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thebookofyouandi · 3 years

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Oh, the sounds you make

Pairing- Andy Barber x reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS- Rape!, Forced sex, Poorly written smut (unprotected sex, violence), non-con, , violence, Minors DNI, angst (hurt reader), abuse, swearing

Summary- You come to Andy looking for help, only to be betrayed by his desires.

You shivered uncontrollably, pulling your thin shirt sleeves into your hands in a feeble attempt to keep yourself warm. Your breath was condensing in front of you, the rain pouring down torrentially on the dark and completely empty streets.

“Just a few more miles”, you promised yourself. “Just a few more”.

Your car had shut down in the middle of nowhere, and on top of that, the rain and the lack of your phone signal made things infinitely worse. Your chest hurt with the cold, your eyes blinking constantly to keep out the rain. You needed to reach Andy’s house- it was your last resort.

Your fingers were so numb that you had to attempt thrice before you could ring the doorbell. Andy opened the door a few moments later, his eyes widening as he took in your state of mess.

“Y/n! What happened!?” He quickly pulled you into his living room.

“M-m-my car-” You began to speak, then gave up, your teeth chattering like a jackhammer.

“Shit, you’re soaked! Wait, let me get you a towel.” Andy rushed into the kitchen, leaving you there standing, soaking his carpet.

It took you an entire thirty seconds to pass out on the floor with a thud.

“Y/n? Are you o-” Andy saw you on the floor and gritted his teeth, rushing to your side, picking you up in his arms and carrying you to his bedroom upstairs. He decided to remove all your wet clothes or you’d be down with hypothermia in no time.

In all the times Andy had dreamed of seeing you naked, he had never imagined it would be like this. You were his best friend, but you had never seen him as anything more than that. He had wondered what you would look like under those too many layers of clothes, and he had gone to sleep on multiple occasions fantasizing about your curves and how they would fit in his large hands.

And here you were, lying unconscious on his bed, skin turning blue due to the cold. Andy peeled off your thin white shirt and yellow skirt, and when he pulled off your bra and panties off, his hard dick almost forgot what he was supposed to do with you- take care of you.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you warm.” He murmured to you as he pulled you close to his shirtless body. He wanted to fuck you so bad, especially with your soft pump lips just begging to be kissed till they were bruised, but what could he do? There were boundaries he needed to respect, after all.

He was rubbing your back in circular motions when you moaned softly, pressing your cheek to his chest. Andy froze.

“Hey, hey baby, you awake yet?” He whispered, stroking your other cheek. You moaned again, and he groaned. That sound you had made was enough to send his head spinning. He had sworn he couldn’t get any harder when he had seen you naked a few moments before, and yet, all he could remember now was that he wanted to fuck you till you couldn’t make a sound no more.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “You can’t fuck her Andy-she’s your-”

You let out another moan and shuffled so your hand rested almost on top of his rock hard dick.

Andy gave up on all self-control he had ever had. His eyes darkened with a hunger that would have terrified you had you been awake right now. He pushed your body off him gently, and leaned over you, his mouth pressed in a grim line. You were going to be his tonight, and no one could stop him.

He wished he had had the patience to prepare you for him, but he was too far gone to care for anything apart from the soft, innocent, unconscious woman lying beneath him. He took off his sweats and palmed his dick before pushing your legs apart. He groaned again, then lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing his dick leaking with precum through your folds a few times.

He entered you in one swift motion, letting out a loud noise of satisfaction as he did.

Andy started off slowly, your cunt so tight it gripped him like a vice. But soon, he was ramming into your body like there was no tomorrow.

“Shit-fuck-fuck-fuc-shit you’re so tight angel! I never imagined you’d be this good! You are all mine, you were just made for me-fuck!” He rambled on, your helpless body making him even harder.

And beneath him, you let out a loud whimper of pain, your eyes finally fluttering open. Andy watched you stare up at him in utter confusion as you tried to make sense of what was happening, before realization hit you like a truck and you started to push on his chest with all your might, shaking your head frantically, your eyes wide with fear.

“No. no, no-Andy, stop!” You screamed. “You can’t do this! You can’t-STOP, I said!”

Andy kept rutting into you passionately, each hit jolting your body with pain deep in your cervix. He looked at you with hooded eyes, his mouth open, breathing harshly as he made love to your body. He grabbed your hands in one of his own and held them up above your head as he leaned in and captured your lips in a bruising kiss, not letting you go till you were almost out of air.

Tears fell down the sides of your face as he looked at you darkly, one hand roughly palming your left breast as he spoke in your ear.

“I have waited long enough for you, baby. You have no idea how hard I tried to play nice today, how hard I tried not to take you like I should have all those years before. But then you go and make those pornographic sounds like you did, and you expect me to still have even an ounce of control left?”

You were sobbing so hard by now that you choked on your own tears. You hadn’t stopped struggling under him, tired as you were. But what effect could you possibly have on a man as large and as strong as Andy?

He bent down to take one nipple in his mouth, and then he bit down, hard.

You screamed in pain. “Pl-please Andy- you are my friend- I trusted you- please-st-stop-Ah!” You choked on another groan as he pumped deep inside you, your back arching off the bed.

Andy’s hand found his way to your clit, rubbing it roughly as he bit your collarbone gently, before soothing the skin with his tongue. His lips curled thinly into a sneer, and he leaned in to kiss you hard again.

“I am sorry angel, but those huge eyes filled with tears and that perfect little mouth of yours are doing little to stop me now. You- belong-to-me”, he punctuated each word with a thrust deep enough to make your toes curl with pleasure mixed with pain.

Your screams were swallowed up by his mouth as he came inside you, followed by you soon after. Your eyes rolled back and your vision blurred as you came down from your high, panting hard to catch your breath.

Andy finally let go of your wrists, kissing both of them in turns as he pulled out of you gently. He lay back down on the bed and pulled you on top of him, your limbs too weak to push off him, or even try. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then your nose, then finally your lips. He chuckled at the sight of your beautiful face, wide tearful eyes staring up at him as you continued to cry softly.

“Well, at least we got you warm, angel.”

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shootingstarwritings · 3 years

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Keepin’ it in the Family

Manfred—Freddy for short—was a young man that spent his life in the shadow of his uncle’s side of the family. Meek, shy, unassuming, and more of an indoors type. “I’m more of a type B kind of fellow,” he would answer whenever someone asked him what kind of person he was. Meanwhile, Daniel Crawford and his son, Alex, were the exact opposite. Tall, strong, and always willing to get down and sweaty in an activity. They often dominated every family gathering and gleefully hogged the spotlight shined on them.

“Did you know Alex got a football scholarship… Daniel bought a second house… oh my gawd, li’l Danny got so buff last year, can’t believe he used to be my younger bro…!” On and on Freddy would hear until he got sick of it.

“Why dontcha join a team or somethin’, squirt?” his cousin Alex teased him while roughly messing up his hair. Although Freddy couldn’t deny his cousin was annoying and far too energetic, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. There was always an authenticity behind his invites to play football with his friends. He was brutish but kind. That was all.

Freddy’s uncle Daniel was a different story.

On a certain day during a family gathering, Daniel concerned Freddy in a hallway. “Perhaps if you applied yourself more," he once told Freddy, the disdain clear in his voice, "you'd get as far as my boy does in life." The rest of the family was just a few rooms away, but their cheerful voices were worlds away. “But until you do that, I want you to stop spending any time with Alex. Honestly don’t know why he wastes his precious youth on someone like you.”

Freddy didn't respond but nodded while glaring defiantly at the floor. He jumped back as his uncle grabbed him by the throat and forcefully tilted his head upwards. Freddy let out a sharp hiss of pain but prevented himself from screaming.

With a low voice, his uncle Daniel said, “Look at me while I’m speaking, you little shit. Don’t want your mediocrity holding my golden son back. Stay away from him or else.” He punctuated his last words by shoving Freddy to the wall. “Can’t believe you and your father are related to us. Well, guess we know who got the better genes in the family.”

Freddy glared at him as he walked away. It was painful, but he could endure. As long as he lived, he would not let this abuse break him. The day would come when he would prove him wrong.

However, it all came to a head about a week ago, when Freddy announced his plans for a graduation party. Most of the replies in the texts he sent out for his family were some variation of, “Oh, I’m sorry Freddy, but your uncle Danny is planning to celebrate his promotion at work that day. Perhaps you can reschedule.” As always, Freddy remained overshadowed.

“Bastards,” Freddy’s father, a rotund and balding man by the name of Benny, exclaimed as he saw the texts. “Can’t even spare a day for you. It’s always those two pricks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Freddy muttered, glaring down at the texts on his phone. How often had his family ignored him in favor of those two? How often did his uncle mistreat him to guarantee that his ‘golden child’ Alex would remain as successful as he was? The questions kept echoing in his mind until, finally, he decided to cut this cycle.

“If you want,” his father tried again, “we can spend that weekend just the two of us, son. We can travel and celebrate our way."

“It’s all right, dad. I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” said Freddy as he marched off to his room. He would have to draw up the runes and memorize the incantations before long. By being efficient, he would have the spell all set by dawn’s early light.

However, his father stopped him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder—a rarity. “Hold on son," Benny said in a tender voice. "I understand what you're going through, believe me, I know. I was never the golden child of the family either. Danny made sure of that." There was disdain in Benny's voice that Freddy had never heard from before, but he had little time to dwell on it as his father continued. "But, to me, you'll always be the golden child, Freddy. I just want you to know that." Then, Benny pulled his son in for a hug.

Freddy eagerly returned in, shoving his thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind for the moment. Now, he just wanted to spend time with his father. Dusk came and went, and the two bid each other good night as they settled into their rooms on different floors. With nothing to interrupt Freddy, he set off to work.

It began when he found a book of occult rituals and spells in his father's study. Never had Benny spoken about this to Freddy, and Freddy lacked the courage to confront his father about it. Instead, he took photos of the various pages of spells and tried them out for himself—another reason why he did not want his father to know that he knew. By doing this magic in secret, Freddy could indulge in his fantasies that were now just a spell away. Coaches, classmates, and neighbors all fell to his charms and rituals; fulfilling deviant actions according to his whims.

My father can never know, Freddy thought bitterly to himself as he drew the sigils on his rug with chalk, he’ll never know so he’ll always be proud of me, his pure and hard-working son.

Tonight would be the first time Freddy would attempt the possession spell as well as the first time he broke a rule he had set for himself when he first began to use magic: never involve a family member. Now, he read through the procedure on his phone and prepared to sink into an even deeper level of deviancy. A bit of the text at the bottom of the page was faded, but the instructions were all written out. It’s most likely flavor text, Freddy thought.

This spell would allow the invoker to project his soul towards an unassuming target. From then on, a battle of wills would begin, and the dominant soul would take over the body. The invoker is not guaranteed to be successful. Caution must be exercised, and a strong will is heavily recommended.

It was a frightening thought, but Freddy did not allow that to slow him down. His hands trembled with excitement and his heart raced with pure adrenaline as he pictured his uncle’s sexy yet punchable face.

In the heat of the moment, Freddy cast the spell alongside the rising sun. Once those accursed words left his lips, a sharp and painful sensation spread throughout his body. It was as if his soul was being stretched and twisted, like a rubber band. However, he just gritted his teeth and endured it as he always did. The suffering of a spell or his uncle’s harassment was all the same—nothing he couldn’t handle. However, when the pain continued to grow in magnitude, Freddy was afraid this spell was going to rip his soul in half.

Then came the release—the catharsis. The spell catapulted Freddy’s soul at a speed rivaling that of a bullet train’s. Freddy screamed both in terror and sheer jubilation as his soul traveled through the dawn-dyed sky. Everything, even the sun, was a blurry mess until he arrived at his uncle’s expensive house, where he finally stopped. He was back in control.

Slowly, Freddy glided through the halls of a home that alienated him for most of his life. While searching for his uncle’s room, he stumbled upon his cousin Alex sleeping on top of the covers, clad in just a pair of boxer briefs. Though Freddy intended to keep moving, he remained still and watched his cousin’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

“You deserve a better father,” Freddy whispered, caressing his cousin’s cheek with his ghostly hand. His voice and touch were nothing more than a chilly breeze on Alex’s bare skin. When Freddy noticed the goosebumps that spread down his cousin’s arms, he drew back and excused himself from the room. His target still needed to be punished.

A few hallways later, Freddy found himself floating above his uncle. Daniel, just like his son, slept above his covers and nearly in the nude to deal with the brutal summer heat. Even so, beads of sweat still glistened in his half-naked, furry body. His breathing was just as peaceful and gentle as Alex's as it passed through his heart-shaped lips. "If only you were as kind as you look while sleeping," Freddy said as he glared down at Daniel. Hatred and lust pushed him forward, and he gleefully enacted his plan.

Having spent quite a long time manipulating the wills of men, Freddy knew that the best way to overwhelm them was to do so post-coitus. “You’ll be my ticket to happiness,” he whispered to his uncle, “you piece of shit asshole.” He began by running his tongue down his uncle’s bare chest, giving the nipple a lick.

The effect was immediate. Daniel’s eyes shot open as he shivered at the paranormal touch. He looked around, perplexed. “What the fuck?” he said.

Freddy snickered at his uncle’s confusion. He pushed his uncle back onto the bed, one hand twirling and playing with his nipples while another teased the bulge hidden by the briefs. “W-Woah, oh shit!” said Daniel, trying to kick his invisible assaulter away to no avail. When the sensation didn’t stop, Daniel attempted to rise only for Freddy to roughly shove him back onto the bed again.

“I’m not done with you!” Freddy roared to his uncle’s terror. The rush of power was intoxicating, and Freddy greedily drank in every pathetic whimper and moan from his uncle. He pulled his underwear off, revealing his uncle’s large hard-on, and threw it to the side. “God, you’re thick,” Freddy moaned as he took his uncle’s cock in his hand. “C’mon, cum for me, old man,” he said as his lips played with the pecs. He continued to mercilessly play with his uncle, humping his body to elicit more of his moans.

“N-No—aahh, mmm! Pl-Please stoooAAAAHH—stop!” said Daniel as he felt his core tighten. Freddy noticed it too and quickly released his uncle from his sexual grasp. “AH! Oh fuck, I’m—ngh!” said Daniel as his abused dick begged for release.

“Not yet, that's gonna be my climax, uncle," Freddy said. To reward his uncle was far more than what the bastard deserved. Instead, Freddy would steal his climax, his body, and his dignity. “You’re mine!” he said, caution be damned as he dove into his uncle’s body.

“F-Fred—OOF!” The sheer force of Freddy’s dive caused his uncle to bounce on the mattress. “Oh FUCK!” Daniel cried out as he felt impossibly full. Two souls occupied the same space, and much like the shifting plates of the ever-changing earth, stress was born of this conflict. Daniel gritted his teeth, even more sweat coating his convulsing body as he attempted to hold onto his consciousness. However, Freddy’s essence continued to spread.

The possession spell operated on a similar concept as ink falling upon a cup of pure water. Slowly, the water would darken as it took on the shade of the ink until it was almost completely indistinguishable from the original ink that tinted—or tainted—it.

Just as the ink colored the water, so too did Freddy’s soul spill and tint his uncle’s very essence—mind, body, and spirit. Daniel, of course, continued to push his nephew’s soul out of him. He kicked at his bed and gripped his sheets so tightly his veins were visible in his arms. Until the very last second, he tried to will his body back under his control. However, he eventually collapsed onto his bed, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and blacked out. His body convulsed for a few more minutes as it took on the last remains of Freddy's essence, before finally quieting down.

Freddy opened his new eyes and immediately put his attention back on his uncle's dick. "Oh god, uncle, you're so sensitive!" he said as he continued stroking himself. “I-I’m CUMMING!” he bellowed as he shot load after load in his new form, seeing white as he fell back onto the sweat-covered sheets. “Oh my god, Danny-boy, I can’t wait to wreck you today.” Freddy would seize the day, and by nightfall, he would make his uncle a shame upon his family.

A few hallways away, Alex had his own visitor.

“S-Stop, uncle!” Alex screamed as the much larger soul of Benny finished entering his younger body. “Y-You can’t—AH! AAAHHH!” He whimpered and moaned just as his father did before collapsing into a mess of convulsing limbs.

Alex blacked out, and his uncle Benny awoke. “God, that felt good,” he said, stretching his new, muscular body. It was pleasurably sore after the workout he gave his unwilling nephew. “Ya got a good lookin’ bod, kid,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his hands down his new form. “But it’s my turn to be the golden child, if only for a day,” he finished, excited to have his hole filled in a day filled with debauchery.

Unbeknownst to father and son, there was more to the spell lost as the ink faded from the page. It read as follows:

Just as the water becomes nearly inseparable from the ink, the souls also become unable to be torn apart. There is no hope for the water to become pure and no hope for the ink to be whole. They are bound together for eternity, as are the souls tainted by the invoker. The invoker’s body will perish upon the spell’s completion, and the invoker will remain in their new body until the possession spell is used again, thus killing the old target.

#male possession #dilf possession #jock possession #possession #male body possession

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otomegema · 3 years

Text

title: Convergence Theory, ch. 2 pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: You are a lesser family member of the Gojo clan, so far removed you don’t even carry the name, but you carry the Limitless ability and thus the potential to be a bride to the future head of the clan— a fact you patently reject at fifteen. Twelve years later you are a second grade sorcerer struggling to obtain first grade status when the object of your deepest objections offers you a deal. rating: mature tropes: fake dating/engagement, rivals to lovers, slow romance Link: Archive of Our Own

It had been a logical move to allow Gojo to take down your number, entering it into his contacts with an obscene amount of heart and wishing star emojis by the brief glance you caught over his shoulder. It looked like he was already banking on your acceptance of the deal, but when you parted, your to-go sushi in a small plastic bag, you hadn’t expected to hear from him until tomorrow evening at the latest.

Or maybe even never.

But now, back in the hotel you were being comped for while in Tokyo, you wished silently that you’d never given that man your cell phone number.

Honey

Baby

Future-pretend-love-of-my-life

Have you made a decision?

He wasn’t human. It was barely 6am, did he wake up this early for lessons every day? You groaned, nearly swatting the phone off the nightstand in the dark.

You shot back a fast reply.

-oh I’m sorry

-I’m still recovering from getting electrocuted the other day

-Some asshat led a curse to me

You rolled over, managing to get at least another decent half hour of sleep in before the phone chimed again, lighting up the darkened hotel room.

\(★ω★)/

YOUR asshat

Should you choose to accept this mission

You threw off your covers, forcing yourself up to sit against the stack of pillows behind you as you tapped out a reply.

-My pretend asshat

-Mother will be so proud

The dots of his reply began immediately.

So is that a yes?

You sighed, rolling your eyes to yourself.

-Day isn’t over -Hasn’t even started tyvm

The dots began. Stopped. Began and stopped again, this time not reappearing. You tossed your phone onto the bed and teetered up and over to the coffee maker. The pot was finishing brewing by the time your phone chimed again.

You’re so slow.

The addition of punctuation and the sudden lack of emoji seemed almost like a warning flare that Gojo’s patience was waning. But you hardly knew the man and really, what did you care? A favor for a favor was what he offered. You didn’t owe him anything.

I have other options too.

His text continued and for a moment you frowned, wondering if his intention was to have that sound like a threat. You felt heat rising in your throat— he didn’t want to play that game.

So no pressure. Genuinely.

Oh. Good. That was better. You felt the tension uncoil as fast as it had grown.

Tho I AM your only hope for advancement <3

You could have thrown the phone right through the wall. Your thumbs worked rapidly, shooting out your reply in no time.

-Ah yes, your finest quality

A quick appearance of dots.

My special grade ranking? (･ω<)☆

You smirked.

-Humility

You’re no fun.

Text me when you are done being boring.

This was probably the most you had ever spoken to Gojo, despite having seen him on and off from a distance for the better half of your life. He was hard to miss. Every event at the main house would have him and his immediate family at the forefront. No one ever stopped talking about Gojo Satoru and his accomplishments and his strength and his skill as a sorcerer.

It was nauseating, having to pretend to nod and smile like it was all some great blessing just to orbit near him. It was bad enough he read like a sun to your abilities, as if he needed to be made to think he was anymore of the center of the universe.

Your palm itched. The desire to tap back a response now, a firm denial, very strong. But not stronger than your excitement at the possibility of being a first grade sorcerer. It was everything you had wanted. Prestige, recognition, tougher missions and the pay and rewards that came with them.

You were no weakling. Sure the telemetry technique took you out of commission, but it was hardly your greatest feat. You had finally been able to manifest the cursed technique lapse, blue. Granted, it was a one off and exhausted you so fully afterwards that you nearly fainted on the spot… but your tolerance was getting better. The precision of your manipulation of your cursed energy would never be on par with Gojo, but you could, some day, maybe even manage to shoot the technique off twice.

Reversal Red was next to impossible. And Hollow Technique? Truly impossible. The Six Eyes was needed to even attempt it. Most of your practice had been devoted to perfecting your long distance teleportation skills, fine tuning your telemetry technique and working on establishing your domain. That one was easier. The Unlimited Void crushed your opponent beneath an overload of sensory information, information you could easily channel and tap into with your own unique skills as a Limitless user.

But like all things, you were only second best. And barely. It was a joke. Comparing yourself to Gojo. He was on a level you could never achieve— unless.

You grabbed your phone, hastily dialing the new number and wincing at the loud, cheerful greeting from the other line.

“Good morning, moon of my soul, tenderest heart, darling—!“

“I haven’t even said yes yet, you monster.”

“Ah! A name of my very own? Be still my trembling heart!”

“I wish to make an amendment to the agreement.”

There was a lengthy pause. You could practically hear the slow spread of that sly smile. Content as the cat who caught the canary.

He knew he was about to win.

“Let’s hear it.”

“If you are putting my name forward for first grade, that means you have someone else in mind to be the second backer and someone in mind for me to shadow on missions and train with, yeah?

