have met you first. Maybe then I'll love you like I've never been broken.

One year earlier. Seoul.

Crystal ball casts a rainbow shadow on the walls of an empty little shop. Bell hung static behind a door that will only ring when someone walks in, kettle on a live stove, several mugs with dry tea bags on the side, the smell of lit incense evaporated around the small parameters, ensuring a peace of mind for whoever it shelters. "Peace of mind, my ass..." you exhaled through your nose, shutting the book of Astral Studies, having enough of the whistling sound of the kettle that your cousin left on the stove while she takes a phone call from her boyfriend. With fiery gaze, you burned a hole through her head, from the dusty window. The view obstructed by a pretty bush of red carnations your grandmother grew, that you remind yourself to water once you're done making tea. Your grandmother will come down from her meditation session and she will expect tea done just right. You twisted the stove off angrily that it clicks loudly.

Gritting your teeth, you duck your head out the opened door to the back of the shop where your cousin was, screaming, "You ungrateful piece of shit, your hair will go bald talking to someone you aren't married to!" Luna almost dropped her phone, chest heaving and gasping as she tries to fetch her phone into her grasp, slamming the 'end call' button before her boyfriend heard you nagging more. She turned her heel to face you and thinned her eyes at you. "Meditation hours is almost over, did you recite your daily mantras?" You huffed angrily, the fury still exudes from your entire body, marinating. Luna still hasn't said a word. Your bones trickle at the sound of her dragging her feet against the wooden flooring of the shop. She nods. Luna pouts after you asked her to bring the tea to the round table in the center of the shop.

She taps your elbow, and you shot, "What?"

You shouldn't curse. She signed. Your chakras will deterioriate, and your visions will be impaired

You twisted the faucet and let water flow into the sink while you ran your hand underneath it. "Don't worry about me, I just wanted a place to stay until I find a new apartment that I can afford and a job with my diploma," you replied, unfazed and watch her take the tray and set them where it belongs. Taking the broom and the dustpan, you sweep the floor carefully that the dust doesn't fly up in the air and pile on the other precious gems your grandmother kept on the shelves. With long list of loyal customers, your grandmother was able to pay off the lease and made the shop hers after almost two decades running under minimum pay. In the past, the first few years of the shops' being established, many tried to bring it down, accusing that it was witchery, practicing dark magic and an untouchable property because sorcery. Those were the tough moments.

A dark hole to crawl from, but you grandmother remained enthusiastic, determined and optimistic--or pretty stupid, you'd say. Most of the customers are superstitious to the point that they defied fate. Splurging money on things like fixing a cheating husband, a ruined household and attracting money--yes. Heaven forbids if your grandmother ever heard your inner thoughts, because if she had, she would have been saddened by it. That's where you shield most of your chambers. "Moonchild," her voice came from the stairs and you snapped your head to her direction, leaving behind the broom and dustpan behind, and "...is my tea done the way I preferred?" Her crackily voice, and shaky footsteps made you ran to her side and helped her down. "I did," you answered short, "...but the tea leaf was not of good quality, so you have to be happy with what I've made. Also, Luna is talking to that boy again. Are you going to do something about it?" You complained and helped her sit on her marble chair.

Her emerald ring on her ring finger flashes for a moment there. Luna is hurrying to scribble her mantras on the wall. "She's the least of my worries, you on the other hand, had been revising a plan to leave your abilities behind," she took one oddly calm sip of the tea, from the chinese cup. You drew meaningless shapes on the table with your index finger, pouting and blinking hard, repeatedly. "How many times do I have to study astral energies? Luna had moved on to volume 3 of the books. I'm getting bored of reading the same thing, over and over and over again, granny," you whined, puffing your cheeks. She slapped your butt, lightly and scolded, "You are two years older than Luna! But your behaviors are unlike those who are your own age...You're supposed to be in love. What do you even do on your day off?"

Aside from strolling bookstores, walking in the park, you preferred to stay home with all your familiar things. Rolling in bed until its noon, taking a bus town trips and back alone. Enjoying the serene surrounding of quietness and peace, where your heart is all you care about. Loneliness became your friend, that it no longer become burdensome or painful. It became you.