“I do.” Gojo said, his tone surprisingly serious.

“Have them put my name forward instead. I want to shadow you.”

Gojo laughed, a short mirthless thing, “What makes you think I have the time?”

“You have enough time to play pretend, I’d think any fiancé would leap at the chance to be with his lovely wife-to-be and keep her safe.”

Gojo hummed.

“Why me?”

This was an oddly familiar conversation.

“Purely selfish reasons. You are the best Limitless user. I am a Limitless user. I want you to teach me.”

“You aren’t on my level.” He said, no malice in his words, just simple facts.

“Then teach me what I can handle.”

There was another pause.

“I’m not gonna go easy on you just because you’re my girl.”

The bare utterance of the endearment sent a shiver up your arms and not an entirely pleasant one either. His girl. God, how would you even begin to explain this fake engagement to your parents? Who knew the depth of your jealousy and bitterness over Gojo since you were— what? Five? Younger?

“Since I am just your ‘pretend’ girl, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Your funeral, babe.” Gojo said, “But I’m glad we resolved this early! Because we are having dinner. Reservations are made, I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something pretty!”

Your words caught in your throat, stuttering across your tongue and unable to force out before the line cut off and he was gone.

You pressed the edge of your phone to your temple, already feeling a headache coming on. Something pretty? Shit.

-Something pretty? -Too vague. I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear.

A dress! Something for the evening. A Line.

V Neck def

Show off what puberty gave ya (＾〃＾)

Chiffon with ruffle lace

And grey-blue

-Why?

To match my eyes <3

-Where in the world do you expect me to find that specific dress in the next few hours

Downstairs with hotel staff I had it dropped off <3 <3 <3

-That’s creepy

(つω`｡) </3 </3

-Enough with the hearts -How much? I’ll pay you back

It is a gift <3

-How’d you even know my size

A gentleman never reveals his secrets

┐(‘～` )┌

You sighed and set aside your phone to call down to the front desk. Sure enough, a few minutes later someone brought up a large white box, tied with a grey-blue ribbon. You set the package on the small counter in your room’s kitchen and opened the lid, brushing aside soft tissue paper.

The dress was ridiculously soft, made of fine, nearly translucent layers of chiffon. It was a lovely color, the sight making you suddenly think of the feeling in the air before a thunderstorm, the smell of rain. The ribbon matched.

You looked for a price tag and found none, but folded away at the bottom of the box was a hand written receipt. You paled at the figure displayed on it.

-Gojo, I can’t possibly accept this.

Don’t be stupid. No one would believe I was serious about a woman unless I was positively spoiling her rotten. s’not like it broke the bank!

-Forget the first-grade rec

-Pay my bills

Too late! Negotiations are closed :)

-So what the hell am I doing at this dinner?

Eating Duh and being seen with yours truly easy peasy right?

You sipped your coffee, keeping the mug well away from the dress. It was certainly nicer than anything you had ever owned in— well. Ever. It was hard to argue that there were clearly going to be some additional perks to this arrangement you hadn’t previously thought of.

Plus we gotta go over some ground rules

-Thought you said negotiations were closed

-This mean we can revisit my bills?

g2g

Students need me!

Ttyl babe

The ease in which that man showered you so soon with endearments was nauseating. Had he ever even had a girlfriend before? Or just those usual moon-eyed women who fawned and petted him?

And now everyone was gonna think you were one of those girls. You drank your coffee faster, relishing in the way it burned down your throat and overpowered the bad taste in your mouth.

“First-grade… first-grade. Remember the first-grade.”

And training. You’d squeeze every possible benefit from this arrangement out that you could. Sorcerers worked in teams, but at the end of the day, it was every man and woman for themselves.

Let them think what they want when you were seen tonight. You would come out on top.

***

The day passed quickly and you found yourself standing in front of the hotel mirror, twisting back and forth to get a feel for the movement of the dress— and half practicing staying upright in the heels that had arrived not even a moment later.

They were high enough to be appealing, but low enough to keep you from falling over on your face. Gojo had texted an explanation that he figured you were out of practice in wearing anything other than sneakers and combat boots and to consider them training wheels.

You’d wanted, once again, to punch him in the face.

The kind of girl he liked was a stilettos kinda girl, you guessed, huffing to yourself as you sat down and twirled one of your ankles, stretching the muscle. Even the low heels were not entirely comfortable, but you’d manage.

Checking your makeup one last time, you picked up your own worn purse and slung it over your shoulder. Women who wore these kind of dresses and came in on the arm’s of other men and women like Gojo never had anything more than the smallest clutch— but you weren’t those women.

You made your way down to the lobby and were surprised to find a chauffeur waiting outside with a very very sleek European car of some kind. You weren’t great about those kinds of things, only noting the seats were made with soft black leather and there was even a divider built in like in a limo to give the passengers privacy.

The chauffeur ushered you into the empty car and you sat back with a sigh as silently he delivered you to the next destination. You had, in some small place, hoped Gojo would already be present.

Why he felt the need for such spectacle was beyond you, but maybe this was what was expected of a clan family son when he courted a young woman. It felt— weird. Nice, but weird. The drive was not overly long, the car coming to stop.

You knew this restaurant. Some fancy French-Japanese fusion place that charged a hundred dollars for a single plate with a broiled pear covered in wasabi or some weird shit. Already you felt your stomach churning with anxiety and encroaching regret.

This was gonna suck.

This was gonna suck so bad.

The chauffeur opened the door and you barely managed not to wobble on the pavement. Feeling stilted and exposed as other guests and couples regarded you with open curiosity and veiled judgment.

Clearly they were used to seeing the same people come and go from this restaurant and you were not one of them.

You clutched your bag tighter to your arm, hand reaching inside instinctively to find your phone and text Gojo you were out. This was over. Find someone else— when your surname was shouted from the door.

All eyes turned as if in sync to Gojo, wearing simple trousers and a white shirt tucked in. He didn’t even have a tie or a jacket, his dark glasses obscuring his eyes even as he looked right at you.

A few people tsked their disapproval, but they may as well have been ghosts for all the attention Gojo paid them. When you didn’t immediately make your way over to him, Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets and strode over to meet you.

He grinned, the lowering of his chin and the slow rise back up an obvious indicator he was sizing you up and didn’t care if you knew.

He whistled.

“Ow, ow!”

“Shut it— you know this dress could cover my rent for half a year?! And these shoes! I could buy a used car with this ensemble.”

“You even drive?”

“Not the point.”

He laughed again, loud and careless.

“Figured since you were dawdling you might need an arm to lean on.” Gojo said, offering your his elbow without removing his hands from his pockets, “Or perhaps…”

He feigned a gasp, “Are you feeling shy?”

“I’m leaving.” you deadpanned, managing half a turn before his hand was on your waist, turning you back. He took your hand, the feeling of his palm on your side still burned into your skin as he hooked your arm in his own.

You allowed it, leaning on him only a little. He looked pleased, smugly so, as he led you inside and to a table that was already set for two.

There was a wine glass sitting by your own plate. The one by Gojo’s was turned upside down and set to the side… a can of soda sitting, bright and out of place, in its spot.

“… where did you even get that.”

“Vending machine.” Gojo said simply and even kicked your chair out a little for you to take a seat. How flattering.

“Wine is for you, if you want it. Figured it might help take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to wait for the server to return and simply tipping the bottle of red into your own glass.

“What about you?”

“I don’t drink.” He said, cracking the tab on his soda with a loud pop. Several eyes filtered your way, whispers behind hands and napkins as Gojo all but drained the can in one gulp.

“So— ground rules?” you said, unfolding a cloth napkin and settling it in a half folded triangle across your lap the way you saw other women doing.

“Straight in, huh? Alright. Terms.” Gojo lifted one finger, “As already discussed, you and I will be ‘courting’— dating. Whatever the fuck. I’ll take care of arranging the dates, you show up, act sufficiently smitten and in about a year give or take, we break up.”

Gojo lifted a second finger, “Two. In exchange, I have two first grade sorcerers who will back your promotion. And, as requested—“ Gojo’s voice dropped a fraction, almost grumpily, “—you’ll come with me on my missions for your first semi-grade probation.”

“Now ground rules. At any point either of us wants out, it’s done. No questions asked. But don’t think that means you get to ditch and just keep that first grade appointment. I’ll make sure you end up right back at a grade two.”

You sipped your wine, giving your mouth something to do than form some very choice words at that moment. Gojo noticed, his smile almost a snarl, but the expression quickly vanished. You had a funny feeling trying to hoodwink or swindle him would end very poorly for anyone.

“And when you develop feelings for me—“

“If.” You amended quickly, but Gojo ignored you.

“—when you develop feelings for me. You have to tell me and again, the engagement is over. You can keep your rank. No harm no foul. I can hardly blame you for falling for me.” Gojo said with a wistful sigh. You were grateful for the arrival of the first course, forcing you both to fall silent for a moment until they departed.

You had no idea what was on the plate. Some kind of salad? It was hardly a mouthful. Gojo didn’t even touch his silverware and feeling less than impressed with the cuisine, you didn’t either.

You drank your wine.

“Barring sickness or injury you are required to appear for every date I set. Including the ones where you have to meet other members of the main family.”

You frowned, but didn’t object.

“Wait— what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is the engagement off when you develop feelings for me?” You said lightly, trying to play off your smile as wistful.

Gojo scoffed, his reaction almost enough to hurt your feelings… just a little bit.

“Non-issue. I don’t do feelings.”

“God, you sound like a fuck boy.” The words came out before you could stop yourself, the last syllable off your tongue right at the moment the server had returned to reclaim your plates. An eyebrow was raised and you hid your face down with a flustered cough.

By the time you looked back up, you got the joy of seeing Gojo staring at you from over his glasses, a broad and deeply amused grin on his face.

“Not non-issue. If I get the feelings rule you get the feelings rule. End discussion.”

Gojo shrugged, again not touching the newest course which was, to your extreme annoyance, some kind of grilled pear.

“You should slow down.” He warned in a sing song voice as you poured another glass.

“I’m not a baby— okay. So we got terms, we got ground rules. Anything else?”

“You can’t refuse my gifts.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply and he simply smiled and hummed with a shrug.

“It’s for appearances! Oh. Speaking of appearances—“ Gojo sat up, fishing something from his back pocket and sitting it on the table. You stared at the simple black box, fearing a vein might burst in your forehead at any moment.

“What is that.” You stated more than asked.

“Open it.” Gojo said, his voice light and encouraging as he nudged the box closer, “Come on, open it. Open it. You know you wanna, sweetie, light of my life, fire of my lo—“

You snatched the box up if only to stop him from finishing that sentence.

You swallowed hard, the sounds of the room fading out as you flipped open the box and found, sitting upon a small satin pillow— a… key?

You lifted it from the box, noting it even had a little custom keychain made to look like a white cat with a tiny blindfold.

“It’s to my apartment!” Gojo announced with a giddy laugh, clasping his hands together in a way that was entirely un-adult like.

“… I have my own place. Thank you.”

“In Kyoto. This is here, in Tokyo. Where you will need to stay for this all to work, remember?”

“Where will you stay?” You asked dryly, vaguely hoping his answer would be something other than what it was no doubt going to be.

“Very funny. You’ll have your own room—if you want it.”

“Why—“ your voice nearly broke and you had to take a moment to clear it, “Why uh— why wouldn’t I be wanting my own room?”

“Feelings are off limits, naturally. But if you want to take me up again on that offer from back in the day…”

The surge of cursed energy that rippled off of you was so strong Gojo nearly toppled backwards, his laugh gaining a somewhat nervous lift to it if only for just a moment.

“I’ll have my own room. My own locked room.” You bit out, feeling your face flushing hot and hating every second Gojo seemed to be enjoying your utter mortification, “Unless that is a problem.”

“Nope. Not at all. Probably for the best ultimately, I’ve been told I have a bad habit of dickmatizing folks.”

“… I’m sorry, you what.”

“Dickmatizing! Ya know. Like hypnotizing but with—“

“I got it!” You groaned, pressing your face into your hand. When did it get so damn hot in here? You snatched up your wine glass and finished off the contents, feeling even hotter.

“Is that all?”

“Unless anything comes to your mind, then yep.” Gojo finished, ignoring yet another course. You were almost tempted. The dish was some kind of meat, but the sauce drenched over it smelt sharply of something bitter and sour at the same time. You stomach recoiled at the thought and yet rumbled in protest to its growing hunger.

“So what do you think?”

“You’re disgusting?” you said flatly.

“I meant about the deal.”

You glowered openly at him. It was going to take a lot of practice to turn that deprecating expression you felt naturally pull unto your face at his sight into something loving and tender… but for first-grade ranking? For lessons on your Limitless? Fuck. Fuck you’d do it.

You poured the remainder of the bottle into your glass and polished it off in one shot.

“I accept.”

Gojo clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Huh?” You barely managed to get the questioning sound out before Gojo was up and out of his chair. You scrambled up, head rushing with the wine and the weirdness of this entire conversation. By the time you managed to catch up with him, he snaked out his arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you flush and warm against his side.

You about threw him across the room, but your attempts at a grapple were thwarted by the sudden thrumming of the familiar Neutral Limitless ability, stalling your moments to such a small speed you felt suddenly frozen.

The impulse to toss him passed and instead you let him escort you outside where the car was still waiting.

“Take us to the place, ya know the one.” Gojo said to the driver and in a surprising show of gallantry, actually held the door open for you to get in first.

“And open the back window. If she throws up, I’d rather it be on the pavement.”

You elbowed him in the chest— accidentally of course.

***

The car drive was a bit longer, taking you away from the glitz and glamor of this side of Tokyo and to what looked arguably as one of the most hole-in-the-wall noodle joints you had ever seen. The street kitchen was small, the counter open outside with a few bar stools. The smells of teriyaki and spices and cooking oils were heavy in the air and made your mouth water.

Gojo perched on one of the stools and you came to sit alongside him, watching as he ripped open a set of chopsticks and rubbed the splinters off.

He ordered quickly—yakisoba and yakitori. Along with several packages of mochi they kept behind the counter in the same kinda plastic bags you’d find at a convenience store.

Gojo had been right— you should have slowed down. The world had a light haze to it… a slight tilting. His hand on your back felt massive and overly warm as he guided you back to sitting straight.

“Eat, ya lush.” He ordered, piling noodles and chicken unto a smaller empty plate for you from his own, “C’mon.”

Gojo popped one of the mochi bags and dumped the sticky sweet confection right on top of your yakisoba. You grimaced, picking the sweet off and trying to wipe some of the sauce from it before you took a generous bite.

The food was greasy and delicious and abundant and cheap and your mouth was in heaven. Even having not used your Limitless since yesterday, every taste still felt heightened. Maybe it was the way your cursed powers tried to compensate from the wine, but everything somehow was more delicious.

You attempted to snag another piece of yakitori from Gojo’s plate, only to have your chopsticks blocked with a clack.

“Ah ah ah— hands off.”

“What’s yours is mine, right?” You chided, only to be dodged again in a movement faster than your eyes could perceive. Did he just use his Limitless to counter you? Feeling emboldened, you activated your own, the faint pulse of the energy so close together giving you the sort of deflecting feeling one experiences when holding two sides of the same magnet near together.

Repelling, shifting. Trying to shove the energy into a way that the two forces would collide rather than deflect.

You were concentrating fully. The minuscule movements invisible to even your eyes, but the feeling was there. A sort of blindsight where you didn’t need the Six Eyes to tell you what was happening— but it would have definitely helped. You flicked a glance up and lost your control, your chopsticks shooting away and nearly cracking one in two.

Gojo chuckled. It was the expression on his face that had distracted you. His eyelids were half dropped, his smile soft as he readied himself to deflect you again. Your energy was no match for his… but it matched. It was made of the same stuff. Controlled the same way. He could see, with the sharp clarity of his Six Eyes, every tiny precise movement you made with your cursed energy. A mirror of his own abilities in miniature.

He was playing with you. And all the sudden you felt as if a small knot in your chest had shaken free, the coil coming undone.

Was there anyone else on this Earth you could do such a thing with?

Feeling strange and suddenly shy, you drew your energy back in and refocused on eating from your own plate, grumbling at your loss.

A second later, Gojo’s chopsticks moved over your plate, dropping another helping of noodles in.

A small concession. A victory in it's own right, even if it had not won the yakitori.

“Sober up, will ya? But don’t eat too fast. I’m not cleaning up vomit, no way, no how.”

“You’re always so vulgar.” you murmured, speaking around a mouthful of noodles and mochi. Gojo turned and stuck his tongue out at you. A confirmation or a reprisal, you couldn’t be sure.

But regardless, it did something to you he had never managed to do before.

It made you laugh.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujustu kaisen #help ive fallen into gojo brain rot and cant get up

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stupid-stew · 3 years

Text

character names keep me alive, toh is my lifeblood.

i am literally obsessed and this show really does provide (i still have to add more smh my head dana terrace why do you do this to me jk i love it so much please never stop) COPY AND PASTED FROM DOC UNDER BREAK

NAMES INCLUDED:

FIRST NAME

LILITH

EDA

LUZ

KING

WILLOW

GUS

ASSORTED BLIGHTS

LAST NAME

BLIGHT

CLAWTHORNE

NOCEDA

PORTER

PARK

BUMP

MISCELLANEOUS

BELOS

HIERONYMUS AND BOSCHA

ADEGAST

HOOTY

OWLBERT

KIKIMORA

GWENDOLYN

RAYNE

NOTE EVERYTHING BEFORE GWENDOLYN AS OF 6/24/21 WRITTEN WITHOUT SEASON 2 KNOWLEDGE, TO BE REVISED, REVISIONS IN BOLD!

Hello and welcome to the ramblings of a mad man. Before we get into it I think you should note that I do write like I talk because I think like a talk and I write how I think, so if you are confused as to why it sounds like i’m not making sense its because I'm not making sense also my capitalization and punctuation suck so sorry about that but we don’t have time for technicalities in this house. TO ADVENTURE!

FIRST NAME

LILITH

EDA

LUZ

KING

WILLOW

GUS

ASSORTED BLIGHTS

LAST NAME

BLIGHT

CLAWTHORNE

NOCEDA

PORTER

PARK

BUMP

MISCELLANEOUS

BELOS

HIERONYMUS AND BOSCHA

ADEGAST

HOOTY

OWLBERT

KIKIMORA

GWENDOLYN

RAYNE

GILBERT

FIRST NAME

LILITH

Ok so because I'm lilith’s bitch we are gonna start with her because her name is so cool and I love her and we should be besties Lilith hmu. Anyways as most people know Lilith is a pre existing mythological character which makes this very much good because that means it’s all outlined. Most people know her as a demonic figure, which I very much dig but similar to our lovely queen of curses out here, that's not all she is. There isn’t going to be a chronological explanation of similarities and conclusions, cope. The basic gist is that Lilith was this chick with fiery red hair (this is important iykyk) who refused to be beneath or below adam, more specifically to subjugate to him, funny because of the tapestry with belos what says subjugation on it, probably a coincidence but I do not believe in coincidence right now. Anyways basically she runs off and becomes this chick who like snatches children and will make them sick if they don’t have an amulet with the names Senoy, Sansenoy, or Semangelof on them, thats a different story but what I find interesting is this one passage,

“(12) Her nobles shall be no more, nor shall kings be proclaimed there; all her princes are gone. (13) Her castles shall be overgrown with thorns, her fortresses with thistles and briers. She shall become an abode for jackals and a haunt for ostriches. (14) Wildcats shall meet with desert beasts, satyrs shall call to one another; There shall the Lilith repose, and find for herself a place to rest. (15) There the hoot owl shall nest and lay eggs, hatch them out and gather them in her shadow; There shall the kites assemble, none shall be missing its mate. (16) Look in the book of the LORD and read: No one of these shall be lacking, For the mouth of the LORD has ordered it, and His spirit shall gather them there. (17) It is He who casts the lot for them, and with His hands He marks off their shares of her; They shall possess her forever, and dwell there from generation to generation.”

And there are separate part of this that I find relevant, especially the description of the location, i’m not all that familiar with symbolism of animals in religious texts, so i’m gonna take it at face value and say that this is more or less a description that could be given to the physical owl house itself, sort of a place for people who don’t fit in, its a little messy and I guess one could say overgrown, but it’s a place for anyone, a place to rest now hopefully for Lilith away from the coven, there shall the Lilith repose. On top of that we see the “the hoot owl…” and you’re probably thinking what that so crazy wacko because like why are they referring to Lilith as the hoot owl isn't Eda the owl lady, yes she is. That’s why the actual meanings of lilith’s name that come from her mythological depiction as a demon lady are so important. We have night monster, night owl, night spectre, vampires, night hag, night creature, nightjar (which is another kind of bird), and night bird, all of these seem to fit lilith’s dark aesthetic very nicely which is very good for her, but there are two other ones, hot owl and screech owl, which draw her closer to Edaand away from the coven and her depiction in the mid-later episodes of the show as a monster for cursing eda, but also the name night monster could come into play if while sharing the curse Lilith acquired some of its traits, similar to Ed aas the owl beast. Ultimately, we have this little red head girl who eventually fights back against the men who are attempting to get her to be under them, for the character that is belos, for the other Lilith that is adam, god, and his angels, and now hopefully both of them will find solace and repose among the owls in a place they never thought they’d belong. All this talk of owls and god brings us into the other clawthorne baddie:

Lilith did find her repose! I love her staying in the owl house, get it queen oh yuh.