"Being in love isn't like choosing a cloth from a cloth rack on sale, granny... I just couldn't find the one I like," Men are trash.

Granny sighed, "...I know your Uranus placement would have made you despise the idea of marriage, I was hoping my interpretation were wrong, but I hate it when it's right. How is it possible for someone to have so much love but hate the sacred instuition that ensures the longevity of human race..."

Fiddling with your crescent moon bracelet, you heard Luna's footstep coming from the kitchen and next to granny. She brought along with her, a walking stick and a bag Granny uses when she has a client that couldn't come to meet her in the shop. "Where are you heading to?" You stormed, holding her bag while Luna tries to loosen your grasp, badly. Granny stood up after she finished her tea. "Take care of the shop," was the only thing she said. Luna drives.

"Can't we just go together?! It's going to rain heavily soon, and there won't be any customer!" you screeched but the car sped away nonetheless. Your shoulders drop and squinted your eyes at the dark sky, rain droplets on the skirtings of the roof, muttering to yourself, "It's really going to rain heavily soon..." You brought your hand to your chest, dragging your feet back into the shop, glancing repeatedly to the sky as if it'll change its appearance if you don't keep looking, and, "...I won't be able to look at the new full moon tonight because of this clouds." Thunder crackles in the skies, cloud rolling and speeding fast with the wind. The weather begins to cool and all you were worried about your grandmother. She always complains that her knees becomes stiffer when the atmosphere gets colder. You sat boringly in the shop, by the round table and looked to the shelves where the rest of the Astral books are.

Astral Studies Vol. 1 that you got sick of reading, left abandoned on your study table. You sneaked to the shelves and ran your index finger on Vol. 2 but skipped to Vol. 3; feeling mischievous like you're stealing an ornament, you pull it out of its row and began flipping the pages. Astral Volume 3 focuses on Astrology on Love and Relationships where Lillith houses are intensively explained. It begins with an intricated drawings of planetary placements and familiar terms but you went straight to the contents and it mostly describes compatibility between Sun Signs and Moon Signs. There's also, Venus and Mars placements that discusses about sexuality and seduction. "No wonder Luna is having fun..." You muttered to yourself. You flipped to the next page, "Soulmates?"

Incheon International Airport. 40 minutes to boarding time.

You were caught staring at a cute toddler. Shy and not someone with many words, you looked away, back to your phone where Luna is freaking out at Granny's demands through texts. She had never brewed tea on her own before and Granny wouldn't drink the one her boyfriend helped purchased from a nearby shop because it doesn't taste 'authentic'. Suddenly, a tiny hand poked your knees. The little toddler you were looking at, with apple bob hair and striking red pants is giving you a candy. You got down to your knee and looked into her beautiful blue-green eyes, cooing a bashful 'Thank you'. Her mother smiled back and gave her a thumbs up. "How old is she?" You asked, and her mother signaled, "12 months old," in sign language. Then you replied back in sign language, asking,

Are you mute?

And she signed, Yes, I am. I saw you calling and signed.

Then she moves to the seat next to you with the little toddler, beaming a wide graceful smile. I'm so glad to speak with someone who understands me. My child is normal though... I hope one day she'll get to hear my voice She looks fondly to her daughter. And you twinkled your eyes at her, and replied,

She will...

Is this your first time? She asked. You nodded. A place you wanted to visit? She tilt her head to one side. You shook your head, "Looking for someone..." . . .

Your grandmother's little shop. Twelve months ago.

When strong contacts exist with the Nodes of the Moon in synastry, there is a deep compulsion to be together. Asteroid eros in the temptations and sexual attractions. Also, trines. So many linkage--

Dings. The door bell rattle, the same time a lightning flash and a young men walked in, semi drenched and without an umbrella. There goes the floor I just mopped, you silently cursed. "...welcome to Moonchild House of Synastry, how may I help you?" You put on your customer service voice to this tall lad with baseball cap and he snapped his head around at you, proposing a wide polite shifty smile because he was taken aback by the sudden encounter. He passed a hefty look outside the shop through the large window and you followed. It was raining heavily, very. The sound of the heavy rain hits the roof and you were reminded by the hole on the corner of stairs, and gasped out loud, making the stranger jumped in place. He turned to you, and you breathed, "...if you steal something, I remember your face and we have a CCTV running." And then you ran up the stairs, fetching an empty pail at great speed, again, taking the stranger by surprise at a very animated character you don't usually show outsiders.

Namjoon felt uneasy. He heard numerous dragging, and grunts so he offered help. He pokes his head through the stair gaps and asked, "...do you need any help?"

"I... we're fine," you sighed, tiptoeing on the chair on the bed. The chair is wobbly while you stood unsteadily on it, you were determined to have the pail right underneath the leak, but it has grown twice bigger from the rainy season. You'll have to fit a plastic sheet over the hole, so you're trying to force them through the gap but with your unprivileged height, you'll need another chair to reach the roof. Wobbling more, the chair tilted and you fell. Namjoon's head snapped up when he heard the loud thud and rushed upstairs, skipping three to four steps up. "Are you alright?" A deep voice strike through the grunts and you grabbed your grandmothers' hair comb and pointing the blunt end at him. He held his palm outward and promised that he is no harm. "My name is Kim Namjoon, and I'm not dangerous," he introduced himself. You kick your feet and pushed yourself away from him to the opposing bed, your bed, where you lean your back, palms rested on the floor.

"What are you trying to do?" He calmly asked. You pointed to the leaking roof, rubbing your shoulder since you landed on them first.

Namjoon took off his shoes and climbed onto your granny's bed. He managed to force in, two more plies of plastic sheet into the hole and prevent the third from enlarging. "You'll need to change the roof soon, this is not going to hold on much longer... It's going to be dangerous if you leave it this way," you heard him say and you sighed. "Even if we take away all our savings, we won't have enough..." you casted your eyes to his feet, definitely larger than yours, your voice drifting into mumblings, "...its not like we're doing well these days. I've told granny to have those roof leaks fixed, but no..." His lips curl into a smile, and then to a grin and that's when you look up and caught his expression. For a moment there, you caught a twinkle in his eyes but it exists too briefly for you even rectify what it meant so you blurted out of a sudden, "You have dimples. Cute."

Then you walked out the room like you did not just throw a compliment out of the blue, causing the stranger to blush excessively and embarassingly. You have a knack of thinking that everyone is younger than you so you act like rather rashly to anyone. You also think that compliments should be given where it fits, genuinely, so it wasn't something that you hold your tongue against. Often too late to ever take it back because now he is stunned but you put on a fake front, "...can you. Leave the room because." You halted and he climbed down the bed and took his shoes, flustered. The rain is still falling heavily, visions are cut down and there;s so few cars around. "Warm tea would be nice," you blurted and glanced nonchalantly over the stranger, "...would you like to have tea, Namjoon?"

For a moment, he was surprised that you knew his name and then he remembered he introduced himself. He nodded, but hesitantly. His eyes were at awe at everything in that small shop while you disappeared into the back, making what he assumed would be tea. There's bronze turtle statue set next to the crystal swan with blue gemstone inside, and also pendulums. The ceiling was drawn in a shape of astrological maps with tractable planets with constellations he didn't understand but memorized. His eyes caught the book on the table, Volume 3, it reads. He didn't dare to touch it so he earnestly looked at it. There are sanskrit writings and egyptian hieroglyphs on the walls and several dreamcatchers hanging by the hexagon mirror. The smell of incense begins to fade. "...Where are you from?" Your voice broke the silence but gently, a very welcoming voice that soothed Namjoon.

"Up town," he sat down after you pointed to the seat, "I have always wanted to enter this shop but never had the time, and I walked at the park today before it began to rain. But it downpoured," he chuckled lightly and short. You avoided too much eye contact, it seemed that he was drinking you in with his visions, and it was odd because you're not the kind to get scared. Maybe it was because you have never shown your vulnerability to anyone and Namjoon walked in to see you on the floor, earlier...it felt strange. He understood your shifty gaze and looked away while pulling the brim of the cup to his lips and taking a sip. But the tea tasted so good that he came to focus into drinking them instead of looking around. It took his curiousity away, almost magnetic. He downed the whole cup at once, causing you to stare disapprovingly, but still polite in a way.