EDA

For this I'm going to use her full name edalyn, because you know like that’s just how it be it is her name. There isn’t a wiki page for her name like there is for Lilith which makes this a little bit harder but the general consensus seems to be that it means something along the lines of “gift of god”, which I find very interesting. If you are going to name a child gift of god i’m assuming that you are referring to the child themselves, but I don’t think that really applies to eda. I’m not religious, but its my impression that someone who lies, cheats, pranks, and steals their way to the top and isn’t exactly the most responsible witch on the isles and might not be the best gift god could give. I do really love Eda though, her character flaws are still a part of her character, but I think this refers to her powers. Eda considers herself to be the boiling isles gift to magic, which I mean like, have you seen the woman. In agony of a witch we see her at what probably 30% of her power with how much the curse was already tolling on her and how much magic she was probably using to fight it off, and like goddamn. She was almost beating lilith, definitely beating the shit out of her, but she was almost defeating Lilith who was at her full power, and that is just a fraction of what she used to be able to do. Her powers were a gift of god, and I think that the loss of them will greatly affect her. She’s already admitted that she doesn’t know how to do much without her magic, and I think going straight from the second most powerful witch on this isles to having no power at all is going to be incredibly taxing on her, physically and mentally.

Luckily for her the name edalyn also means patience, another thing about her name is that it not only means gift of god, but also similar things like gifted by the gods or even goddess, and this draws a connection to Lilith who is named after a demonic figure, casted out for having defied god, they are quite literally polar opposites on the name spectrum, and we see that a lot in the show, they are completely different people, I mean have you looked at them they don’t even look related, but the funnier thing is that their personalities do the same thing. You’d expect Edain her youth to be a gift from the devil, just ask principal bump, and Lilith seemed to be a goody two shoes who worked her ass off, their names could be switched based off their characters alone.

A random baby name site I found said that :

“Persons with the name edalyn are usually highly flexible and well equipped to making and accepting change throughout their life. They always seek excitement and are sometimes a bit of a risk taker. They are imaginative, and often, through their unconventional way of thinking, are naturally able to solve complex problems with ease. They are quick thinkers and observers who are clever, analytical and versatile”

Which I mean like very much applies to eda, she takes change like a champ, either genuinely or by pretending she’s ok with everything, and is always seeking excitement. Like literally all of the time. Always. I think she takes felonies as a compliment, and one of the biggest changes in her life that she genuinely was able to adapt to and appreciate was

OH MY GOD HER LEARNING THE NEW GLYPHS WAS SO CUUUUTTTEEE, I love her being able to adapt, she really is doing well. As the beginning of separate tides shows, she’s working around it, and is doing a damn good job, living up to her name.

LUZ

Ok I think at this point everyone knows that at this point the name Luz means light, and if you didn't, oopsies now you do. The character Luz was named and designed after a real life person the miss dana terrace knew at the time she was starting to really think about the show, Luz ’s personalty comes more from dana herself and we love that, but the character has really started to grow into her name. This is made most obvious when the first spell Luz learns is the light glyph, not only coming into her own as a witch, but also starting to live up to her name, which along with light also has to do with “Our Lady of Light”, which is the virgin mary, fitting her right in with the other biblical names we got going on here. I really want to stress that I know next to zero about religion, and all of the connections I am making come from wikipedia, so bare with me here. But most of the time mary seems to be this pure, saint like figure, which I think is what a lot of people see Luz as, especially on the isles. I’m going to flat out say that this is in no way meant to pass off Luz as simple minded, pure, or oblivious, because we have seen what that girl is willing to do, she faced death and poked him in the with an ice cicle. In terms of life on the isles, however, she is more or less pure and sheltered, she’s completely new to the world she’s in, but she does quickly adapt, and shows more of her strong side, and remains a good person throughout all of it, taking losses as they come, and not letting them remain losses at the same time.

Back to the whole light thing, we already touched on the whole literal bit of her and the light spell, but can you think of a better way to describe Luz ? She literally brings light everywhere she goes, even Eda admits that she’s changed things for the better, for everyone around her too. Willow got a new friend, probably the first friend she’s had in a long time, and even got to begin repairing her relationship with amity, and got placed in the plant track so she could do the things she loves, all because of Luz . Edagot to grow as a person and a mentor, and finally got someone willing to accept all her eda-ness, unconditionally, someone to really care about that really cares about her back, all because of Luz . Amity got a friend who cares about her, not just her family name and money, someone who supports her and will do anything for her because she is her friend, and a bit of self discovery along the way for amity, all because of Luz . Not a single person on the isles who has had more than 2 minutes of interaction with Luz hasn’t had their lives improved, even belos got his portal, and the thing is that even characters who people might not even consider changed have been, characters such as

Luz my beloved, she seems a little bit less of a light this season, and i do mean little. That’s totally fine though, it’s expected, i didn’t want her to just be this bright shining star after the events of the last two episodes of season 1, and appreciate her going and starting to take the fantasy of the isles with more than just a grain of salt. Obviously like in escaping expulsion, she’s still trying her best to make everything better and make friends with everyone, but there’s something a little different about it and i’m here for it tbh.

KING

The name king itself is obvious, he is royalty, the king of demoNS HIMSELF ASMODEUS hahahaha pulled a sneaky on you now accept my ideas as your own. I am on a mythological name kick, deal with it. The most important thing here is in the bible, asmodeus poses himself as a false god, which I know is something we have all considered with king, that he might be a full on liar, not be a king of anything and is just your ordinary street demon, it’s even come up in the show with him calling himself the king of artists and Luz asking him if he was just making it up at this point. It’s a good theory, I can see it, and this could be used as proof. There is also another legend that paints him as a good natured dude, who eventually banishes the king by literally throwing him, and then he loses his powers and is banished, but this is also the same legend where he marries Lilith and that is not something I am down for. There is another text in which he tells the king (the same one he threw in the other one) that his kingdom will one day be divided and the king does not believe him, and this is the same text where he admits to hating water and birds because they remind him of god. Lets think class, who has the god name and is related to birds here? King’s name by itself holds true to his character, who (regardless of if it is truthful or not) holds himself as if he is a king, and he isn't the only one with a name like that, there is also

WILLOW

Ok I know we all thought it, willow, the plant girl, how fiendishly clever. This also happens to be the only descriptor for her name I could find, which is totally fine because I think it’s a very cute name and willow is also very cute. This means we get to go into the symbolism of the willow tree wwwooooOOOOO aren’t you so very excited I know I am. Its kind of interesting, willow trees seem to match the character, understanding, warm, a safe space really, but most of all the ability to let go of pain and suffering, sometimes outright ignore it, and move on. Willow does always say out of sight out of mind does she not? She is willing to ignore, even excuse people bullying her, be it bosha or even amity, and the moment she got the chance her inner willow decided to try and literally burn the painful memories she had, willing to cause damage just to forget. Willow as a character is very willing to move on like nothing happened most of the time, key word most because another thing about willows is the ability to grow from the pain. Before understanding willow, we never really saw willow stand up for herself until she really had to, but hy the end of the episode she is willing to tell amity that she isn’t willing to fully forgive her, but she’s willing to grow and try. Heck, we see this over the entire first season, we see this little girl who can barely pull it together long enough to stand up for herself grow into this amazing character willing to publicly oppose the emperor and break into his castle for her friend, she tried to full out attack Lilith when 19 episodes earlier she wasn’t able to stand up to amity for bullying her. And I am in no way calling willow weak, she never was, she just needed to find the ability to show everyone that she’s strong, god I love willow so much, you wanna know who else loves willow?

GUS

Gus, my main man, love you but for this we are gonna have to use the full on augustus sorry babes. The name augustus means majestic, or venerable, which while I must say that the illusion of kiki doing the worm was probably one of the most majestic things I have ever seen, I’m going to focus on venerable a bit more here. Venerable is a big word, it means “accorded a great deal of respect, especially because of age, wisdom, or character.”, which for gus the age part might play a smaller part here, but he is good as what he does, Luz and willow both respect him, Eda Respects him, he’s this little dude who is younger than everyone and has to rely on his ability to succeed, not only with his power but with his personality. Gus seems to be confident in himself, communicating with everyone regardless of who they are or what power they hold, similarly to willow he was willing to do anything to help Luz , leading into the second description of venerable, “heroic in nature”. Now, you might be wondering, bestie where ever did you get that description, it totally wasn’t from a religious page okyesitwas but that's fine because being pronounced venerable guarantees a spot in heaven so get it bestie. Overall, the general meaning for augustus is that they are strong, respectable, and powerful, which takes us right into the

Gus, shawty, ily but please stop the obsession with death babes ur starting to scare me. I hope with the upcoming Gus content in TTLGR we will see more of him growing into his powers and such.

ASSORTED BLIGHTS

The blight first names bring me joy so I am putting amity last because I think its really funny, starting off with alador, the name alador evokes diplomacy, correctness, and confidence. We know zilch about alador, but if the vibes of the blight family have anything to say it’s definitely something along those lines. The name odalia means wealth, which I mean like have you seeeen blight manor? Also back at it again with the fact that it’s a variant of the name odilia, like the saint olilia which I don't have ties for you right now because again, we know nothing about her. Edric also means wealth, fortune, riches, powerful, you get the vibes, same thing with emira which means commander, or prince, princess, leader, or star. So you know like we have all these super powerful names happening, and then, oh boy and then we get to little miss perfect herself, amity blight. It means friendship, or harmony. If I was her I would be so mad at my parents like yall have these mad powerful names and I got stuck with friendship? Hand me the emancipation papers. You know what they say, friendship is the real magic (even if no longer taught in schools due to budget constraints). I hope that this leads more into season 2 with amity working on her friendships and ultimately her relationships in general, which we got a bit of already with her working on repairing her relationship with willow, and making the moves to cut off old toxic friendships and moving into more genuine ones with willow, Luz , and gus. I guess you could say that the only thing ALL the blights have in common with each other is their

They are rich assholes, alador is a little wacko, odalia is hot asf dana seriously what the hell man that was out of pocket. The only thing about alador that lives up to his name is his money, odalia seems more obsessed with image and money, and i too am obsessed with her image literally boy what the hell boy.

LAST NAME

BLIGHT

The word blight by itself means a plant disease which boy oh boy can you believe how nicely that fits into amity bullying willow because I sure can. Outside of just the plant bit it overall just means like something that damages another thing, and this works beautifully for each member of the family. The parents are damaging their children, the twins just causing general damage, and amity and her goddamn relationships, but fortunately that whole plant thing brings us into the next couple of last names

CLAWTHORNE

The last name clawthorne means “cold or exposed thorn tree” which had me kind of like what the heck so I went off and had some fun and got you some presents that I think are funny, so there was this guy right, his name was joseph clawthorne, and he created the term whiffenpoof, which is the name for a wildly fictitious animal, things like a jackalope, or even a griffin with spider breath, though I guess that would be the work of a

NOCEDA

Back again with the trees good lord, it means field of nut trees, so again I went into prominent people an found this guy named jorge noceda sanchez, he was a painter and some of his works are kinda baller actually it seems like something that would fit in on the isles, but also not all of the names have a deeper meanings, names like

PORTER

Ok I am like pretty sure this was just meant to be a play on the fact that gus’ dad’s name is perry and is a reporter, get it, perry porter, perry porter, reporter, but nonetheless I did some digging because why the heck not, it means doorkeeper, or gate keeper, someone who guards something like an important building, which honestly I think this would be a good last name for hooty if he ever gets one, but again not all of these are important names at the moment, or maybe they won't ever be at all, names like

PARK

At first I was kinda like l m a o willow park plant girl hahahahah plants in the park parks have trees willow is a tree but then I remembered that someone pointed out that park is a traditionally korean surname and then like a week later disney posted about it for aisian pacific american heritage month which kind of confirmed it, and I don’t know if the whole intention behind it was to establish willow as representation or not, but the surname park by itself means gourd and willow I am so sorry that is so unfortunate LMAOSIFN

BUMP

To be honest I was not expecting bump to have a last name that meant anything but it means swift walker and I think thats funny so you have to know it now

MISCELLANEOUS

BELOS

BIIIITCH LISTEN UPPPP there is a butt tone of mythology surrounding his name and its mostly a different form of it, belus, that is referenced, but same thing different shape. Most of his depiction is as a great king or ruler, in babylonian mythology being the equivalent of zeus of jupiter, which liiikkkkkeeeoajolnjojnkjakjavnjfvdfkjf but its fine everything is great its all ok most importantly, he is recognized as the god or ruler of war, and in that same mythology he lived in babylon, which “... was originally water, and called a sea. But Belus put an end to this, and assigned a district to each, and surrounded Babylon with a wall; and at the appointed time he disappeared.” and idk about you but the smell of him assigning a divide and disappearing smells sour like funky to me babes

HIERONYMUS AND BOSCHA

I am only putting this here because the fact that it’s totally a play on hieronymus bosch makes me cackle and you all have to know it thank you

ADEGAST

B-but brevyn he was only there for like one episode, yeah ok and? Radegast is the slavic god of hospitality, and there is no host like a host that pretends to take you on a mythical quest and then tries to eat you and your mentor and her deranged cat demon, ok? His name translates to “dear guest” or “welcomed guest” and I mean I think if my host tried to suck me into some fantasy would delusion i’d feel pretty welcomed

HOOTY

He is an owl

OWLBERT

He is also an owl

KIKIMORA

First and foremost, she is a little night gremlin who hates children and I think that really fits her, but she is also a little house demon, who is very difficult to get to leave, have we seen her outside the castle? Will she be a spy along with the mask next season? She also has a name that means nightmare or night demon, similar to a certain other night creature we might have heard of a while ago. She tried to strangle children and I love that for her,and she is described as a little old ugly messy haired lady and I feel like her current character has the personality of one so i’ll take it, but what really gets me is her villain origin story, which is that she "grows up with a magician in the mountains. From dawn to sunset the magician’s cat regales Kikimora with fantastic tales of ancient times and faraway places, as Kikimora rocks in a cradle made of crystal. It takes her seven years to reach maturity, by which time her head is no larger than a thimble and her body no wider than a strand of straw. Kikimora spins flax from dusk and to dawn, with evil intentions for the world.”

GWENDOLYN

Ok, the queen herself, haven’t met her yet but like who knows. Not really a whole lot here (my ears are ringing oops one sec ok i’m back hi) anyways um uh rings? Her name right off the bat has a lot to do with rings, and really that only applies to eda, because her ring was a big thing for her, she gave it to lilith, we all watched wing it like witches you know what’s up, but i mean like was that gwen’s ring? I really wanted the hand on eda’s wall to be gwen’s, very upset to see she has all of her body parts so far. I am also not sure if that’s how it’s spelled, but it means the same thing anyways. Also meaning fair or blessed, any woman who created both eda and lilith is probably mad powerful and we love to see it, also she’s a beastkeeper and i like i want to talk about that with eda’s curse but now is not the time for shenanigans (that’s a lie every time is the time for shenanigans i’m just exhausted)

RAYNE

Bitch, sorry, ok listen like um sidebar I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS CHARACTER AND YOU ALL NEED TO KNOW IT but also at this point i’m not really sure about this character, is this their name, is that even how it’s spelled, girl idfk but like whooptydooo I do what I want so cope. Right now, we are assuming that they are the new bard coven head character, and like let me tell you the way that I am fully pissing my pants atm like bestie, anyways, if spelled rayne, then it means counsel or song, and this is why, do you see why this is why we spell it like this? It’s also scandanavian which means like nothing but it’s cool. This spelling fits because like counsel, head of the bard coven, you get it it’s fine, and then song, also head of the bard coven, you know. It fits so well, especially since this is supposed to be a friend from eda’s past, and like is supposed to try and recruit eda for a rebellion against the emperor in the episode eda’s requiem, i cannot convey to you how goddamn excited I am like there are not enough words in this realm or any others to tell you how prepared i am for this character to rock my world.

GILBERT

I AM S O B B I N GGGGG apparently one of willow’s dad’s names is gilbert and that is literally so cute I cannot like actually this knowledge makes up for coronavirus anyways it means bright promise and idk what that even has to do with anything but I love it and you should to omg

Now i have to go update the other characters see you in hell <3

#the owl house #luz noceda #lilith clawthorne #eda clawthorne #gwendolyn clawthorne #amity blight #alador blight #odalia blight #blight twins #willow park #gus porter #principal bump #rayne #hooty #character names

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ajbwasntwriting · 4 years

Text

Daughter!Reader X Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 1. Darling Princess

After the sneak peak tested well I decided to post the first chapter. I have many more already written and in the making but I’ll only post them if this gets a good reaction so please if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

Sucking on another cigarette the stale tobacco burned your throat in a way you would’ve been disgusted by years ago. You looked out your window down at the gate, walkers pulling at it to try and get in. It had been a couple of years since Negan took power and more than long enough for you to feel trapped. You held the smoke in your lungs, a small part of your brain wishing it would ignite inside you and let you combust, before letting it out slow and smooth. Luxuries like this were meant to last. Another luxury was the leather loveseat you were sitting on, and the black and blue mosaic coffee table your feet and ashtray were on, and the acoustic gibson on your lap.

You placed the smoke between your lips to free your hand so you could strum the strings. You were playing an old rock balled your old man had taught you what felt like a life-time ago. He didn’t teach you to play guitar but when you came back from scouts playing campfire songs he insisted on teaching you some real music. You thought back on how many of his guitar strings you broke before that Christmas he bought you your own Washburn. The strings seemed to break less when the instrument was more your size. Those memories felt so distant now. As if they belonged to another person or were part of a movie you watched. The lyrics of the tune you were playing were on the cusp of coming back to you when your door opened violently somewhere behind you.

“My dearest daughter” Negan spoke as he entered your private room. You likened his new way of talking to that of a TV presenter. Always having to keep people on their toes. You used to think it funny when you were a kid but it wasn’t part of his personality then. “What are you doing here? Dinner was half an hour ago.”

“I’m not hungry” you shot back not even turning to face him, which would have been easy since the chair sat with its side to the window, but the walkers chewing on the fence were far more interesting.

“Y/N, don’t lie to me. You said the same at breakfast.” He sauntered over. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Lucille wasn’t with him.

“Food I didn’t earn doesn’t sate my appetite” you shot back, leaning forward to put out your smoke in the ashtray. That must have stirred something within him because the next thing you know you were grabbed by your arm and dragged out of your room, the guitar hitting the ground with a sorry sound. You let him drag you without protest, knowing better.

You were pulled into a plush dining room, immaculately furnished with white cushioned chair and a long oak table, set with silver cutlery. There were five sets in total for you, your father, and three of his ‘wives’. You figured this was some sort of ‘happy family’ play he’d act out but you didn’t know who the viewer was. You? The wives? The men? Or maybe knowing you didn’t want to be here was entertainment enough.

You were shoved into a chair next to the head of the table across from Frankie. She looked comfortable while nursing her drink but you reckoned that wasn’t her first. In front of her sat a bottle of vodka, distilled on-site by worker number 12. Fat Joey was filling the bowls with soup when your father shoved your chair in. He plopped himself into the chair next to you at the head of the table.

“Now isn’t this nice. A big happy family dinner before your old man takes off tomorrow.” You didn’t dignify him with a reply, instead motioning to the bottle of vodka in front of you.

“May I have some, Frankie?” she looked at the bottle then smiled at you

“Go ahead, Princess”. You picked up the bottle and filled your glass half-way to spite her for that nickname.

“Thank you” you tried to be civil, as badly as you wanted to just walk off with the bottle, you sipped your glass instead.

You silently started the soup. The veggies were cut into large pieces. Perfect, chewing gave you a reason not to talk to the dickhead to your left. Your eyes were too buried in your soup to see the other two wives staring at you and your father who was boring holes into your head with his eyes.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Tanya perked up

“Same as yours” you replied with a mouth full of carrot and potato

Silence

“Where are you going tomorrow Negan?” Nicolle added.

“Ladies.” Your father spoke out, his tone showing his distinct lack of patience. “I’m not an idiot. I can tell that our darling daughter doesn’t want to share our company.”

“I made that obvious in my room.” Your spoon fell gracelessly into your bowl. “Why am I here?!”

He reached over and rubbed your cheek affectionately. “Because I love you. And!” he punctuated the final word by raising a finger in front of your face, a silent cue to wait. He stood up from his chair and took off out of the room and down the hall. You took this moment to talk to his wives.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” you said before starting to shovel soup into your mouth.

“Like hell, we don't.” Frankie retorted, earning a short child from one of the others. You chuckled and swallowed the food in your mouth. You picked up your glass and gestured it at Frankie

“Take notes, Ladies. Frankie doesn’t try bullshit on me” Frankie gestured her glass back. You guessed she’d been in a similar situation, forced to get along with people because it was easier. She didn’t try to be your friend because you knew you wouldn’t appreciate it, which in a weird turn of events you appreciated.

Your father arrived back. It was now you noticed he was a lot cleaner than usual, even the signature leather jacket had left him. Now you were alarmed. In his hands was a pink box with a purple bow. He placed it in front of you and kissed the top of your head. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

“Is it my birthday?” you asked, not quite sure. Time had become a blur since the end of the world. You pushed your bowl away to bring the box in front of you.

“Give or take a few months. I know I’ve missed a couple what with...everything...so this will count for at least one of them.” He placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a little squeeze, your own hand finding its way on top “There’s a lot more gifts coming for my princess, don't you worry.” You couldn’t help the smile that came to you, giggling slightly. You looked up at him, seeing nothing but unconditional love being sent back your way

“Dad, it’s alright.” You smiled and turned back to your gift. The wives were now watching, captivated by this little bit of humanity at the end of it all. You gingerly opened the bow and lifted the lid off.

Inside lay a military knife, clearly hand-made on-site with a beautiful leather handle and your name carved into the side in cursive. You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. You picked it up, finding it fits in your hand perfectly.

“It’s beautiful” you near-whispered, watching as the candle lights hit against the metal. In a moment it was lodged in the table a mere inch from Tanya’s hand. You kicked back your chair, making your father step back, and grabbed the vodka bottle in one motion. “Now if only I had a reason to fucking use it” you spat as you stormed out of the room.

Back in your room, you sat in the corner with your head against the cold-glass window, looking down at the dead, only illuminated by the moon. You had killed so many of them before arriving at Sanctuary. Hell, you’d say you saved your old man’s ass more than he saved you...but he was a people’s person. Ruthless. But a people’s person. ‘Let me do my thing and I’ll have these assholes sucking my dick in days’.