You both stayed silent, just staring at each other for awhile. Namjoon and you opened your mouth to speak at the same time but Namjoon managed to finished his sentence before you did, "...I'm sorry, I shouldn't drink it all at once, it was just too delicious, I have never tasted anything like it before," he blabbered, and you assured him that it's fine. "Plenty more in the pot," you smiled, awkwardly and poured him another cup. "I can see from your eyes that you don't believe in astrology... your logical mind blocks the possibilities of dreams," you halted your tongue when you feel you revealed too much about reading him. Namjoon blinks at you, wet his lips and stammered, "...it's not that. It's just. How did you... is it obvious?" You clenched your eyes shut, scolding yourself mentally. This is why you don't have friends, you keep on reading people. "...I apologize, I didn't mean to, it's impulse sort of like a reflex thing, when people walk in, I began to read them head to toe, it's...I can't control it," you ran your palm down your face.

Namjoon shook his head, "...it's alright! It's okay." It's interesting. To know a side I've never known. "How much do I pay you to read me?" He asked. Your thoughts flew to the leaking roof upstairs but your grandmother will shun you if you do psychic reading in the exchange of money and favours. But have you ever listened to her?

"...It depends on what you want to hear." With Namjoon confused expression, you decided to explain more, "...I can't do the entire natal chart yet, but I can do basic birthchart reading, palm reading and umm," your eyes shifted to Volume 3 of Astrology studies, "...Relationships and prophecies." Lies.

"Relationships prophecy. And birthchart," Namjoon spat, pretending to know what he is talking about. "I'm guessing you're a Virgo, or maybe a Scorpio, you have strong masculine aura in you... it's a compliment. Are you born in November or September?" You began and took out a fresh natal chart and a pen. "September 12th, 1994." He answered. You began to plot, and small talk while at it. Namjoon thinks its so cool that you plot the chart by heart, but really your hand just moves in accordance of the placements. "It seems like you've been to many places," you blinked at him and Namjoon felt his heart skipped but in a comfortable way, like a warm embrace of a lukewarm pool, disturbingly pleasant. "I travel a lot because of my job, and I always feel like I need to be free, shackles around my ankles doesn't make me happy," he added a dry chuckle and a sip of your tea.

You sighed, "...that's because of your Moon in Sagittarius. You yearn to freely educate and vigorously share your knowledge with the world, and you think you can't educate many people, by staying in one place," you tutted your tongue, tilted your glass. "...you find walks in the park, pleasant. Greens, I see a lot of earth elements because of your sun in Virgo...you like the sea, Namjoon?" You tipped your eyes up at him and he stuttered out, "Y-yes." You smiled gently, feeling satisfied that your reading are going well so far. "...Venus in Scorpio. That explain the masculine aura you have. Broken in love before?" Namjoon stayed silent, his gaze falls to the table and he pressed his dimples before looking away. "Painful, still?" You didn't sound tame but you were only stating facts. "I'm more curious about my future, not my past," he darted with a stricken smile. "Strong willed, possessive in the matters of the heart. Your Venus in Scorpio is showing, Namjoon," you giggled like an old friend.

"What about my future relationships?" He shot, impatiently. "That will only be found out through palm reading," you replied. He laid his palm flat upwards at you, next to his natal chart that you were completing.

Oh fuck. I don't know how to read palms, I've never done palm readings on relationships before... The volumes I've read are all birth charts. Fuck.

You hesitantly took his hand closer and you studied his love lines. It is abnormally straight. You know that it means that he is incredibly stable, a bit too conservative for his age, extremely affable and approachable. But in love, he would usually play a passive role or is shy. No wonder he looks away whenever he felt like he stared too long. "Your heart lines are long, and straight. It indicates a great fortune in career and wealth. But you've gone through major upheavals in achieving that," you looked up to him, emphatically. Because you feel the struggle he went through to get where he is. "...When a bond is broken, especially love... you feel extremely distraught," you trace your index finger along his heart line to show him where you're looking at. "That it feels like just yesterday when it's been many years...," you paused, and asked meekly, "...high school?"

Namjoon pulls his hand away, slowly. "You wanted to know your future," you scramble to get the charts back and began earnestly reading. The feeling of awkwardness filled the air, Namjoon turned away in his seat and lift his buttocks from the wooden chair. "I... it's getting dark soon,"he stammered, not from nervousness but from the discomfort of feeling naked under your eyes. He thinks he had revealed too much of himself, its unsettling. "But the payment!" You exclaimed as his hand enveloped the knob to leave and you notice him halting in his motions, "...you can't leave without paying, this is, business..." You chuckled dryly. He held a phone to his ear as you expectantly anticipate the call to be answered and when it did, he uses his social skills to deliver what you desperately wanted to do on your own, but didn't have the resources to."Hello! Taehyung!" He exclaimed, and you've never someone wearing a smile that big.

"...listen, I have a friend here that has a leaking roof, and I've taken a look at it and I think it's something only your boys can do, the whole thing needs to come off and the foundation isn't doing very well," he spoke while looking out the wide window at the rain still falling, showing no sign of stopping. Then he pulled away from the phone to ask you for a pen and paper in a whisper. "Can you write down the address for me too?" he added and you asked him to turn around so you could his back as a desk to write on, then you passed them to him. "Jungjil Hwara, 32 Shinmullo 8-ga, Hongdae-gu, SEOUL 198-700," he read them for Taehyung. "And for the billings, they're for me, I'll pay them," Namjoon reminded. You clasped your hands together and skipped in place, you beamed. "A friend, she's a friend..." Namjoon exhaled through his nose, explaining to Taehyung. The thunder strikes and the lights blasted off.

Eyes snapped to where the fusebox were. "...oh no," you muttered under your breathe. "What happened," Namjoon calmly asked. He heard the chair being dragged to where the fuses are, or where he thinks where the fuses are. "I can't see you, where are you?" He asked, and only then, he panicked, "Don't touch the fuse box, don't you touch them fuse box." One, because the thunder is still crackling outside, and lightning is flashing and you'll be risking your life if you touch that fuse box right now. "Relax, I'm not. The candles are placed to the box right next to it, I'm just trying to get it..." Namjoon used his phone's torchlight to find his way through the little shop and he thought he saw your shadows, but when he caught, what he thought was your arms, he flashes his torch to this figure, a dried skeleton was staring back at him. He yelps embarassingly loud, falling to the floor, head first.

With the small glint from torch of his phone, you pinpoint where he was and rushed to his side. "Oh my stars... is this your first time in a fortune teller shop?" You tilt your head as he pressed the heel of his pam to his temple, scrunching his face. "It hurts..." he whimpers. "Get up, you big baby," you chuckled. Namjoon sat himself on the wooden floor and thinned his eyes at the skeleton. The match flares fire and you lit several candles in the shop as the night falls while Namjoon pressed a cold compression on the back of his head while you try figure out how to fix the electric supply. "You need the roof repaired and the electrician to come over, it's very dangerous. It's rainy season now," he mumbled and you sighed to the chair opposed to him. His phone was dying. "I left the powerbank in the car," he disgruntledly say. "What is a powerbank?" You asked.

"..." Namjoon blinked twice at you. "I'm technically illiterate when it comes to modern things except for phone... it's a psychic thing, Granny thinks that it absorbs chakra energies and disrupt spiritual flow--"

"--it's a. Power source, if we need to charge our phone, but we have to move around, you just plug it in and your phone gets charging without having to stay at a plug. Like, an extra battery," he earnestly explained, "It's convenient..." he inhaled through his teeth, hissing and, "Your grandmother is a very interesting person."

Interesting was a right word. But to be accurate, you think she was, "...weird." You darted your tongue out your teeth. "...She is all, no gadgets, no modernization but loves using car. I made her tea with an electronic kettle before and she couldn't tell the different, that's when I know that the 'modernization disrupt chakra energies' is a whole load of bullshit..." you shrugged. Namjoon smiled, and his gaze dropped to the wooden floor between his legs. "So you live here?" He pressed his dimples by accident and you squealed with a huge childish grin, "You have a dimple!" And kept zooming in to see it closer, Namjoon turned as red as a tomato even thought he was slightly tanned, his ear helixes gave him away. "If I were your lover, that will be my favourite thing to stare at, she's so lucky," you gushed. Namjoon nervously chuckled, feeling hot all of a sudden and he felt the need to step away. "I should get some cold air, it's warm in here and maybe get the powerbank," you heard him say and your eyes followed him to the door.