That was a different age. Back when your father was a teacher. Back when your mother was sick. Back when your father cheated on her with anything with a pulse and she took it out on you. Back when your mother’s treatment and your father’s lifestyle drained your college fund and you had to enlist. Back when she’d attack you, both emotionally and physically, and you took it cause you knew she was in pain. Back when you had come home from a 16-month mission because her condition had worsened. Back when the world went to shit. Back when you had to put her down because your sleazeball of a father wasn’t man enough to do it. You looked down at the dead and thought, if you reached your hands through the wires...you could be back with your mom.

Your door opened slowly, heavy footsteps coming your way. There was no need to look. Only one person would enter your room without knocking. “You scared Tanya back there, Princess.” your father spoke in a low voice.

“She can take it” you croaked, a clear sign you had been crying. He kneeled down beside you. In the reflection of the window, you could see him holding out the knife.

“Please take it.” You turned around, your back now pressed to the window.

“Why?”

“You need to be able to protect yourself”

“Give me a gun then”

“No.”

“Why? Scared I’d leave.” You took a swig of your drink.

“I see you’re upset-”

“Do you?! Do you really?” you cut him short, stumbling to your feet using the window to push yourself up. “Why am I upset? Because I eat food I don’t deserve? Because you make people die for me? Because you have me trapped in a fucking tower like Repunzel or some shit!?” That earned a chuckle from him, which only served to piss you off. “I should be down there earning my bit just like everyone else.”

“Do we have to go over this again?” He sighed dramatically. He cupped your face, the knife now dangerously close to you. “You're my daughter Y/N. My darling baby girl. My precious princess”

“I was twenty-six when this shit hit, dad” you mumbled through your squished cheeks. He gave them a little loving slap.

“You're valuable to me, which means some people might want to hurt you. You eat to stay alive, people die because they’re stupid, and you live in this room on this floor so you can be kept safe.” you blew him off with a wave of your hand and an angry sigh. You pushed passed him to your bed, twirling to sit on it and start taking off your combat boots. He walked over and lodged the knife in your headboard before kneeling down to look up at you. “I have to go out for a while. Find this Rick Grimes asshole and get some payback for the fifteen men he killed at our outpost.”

A chill went up your spine “The one near the hilltop settlement” you whispered.

“That’s right.” You looked him in the eye, not noticing how your lip quivered.

“You don’t have too.” you didn’t know if it was the booze or genuine worry for human life but you found yourself begging. “We have more than enough peo-” he shushed you soothingly, his hand coming up to your cheek, rubbing soothing circles.

“Oh but you know I have too, and while I’m gone I don’t want anyone to get ideas on what they can do to you so” he nodded towards the knife. You pulled it out of the wall, looking it over before nodding, mouthing ‘okay’ and depositing it in your nightstand table. He kissed your forehead before leaving, wishing you a good night. Once again alone you took two large gulps of your drink and laid down.

Edit: For creative reasons Y/N is now 26 at the beginning of the apocalypse instead of the original 24

#daughter x negan #daughter reader #daughter reader x negan #twd negan #the walking dead negan #the walking dead #twd #twd reader insert #twd imagine #twd y/n #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead tv #twd tv #slowburn #AJ's Negan's Daughter AU

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wokeuptired · 4 years

Photo

every perfect summer

Finn is steady on her own two feet but Niall is a hurricane, determined to bring to the surface what she’s long buried. If only he weren’t so beautiful at sunset, she might be able to resist.

written for @majorharry ‘s 20k fic celebration

prompt #29: “stop looking at me like that.”

niall/ofc, 6.2k

Summer in California is hot and sticky, the kind of sticky that makes you feel silly showering, because as soon as you walk outside, you’ll be sweaty all over again. Even with the fan on full blast, Finn’s thighs are sticking to the leather of the couch she took from her mom’s house when she moved out. She’s read the same page a hundred times, over and over again. The heat makes it hard to think.

The heat makes it hard to breathe.

And mostly, the heat makes it hard to write.

Finn’s about to put the book down when she hears footsteps on the stairs outside. Her apartment complex is a series of buildings each containing a dozen apartments. Finn shares the landing of her staircase with the apartment next door, but it’s the wrong time of day for Cindy and Ralph to be returning home, which means—

“Your new downstairs neighbor is hot,” Jocelyn announces as the apartment door slams shut behind her, the gust of warm air ruffling the pages of Finn’s book. She looks up to roll her eyes.

“You think every guy is hot.”

Jocelyn dumps her shopping on the kitchen table and scoffs. “I do not. Just the hot ones.”

“Aren’t you engaged?” Finn glances down at the big shiny ring on Jocelyn’s finger to emphasize her point. Even though Jocelyn moved out six months ago, when her boyfriend popped the question, sometimes it feels like she never left. Right now is one of those times. “What’s Marcus think about all this looking you do?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Jocelyn punctuates her statement with a saucy flip of her hair and begins unloading her bags onto the small kitchen counter. She holds up a carton of ice cream. “Should I bother putting this away, or do you want to dive in right now?”

Finn holds her hand out for the rocky road. “You know me so well.”

“You’re welcome.” As Finn digs into the tub of ice cream, Jocelyn begins putting things away in the fridge. “You know,” she says into the veggie drawer, “I’m not kidding about your new neighbor. He’s got this angelic frat boy look to him. Have you met him yet?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Last week. He offered to carry a package upstairs for me. Very polite, and totally not my type.”

“Exactly.” Jocelyn sits on the couch with another spoon and slides the ice cream out of Finn’s grasp. “As your older sister, it’s my job to advise you on everything. Starting with your interest in men, which is, to be frank, utter shit.”

Finn opens her mouth to object, but she can’t find fault with Jocelyn’s statement. Her last boyfriend wouldn’t come to any work events with her but insisted she attend all of his art shows. He had an ego the size of the Milky Way to make up for his abysmal lack of talent.

“You need to stop dating those neurotic, artsy types,” Jocelyn continues, “and date a man who can, like, actually kill a spider.”

“I’m perfectly capable of killing my own spiders.” As long as they’re small and not moving, but Finn doesn’t feel the need to share that caveat.

“So am I,” Jocelyn says. “Do you want wine?” She doesn’t wait for Finn to answer before she gets up and goes straight for the cupboard that holds the long-stem glasses. “Anyway, that’s not my point. You need to stop dating boys who look good on paper and start dating men who are good. In real life.”

Finn closes her book so that it doesn’t have to listen to this conversation. She accepts the wine glass from Jocelyn’s outstretched hand and swirls around the liquid within. It doesn’t go with the ice cream, but she’s 25 years old, so that doesn’t matter.

Jocelyn scowls at the closed book. “Virginia Woolf again, Finn? Are you ever going to read anything written in this century?”

Finn rolls her eyes. If there’s one thing her sister excels at, it’s being unsatisfied with all aspects of Finn’s life. “Are you here just to criticize me? Or are we watching ‘The Bachelor’?”

Jocelyn grins, spoon still in her mouth. “Oh, we’re watching ‘The Bachelor.’”

-----

The thing about “The Bachelor,” Finn decides that night as she’s brushing her teeth, is that, for the women involved, the ones competing for the bachelor’s heart, there are no consequences.

Oh, small consequences, sure. Your decision might make somebody else cry, or your heart might be slightly bruised, but at the end of it all, you’ve got thousands of new Instagram followers and you’re famous in your small town and everybody wants to date you, even though you chose, of your own free will, to engage in the skeptical that is a dating game show.

But there are no big consequences, no bad consequences. A few months later and the next season’s airing, and everything you did, every dumb thing you said, every kiss you exchanged—it’s all forgotten.

Maybe that’s the way to go, Finn thinks.

Maybe next year, she ought to audition. She develops the pitch in her head: 25 year old ghostwriter of bestselling romance novels; lives alone in Los Angeles; has been considering, for an entire year, the adoption of a cat; has never been in love.

It’s that last part that would sway them, she thinks. The producers would imagine her doe-eyed and innocent, maybe a bit naive. She’d be pitted against the season’s villain, the girl with dark hair (a visual contrast to Finn’s blond bob) who would stop at nothing to win her man.

“How can she write romance novels when she has never known love?” audiences across America would wonder.

Perhaps the bachelor himself would even inquire. Finn would smile shyly, bat her impossibly long eyelashes up at him, and say something coy like, “You could tutor me.”

Jocelyn would love that. She lives for the drama, for what the editors create in post-production. She doesn’t care that it’s fake.

And every week Finn watches and wonders how she can keep selling love in her books when this show proves, without a doubt, that it doesn’t exist.

-----

The new downstairs neighbor works out in the mornings on his patio. Finn hears his music the next morning, drifting in through her open sliding door, around 8:30 AM. It’s not early enough for her to be justifiably annoyed at him, but she’s annoyed nonetheless, because she’s just sat down at her laptop with the intention of writing something today.

Something. Anything. Words on the page, that’s all she needs.

Instead, she sighs, closing her laptop and crossing the room to the balcony. She slides the door open further, pushes the screen out of the way, and goes outside. When she and Jocelyn first moved in, the balcony was a huge appeal. “Outdoor space!” they’d squealed when they first saw the apartment listed online. But now Finn’s been here for two and a half years, and the balcony is just another space for dust to collect.

It’s directly over Downstairs Neighbor’s patio. Finn looks down through the wooden slats and tries to catch a glimpse at him. She can hear Jocelyn’s voice in her head: He’s hot, right? I told you he was hot!

In truth, though, Finn can’t see much through the small gaps between the planks. She can’t tell if he’s lifting weights or doing jumping jacks or playing a very enthusiastic game of cat’s cradle. He’s definitely grunting, though.

Finn shakes her head, trying not to focus on the noises he’s making, and crosses the balcony. She leans her arms on the railing and looks out over the beauty of Los Angeles. Beauty referring, of course, to the parking lot. Finn can see her car, about thirty feet away, parked beneath an evil tree that drops red berries. It really needs to be washed.

Maybe she should take it today. Maybe today will be the first day in a month that she’s gotten dressed in pants that have a zipper and a button, and she’ll go to the carwash and—

Feeling something crawling on her arm, Finn looks down, and oh, shit, it’s a spider. Not a little spider, not a daddy long legs, but one of those ones that’s big enough where you can see its body. It looks like one of those spiders a little kid draws around Halloween.

Oh, shit. Finn lifts her arm, waving it wildly, trying to shake the spider loose before it bites her and turns her into Spider Woman, and that’s when she throws her mug of coffee into the air.

“Oh, shit,” she says out loud. Time seems to slow as she watches her mug descend, coffee flying everywhere as the cup turns a full 360 degrees before landing with a crack on the concrete below.

“What the fuck?” It’s Downstairs Neighbor.

“Oh, shit,” Finn says again. Which, no doubt, Downstairs Neighbor heard. Oh, shit. That one’s in her head, at least.

She hears a grunt as he, she imagines, lowers his weight to the ground, then the snick of his sliding glass door, then the sound of his front door opening, and then, oh, shit, there he is, standing on the ground, looking at her broken coffee cup.

Oh, shit, Finn thinks again as she drops to her knees, hiding herself from view.

Apparently unsuccessfully, as not thirty seconds later, she hears, “I can see you, ya know.”

Finn rises slowly to her feet and looks down. It’s hard not to admit that Jocelyn was right as she looks down at him, messy hair and blue eyes and muscles visible through his sweaty t-shirt.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.” His eyes twinkle, and she knows he’s trying not to laugh at her. “This yours?”

“Yeah. Sorry I interrupted you.”

He laughs then, a light, musical sound that she can feel in her toes. Oh, shit. That’s not good. Finn’s characters feel laughter in their toes, but she certainly doesn’t. Feeling someone’s laughter in her toes is not a real thing, she’s always thought, except, apparently, it is.

“What happened?” he asks.

“There was a spider.”

“A spider.”

Finn nods, cheeks burning. “It was a big spider.”

“You gonna come clean it up?”

Finn nods again. “In a minute.”

“Okay.” He grins up at her and she blushes back.

Finn turns around and goes inside, sliding the door shut behind her, and waits, listening for the sounds of Downstairs neighbor reentering his own apartment, shutting the door, locking it. When a minute has passed without any of that, Finn realizes that he must be waiting for her.

Oh, shit. Finn doesn’t have to be Jocelyn to know that this is not the ideal situation in which one wants to interact with Hot Downstairs Neighbor. But it seems like she doesn’t have a choice, so she slips on the flip flops she keeps by the door and goes downstairs.

He’s still there, standing in the sunshine, squinting when he smiles. “There you are,” he says.

“Here I am.” Finn looks down, surveying the damage. The mug has split into several large chunks, and maybe if Finn were better at diy-ing she’d be able to fix it, but as things stand now, it’s destined for the garbage. “Damn, I really liked that mug.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Downstairs Neighbor says, which is such a strange thing to say that Finn startles, turning to stare at him.

“Thanks?” she says.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, holding out his hand. “I’m Niall.”

Finn accepts the handshake. “I’m Finn.”

His hand is warm and a bit clammy, a bit like California in the summer, and her stomach goes topsy-turvy. She yanks her hand back.

“Nice to meet you,” Niall says. “I guess you’re the neighbor who watches ‘The Bachelor’?”

Jesus Christ, Finn thinks, dropping to a squat. She gathers up the pieces of her destroyed mug and doesn’t answer him. How nosy of him, asking her that. But then, she was the one listening to him work out this morning.

“My sister likes it,” she says. “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in liking ‘The Bachelor,’” Niall says, dropping down beside her. They reach for the last piece at the same time, hands brushing. Finn draws hers back, trying to ignore the tingling in her fingertips. “Here.”

Finn accepts the final shard. “Thanks,” she says. “And I don’t like ‘The Bachelor.’ I think it’s silly.”

Niall smiles at her again, all teeth and sunshine. “What’s silly about love?”

Finn blinks at him, trying to decide if he’s an idiot or just bad at small talk. Maybe both. “That show is not about love,” she says. “Have you ever seen it?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “But I’ve heard it through the ceiling.”

Jesus Christ, Finn thinks again. What a neighbor. She can’t wait to tell Jocelyn about this, to prove to her that Downstairs Neighbor may be hot, but his positive qualities end there. He’s intrusive and nosy and way, way too good looking.

“You can get back to your workout,” she says, standing up straight. He follows, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“Not a bother,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Finn.”

“Yep,” she says, offering him a half smile before she turns tail and dashes up the stairs, back to her safe, quiet, Downstairs Neighbor-free apartment. Back to her laptop, and the manuscript due in three months that she hasn’t managed to crack yet. Back to being hot and sweaty inside her apartment, instead of outside.

“Have a good day!” he calls after her. She doesn’t return the greeting.

-----

The next morning, a knock on the door wakes Finn up from a dream, the kind of dream that you know as soon as you wake was a good one, but it’s too late, you’ve forgotten it, and you won’t be able to get it back.

“No,” she mutters, turning over in bed, burrowing into the pillow. “I’m sleeping.” But then the knock sounds again. “Damnit.”

Finn climbs out of bed and reaches for her phone on the nightstand. 8:27 AM on a Wednesday. An acceptable hour for someone to be knocking on the door, she supposes. Except she was up till 1 o’clock trying to make her messy notes into something resembling an outline that could someday (someday soon, she hopes) be a book.

The morning person disturbing her sleep knocks again, eliminating the possibility that it’s just UPS dropping off a package. Finn drops her phone on the bed and makes her way down the hall to the living room, where sunlight blares in so sharply it makes her squint.

“Gah,” she says to herself as she pulls open the door. And then, “Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” Hot Downstairs Neighbor—Niall, Finn corrects herself—says. “UPS dropped off this package at my door, but I think it’s yours.”

Finn looks down at the envelope he’s holding out, but the label is blurry. Oh, shit, her glasses. “If you say so,” she says. “I’d have to grab my glasses to know for sure.”

Niall smiles at her, she thinks, but the details of his face are a bit blurry. “I can wait,” he says. “We should make sure it’s yours.”

Finn frowns at him for a second—He can read, can’t he? Shouldn’t he know if it’s her name on the label?—before deciding that it’s too early for an argument. “Fine, whatever,” she says, turning around and leaving him in the doorway.

That’s where she expects him to stay, but when she returns to the door a minute later with her glasses perched on her nose, he’s inside her apartment, poking around the bookshelves on either side of her television. The package he brought over has been discarded on the coffee table.

Finn ignores him for a second as she picks it up. Yep, it’s definitely hers. It’s a proof of her latest Isobel novel, if she had to guess. But she’s not going to open it now, not with Niall here.

Niall, who is currently nosing around her living room, looking much too closely at things she’d rather he not see.

“What are these?” Niall steps closer to the bookshelf, his eyes scanning the spines. “You read romance novels?”

“Not exactly,” Finn says. Which lie should she tell this time? She has a few prepared: “they’re my sister’s” or “my roommate forgot them when she moved out.” Said roommate is said sister, but for the sake of the lie, that wouldn’t matter. But then the truth slips out. “I write them.”

“You write them?” Niall repeats. He pulls one of the books out, Summer’s Dalliance, about two yoga instructors who find love during a training retreat in the Maldives. “You’re Isobel Soleil?”

Finn can tell from the way Niall says Isobel Soleil that he’s heard of her. Who hasn’t heard of her, these days? Her books are in grocery stores and airport shops and on bestseller lists and there’s a series in development with HBO.

As a ghostwriter, Finn isn’t involved, but she knows the show will help move sales, which means bigger checks, which means maybe, eventually, she can write something she actually cares about.

“Not exactly.” Finn takes the book out of his hand and returns it to its place on the shelf. It’s not as if she’s proud of it. That’s not why she has it out. It’s just a placeholder until she publishes a book she’s actually proud of. “Isobel Soleil isn’t a person. She’s a brand. Her books are written by half a dozen different people. How do you think she can pump them out so quickly?”

“How quickly?”

“Three or four a year.”

“And you wrote all of these?” Niall’s finger runs along the spines. “How many are there? Ten?”

“Eight,” Finn corrects. Eight cheesy, embarrassing, don’t-let-your-mother-see-you-reading-that novels. “But they’re formulaic and simplistic. They’re not… they’re not good.”

Niall shrugs. “They’re not high literature, you mean. Someone reads them, though, right? And the people who read them enjoy them. So who cares if they’re not high literature, Finn?”

Finn swallows the sudden lump in her throat. How has Niall managed to get to the quick of things so, well, quick? “I care, I guess. This isn’t what I imagined I’d be doing when I was little, telling people I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.”

“So write something else,” Niall says.

Finn sighs. She wishes it were that easy. If only she could break out of the mold she’s put herself in and write something else, something that’s not about two people falling in love. If only she could write something she actually believed in.

But she has a contract and a deadline and an agent and an editor on her back, and no choice but to finish this Isobel Soleil novel.

“Maybe next summer,” she says.

Niall considers her, nods. “Speaking of this summer,” he says slowly, like he’s thinking about what he’s going to say as he’s saying it, “I have free tickets to LACMA, and I just moved to town so I don’t know a ton of people. Want to go with me?”

Say yes or no more ice cream, Jocelyn’s voice says in the back of Finn’s mind.

“Sure,” she says. “But you know my secret”—she gestures to the bookshelves—“so now you have to tell me one of yours. So I know you’re not a serial killer or something.”

He smiles at her and, damn, he’s good looking. “I’m a lawyer,” he says. “My new job doesn’t start till August, so I’m working remotely with my old firm until then.”

“That’s not a secret.” Not a secret at all, but a great career for a hero in a romance novel. Finn makes a mental note.

“Okay,” Niall says. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, lifting one hand to his chin, a classic thinking pose. “How about this? I’m not from here.”

Finn shakes her head. She’d already guessed that from his accent, a soft, lilting Irish one that makes everything he says sound like a poem. “Not a secret either. You get one more try.”

“One more try!” he says with mock shock. “I’ll make this good, then.”

He thinks and Finn waits, and in the thirty seconds it takes him to come up with a good secret, she wonders what the hell she’s doing, flirting with Hot Downstairs Neighbor in her living room while dressed in her pajamas. Oh, shit, she’s not wearing a bra, is she?

Finn crosses her arms over her chest and considers backing out of this conversation entirely by making something up that will put Niall off and convince him that she’s the worst possible LACMA companion.

But then he says, “I can’t swim,” and that is distracting enough to make her forget everything else.

“You can’t swim?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing in southern California?”

Niall shrugs. His smile makes her insides go wonky. “Maybe you can teach me.” Then he holds out his phone. “Here, give me your number. I’ll text you and we can make plans.”

She obliges, all the while wondering what exactly she’s gotten herself into.

-----

LACMA day comes much quicker than Finn anticipates. When she and Niall first made the plans a week ago, Saturday seemed like ages away. There was so much she was going to do between now and then: repot all of her plants, make bread from scratch, work on her manuscript. But instead, she putters around her apartment, typing words here and there, ignoring how bad they are, and not baking bread.

It’s a waste of a week, and not just because Niall is there, in the back of her mind, the whole time.

Jocelyn’s excited, of course, for LACMA day, and insists on coming over the night before to help Finn select her outfit. Finn keeps reminding her that it’s summer in Los Angeles, so it’s a thousand degrees out and she will melt no matter what she wears, but Jocelyn doesn’t care.

Which is how Finn ends up knocking on Niall’s door on LACMA day dressed in a romper that’s giving her a wedgie, a purse she never carries slung over her shoulder. Jocelyn even forced her to wear lip gloss.

“Lip gloss makes you a different person,” Jocelyn said last night on her way out. “I left you three options. Please wear one.”

“I don’t take advice from the Sweet Valley Twins anymore,” Finn had retorted as she shut the door in Jocelyn’s face.

But she’s wearing the lip gloss anyway. Her hair has already gotten stuck in it three times, and all she’s done is climb down the stairs.