He twisted the knob open but it's... It's. It's locked?

"Umm..." he scratched the back of his neck, perplexed, "...why is this locked?" You furrowed your brows at the knob and you couldn't answer his question because, "...it's never been locked before." You went to wraggle the knob yourself and it was true, the knob is locked, the windows and the back door is also locked. You clenched your eyes shut and leaned your forehead to the door, groaning, "...it's the stupid security system that I thought I already broke because it never works!"

Namjoon raised both his eyebrows and, "It works now."

"Yes, I can see that," you skipped to your work desk and took out a large phonebook and start flipping the pages, sliding your thumb on the tip of your tongue to efficiently turn the yellow pages. "What year are you living in? The 60s?" Namjoon gawked. "Don't," you snapped and showed him your index finger then continued searching.

Incheon International Airport. Food court area. One hour to departure.

You waited for the warm water to fill up to the line in the noodle cup. The flight is delayed. They excused you to get some food. Slipping yourself on the tall stool, you sighed into your food. You plugged your phone to the powerbank that had a star sticker on its body. He left them without a cable, but luckily for you, you can get the cables from a nearby shop to charge. Thumbing the star sticker, you whispered and smiled, adoringly, "...I'll find you your moon."

Carrer de Mallorca, Barcelona. Yesterday.

The moon sticker on his bag's keychain, his breathe caught in the summer wind, exhaling your name. Standing before Le Sagragia Familia Cathedral, he clenched his eyes. "What am I doing?" He ridiculed himself.

He prayed.

Like prayers, he clenched his eyes in a small memorial of your sweet laughter, the trickling raindrop falling atop of his shieldless head. He turns his attention to a baseball cap sold by a immobile vendor stall, asks for the price and paid in full without much question. Then he fastens them on. His dimple dip at the familiar sight of the wet ground, watching the cyclist on his cycle, going through a puddle in the road that he avoided. Safe. It was a mistake to come here. The park is now filled with couples that he is envious of. All the conversation he dreamt of having, clenched fist on his side that longs for another hand to hold, the luxury of speaking and being heard, to speak and be listened to--the privilege of belonging to someone, somebody.

Amongst these people, is there none for me?

But he walked away from his instincts, and left you there. In that little shop, in Hongdae. Thinking that he finally knew his destination. He walks aimlessly and caught a taxi.

Moonchild House of Synastry. Twelve months ago.

"Found it! I have found the instant noodles!" You exclaimed, Namjoon almost dropped the candle holder, "...but there's only one." Your voice toned down. Sharing the tiny noodle cup, Namjoon shed off his jacket hours ago and only wore his white Tees while you were still in your colorful hanbok. Taking a final slurp and Namjoon threw his head back in satisfaction, groaning, "...Noodles are the best when it's raining." You drink the leftover soup but Namjoon stopped you, "...that's not how you eat the soup..."

You looked into the rice pot and there's a bowl and a half of cooked rice inside. Namjoon plopped them inside the noodle cup and handed them to you. "I'm not hungry," he said to your questioning eyes.

10.05PM and Namjoon was laying on the floor covered with blanket, staring at the wall. He rested his hand behind his head and you lay yours on the yellow book page. "Have you tried reading your own fortune?" His voice low now. "No..." you whispered. "Why not? That's the first thing I'll do if I'm a psychic..." he gushes and you giggled along with him. The laughter dies a bit and you hummed.

"I'm afraid," you paused, blinking to the ceiling of drawn constellation, "...of what I'll see. Of what it''ll reveal. Takes away the element of surprise, you know..." you glanced at him, "I don't want to let it define me."

Namjoon pursed his lips, and his brows furrowed, deep in thoughts. Not agreeing nor disagreeing with the fact. "You have the possibilities to know where you're heading in life, and you chose not to..." he stated. You switched on your elbows and watched him with a big smile, "It's unfair for people like you who can't."

"So you get to see my future, but I can't see yours," he challenged you. "No. There's nothing about me worth knowing!" You gurgled. "There's everything about you, worth knowing," he shot back.

You casted your eyes down his nose and paused on his luscious lips before turning away and switching to your back, clearing your throat.

"I like movies. I love coffee, not tea. I sometimes sneak out of the shop at midnight to walk in the park, that's why the roof is leaking..." you blabbered, and blinked at the dangling star, "...I like watching the moon, and the sound of cars..."

Namjoon shook his head a little and, "What's your greatest fear?"

"To be in love." . . . The door unlocks. The lights were back on and it finally stopped raining. The time was 2AM.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay alone? Should I wait until the sun come up?" He returned from his car, fetching the powerbank. You nodded. He helped you plugged them in and decide to stay until the sun come up despite your protests. You both talked until there's golden rays evading the window. He spoke about his high school lover who broke his heart, and about how his family was against what he does, and while he spoke, you placed a moon sticker on his wallet while he sticks a star shaped one to the powerbank. You spoke about never wanting to be in love or being married, to which he was suprised about.

"What can I say? I'm unconventional. I can't wait to get an apartment and live on my own, and a real job and not this," you raised your voice a little and he chuckled. "What do you want to do first, when you get one?" He asked, switching on his elbows as well, your shoulders touched. "I want to furnish it will cute furnitures and lightings and a little dining table for two. I don't need a TV," your eyes brightens at the idea. "Your eyes sparkles... wow, they really twinkle," he suddenly say, zooming in to see better just like you did when you saw his dimples. When you both gaze up, your face was too close for comfort.

His breathes fanned on your skin and your smile slowly disappears as your eyes melt into his brown orbs, shining hazel golden from the sun rays outside. "I have never spent a whole night with a men before," you breathed, his hand slowly moved upward and he gently thumbed your lower lips. His eyes plastered on your chin, your cheek and rested finally on your lips.

"Can I... kiss you?" Namjoon spoke in a small voice.

You couldn't even blink because you were afraid that the moment will dissipate so you nodded a bit, but hesitantly. He knows better than approach you forcefully, because that will scare you away, so he moves in achingly slow and in calculated actions, scooting closer to you with his elbows before closing his eyes and embraced your lips lightly, far too lightly. Like a feather. Soft and fuzzy.

He repelled slightly, but your nose were clashing. "Was that okay?" he asked linking his forehead with yours, with a gentle smile, his eyes still closed. "One more? Please?" You asked, before you could even stop yourself. And this time, you initiated the kiss.

A bit sloppy and hastily, but only because you were in the moment. "This was a mistake," you suddenly say. Namjoon's smile slided away. "I shouldn't have let you..." you added.

Namjoon's pained expression wounded you, so you look away. He stood up after you and, staggered in his steps and gathered his things, his jackets. His hand lunged to the powerbank that is charging your phone, but stopped midway and he bit his lips. "...Taehyung will come and fix your roof, that's his number on the table," he stepped out of the door. "I had a lovely night," you smiled at him, the pleasantry wasn't returned and you understood why. "...Best of luck, in your life," Namjoon shot dryly and clicked his car door open. He drove a Black Jaguar. "Here at Moonchild House of Synastry , we inspire to give you the best of your sta--" you recited the company's little farewell speech but Namjoon's engine proved to be louder and that he wasn't going to listen to any of your bullshit. Black Jaguar left in the almost empty street in a weary early morning.

A chunk of you left along with him. But your pride will never let you admit that. You walked back into the shop with a sigh. All that's left to do is wait for Granny to come back.

She did, a few days later.

Luna was one of the first to notice the natal chart that belonged to Namjoon, she signed,

Did we have a customer?

"Yes," you sighed, "One." Luna took a closer look to on his birth chart and before she could signed anything you told her, "...but I couldn't read his palm, nor did I have visions. All the things I told him were based on his planet placements which is basically what all astrologers could do... I lied about everything..."

Luna scrambles to the rack book and took out your natal chart. She threw you a pen to get your attention and she signed,

Dummy! Your birth chart and his are aligned!