She knocks again, half hoping Niall hasn’t changed his mind and half hoping that he has. If he has, she can go back upstairs, put her pajamas on again, and continue to stare at her blank Word document. But then he opens the door.

“Good morning!” His smile is so bright it makes her squint. “Coffee?”

He holds out a travel mug to her, waiting for her to take it.

“Good morning,” she says after she takes a sip. The coffee is exactly the right temperature and perfectly sweet, which is almost enough to make her smile. “This is good coffee.”

“It’s from Ecuador,” Niall says. He steps out onto the welcome mat and closes the apartment door behind him. “Hold this for me?”

Finn holds his travel mug as he locks the door and turns the knob a couple of times to make sure it’s secure. Then he turns around, his smile lighting up his face.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” she says, though she’s pretty sure she isn’t.

She learns, over the next few hours, that Niall’s energy is nonstop. He talks constantly during their drive to the museum, talks as they park the car, talks as they ride the elevator to the top floor and begin making their way through the galleries. He tells her where he’s from and where he went to school and what his favorite sports teams are.

And she finds herself talking too. She tells him about her sister and where she went to school and how she got started writing Isobel Soleil novels, and the entire time, she’s taking mental notes about him, about the way he holds doors for her and grins down at her and laughs even when her jokes are barely funny.

This is how the heroes in her novels behave. They are handsome and well-meaning and have substantial life goals. They are polite and conscientious and make the heroines feel brave and important and valued. And that’s how Finn finds herself feeling: like if she had something to say, Niall would listen to it.

After the museum, they stop for lunch at a restaurant Finn found on Yelp as they were leaving the parking structure. It’s small and bright inside, but as Niall pulls out Finn’s chair for her, it occurs to her, for the first time, that this might actually be a date.

Jocelyn had said as much last night, but Finn had ignored her, as she does with most things Jocelyn says. But now, seated across from Niall, with nowhere to look but at him, reality dawns, and it’s blinding.

But, she decides, she won’t address it, and she carries on with the meal as if they are recent acquaintances and neighbors, which is, she reminds herself, exactly what they are.

-----

After LACMA day, Niall texts Finn about the movie he’s watching, and she imagines she can hear it through the floor. Later that evening, he texts her good night, and then, the next day, he texts her good morning. The next weekend, they go to Venice Beach together, and they see a movie in a classic theater downtown the following Tuesday. That night, he comes over for dinner, and they cook together, finding their way around each other in Finn’s small kitchen.

And all of a sudden, this summer is different, hot and sticky like all the others, but different because this summer has Niall.

Niall on the couch, bare feet up on the coffee table, listing all the reasons that golf is superior to all other sports.

Niall in the passenger’s seat of her car, singing along to the radio even when he doesn’t know the words, the sun setting behind him, lighting him up as if it’s saying, “Look, he’s beautiful.”

And he is beautiful. Niall in her thoughts, Niall on the back of her eyelids when she blinks, Niall in her dreams. Niall, beautiful.

And Niall in her manuscript, try as she might to keep him out. In sticking with the proposal she made to her editor back in the spring, she’s writing about a doctor and an artist who meet when they’re sharing a wall in a duplex summer rental on the coast of Oregon. By midsummer, she’s written thirty thousand words, enough to reassure her editor that she’s still writing, that things are fine, and, upon rereading, she realizes that the doctor has become Niall.

The doctor, so sure of himself, driven and determined and sexier than any other hero she’s ever written. He is confident and has beautiful eyes and magic fingers, and the heroine, the artist, is head over heels in love with him before she’s even thought to like him.

And the artist. Finn is the artist, the confused, prideful creative soul who doesn’t want love, is afraid of it, just wants to be left alone. But now she has the lawyer, the beautiful, handsome, intelligent, lovely lawyer who makes her want to stop hiding. He makes her want to feel things. He makes her want to reach out for him, to push her fears aside and let her have what she wants.

July brings that realization and an unseasonal thunderstorm that forces Finn to bring out a bucket and email her landlord about that leak in the roof from December that still hasn’t been fixed. That’s a momentary distraction, at least, from thoughts of Niall, thoughts of Niall that are plaguing her every moment. Awake, asleep, Niall. Always Niall.

It’s thundering overhead when there’s a knock at her door. She opens it, and there he is, like she’s conjured him.

“I brought wine,” he says, holding out the bottle.

“Come in,” she says. She thinks of how much has changed since she sat on her couch a month ago, drinking wine with Jocelyn. She wishes, for a moment, that she could go back. But then she looks at Niall again.

And she doesn’t want to look away, like the artist doesn’t want to look away from the doctor. When you find something this perfect, why would you ever look away? Why would you let it go?

Finn knows from experience, though, that sometimes you don’t get to choose when people leave. Sometimes they leave you, aching and cold and alone. Sometimes it’s not up to you.

“Come in,” she says again. She grabs two wine glasses from the kitchen and joins Niall in the living room, where they sit on the couch, thighs pressed together, and he picks a movie for them to watch.

She isn’t paying attention, though, as she downs two glasses of wine and wonders if Niall will kiss her tonight. She’d like him to, she decides, just as much as she doesn’t want him to. It’s like the Schroedinger’s cat of kisses—if they never kiss, she will never know the kiss, but she will also never know what happens after it. She will never know if they go further, if they stop abruptly, if he breaks her heart and leaves her in pieces, smashed on the concrete like her broken coffee mug.

But she will also never know if it will be beautiful, like the loves of the characters in her novels, characters who risk their hearts when they don’t know what the outcome will be. The difference between Finn and Niall and the artist and the doctor, though, is that Finn can control the artist and the doctor. She can decide their ending, she can choose the words for the last page.

And maybe, with Niall, she doesn’t want a last page.

Two hours later, Finn is wine-drunk and sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the couch. Niall is next to her, the table pushed away from them to accommodate his long legs. She leans her head on his shoulder, thinking, in the way only a wine-addled mind will allow, that she’d like to keep this night forever, seal it into a locket and wear it around her neck.

“Tell me again why you don’t like your books,” Niall says. He has her newest proof in front of him on the table. It’s littered with post-it notes, changes Finn would’ve made to it had she had more time. But it’s too late now, and it will print as is.

“They’re not good,” Finn says, her go-to explanation. “I can do better.”

Niall shakes his head. “But they are good. I read Sunshine in Your Mouth, and it’s good. You’re a good writer, Finn.”

“Oh, no.” Finn ducks, covering her face with her arms. “You read it? I can’t believe you read it.”

“Yeah, I did.” Niall tugs her arm away from her face. “Stop hiding from me.”

Oh, if only he knew how apt that statement was, then maybe he wouldn’t say it. Finn puts her arms down and refills her wine glass. She knows she shouldn’t drink any more, but maybe if she does, she’ll stop thinking about how blue Niall’s eyes are and how soft his fingers feel against her arm.

“Tell me the truth,” Niall says, thumbing the post-its in her proof copy. “Why don’t you like being Isobel Soleil?”

“Because I’m not her. I’m not like her. I just don’t believe in love,” Finn tries to explain. “It’s like—”

Niall laughs. “Love’s not like the tooth fairy, Finn. You don’t have to have felt it to know it’s real.”

Finn looks at him, at his soft cheeks and his pink lips and his messy hair. In another life, in another version of this world, maybe she and Niall have known each other forever, since they were kids. And maybe Finn loves Niall. Maybe she always has. Maybe they fit. Maybe it’s the easiest thing this other Finn’s ever felt.

But the Finn that lives in this world, the one sitting on the floor of her apartment with her knees pulled to her chest and a half-empty wine glass in her hand—this Finn doesn’t feel things easily. Feelings are heavy and feelings hold you back and feelings stick around long after the people who brought them on are gone.

“My parents,” Finn says, “they got divorced when I was five.”

“Finn, you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Finn says. The wine is talking now. The wine and the smell of Niall’s shampoo and the plunk plunk plunk of rain hitting the bucket on the kitchen floor. “My dad was sleeping with his secretary. Such a cliche, right? And it took my mom years to leave him. Years. He was sleeping with his secretary while my mom was pregnant with me. She kept thinking he’d stop, that he’d finally realize that he loved her, that he loved his family. She kept waiting, until she couldn’t anymore.”

Finn feels Niall’s fingers brush against hers where they rest on the rug. “That’s why you don’t believe in love?”

“No.” Finn closes her eyes, her head tilting back against the sofa cushion. “That’s why I don’t let myself feel it.”

“Finn.”

She doesn’t answer as Niall moves closer. Eyes closed, she can feel him entering her personal space, can feel the heat of his hand as he takes her wine glass, hears the clink of glass on wood as he puts it on the table. Feels his fingers on her cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Finn. Look at me.”

So she does, opens her eyes and meets his, and it’s too much, it’s all too much, the way he’s looking at her like he can see her feelings, can read them as if they were written across her forehead.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles. “Like what?”

“Like you like me.” The words are out before she can stop them, slipping from her lips like a sigh.

“Finn.” He’s closer now, impossibly close, his hand on her cheek. “Finn, I more than like you.”

“I—” Finn starts, but she doesn’t know what to say.

She doesn’t know what this feeling is, the one taking over her chest and spreading to her stomach and traveling up her throat all the way to her eyeballs. It’s a headache and nausea at the same time, plus a sense of doom in her stomach, maybe the unconscious realization that this can’t last forever.

Because feelings never do. Niall likes her now, likes her a lot, likes her enough to maybe kiss her against her dirty car in the parking lot fifty feet from their building. But that won’t last. He’ll like her for a bit and then he’ll like her less and less until nothing remains but the memory of the fire that used to burn, a bit of leftover smoke drifting skyward.

And that’s when it will hurt.

This will hurt, Finn thinks, but she jumps anyway.

“Then kiss me,” she says.

So he does, and in his kiss, for as long as it lasts, she lets herself feel everything: lets herself feel the sticky heat of summer and the sticky heat of a love so big it sucks you under, leaves you breathless, makes you hold on tight.

She slides her hand into his hair and thinks, I will hold on tight.

When it’s over, Niall pulls back, leans his forehead on hers. He’s breathing heavy when he says, “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

“I want to do it again,” Finn says. She slides her fingers under the collar of his shirt.

Niall’s hand tightens on her waist. “Is that the wine talking?”

Finn shakes her head. “No,” she says. “It’s me. And I more than like you, too.”

Niall grins, bright and beautiful. “Good,” he says. “You’re my perfect summer.”

He leans in to kiss her again, and Finn decides, in that split second before their lips meet, that even if all she gets with Niall is a summer, it will be beautiful and it will be perfect, the stuff of novels. The stuff of her novels.

But, something in her gut tells her, Niall will be around for more than a summer.

He does live right downstairs, after all.

#1dff #niall horan fanfiction #majorharry20k #look I wrote something!#this is my dream summer if there was no pandemic lol sad

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dinoyoongi · 4 years

Text

Confirm or Deny (6) - Final

SYNOPSIS: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Angst

WARNINGS: Language, brief mentions of sexual situations

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHORS NOTE: The ending is here! Thank you so much to everyone who has loved and supported this story! I’m sorry that it took so long to get the ending written but I hope it’s as satisfying for you to read as it was to write! I know a few might be disappointed with it - that’s understandable - I did rewrite this chapter several times and cut out a lot that I had originally planned but ultimately I think I wrote an ending fit for me, Joonie and Sweets. <3

__________________________________

“Y/N?” Your chin snaps up at the sound of your name, eyes wide at the polite, smiling face of the young receptionist at the desk in front of the room. “The director will be ready shortly. He apologizes for the delay and appreciates your patience.”

Exhaling in relief, you bow in understanding, returning her courteous grin quickly before turning your eyes down to the screen in your lap. On your phone, Tom Hanks strides to the stage to the applause of the audience, the camera panning to different nominees in this final, ultimate category. The quick shot of BTS – of Namjoon's nervous but elated grin – makes your heart knock against your chest hard. Tom Hanks prattles for a few seconds about the achievements of the nominees before he's handed a golden envelope.

“And the Grammy for record of the year goes to … BTS!”

You don't realize you're holding your breath until you're on your feet and screaming, lightheaded and breathless from the lack of oxygen. Hand slapping over your mouth to silence your hysteria, you ignore the concerned calls from the receptionist and shakily lower yourself back onto your seat. Though seconds have passed, the group hasn't found their way onto the stage. Instead, they remain in the audience, huddled in the tightest of hug. Not a single one of them has a dry face.

You included.

They did it. Holy shit. They won a Grammy – the biggest Grammy of the night. This would make it their second after picking up the award for best group earlier in the morning. But record of the year … it's the award. And they did it. Namjoon did it.

There's a gentle tapping on your shoulder. When you glance up, you can barely make out the blurred silhouette of the receptionist through the haze of your tears.

“Are you okay? Do I need to call anyone for you?”

“N-no, I'm fine, I-I just-” you stop yourself, eyes falling down to the phone screen. She follows your gaze, mouth opening in understanding when she sees the seven of them on the stage. Her shock is quickly replaced with a warm smile. “I'll be quieter. Sorry.”

She giggles. “Don't worry about it. If you need tissues or anything, come see me at my desk, okay?”

Unable to suppress the elation, you grin as you nod, pushing the pods further into your ear and jamming the volume up button on your phone as loud as it would allow. Namjoon is already speaking and the sound of his voice immediately conjures the waterworks again. He stutters over a few pronunciations and has to pause every so often to wipe his tears, but his speech is beautiful and poignant. The words are straight from his heart, straying from any kind of notes or script that the group might have drafted on the chance that they'd actually win.

“Of course, we love and appreciate our fans – our ARMY – dearly. But we also want to thank everyone behind the scenes – our loved ones who we might have neglected and hurt in our path to get where we are. We hope that you're proud of us and that you'll stay … sweetly … by our side.”

The sobs come easily. Instantly.

Sweetly. He's talking directly to you – his Sweets.

You watch with loud sniffles until their speech is done, until they're carrying themselves off of the stage, until the last musical guest that you honestly couldn't name begins to perform. Your finger pushes at the power button on the side of your phone and when the screen fades to black, the reflection that stares back at you is a haggard mess. Grabbing a few tissues from the nice receptionist and cleaning yourself up before the most important meeting of your life is probably the best idea. But you can't seem to move.

Walking into this building a few minutes ago, you were sure of what you wanted – a fresh start, a new path, all slates wiped clean. Joining P NATION would do that for you. And this was everything that you wanted. It's everything that you've worked for.

But maybe … maybe you want Namjoon just a little bit more. You don't even know if a future with him is something that's feasible, or if it's something that he still wants. What if Big Hit refuses to let the two of you be together? What if P NATION refuses to let you date at all?

Once again you're faced with the possibility that you might have to choose the two things you want most in your entire life – your idol career or Namjoon.

You finally pry your hard stare from the phone. Looking up, there are two doors on either side of the room. One door – the door that you entered in – leads to the lobby, to the exit. The other door leads to the conference room where you'll be meeting with the directors of P NATION.

Your stomach twists, your throat suddenly tightening with the urge to vomit.

“Here,” the receptionist's voice cuts through your anxiety. She pushes a wad of tissues in your direction. When you don't move to accept them, she clicks her tongue in amusement and plops down into the chair next to yours. You're startled when she reaches out with the tissue to dab at your face gently, using the slightest pressure as to not totally destroy your makeup. “You look conflicted. It's not usually something I see from potential trainees … or in your case, idol, I guess? Most if not all of them are excited and confident and anxious to sign a contract. You … you look like you're going to toss your cookies all over the carpet. No offense.”

Despite your inner turmoil, you feel yourself cracking a smile. “None taken.”

“What your company did to you was disgusting,” she says casually, leaning over your lap to toss the tissue in a garbage bin. You blink at her in surprise. Not many people are bold enough to bring the incident – or incidents, because there were quite a few – with Hot Star to your face. “I grew up in the states so the extreme response to a dating report here just baffles me. Seriously. In the west, we want our favorite celebrities to date and be happy and healthy. We actually ship celebrities together. I remember growing up being totally in love with Freddie Prinze Jr – you don't know who that is, do you? She's All That? Scooby-Doo? None of this rings a bell? Okay, it doesn't matter, anyway – he started dating a co-star from one of his movies and I was their biggest cheerleader because I could see how happy he was. And you know what? Those two actors are still married to this day and I'm still rooting for them.”

Her rant is punctuated with a triumphant crossing of her arms as she leans back into her seat. You're confused as you gape at her. What is it that she's trying to tell you? If Hot Star and Big Hit hadn't intervened and the fans hadn't been so crazy, you and Namjoon would have a successful marriage?

She chuckles when she sees your confused expression. “Sorry, I know I'm a bit extra sometimes. My point that I have failed to get to is that … Hot Star has serious karma coming their way. I think you have the potential to do amazing things with your career. And I know from the look on your face that you're two seconds away from bolting but why don't you stick around and at least hear what they have to say?”

Her palm rises to your line of vision, a compact mirror and lip tint sat on top in a peace offering. It only takes you a few long seconds to reach out, hesitantly accepting the items with a gracious bow of your head. You're given one last encouraging grin before she stands up, bows and retreats back to the desk at the front of the room. Lowering the cosmetics into your lap, you exhale a shaky breath and pick up your phone. Though you had deleted his contact from your phone, there was no way that you didn't remember the number by heart.

You let the words flow into your fingertips, jerking your thumb to the send button before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Y/N,” the receptionist calls for you. Her eyes meet yours. “They're ready for you.”

__________________________________

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Jungkook is chanting breathlessly to himself as he grasps Namjoon's arm for support, the group shuffling quickly into the backstage area. The leader wobbles, his legs feeling as if they're made of jelly; all of his limbs feel as if they're suddenly jelly. The only part of him with substantial weight is the shiny, gold gramophone statue clutched tightly in his right hand. There's chaos as they step into the dressing room – managers, stylists and various staff shouting victoriously, some of their faces drenched with happy tears.

After all this time … they did it. The Grammys were something that all k-pop stars only fantasized about and BTS - Namjoon and his brothers – now hold two of them.

It's a feeling that Namjoon can't comprehend. It's a feeling that's too overwhelming for his body. He wants to do everything; wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants to hug every single person in the room, he wants to tell everybody he knows. He wants …

Oh. His chest dives when your face appears in the back of his mind. This is usually when you're calling him to congratulate him, to tell him how proud you are, to remind him how hard he worked for it, to promise him a more intimate celebration when you get to spend more time together.

From the wild thumping of his heart, it's easy to decide what he wants to do the most.

Ignoring the craziness of the room, Namjoon drops onto the couch. The award is yanked out of his grasp but he lets it go, reaching instead into the pile of cellular devices left on the coffee table to collect his own phone. Booting it up, he's not surprised to see his inbox already flooded with congratulatory messages and voicemails.

However, it's your message that sits right at the very top – two minutes ago – that surprises him the most.

Congratulations, Joonie. I am so proud of you. And when you want me, I'll always be by your side.

He reads the words again. And again. And again. Over and over until the dark font transforms into a blurred silhouette from his tears. One of the members – he can't distinguish who at this point – yanks his limp body into a hug, assuming that their leader is emotional from the fact that they just made history.

That's what he should be emotional about.

But all he can think about is you.

You, who had been with him since he joined Big Hit, who trained with him and grew with him. You, who supported him more than any person on this planet. You, who swore with your entire life that BTS would win Grammys. You knew it was going to happen and he wanted to prove you right.

How can he feel victorious when you're not with him?

Rising to his feet abruptly, Namjoon seeks out his manager. Upon seeing the fierce determination in his gaze, the main wrangler of the seven idols feels his cheerful grin drop. Jerking his head into the direction of the hallway, Namjoon has made up his mind.

The company will be furious; they'll fight it as much as they can. The fans will be devastated and betrayed, some might even boycott. The boys – though they'll support him no matter what – will be understandably concerned. This is a decision that effects everybody and the only person Namjoon cares about, the only person who can make the decision … is you.

__________________________________

“How does everything look?” Mr. Park, also known as freaking Psy, asks politely, leaning in your direction from across the table. Your eyes quickly skim the first few pages of the document again. You're not familiar with a lot of the legal terms and you'd be lying if you didn't admit that there were parts of the contract that sounded slightly confusing. But for the most part – from your experience with your past contracts and your knowledge of the industry – the agreement is great. Way better than anything you ever imagined prior to walking into the building today. “Is there anything you'd like to edit? Any clauses you'd like to negotiate?”

You clear your throat, wishing your nerves would give you a break. “It all looks great, honestly. I'm really thankful for this opportunity.”

Psy frowns. “I sense a but coming.”

“No, no” you assure him with a shaky chuckle. “I'm definitely signing. I'd be crazy not to. This is such a great contract, more than someone like me could have ever hoped for after … you know, all things considered. I just … I do want to request one clause be added.”

Every pair of shoulders at the table straightens up, pens being pressed to paper and fingers set atop of their laptop keyboards at the ready.

“This might sound silly coming from me and it might be a rookie mistake to request this at the contract signing but … I want to be able to date. I want to be given the chance to have a normal, healthy relationship whether it be private or public – and I want to be the one that chooses which. When there's news about me dating, I want you to ask me first and I want you to have my back, to publish what I say and not what you think will get more attention with the media. And you can refuse, you can even add a clause that says I'm not allowed to date but to be honest, even if you tell me no, I'm still going to do it. You can rip up the papers right now if that's what you want to do. I just want to be transparent with you. I've given up so much and I don't want to give up anything more. That's the decision I made for myself before I came through these doors.”

The speech is long and you're winded when you finish, leaning back against the chair with what you hope is a quiet exhale. At the end of the table, there's a light giggling. Before you sat down, you were fully under the impression that you'd be meeting with Hyuna because it was her name on the business card that was handed to you. You knew there would be other people involved but you didn't expect it to be Psy and his entire legal team. For the majority of the meeting, Hyuna stayed silent at her end of the table, only nodding or laughing or frowning when appropriate. She offered you nothing except for polite smiles when your gazes accidentally crossed paths. Admittedly, you were confused about her role in your signing but just having her there – someone who was in your exact shoes but had the guts to actually stand up for her relationship – made a world of difference in how comfortable and confident you were speaking right now.