"...So?" You sang, unexcitedly.

She came next to you and pinched your flesh, until you whimpered,

Psychic cannot see their soulmates' future!

"Holy shishkebabs..." your eyes widens.

Find him! Luna jumped in place, pulling you to the door.

"I can't. I told him to move country...To Barcelona."

Well Luna gritted her teeth and crossed her arm at you, Guess who is going to Barcelona? She eyed you, up and down.

"With what money, Luna... He'll be long gone before I could afford the flight ticket."

Luna shoved rushed to the pile of old newspaper and slapped them on the table you're on. "What...what is it?"

She skips to the middle of the newspaper and flipped them for you to see. You read and, "...oh. Ohhhh...." Like a revelation. "But Granny won't approve..." You were suddenly afraid.

Luna placed her hand on her hips and shrugged, What granny doesn't know, granny doesn't have to approve...

Your lips curled into a mischievous smile and you folded the newspaper into your hand, skipping outside and stopped a taxi, "Hwangdang Supermarket please."

The grand prize is cash money, with a plane ticket to anywhere you wanted to go. All you had to do is predict the color of four balls that will be drawn in the future. It was pure luck for everyone else but not for you. You bought seven other tickets to minimize the risk of getting caught, thus carefully, you start to fill the blanks with predicted colors.

Upon touching the ball baskets, you clenched your eyes shut and let the universe tell you.

"Yellow," You saw in your visions, and "Green. Green," you breathed.

"Leaving the family behind for a boy!" Your hand suddenly froze as you were reminded by your grandmother screaming at your mother. You were little. "I love him... I love him..." your mother whimpered and scathily walked away with that man. It was the last time you seen her because she died in a car crash with that man. "Mom! Mom, don't leave me, please..." Your nails raked the concrete floor at her but she didn't look back, not even once. That was the last conversation you had with her.

That's why you don't want to be in love. Love, stole your mother away from you.

But I deserve love. You whispered.

You wrote the final color, "blue..." on that form and inserted them into the box.

Carrer de Mallorca, Barcelona, Spain. Midday.

Amongst these people, is there none for me?

But he walked away from his instincts, and left you there. In that little shop, in Hongdae. Thinking that he finally knew his destination. He walks aimlessly and caught a taxi. He climbed in and,

"¿Puedes llevarme al aeropuerto?" Can you take me to the airport?

Gate 9E, Incheon International Airport.

"Passengers of Flight BC1223 to Barcelona please approach the desk for final clearance and prepare for boarding," the announcement goes and you saw the airplane on the next station arrives as well. You gathered your roller bag and bit your smile, holding your passport tight to your chest, feeling giddy.

The male airline staff gladly took your passport and smiled wide at you.

When you were allowed to walk into the bridge of the airport leading to the airline, you were at awe with everything...

"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to South Korea Incheon International Airport. Local time is 5.00pm sharp, and the temperature is 23 degrees..." Namjoon snaps open his seatbelt and turned his phone on, before anything else. He was required to report his arrival so his driver knows that he's coming. He wants to get the deal over and done with so he could put this behind him.

"Yes, I'm here... we'll be going straight to company, yes?" His seating section was first class and was first to leave, greeted farewell by the stewardess. "...On behalf of Emirates Air and the entire crew, I'd like to thank you for flying with and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Enjoy your stay..." The announcement continued.

You couldn't help snapping pictures of this once in a lifetime view and can't wait to show it to Luna later when you return. Meanwhile, announcements were propelling dimly through the barricades of the wall, that you guess for the airplane that just landed. The planes you're going to ride in are filling up passengers, while the next one to you is unloading passengers.

Namjoon had his sunglasses on, with a small tote bag on his side, "...Flight KA2312 from Barcelona, Spain has safely landed in Incheon International Airport."

You were scrambling for your powerbank that has magically gone missing so you ran back to the desk and tried to get it but the security caught your arm, "...I left my powerbank," you nervously chuckled and pointed to where you last left it. Its chord dangled down the seat.

Namjoon went out the arrival gates and you walked into the departure, right next to each other, unaware.

How many of us, are victims of missed chance?

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