“I told you,” Hyuna chuckles, pursing her lips cockily and throwing a sly head tilt to Psy. Your nerves intensify as you snap your neck to the man who nods in agreement. “I told you that you should have just added that clause to save some time.”

And just like that, your mic drop moment is gone. You feel yourself trembling as you lower your eyes to the table. They knew you were going to ask for it. They were going to add a clause so that you wouldn't ask for it.

“When you say that you want to be in a relationship, do you mean that you want to be in a relationship with Kim Namjoon of BTS?” Hyuna asks curiously, fingers twirling a pen as if this this meeting wasn't about to be the cause of your impending heart-attack. Namjoon's name being spoken only adds to your panic.

“Does it make a difference if I say yes?” you stutter, your voice small.

“You said you want to be transparent with us. Don't back down now,” she warns. The sound of her pen dropping to the table is like an foghorn directly into your ear canal.

“Okay, yes. I want to be in a relationship with Namjoon,” you admit. Maybe you're just searching for any sign of discomfort in the room but you swear that you hear the hiss of someone taking in a breath. You continue anyway. “I'm not saying concretely that I will be. It's … complicated between us. But I love him more than anything else and if the chance to be with him again presents itself then … yes, I'm going to take it.”

“Okay then,” Psy says, his eyes flitting to a few of the men sat next to him at the table. “Get to work. She can date whoever she wants, whenever she wants and we must consult with her about her personal matters before submitting any statements to the press. Y/N, anything else to add?”

Wait, what?

“Y-you're still signing me? You're … adding the clause?” you ask in disbelief.

Psy's grin is wide as he smiles. “Of course we are. We're signing you because we want your talent, not your freedom.”

“I didn't even have to convince him,” Hyuna chirps. Your eyes are wide and watery as you gape at her with awe. “He was on board the second that I mentioned your name. What has happened to you in your career is … disgraceful. Being kicked out of Big Hit simply for being a woman, being kicked out of Hot Star because your company choose to capitalize on your relationship instead of supporting you. I know you probably think that he's just scooping up jaded k-pop stars but we're not interested in you because we pity your unfortunate background. We're interested because we're in awe of how you keep going. You were at the top of the food chain of trainees at Big Hit and when you were transferred, you had to start all over again and you did it. You debuted. And when this industry kicked you back down to square one, instead of giving up on being an idol like most others would, you took my card and called us to willingly – once again – be the lowest totem on the pole. You've got the whole package – talent, looks and perseverance. You're going places farther than any of those girls in FRNZEE could even fathom and we want to be the ones that help you get there.”

You don't realize that you're out of your seat, that you're stumbling your way in Hyuna's direction until she's in front of you and you're swinging your arms around her neck. She's startled, emitting a soft oomph as she fumbles backward but instead of pushing you away, she pats your shoulder comfortingly.

“Thank you,” you sob into chest. “Thank you so much. You have no idea. I-I just … I don't-”

Gently, she pushes you away, her hand firm on your shoulders as she bends down to meet your eyes directly. With her other hand, she uses her thumb to wipe away what you know are disgustingly hideous mascara tracks. Her smile is blinding as she grins at you encouragingly.

“Welcome to the family, Y/N,” she says warmly. Those words send a trill of warmth down your spine. “Even though it was my suggestion, who you really need to be thanking is our CEO. I have a big mouth and I use it often but he's the one who ultimately makes the decisions.”

You nod, turning to approach Psy. Unlike with Hyuna, you reign in your raging emotions, opting to bow respectfully instead of launching yourself at him. “Thank you, sir. I promise that I'm not going to let you down.”

Rounding back to your side of the table, there's no hesitance when you pick up the pen to sign your name and stamp your seal. The group waits until your pen has been placed back onto the table before they're on their feet and cheering. Their applause for simply signing with you is more encouraging than all of your positive interactions you've ever had with the Hot Star CEO combined. Psy has the super sweet receptionist – who winks in congratulations before she leaves the room – bring in a bottle of champagne and Hyuna insists on snapping a photograph of you with your contract for your future trophy case in their talent room.

You've been in this room for an hour. One hour and it feels as if you've been handed this entire new world wrapped with a shiny promise of a great future.

There's only one thing missing.

__________________________________

ONE MONTH LATER

BREAKING: Y/N officially signs with P NATION!

Months after leaving FRNZEE and Hot Star Entertainment following the dating scandal that led to her being verbally and physically attacked by BTS fans, P NATION – the entertainment company that was founded by former YG artist Psy in 2019 – has announced on social media today that they've officially signed with Y/N! Y/N was ostracized in the k-pop industry after rumors of her dating BTS leader RM were confirmed by Hot Star but denied by Big Hit. Due to backlash, Y/N was ultimately pulled from the group's comeback. The controversy also saw BTS fans attacking the then-FRNZEE vocalist in the KBS parking lot during a Music Bank recording.

We can't wait to see what kind of music Y/N will be releasing under this new label. Stay tuned for more updates!

You roll your eyes, clicking off of the article and back to the influx of incoming messages. It was too much to hope for a quick “congratulations!” article, wasn't it? Scrolling through the messages, you feel slightly overwhelmed but in a good way.

Ji-na: I feel cool because I already knew but still CONGRATS AGAIN BABE! Happy for you!!

You're giggling as you type back a response to her and a few other people before clicking the phone off and setting it down to charge. Your eyes take a long moment to adjust to the dimness of the room compared to the bright lights of your phone screen. Today has been a whirlwind of messages and phone calls and more messages and more phone calls. You just need a break from all devices.

“Y/N?” a voice from the kitchen calls. You heave yourself onto your feet, padding a few steps over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. Per your contract with P NATION, instead of sticking you in a dorm, you're now living in an apartment building owned by somebody who works for the company. Your building neighbors include Hyuna and Hyojong who actually live on your floor and Jessi who lives a few up. It wasn't super spacious but it was cozy and private and yours. You sigh in exhaustion as you slump onto one of the stools. “Do you want mozzarella on your pasta?”

Elbows resting on the table, your chin propped onto your palms, you nod sleepily, letting your eyes flutter closed. “A lot of it, please.”

You giggle when you feel something press against your lips. Opening your eyes, you're not surprised to see Namjoon mirroring your posture, his lips on yours. He kisses you sweetly for another few seconds before pulling away. “You've had a long day. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Happy. Content. Hungry,” you say pointedly, grinning when his dimples dip from his laughter. “I'm so glad that you're here with me right now.”

“Me too, Sweets,” he says softly, sliding his hand across the table. You remove one from under your chin and meet him halfway, interlocking your fingers immediately. Like always, your heart pummels against your ribcage. It appears that Namjoon is always going to fluster you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Considering the scale of dramatic that was yours and Namjoon's breakup, you would've thought there would have been some epic reunion consisting of hours of conversation and arguments and agreements that would lead to the reigniting of your relationship but … there wasn't. When he got off of the plane after returning from America, the first place that he went to was yours. In Daejeon. You had been in Seoul for meetings the entire day and because of what happened, your mother wouldn't let him in the house. He waited hours on the porch for you to return – after he had just gotten off a thirteen hour flight – and when you finally walked up that sidewalk to see him dozing on the uncomfortable, rickety wicker chair …. you just knew.

There didn't have to be a spectacular speech or declaration of love – you already knew you loved him and that you wanted to be with him again.

So here you were. Together.

Together – the word makes your chest clench in relief.

You eat your pasta takeout at the kitchen counter, taking turns feeding the different noodles to each other between catch-up conversation. You tell Namjoon about the concept meeting that you had earlier in the day, the meeting that would decide in what direction you want your sound to go. He tells you about the amount of celebrities – specifically ones that have stuck their noses up at the boys in the past – that are flooding Big Hit with collaboration requests following the Grammys. And when you finish up with dinner, you both retire onto the sofa. Namjoon loads Netflix and turns on a random documentary although you both know damn well that you'll only watch it for maybe twenty minutes before your restless hands and yearning lips find another way to keep each other occupied.

Tonight, though, you're surprised when he whips his phone out in front of your face. “We don't have any recent pictures together. Let's take a selfie.”

Your hair is in a messy bun and your face is bare but who are you to deny him anything?

Leaning in, Namjoon presses his lips against your cheek. You smile bashfully, assuming the picture will turn out incredibly sweet, until he uses his free hand to squeeze your cheeks together. Before you can protest, the blinding flash of the camera captures the moment. You massage the skin that was pinched when he releases you, muttering grumpily as he coos over how adorable he thinks the picture is.

“This one will be perfect,” he mumbles to himself before his fingers start moving across the screen keyboard.

You squint in confusion. “Perfect for what?”

He pretends to not hear you but you get your answer only two minutes later. The pings and beeps and notifications on your phone begin to chime rampantly again.

Ji-na: OMG NAMJOON IS TOO CUTE. YOU GUYS ARE TOO CUTE.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously at your boyfriend who lounges next to you, phone in one hand while the other kneads a spot on your ankle where it rests on his lap. “Why does Ji-na think you're too cute? What did you do?”

Namjoon chuckles incredulously. “Wow, that didn't take long at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, he presents you with his phone that's loaded to his Weverse account. There's one post from Namjoon, added two minutes ago. The goofy selfie of the two of you with the caption: I've been an idiot – she has always been my Sweets. Congrats, babe.

“Namjoon!” you shriek in alarm, shooting up into a sitting position. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

You gawk at the man as he chuckles calmly, pulling himself off of the sofa as well. Why would he do that? And how can he be so calm? Doesn't he realize that he posted it? Doesn't he realize what he just did?

“I … Joonie, I don't understand. Help me understand. Why did you do that?”

He takes your hand in his, pushing the pad of his fingers into your skin soothingly. “I told myself that if I was lucky enough to be with you again, things would be different. I wasn't going to make the same mistakes I did last time. I don't want us to hide. I don't want us to be a secret. I know that there's going to be backlash from this – especially because of my reaction last time – but I just want to be with you, okay? Is that okay?”

Is it hot in here? You feel like you're melting.

“Joonie, of course it's okay. There aren't going to be any label issues on my end and of course I want nothing more than to be public with you – it's what I've always wanted – but … have you cleared this with Big Hit? With the boys? What's going to happen now?”

He gives you his wide, closed-mouth smile, the one that makes his dimples deep. “What's going to happen is that we're going to be happy. Together. I'm going to own up to my mistakes and take responsibility for not fighting for us the first time around. I'm going to endure the backlash with the boys at my side and … we're going to be Joonie and Sweets no matter what anyone has to say about it. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip to stop the sudden onslaught of tears. Joonie and Sweets. It's all you've ever wanted.

He sighs. “I know this is going to get us both in a bit of hot water but I'm done hiding.”

Crawling closer to him, you snuggle into his side, sighing in contentedness when his arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“I'm okay, Joonie. I can take whatever is thrown at us but I just have to confirm one thing for whenever my manager eventually calls,” you tell him. His eyebrow lifts questioningly. “We're both in the relationship this time, right?”

He rolls his eyes once before lunging at you, fingers digging into your sides in merciless tickles.

- T H E E N D -

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years

Note

To, Yu

Okay, I was gone, and the moment I came back, i [The sentence randomly stops]

I’m, not upset at the fact you lied, i actually had an inkling for awhile now while you were describing the rooms for the first time, it looked like you wanted to continue, but stopped yourself at the last second. I understand why you lied, seeing all of those things must’ve been hard, but Lis and I can’t help you if we don’t know anything, ok Yu?

It sounds like, you found ways out, but both are, not good for you? I don’t know, my brain’s all fuzzy and I can’t comprehend words right, maybe I’m getting something wrong.

My point is, when you build up the guts to, please please please explain to us, or at least me, on what’s in that North room, I don’t care if it’s bad we need to know everything we can about the realm so [The sentence stops again]

Sorry, I’m just, kind of on the edge. Of course you don’t have to tell me now, but

If, it’s not intruding on personal space, what the hell happened between you and Jake? I’m assuming that Jake lied about something, but I don’t think we would do any good if there’s bad blood between the two of you. I sent my Jake the letters too, and he agrees as well.

We’re both worried about you, so, don’t hide anything, alright? [The rest of the text is blacked out]

Rai and Jake

|Hello, real person behind Rai here, I wanted to clarify some things because I don’t think I made it clear before (I’m sorry about that). Rai is a complete OC, their not a self-insert at all, and they have their own life completely separate from mine. Although it is true that I’ll be busy on July and won’t write letters frequently, I wanted to give an in-character Roleplay reason as to why Rai is not as active as the first few letters, hence the panicking at the last letter.

I, the real person, am completely alright, Rai, is not, not at all :)|

Rai,

Thanks for understanding. I'll try to hide as little as I can from now on.

What I think are the two ways out are sitting still and looking pretty, which I despise the concept of, and killing the MWAF by paying an even price, which I hate the idea of even more. (Blacked out) I checked out the altar room a little more, and the phrase "An eye for an eye" (or something approximate because Google Translate) was on the back of the altar in Greek. Jake helped me translate it before we argued.

Mixing mythologies yet again. So far we've got Egyptian, Greek, and... Biblical? I think that's from the Bible. Sue me, it's been a while since I took World Religions.

Actually... no. I guess it hasn't. It just feels longer than it actually was.

I'll try to be a little more specific about what's in the north room. It's not... quite as bad as I made it out to be before, but I was already freaking out and in a bad headspace from remembering the freaky stuff, and I blew it a little out of proportion. I'm not sure how I'd even explain what it really is, though.

It's something similar to a hologram, transparent enough that you can see the trees through it. There's some text in white that doesn't seem to be addressed to me, implying that I'm stuck between the end of something and the beginning of another. Then there are a couple bars— five, to be exact —and two of them are filling with orange very slowly. The others are untouched so far. It's implied I'll be out of this place when all the bars fill up to full. I'm not sure this text was necessarily written by the entity, though. If it was, I think it'd address me a little more directly.

I don't think the argument Jake and I had is necessarily all that useful to the investigation, but since I'm trying to not keep secrets anymore, I'll say it regardless. The cause is tangentially related to the case, anyhow.

I asked him a little while ago whether he could find out if there was a missing person's out for me or not, so we could figure out the extent of the stasis. Then drama happened and I completely forgot all about it until two days ago. I asked him again then, and he sort of acted a little cagey while telling me that he was still in the process of investigating, and told me to wait another day. So I did. I don't think he expected me to remember, since I forget things all the time, but I don't forget things I'm really invested in and I REALLY wanted to know the answer to that question.

Jake made an excuse and went offline when I tried to ask again, which sort of made me think the worst. In hindsight, thinking that anyone who could've reported me missing was dead was pretty stupid, but you try being rational in the face of an unknown like that. In any case, I got anxious, and that sort of blew everything out of proportion, and then that made me more and more upset, and given all the other bullshit inherent in this place and the stress I've been through lately I just completely broke down. Had to sit down and put my head down so I was less likely to pass out from my hyperventilating. Luckily, I knew what was going on and I know breathing exercises, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

In any case, when I was back to being semi-functional, I unlocked my phone again, meaning to close out of the chat, but apparently my last few texts before I had to stop had managed to get across to Jake at least a portion of how freaked out I was. He probably figured it out based on all the typoes and the lack of punctuation or something, his "flaw" (if you can call it that) only seems to make him oblivious to tone and not to outright out of character writing styles.

So he finally told me that there wasn't a missing person's out for me, and not only that but everyone who might have put one out pretty much forgot I existed. He got my fucking parents to answer a "survey," and they only filled out that my half-sister existed, not me. Legal documents and stuff were still all in order, but literally the only people who seem to remember I fucking exist are the Duskwood crew and you and Lis and he had the nerve to tell me that he didnt want to tell me because it wasnt essential information and it would affect my judgement

Back now. I screamed abuse into the woods for a couple minutes, so I feel a bit better now.

I can see his point, logically, but for fuck's sake, there are some things that don't have much to do with the case that I do need to know regardless. This is one.

I'm not going to cut contact with him forever. To put it callously, neither of us can afford that. But if I talk to him now, I'm going to end up saying something or other I'll regret.

Right. Other topics.

Rai, are you doing alright? I know you've got personal issues going on, and I'm not trying to pry into them, but your writing is sort of disjointed and you mentioned being "fuzzy" and "not comprehending words right". Are you getting enough to drink and to sleep? I know weird shit happens to me when I get dehydrated. If you ever feel like you're about to pass out, sit down and put your head between your knees. If this continues, maybe you should see a doctor. Do you feel like your head is stuffed with cotton balls, at all? Any other symptoms?

Feel better :(

—Yu

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

#congrats rai you have unlocked mom friend mode #duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #tw: mental illness #tw: panic attack #both only mentioned/implied but still

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

The Fate of Thundersub Two

Title: The Fate of Thundersub Two

Author: Gumnut

5 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: You can push it only so far. Episode tag to 3.19.

Word count: 1920

Spoilers & warnings: Spoilers for 3.19 and future episodes of season 3.

Timeline: Immediately after 3.19

Author’s note: This was quickly written with no brain and reflects the quality of my lack of cerebral functioning at the time. I literally killed off sleep to write this because I’m supposed to be writing my other fic. But we have an episode tag :D And hopefully I can sleep in a little tomorrow since it is nearly 2.30am at the moment. I hope you enjoy this anyway :D

Many thanks to my wonderful supporters, you know who you are. ::extra big hugs::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Hiram Hackerbacker was a patient man. Science requires patience so it was to his advantage to have as much of it as possible.

However, having co-existed with the Tracy family for many years, that patience had often been tested, and today was another one of those days.

He had been in the midst of fuel calculations for the Zero-X. They had hit a snag in the weight and energy expenditure ratio and he was reduced to having to create a lighter, more energy efficient fuel. This required molecular calculation and design, something which involved a great deal of concentration.

To have John interrupt him to say that Virgil had taken Thunderbird Two for a swim yet again was enough to throw all the calculations out of his head. “W-what?!”

“I’m sorry, Brains, but Virgil needs your help. Two is on approach and her systems are experiencing intermittent failures.”

“Th-that’s because she is n-not a submersible.”

John shook his head. “Rescue called for it and you know Virgil. Whatever is necessary.”

Brains sighed. “V-very well.”

John smiled at him before switching the feed to Thunderbird Two.

“V-Virgil?”

“Hi, Brains.” There was considerable guilt in his fellow engineer’s expression. “I have VTOL failure in two out of four engines and I suspect her port rear thruster isn’t going to last much longer. I may need to crash land.”

Brains bit back on a curse. “Have you t-tried the auxiliary p-power relays?”

“Yeah, no go.”

Switching the feed to his phone, Brains strode out of his lab and ignored the door that slammed behind him. “Where are Gordon and Thunderbird Four?”

“FAB2.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t want to risk him. And, well, he had other concerns.”

Brains frowned as he stormed into the comms room. Scott was glaring at him and the duplicate hologram of Virgil hanging in the middle of the room. Brains ignored him and pulled up Thunderbird Two’s status.

He groaned.

“Virgil, you know as m-much as I that you c-can’t land her. Her secondary c-computer core is flooded, her p-primary core is well on the way to joining it. It is a m-miracle you are still air-borne. In fact, you should d-ditch her into the ocean as s-soon as p-possible before the decision is t-taken from you.”

The hologram of the second eldest Tracy sagged. “Where?”

“T-two hundred m-metres from the island m-minimum. We will r-recover her.” Virgil’s expression was tragic. “I promise.”

Beside Brains, Scott straightened. “Virgil, that’s an order. We can’t risk you. I’ll launch Thunderbird One and assist.”

Virgil glanced down before obviously steeling himself. “FAB.”

Scott’s lips tightened and he nodded at his brother before loping up the steps and disappearing into his chute.

Moments later, One erupted out of the pool deck and disappeared to the south in search of her crippled sister.

Brains shivered.

And waited.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy knew how to swear and at this moment he was exercising every piece of profanity he could bring to mind.

Brains was right. Two was going to fall from the sky, it was only a matter of time. His dash was screaming at him, a new red light and alarm added every few minutes. This would make it the third time he would have to fish his ‘bird out of the ocean.

She dropped suddenly as her port thruster sputtered, her flight path skewing as her forward thrust struck out of balance. Shit. Goddamnit.

“C’mon, Two only a hundred or so kilometres and we’re home.”

She sputtered again.

And her port thruster died completely.

“Shit!” His girl swung around in an unbalanced turn, weight and thrust completely out of sync.

It was a terminal spiral dive. There was not a damn thing he could do.

Didn’t stop him from trying.

She ignored him.

The ocean and sky began to spin.

A solid thunk on her hull, a screaming roar, and her spiral slowed, her altitude and direction corrected...and the blue of auto took over her controls. “Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two, I have your control...what little you have. Compensating for your thruster failure. Virgil, bail out.”

“Scott-“

“Now, Thunderbird Two!” His brother’s voice stood for no argument.

Defeated. “FAB.”

He threw his chair back and yanked out his emergency jet pack from the overhead locker. He secured it to his baldric and harness, and with one last look at his beloved cockpit, stepped onto the platform and sent it up through the overhead hatch.

The roar of One assailed him through his helmet, the wind a buffeting aggravation.

“Virgil, move your ass, she’s about to hit!”

And the ocean was far too close for comfort.

He triggered the jetpack and shot up into the sky.

Just as his ‘bird hit the water.

It was spectacular.

And heart-breaking.

One disengaged before impact, accelerating out of harm’s way. Scott had killed Two’s remaining thruster, but her speed was too fast and as her nose caught the water, the momentum differential between forward and back, flipped her head over tail.

Virgil gasped as her belly was exposed to the sun and she hit the water like a breaching whale.

His heart attempted to beat itself to death against his ribcage.

With little more than a bubbling sigh, his girl began to sink below the waves.

No.

“Deploying inflater bags.” Scott’s voice was protocol. Over comms specifically for Virgil, it was reassurance.

Yellow appeared in the water below and the bags rose, somewhat awkwardly as they were deployed from the now underside of the upside down Thunderbird.

But his girl was floating and not disappearing into the depths.

He let his breath go.

-o-o-o-

“Thunderb-bird T-Two is not a s-submersible!”

Gordon jumped as Brains’ angry voice hit him. He had hurried back the moment John had told him that Virgil had crashed his ‘bird. Of course, the Indian Ocean was a fair way away by sub, so it had taken him quite some time to make it back to the Island without the assistance of his cargo carrying brother.

After docking Four, Gordon had the unpleasant experience of discovering Two in her hanger. The puddle around her and behind her where she had been dragged in by the heavy duty pods punctuated her condition loudly.

Thunderbird Two wasn’t going anywhere for quite some time.

“Lives were at stake.” Virgil’s voice was strained.

“Yes, including yours.” Oh great, Scott was in on this. Though, to be honest, where else would Scott be in this situation? “You could have killed yourself, Virgil. Either in the water with the freighter or when you crashed your own ship.”

“You ordered me to ditch her!”

“She was going down anyway! You would have been killed!”

Great. There it was. Scott had had the shit scared out of him again. How many times had his eldest brother been faced with Virgil crashing his ‘bird?

Too many times.

Gordon sighed and took that last step into the comms room.

Someone had to save his brother from his big brother and the resident genius engineer.

“Hey, guys.” All three turned to stare at him. “Virg, you okay?”

A single nod. Well, as okay as a Tracy brother could be when their ‘bird is in pieces.

Brains’ turned back to Virgil. “R-repairs are going to t-take some time. Time we do not have l-leading up to the Zero-X p-project.”

“I will work on repairs.”

“V-Virgil, you d-do not understand. Th-thunderbird Two’s frame was w-warped in the collision. She is s-tructurally unsound. She n-needs a new hull. The plane in the hangar is only g-good for sp-spare parts.”

Gordon’s heart sank as Virgil stared at Brains.

“I-I’m s-sorry, V-Virgil. Thunderbird T-Two needs to b-be rebuilt entirely.”

Virgil was still staring.

Gordon was doing a little staring of his own. “How can International Rescue operate without Thunderbird Two?”

“I’m a-afraid, it will h-have to m-make do.”

Virgil was still staring at Brains, his expression caught in shock.

Scott looked a little stunned himself, but his eyes kept darting between the two engineers.

Until Virgil sat down hard on the couch behind his heels.

“Virgil?”

But Virgil had buried his face in his hands.

It was a matter of strides before Gordon was sitting beside his brother. “Hey, Virg. We will rebuild her.” His hand landed on a tense shoulder.

Virgil didn’t respond.

-o-o-o-

The next few days were quiet for Brains. Mostly because he was tackling the fuel design problem and not having much luck, so consequently had locked himself in his lab in order to focus on the problem.

It was the fourth day after the demise of their cargo carrier before he saw Virgil again. The pilot had disappeared into the villa and the few times Brains had surfaced for food or been physically dragged out of his lab by Sally Tracy, Virgil hadn’t be anywhere to be seen.

He did know that John arrived down from Five on the second day and late one night as he was stumbling to his rooms, Scott and John could be heard having a very loud ‘discussion’ in the comms room. Brains knew better than to interrupt that. When the Tracy’s argued, there was usually enough passion in the room to set the furniture alight, not to mention random engineers who might accidentally get in the way. So he went to bed and ignored it.

But on the fourth day, Virgil appeared in Brains’ lab, eyes a little bloodshot and demeanour tired. Brains didn’t realise he was there at first. It wasn’t until Virgil reached around him and asked him about the fourth variable in his equation, that he realised he was being watched.

“Oh, V-Virgil. H-how are you?”

“Fine. Just on the hunt for some J-12 threads for Four.” A frown. “What are you doing? Is that praeline oxide? Are you trying to bind it with neutrozine?”

“Yes. W-we need an increase in fuel energy with a r-reduction in mass.”

“Why?”

“The Zero-X fuselage is too large to b-be launched at current r-ratios.” He threw up the design hologram for his fellow engineer.

Those bloodshot eyes frowned. “You’ve based the design on the original Zero-X.”

“M-most certainly. It was the m-most efficient d-design.”

“But it is not working.”

“No. We have d-different mass require-ments to the original d-design and, so far, I have been unable to compensate.”

Virgil spun the hologram around on its axis. A slight frown and he pulled out his phone, stabbing it with his finger.

“Cahelium would lighten the load, perhaps enough to stick with the current fuel.”

“We do not have enough p-processed cahelium in store and n-not enough t-time to refine more.”

Virgil pursed his lips and stabbed his fingers at his phone again.

An undefined expression flickered across his face. Voice quiet. “Yes, you do.” A swallow and he held up his phone. “Cannibalise Two.”

Brains stared at the hurried calculations and his eyes widened. “Yes. That is perfect!” He scribbled down the numbers into his tablet. Within moments he had cross referenced the resources and added up exactly what he needed. Two would tip the scales. He could also possibly use her structure as it was. It would speed up production. Of course, with her damage, he would need to check her integrity thoroughly.

If only he could use Three as well, he could incorporate her strength here. That would require extra thrust there, but then Three had that strength already.

The calculations piled up in his head. By the time he had come up with a feasible design, Virgil was long gone.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #TAG Spoilers #tagspoilers #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Hiram Hackenbacker #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #episode tag

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piratewithvigor · 4 years

Text

Love Break My Heart: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Summary: A half-life relationship is disintegrating at the seams. Neither of them is good for the other, but after 14 years together, they don’t know how to be with each other anymore.

Word Count: 2059

A/N: A prize story written for @slashscowboyboots that I keep putting off working on until I have massive fruitopia-fueled writing bonanzas when I’m supposed to be going to sleep because I work tomorrow. Enjoy!

I can remember back to the first days we spent in the studios. Cutting demos, the silence punctuated by growling stomachs. We were hungry literally and figuratively. Daily scrapings of cash were what we ate from and some days, sleep was all we could afford for dinner. Working on the first album was much of the same, but not quite as desperate. We had a bit of an advance. Something we could eat off of, but nothing that was keeping us in the lap of luxury. We still all shared a shitty house with a carpet full of burn holes and not a single piece of furniture that didn’t boast an array of stains, dents or scrapes. But we weren’t starving for anything except success.

It’s different now. You didn’t have to look beyond the people occupying the studio to know the energy felt different. Steven was gone, to begin with. He’d struggled along with the rest of us, and now he was gone because he found something that meant more to him than we did. Success got to his mind and gave him the delusions of invincibility I had seen so many of my heroes succumb to. My mind drifted to him sometimes when nothing else was occupying it. Call it a happy place, if you will. It’s simply a corner of my mind I can go to when the reality around me doesn’t live up to my expectations of it.

The other difference is everyone’s attitudes about the albums-in-process. Our collective passions were what created the first, but this? The passion here lay in something besides music. Slash is doped up, hiding behind his curtain as if he thinks we can’t tell. He used to share this passion with Steven and me, but times are different now. Duff’s baby is in the bottle. How his liver hasn’t exploded yet is beyond me. His passion lies somewhere deep within his endless bottles, in drinking them down like he’s trying to find it. Axl? His passion lies in control, in perfection. In a way, it always has, but it’s begun to overpower him and, in turn, the rest of us. His demand for perfection drives everyone to their respective new passions as well. As for myself, I’m no saint. I’ve drank my fair share and I took part in every drug I could get my hands on. But they weren’t my passions. The struggles I went through to kick all of them were in the honour of the one thing who held control over me: the bitchy redhead who’s barking orders at everyone in the studio.

I’m trying to comply with what he’s saying and follow directives. Axl’s in no mood to hear anyone’s ideas but his own. Neither Duff nor Slash seem eager to offer any. Matt and Dizzy look more inclined to lick peanut butter off his ass than to offer constructive criticism. It’s no one’s fault the day is going this way; simply the cycle that’s been constructed during these albums. A single mistake in the morning leads to an outburst, which leads to stress, more mistakes, more anger and fear which leads to shit being taken secretly to cope, then playing gets sloppier, and eventually, something will break. It’s as certain as any law of motion.

I’m not even sure who messed up when Axl pauses us again. I started tuning him out after we did a perfect run-through and he still found problems. As much as I love him, sometimes a tune-out is the only way to cope. It’s the only way I can keep loving him. He’s in the control room, arguing with our producer. I can’t hear his exact words through the soundproofed glass, but I can see his lips moving and his body language isn’t screaming “I’m in a fantastic mood; please approach.”

It takes five or so minutes for our producer to eventually lean into his mic to be heard in the recording booth.

“Iz, Axl thinks you might be flat.”

I purse my lips and make a show of checking my tuning quickly. I’m not flat. Axl knows I know I’m not flat. He’s lashing out because something isn’t living up to his grand vision and he isn’t sure what it is. I’d have heard if someone was flat. He would have too, without having gone through an entire shouting match with the producer to wreck his voice.

Satisfied with my efforts, Axl returns to the booth and we start another take. They’re numbered, for some reason, but we’ve done so many, I don’t know why anyone would bother to keep track. It’s the same for every song. Every song on these twin albums that we thought would be a great idea. No one had anticipated just how much of a pain they would grow to be. A single album takes months. We’ve been at both of them for over a year. Almost a year and a half, by my count. A year and half of my time spent being yelled at by a man who just wishes he could yell at the universe, but instead chooses to whittle it down to who he used to consider his universe.

I’m playing again, but I don’t remember beginning. Everyone is playing, but no one looks like they’re actually here. Mentally, anyway. We’re all in our respective happy places. Axl stops us again and the room heaves a collective mental sigh. The take was as perfect as he’s going to get. For tonight, anyway. Time passes in a different way in the studio. The lack of windows and clocks ensure it. Once the exhaustion sets in, minutes seem like hours, seem like seconds. I know I ate breakfast with Axl this morning, but nothing since. I can easily bet that it’s beyond lunch time.

Once Axl’s back is turned in the control room, I pull my neck strap over my head and place the guitar on one of the stands in the corner, unplugging it in the process. The minute details of imperfection have Axl swamped sufficiently that he doesn’t notice when I leave the recording booth. Nor does he notice that I’ve left the studio.

It’s late evening when I walk outside. Full moon on the rise and everything. For the first time today, my movements aren’t planned. Sure, I’ll eventually have to return to the studio and face Axl’s wrath, but for a few moments, I’m free. It’s yet crowded enough that Axl would be a fool to walk in the streets. Moments like these are when I respect Kiss and everyone who had the same idea as them: when you become famous, your face is no longer your own. It belongs to the public to use as they please. So they created new faces to give to the public and keep the ones they were born with for themselves. Staying out of the spotlight gives me a variation of the same luxury. A fan could identify me if they tried, but a casual viewer never could like how they would be able to with Axl. Being the frontman, everyone knows his face. He’d get swamped the instant he set foot outside the studio. I’m walking with my hands shoved into my jean pockets to keep them a little warmer. It might be Californian May, but it’s still nightfall and growing colder. Not enough that I’m wishing I had something warmer on, but enough that it’s starting to grow unpleasant.

The first time I remember my intentions for leaving the studio is when I reach a cheap diner a few blocks away. The kind that looks like it employs people who spit in your food if you order anything more complicated than a burger and a soda. In short, the perfect place for a hiding musician.

The diner is empty save for a couple of skeevy patrons dotting the bar stools and other booths. A pretty sorry dinner rush, but the food looks edible enough to spend money on. Playing safely gets me a coke and a cheeseburger served in a plastic basket, somehow both looking like the most beautiful things I’d seen all day. Grease is seeping through the parchment paper lining the basket and the coke is a little flat, but it’s quiet. No strings cutting into my fingers while I played the same two minutes of a song over and over, no screaming, no more little bubble of resentment that was building up deep within me. Just soft conversations between patrons. For the first time in almost a year and a half, it’s quiet enough that I can let myself think.

A little scrap of paper’s been metaphorically burning a hole in my pocket since we began writing for the album, but I never knew what to add to it. My original idea was to write a love song for Axl, but the frustration of having nothing to say only got me more depressed. I hadn’t even tried to put anything down since I got clean.

I uncap a pen and begin to write. Nothing in particular, just a few words that could maybe be something some day. I eventually finish the cheeseburger and start dedicating my brain power to scribbling while I sip on my flat coke. The chorus is starting to come together and the verses are well on their way when someone slides into my booth across from me. I know without looking up. A pair of aviators join my field of vision of the table, but I’m not giving Axl the satisfaction of acknowledging him yet. It’s what he wants; to have the proof that I know I wronged him. So I keep at the task at hand. If he’s able to read my handwriting upside-down, he’s not saying so. Just sitting as uncaring as I am. As soon as I leave the diner, shit is going to fly. If I’m lucky, my nose will stay intact, but I’ve never been known to be that lucky before. All I do know is that the longer I sit here, the worse I’m going to have it. It’s the little quirks like that that you pick up on after 14 years with someone.

The final verse closes up under my hand as I awkwardly slurp up the last few drops of coke hidden under semi-melted ice cubes. I fold up the scrap of paper and put it back into my pocket as I get up, leaving most of my spare change on the table as a tip. I still haven’t looked Axl in the eye, but I can tell he’s been staring me down ever since he entered. When I push open the door to exit, he follows, no more than an arm’s reach away.

The first time he touches me is when we pass an alley and he grabs my by the collar to pull me in. The jolt is strong enough to startle me, but not strong enough that it hurts. He shoves me so my back is against the grimey alley wall before socking me across the jaw.

“You… Izzy, you…” He looks like he wants to saw something else, but he punches me again instead.

“…you backstabbing son of a bitch!” He figures out what he wants to saw as he swings again, but I’m ready for him this time. Ready enough that I block his arm with mine.

“Cool it, Fireball.”

“Cool it?” He chuckles like he’s in a strange sort of delirium. “You fucking throw me under the bus to deal with those fucking dipshits and you tell me to cool it?”

“I didn’t throw you under any bus you weren’t already swan-diving towards,” I counter, keeping a firm grasp on his wrist. I’ve both thrown and received my share of punches, but it doesn’t mean I’m fixing to get any more. Especially from Axl.

“You’re as bad as they are! Are you all fucking trying to mess up and delay the albums?” He’s struggling against my grasp enough that I let go. Right now, he’s not planning on hitting me anymore. Just yell a little bit and maybe pace some before the steam will be all out. We’ll kiss and we’ll go home together and we’ll call it love when deep down, we know it’s anything but.

#Writing #Love Break My Heart #GNR #Classic Rock #Axl Rose #Izzy Stradlin #Izal #Fanfiction

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precipi-nation-blog · 5 years

Text

Scenario: The cup clattered to the floor... (Nordics)

Warning: Swear words

Denmark:

... As you rushed to the sink to wash your mouth out.

“What the hell was that?” You spat between heaves of the awful concoction that Matthias had offered to you.

“An Irish car bomb?” Your reaction had turned his otherwise exclamatory phrase into a question, whilst he moved to rub your back. You finally coughed the last of it up, and used the spray nozzle of the sink to wash the remaining taste out of your mouth. Once the offensive taste had retreated, you raised your head from the basin of the sink to glare at Matthias.

“That was not an Irish car bomb! What’d you put in it?” You demanded, and the once-bold Nordic fiddled with his collar in response.

“Well, I didn’t have any of that Irish beer, so I substituted some of mine. And I couldn’t find any cream stuff either, so I put in coffee creamer.” He explained, looking at you through his eyelashes in hopes that you’d go easy on him.

You weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to know what his other stand-in was, but your mouth moved before you could get ahold of it.

“What ‘some of yours’ did you use, then?”

At this, Matthias smiled proudly.

“Only the best there is: Pilsner!”

Matthias’ smile was quick to flee the premises when he saw your face drop into one of disbelief.

“You used Pilsner? You used a Danish pale lager, instead of an Irish black stout, such as, I don’t know, Guiness, the only beer you’re supposed to use to make an Irish car bomb! And don’t get me started on the fact that you used coffee creamer instead of Baileys! Do you not realize that Baileys is just another alcohol? Just because it’s a cream alcohol doesn’t mean you can just dump some sugary garbage into a shot glass and make an Irish car bomb out of it!”

While he only paid about half an ear to your rant, Matthias lent both eyes to the passionate luster in your own and was quickly enveloped in the fire they possessed, warming him down to his bones with affection for you. Quick to stop you before you could rant for another half an hour, he reached a hand out and cupped one of yours.

“Want to go out so I can treat you to a real Irish car bomb?”

“... Sure.”

Finland:

... As opposed to the garbage can, where it was supposed to go.

You sighed in disappointment and got up to put it in its place, unwilling to litter in such a beautiful area. Padding back over to where Tino waited with an amused smile, you grumbled a half-hearted demand for him to hush before continuing on the path with him.

The silence, pierced only by the noise your boots made as they beat down the snow underfoot, went unbroken by purposeful sound. It was a little ironic, Tino thought to himself- The whole point of getting out of the house was that you two wouldn’t make noise and rouse the others from their slumbers, seeing as you both had happened to get up early. But now that you were outside, the two of you were as quiet as was nearly impossible in the house.

It was anything but unwelcome to either of you, though. And without sharing a single word, the two of you came to agree on that fact, and allowed the hushed air to continue its rounds undisturbed with your own waves of sound.

Perhaps it was because of this respectful pact with nature that it granted you sight of things typically hidden from those outside of its residence. Your walk was punctuated with appearances of all walks of life, from gray owls preening themselves high in the evergreens, to a family of deer picking out the sparse greenery hidden in the folds of white. The most that either Tino or yourself did, though, was motion to it with a smile. There was something pure, some kind of sanctuary here, and neither of you were willing to invade it.

Along the way, your head ended up propped against his shoulder. Wordlessly, Tino capped it with his own, and on you went to experience the magic of the forest together.

Iceland:

... And shattered against the tile.

“Shit!” You shouted under your breath, frozen where you stood. Emil rolled his eyes at your behavior and grabbed a broom from a closet, quickly returning and handing it off to you.

“It’s not a big deal, just clean it up. I doubt you woke anyone up anyway, they all sleep like logs.” More annoyed by the noise you produced than anything, Emil leaned back against the counter, staring out the gap between the curtains in the kitchen window.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to do a midnight raid for hot chocolate,” you offered, trying to escape the blame while sweeping up pieces of what was decidedly your mess.

“You’re the one who suggested it in the first place!” Your companion shot back, crossing his arms.

Unable to find any kind of comeback for the blatant truth, you sighed out the last of your indignation and threw the shards of the mug into the trash can.

“Sorry for breaking your mug.” You looked guiltily back at Emil, tapping the dustpan against the bin to get the last bits of ceramic out of it.

Emil’s eyes flicked over to you, frosted back over with his usual composure.

“It wasn’t even my mug.”

“Oh.” You returned. Lacking anything to say, and having finished your task, you set your tools down and joined Emil in slouching against the counter.

After about fifteen seconds of staring at the white curtains, you ejected a “Hold on,” moving forward to push them out of the way of the chilled glass.

Emil watched silently as you did this, as you opened up a portal to a vast, unending nebula of stars, accompanied by a peeking sliver of the just-past-new moon.

And just as silently, when you settled back at his side to join his vigil, he slipped his hand in yours.

Norway:

... Along with the rest of your careful stack of dishes. You dragged a hand through your hair in irritation, bending down to pick all of them up, biting back a choice word or two for the loud- but thankfully unbroken- glassware. You had just gotten the last plate into the sink when you heard the kitchen door swing open, and you knew exactly who it was.

“You can make more than one trip between the sink and the dinner table, you know,” Lukas started.

“It’s faster this way,” was the utterance with which you chose to defend your actions, as you plunged your hands into the soapy water and began to scrub.

“Not when you spend ten minutes every time picking up all the dirty plates, cups, and silverware that you drop all over the ground.” The man who was apparently deemed the backseat dishwasher quipped.

You didn’t bother continuing the argument, knowing that he would win one way or another. Instead, you huffed into your shoulder, scratching your chin against it in place of your wet, occupied hands.

Reading the mood like the book he had set down moments ago, Lukas decided to drop his very one-sided debate as well, instead walking over to join you at the sink. Rolling up his sleeves, he set to work on rinsing the dishes that you had scraped clean.

“It’s not your turn to do the dishes,” you pointed out. With a wry smile, you added, “And it won’t get you out of your next turn if you help me.”

“I know,” he replied. “I just wanted to help you.”

“Weren’t you reading, though?” You turned to him with this question on your lips, and he looked over at you once he saw your pivot in his periphery.

Taking one look at you was all he needed to confirm his decision to abandon his novel on the couch. With just a glance, he found every story he’d ever want to read written on your person.

He nodded, and turned the plate in his hands under the tap, washing the suds off the back.

Sweden:

... Once your arm jerked to the side to stretch. Your tired eyes could barely keep up with the speed that gravity lent the mug, but it definitely had your attention when the coffee inside of it spilled out.

“Ah, damn,” you muttered. “I’m sorry, Berwald.”

The man sitting across the table from you simply set his own mug down and moved to grab some paper towels, quick to sop the dark sepia tones up from the lighter wood of his kitchen floor. Not needing to be asked, Berwald poured you another cup of coffee, mixing with it just what you liked before handing the fresh brew off to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled into the rim of your cup, rearing your upper lip to blow at the surface before taking a sip.

“You can go back to bed,” the introvert suggested as he settled back down, picking up his own mug and disrupting the still surface of the coffee with his own long draft.

“No, I want to stay up with you,” You protested, rubbing an eye and sitting up straighter as if to prove to him that you could.

“You said that fika is an important thing in Swedish culture, and if it’s important to you, it’s important to me. Plus, I looked it up, and you’re not supposed to do it alone. If...” You trailed off to look blearily behind you in an attempt at reading the microwave. “... 3:30 is when you want to fika, I’ll do it with you!”

Berwald gave your drowsy figure a long stare, while thoughts poured over his internal dialogue like your previous cup of coffee over his clean floor.

“I’m glad that you care enough to get up early and fika with me. And you look very cute, almost falling asleep into your coffee like that. Should I say that? ... No, too embarrassing. I’ll say it later.”

In the meantime, though, he afforded you a small smile, and that was better than any dream you had missed.

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

Text

Scarab #7

What a surreal cover. Babies don't have skeletons.

And here was my reply:

I don't blame him for blocking me. Twitter is a giant shithole where nobody should be spending any time at all and the block feature is all that makes it bearable. He probably couldn't see just how funny I was being about how boring his fact was because he was — inexplicably — fascinated with it! It was so boring that I'd already forgotten it the next day when I discovered Millar had blocked me! And since he blocked me, I couldn't see the tweet which I had responded to. Which worried me because I thought, "Damn. What kind of a dick was I being?!" But then my friend Doom Bunny took a screenshot of the boring fact and I was relieved. I read it and thought, "Oh yeah! My response was hilarious! That fact was so boring I'm going to forget about it again almost immediately!" I guess I should apologize to Mark Millar. But should I be sincere or should I do one of those wise-ass apologies where I say something like, "I'm sorry you were so thin-skinned that my totally hilarious joke on Hellspace...I mean Twitter hurt your stupid feelings." Or I could just go on living as I had been living where I never see anything Millar tweets anyway because I don't follow him and haven't cared about anything he's written since he did the whole Todd McFarlane thing and started having other people write Hit-Girl and Kick-Ass while still somehow taking all the credit. Some day in my reading of old issues, I'll get around to The Ultimates and then I'll remember this day! I remember loving that series back around the turn of the Millennium but oh boy will I give it what for this time around! I'm already remembering that it probably sucked! My brain is really terrible with remembering names and even words that I often know I want to use but have to reverse Google search them by looking up the definition to give me the word I can't come up with. So when I was trying to remember who wrote Spawn, I just couldn't come up with Todd McFarlane. So I Googled him and this is the picture Google decided was the fucking Platonic ideal of Todd McFarlane:

I believe I own zero comic books by Todd so this is the only chance I have to look at his picture and think, "Really? REALLY? No, no. But really?!"

You know who I blame for me thinking I'm funny when I'm probably just a huge Internet troll that's making life miserable for a ton of comic book creators? Fucking Gail Simone! Why did she have to have such a good sense of humor about my blog?! Now I expect that kind of good natured ability to laugh at oneself from all creators instead of this tired pretentious bullshit that their art is above making dick jokes about! I should get blocked by somebody on Twitter every few days! It really gives me something to write about! Apparently the "Scream Over Hiroshima" story isn't finished. I guess Scarab still has a chance to do something — anything! — before this is over.

Russians super excited that their pacifist weapon destroyed London and taught everybody that war is Hell.

British Madame Xanadu fills Scarab in on what's happening so he can stop the next Scream Over Hiroshima attack. Not that she's worried about it destroying Reykjavik. She's more worried about what it's going to do to the astral plane. And, well, we all know how important the astral plane is having spent all those years playing Dungeons & Dragons instead of jerking off some peer in the bushes outside of the junior high school cafeteria. The astral plane is like the connective tissue of all the other planes, like The Happy Hunting Ground and the Abyss and the Negative Plane and Acheron and Gehenna and all the elemental planes too! This Scream Over Hiroshima situation is dire! It's also a good idea for my next Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Louis isn't really worried about saving the astral plane. Remember, he's spent the last six issues not giving a shit about anything except saving Eleanor.

See? Exactly like that barn owl Madame Xanadu!

While Scarab begins to realize that Madame Xanadu (even the British version!) always gets her way because how can you prove she's not being totally honest and just manipulating you for her own ends unless you risk the entire world by not doing as she says, one of the Russian scientists begins to have doubts about their plans for world peace. He's suddenly gotten philosophical and he's all, "How many dead babies is world peace worth?!" And his assistant is all, "All of them, you idiot! Every single one! Because all of the new babies won't have to worry about war anymore!" And the one feeling doubts is all, "But why do we have to be responsible for killing all of the babies?!" And the other guy is all, "We're not responsible! Science is responsible! Fucking murderer! But, you know, a necessary murderer! Because science is important!" Then the other guy starts losing his doubts and he's all, "You're right! Science is important! Imagine not having toasters! I'd probably kill three or four babies just to make sure science created toasters!" And then the other guy is all, "That's the spirit! Let's kill more babies for world peace!" Just to be clear, I was paraphrasing the actual conversation in the comic book! I know it was probably hard to tell because I used the word "fucking" and discussed killing babies and since this is a Vertigo comic, those kinds of things are totally expected. Actually, the scientists never really have time to come to grips with what they're doing before the Russian General shoots them both in the face. His mind has been taken over by the Glory Boys which probably means the entire world is in some serious shit now. Scarab travels through the astral plane to arrive in Russia so he can stop the Glory Boys from destroying the world. It'll probably be the easiest fight of his life because I'm sure the Glory Boys simply want to die. Except Scarab fucks it all up and his kill shot on the General just knocks the General into the lever which fires up the Glory Boys and releases the Scream Over Hiroshima over Reykjavik. That's where all the world leaders are meeting for some summit. The whole purpose of the Scream is to hit them with their own abuse of power. So maybe Scarab fucking up is good. Fuck the politicians! I hope the Scream Over Hiroshima makes them feel as bad as I felt when I realized Mark Millar blocked me on Twitter! The Earth is fucked and Scarab couldn't help. The issue ends with two cosmic dudes walking out of the chaos to fix everything. They claim they're Bobby Dazzler and Benedict Creed. They're cosmic plumbers or something. They work for the Cosmic Coincidence Control Center. Sounds like some real Doom Patrol shit. Scarab #7 Rating: B-. Once again, Scarab doesn't do shit. He's mostly just an observer of the horrors of the cosmos. He didn't even have to be in this story! And it looks like he doesn't need to be in the next issue either because those cosmic plumbers are there to stop the astral plane from overflowing into our reality. Unless they're actually the bad guys and Scarab needs to punch them a few times!

#Scarab #Mark Millar #John Smith #Scot Eaton #Vertigo #DC #DC Comics

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agentwallflower · 4 years

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Supernova: Chapter 8

Well... I made it to the end of July. Go me.

The last couple weeks have been stressful due to family stuff. I’m still working on my anthology entry. It’s fighting me every step of the way, but I’m going to finish and submit it by the due date. I doubt it’s going to get published, but... one more for the growing Rejection Collection I guess.

Hope y’all are handling this ok. I still go to work every day, public transit and all. It’s probably why I’m so depressed lately, apart from my regular massive depression that seems to resist treatment. I’m not in a great area - it’s not rock bottom, but it’s uncomfortable. I’m working on getting back into therapy but my insurance is mega confusing and still trying to give me a pediatrician. I know I’m short but come on...

Anyway. Next chapter is going up August 8th. I’ll see you all then. Stay safe, and remember to wash your hands.

Day 3 of being watched... boring.

Andy sighed as she stared up at the blank ceiling, hands behind her head. Behind her was the wall that wasn't actually one – it was a supposedly cleverly designed two way observation mirror. In theory, it was supposed to help the scientists study her without her knowing. Honestly, it probably would have been effective... except for the whole could kind of see through walls thing when she tried.

Well, maybe not tried – she still wasn't sure how she did it, but it helped her from being bored.

Naturally, the people who studied her didn't know about that. Little things, like seeing through walls, she kept to herself. Was it probably screwing up someone's grant proposal or big publication? Probably not – she was like def-con 5.

The perks of being an alien, she supposed.

For the last three days, she had been moving around the room. It was an ok room for a test subject, she supposed. It had a bed, a desk, and some books they had designed for her to read by flipping the orientation. What she would've really liked was internet access, but they didn't trust her with that. Maybe it was against IRB regulations or something – was definitely against Geneva to keep someone in a room for 3 days without anything to do. Then again, she wasn't human and probably wasn't covered under that.

Most of her time had been spent waiting for Dr. Sakamoto to fix her necklace. Something in her... whatever that was... had messed with the cloaking. She was all natural at the moment, blue rocks and all. That wasn't exactly conducive to going home where people could see her, but at least the scientists got some cool pictures of her sitting on her nonexistent ass.

She hoped they had to crane their necks to get a good view – nosy assholes were keeping her up with their typing.

For most people, this probably would have been weird. After all, being observed for 3 days in a plain room with no real way to get out was probably a bad thing. Honestly, it wasn't great, but it saved her from getting dissected by the FBI or whatever they had wanted to do with her. The room granted them study, but it also gave her protection from annoying government agencies. Sure, she was being studied by an annoying government agency, but better the devil you knew than the one you didn't.

“Sure hope Aunt Miri's ok...”

Andy would have frowned if her face could do that – it couldn't. No lips, or much facial expression, in her species. Instead she felt her inner core grow just a little colder at the thought of her aunt. She hadn't seen her past day 1, when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was probably fine but... well, a niece worries.

And where was her mom? Amanda should have been by to bail her out at that point. Even when she was mad – which she often was – she usually came within a day. Things were starting to get a little nerve wracking. Well, maybe not that; no nerves.

Damn, she needed better metaphors. All the shit she could think of involved body parts she didn't have.

Footsteps drew her out of her pity party. Andy sat up, facing the door. This was so she could use her special eyes and glance through. It was Dr. Sakamoto – damn – but she didn't have her clipboard in hand. That was a good sign... maybe?

Who knew with the doctor anymore. She was kind of a wildcard.

Dr. Sakamoto was kind enough to at least knock on the door – nobody else did. At least someone remembered she had feelings sometime. Andy watched as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. She still did it fast after the one time her charge had tried to escape as a child.

Now... she was probably a little too big for that. It might be easier to just break the glass and run.

“How are you feeling today, Andy? I'm sorry we've had to keep you here so long, it's been hard to reach your mother.”

She reached into her pocket to reveal a large purple crystal that glittered in the light and threw colored shadows on the floor. Just the sight of it made Andy's mouth figuratively water as she stood up. When it came down to it, she was like a lot of test subjects – incredibly food motivated.

“I figured she was busy, Cryojack is her client.” Andy accepted the crystal and started to crunch down. As soon as it was in her mouth, her saliva started to break it down. Unlike humans, she didn't have a stomach – everything she ate just went to her core to keep her body functioning. If there was any waste material, it gathered at the back of her knees and she could scrape it off later.

It was probably gross, but she didn't go around commenting on human bathroom habits so they could shut up if it bothered her.

The scientist watched her, probably cataloging her reaction. “Your aunt is out of the hospital now, by the way. She was particularly ornery, but that tends to be her personality.”

Andy felt her core bubble up and she stopped eating. “That's good. What about the guy who was with her?”

“I'm afraid I don't know anything about the man in the motorcycle helmet.” There was a tone to her voice that suggested the good doctor was hiding something – but it was useless to try and ferret it out of her. She was damn good at lying when she wanted to do it.“He is no doubt fine, heroes are essential personnel.”

Essential personnel... boy, that made her feel good.

If Dr. Sakamoto noticed the change in her charge, she didn't say anything. Instead, she gave Andy a long once over. Then she looked down at her datapad. She was trying to be subtle, but she was failing. Besides, the other scientists were watching from behind the wall. It was impossible to get something past a person who could see through walls, after all.

“Your necklace is repaired, by the way. It will be returned to you -” The doctor paused. Her pocket was beeping. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”

Andy watched as she exited the room; the door clicked shut behind her. Then she went to the observation area and started talking into a cell phone. Her face was tight, and she definitely wasn't someone the alien would call happy.

So... either she got her funding pulled, or someone was coming to pick her up.

Now it was time to appear casual, though. Andy relaxed her body as much as was possible and stared at the wall like a good little test subject. All the while, her core bubbled. She was so close to being home except...

She really didn't want her mother picking her up. Amanda was always a bear when she had to leave work, especially when she had to go through downtown traffic to get to the lab. The only thing waiting for Andy with that was the icy silent treatment, punctuated by pointed snark that tried to dig at her. It often worked – the woman was a shark. And that was coming from someone who basically made their teeth look like kid's toys.

Oh well... least her bed was more comfortable at home.

Dr. Sakamoto returned to the lab, annoyance written all over her face for a brief moment. She covered it up well, though. Andy turned her head in the doctor's direction and leaned back. Again, trying to look casual.

“What's up?”

The good doctor shook her head. “Your aunt is coming to pick you up. Your necklace will be waiting at sign out.”

Andy jumped to her feet. “Aunt Miri's ok enough to drive?”

“As far as I know.” Sakamoto turned away as she headed for the door. Someone was gripping the door handle a little hard. “Someone will be around shortly to escort you to the hand off. We'll see you in a week for your regular appointment.”

Well, today was just getting better and better. Andy's core was positively bubbling as she watched the head scientist leave the room to go mope and file some papers. Sure, she was still in for it when she got home, but there was a buffer.

And her aunt was ok.

The minutes ticked by. Eventually, a shaky looking tech poked their head in. They were new, based on the look on their face. All the more experienced hands were long used to what she looked like without her necklace. Only the newbies who had just gotten their def-con five clearing to work there still stared at her like she was an alien.

Well, she was... but that was beside the point.

“A-Andromeda? If you could, uh... if you could follow-” They dropped their clipboard. “Shit!”

The poor tech kept swearing as they bent to pick up their clipboard. Andy's metaphorical heart went out for them as she crossed the room to fall in. The faster they got out of there, the sooner she would be back in her room.

“Calm down, I'm not going to eat you.” She pointed to the exit. “If it's alright by you, can we get going? Three days in here was enough to drive me up the wall.”

They didn't calm down, but at least they weren't dropping shit anymore as they turned to lead her through the maze of doorways and security gates that would get her a one way ticket to solitary confinement. Maybe that was because they couldn't see her.

She wasn't THAT scary, thank you very much... you lack a nose, ears, and eyelids and everyone thinks you're some kind of space monster.

Andy was pretty much in her own little world until they got close. A voice pierced through her self-induced fog and caused her to stop walking. Instinct said hide behind the closest large object, but the only thing there was the tech. She had a half head on them, even if she crouched down.

“You're the reason we had to come down here!”

“Laying it on a bit thick there, aren't we?”

The entrance to the lab was currently quite noisy thanks to the two women gathered there. Amanda was still in her work clothes, but even in her heels she was shorter than Miri by a few inches. Her adversary still had some bandages on her, but she was standing and sharp-eyed. That was about anyone could hope for after a few days.

Great... and here she had been hoping it would be a quiet afternoon home.

Amanda was scowling, but her body language suggested she would rather be back at work with the assholes who liked to blow up the city. “Do you know how many government agencies have been screaming at me for the last three days?”

“The same amount threatening me?” Miri's voice sounded bored, but her eyes were ready to kill. “We both got an earful, A-”

Just like a lawyer, her mother jumped on it. “You got an earful because you can't do your job! I could've been arrested for letting i-”

Andy took a half step back. Up ahead, Amanda was breathing hard. She pulled herself back though, smoothing back a loose strand of hair. Once again, she was the picture of a defense attorney within minutes, tucking her emotions wherever she kept them. They wouldn't stay there long – her daughter knew that better than anyone.

“There was an agreement in place, Miriam. Andromeda has to be under constant watch as a condition of our arrangement with the FBI.” the words hissed out from between her teeth. “And she broke it.”

Miri looked every bit the hero. “She broke it doing what's in her nature, Amanda. I saw it then, she's just like Ca-”

A sharp slap rang out. Andy watched as Miri never flinched, even as the hand collided with her face. She just stood there, staring down the woman who had did it. Amanda withdrew her hand – probably resisted the urge to shake it – as she glared back.

“Never say that name in front of me.”

Miri shrugged her shoulders. “Use your words next time. What I'm saying is, she's acting like them. This might just be her growing up. She needs training.”

Training?

Andy cautiously took a step closer to where the women were arguing, almost as if by instinct. It brought her in line of view of both her mother and aunt. They stopped talking, and Miri's eyes softened. Amanda's never did.

“Hey, kid.” Miri let a tired smile. “Ready to get out of here?”

The rather terrified tech stepped up, half hiding behind the clipboard. “I-I'm supposed to release Andromeda to her guardian. Who is taking custody of her?”

Both women glanced at each other at the same time. Sparks flew, enough that Andy considered that maybe staying another day wouldn't be so bad. In the end, her aunt shook her head and took a step back. The short battle in a never ending war between them was over for the day.

What did that make the score, she wondered. She had stopped keeping track around age 7.

“I'm Andromeda's mother. She's coming home with me until the chain of custody is sorted out.” Amanda's dead eyes were on her. “Are you coming or what? Get your necklace back and let's go before anyone sees you.”

Doubtful, given how thick the glass was.

Andy turned to the tech. “Do you have it?”

“Oh, uh... y-yes I do...” Into their pockets they went, and soon it was back in her hands. “See you next time.”

Yeah, sure. Hopefully there was going to be one.

Whenever Andy put her necklace back on, it was the tingle of energy and the pop that set her off. Nobody else ever heard the sound, though – she had asked both the people at the lab and her aunt about it. All they said was that her appearance shimmered and shifted back into the human looking one. Her hands certainly looked human as she glanced down at them – five fingers instead of three, skin in a sort of pink tone, nails that looked kind of bitten. All in all, a good disguise.

She hated it, but she couldn't exactly go without it either.

“Time to go.” Amanda's voice carried authority that even an adult had to listen to. Andy shot Miri a look as she walked past the woman. With any luck, she would see her soon. “Now, if we could get home so I can get back to work? This is putting me behind. I have a client to deal with and trial is coming up-”

Andy tuned this out as she walked behind her mother. Once the woman started complaining, she didn't stop. There would probably be a few barbs thrown in about how irresponsible she was, that she could've been seen, the usual.

Whatever. It wasn't like it was new to her.

At least she was going home. That's what she kept telling herself as she slid into the passenger seat with barely enough time to get situated as the car started. They drove away all too quickly, leaving the lab behind. If they were lucky, they'd only break the speed limit.

“You're lucky if the government doesn't take you back permanently! I'm at my wit's end with you-”

The lecture filtered in and out as the alien stared down at her hands. Now she knew that there was power there, the question kept running through her mind about how to activate it. It was strong enough to protect... what else could it do?

Was this how Nova was a hero?

“Are you listening to me?!”

Shit... she caught on. Time to act like she cared.

“Yeah, Mom. I'm lucky that you could pull me out, I'm on thin ice.” She stared back out the window. “I get it.”

Amanda's annoyance only got worse – whoops. “I can't believe you! You're already 20 and you still act like a stubborn child! You're grounded when we get home, understood? I don't want to see you out of your room!”

Not that she was home enough to notice...

Well, since she was already in trouble, Andy was content to tune the rest out as they drove home. For the moment, things were normal. But nothing was going to be the same, now that she had felt the sensation of energy crackling through her body. It was there now, like the figurative live wire underneath her nonexistent skin.

She had power. And now she needed to learn how to use it. After all, her uncle Leo had always said power came with responsibility. Her mother HAD said she needed to become a responsible adult, after all.

What, she was a lawyer's kid. Loopholes were her specialty.

---

If you enjoyed the chapter and want to contribute to my coke zero fund, here’s my Ko-Fi!

#Supernova Collision Trilogy #Writing #novel #I'm stating 14 tomorrow

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filmfanatic82 · 5 years

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AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 13: Somewhere Between Lovers and Just Friends

Holy shit.

No. Scratch that. There are no words…

At least no words that Trini’s brain can coherently string together at the moment. How the hell can she? The ability the articulate her thoughts went right out the window around the same time that Kim’s lips trailed their way down past the waistband of her boxer briefs.

“Fuck,” Kim screams out at the top of her lungs. She cascades over the edge for the fourth time in an hour with her body entirely giving in to the orgasm. Trini continues to pump her fingers allowing Kim to ride the wave of aftershock after aftershock. It’s raw with primal undertones of insatiable hunger that has gone too long without being fed.

At first, though, it had been different. Hesitant and timid. Filled with awkward pauses and clumsy moments as they tried to relearn each other’s bodies.

Kim had made the first definitive move by picking Trini up with one arm and wiping the bar clear with the other. There had been a loud chorus of glasses shattering, but Trini was too preoccupied with Kim’s lips to check the damage. Before she knew it, she was being lowered down onto the top of the bar, and Kim was crawling her way up her body, leaving a path of kisses in her wake. All clothing seemed to magically disappear in the haze of hands and mouths mapping skin.

And suddenly, there was no more hiding. No secrets left to cover up.

It was just them. Trini and Kim. Vulnerable and bare.

All it had taken was one swipe from Kim’s tongue against Trini’s core for her to melt into a pile of conflicting emotions. Heartache. Anger. Desire. Joy. Each emotion hit one after another as Trini felt her body race towards the point of no return. By the time she came, two trails of tears had snaked their way down her cheeks.

Unlike before, though, they weren't fueled solely by pain. But Kim kissed them away nonetheless.

No. They had been a release. One that Trini hadn't known she had been holding onto ever since the moment that Kim had left.

After the first orgasm, all the awkwardness was gone. The gloves were off, and Trini and Kim proceeded to take turns pushing each other bodies to the limit, rebranding once familiar landmarks with an array of teeth and nails.

Again. And again. Until every inch of their bodies screamed out in complete and utter exhaustion.

Trini locks eyes with the goddess that is Kimberly Hart and struggles to bite back a euphoric grin.

The way the beads of sweat glisten around the edges of her face…

How the lights of the bar dance in her chocolate brown abysses…

The hint of a smirk upon her lips...

God, Trini can’t get enough.

Kimberly freakin’ Hart.

Her own personal aphrodisiac.

“Hey.” Kim reaches up and places her hand against Trini’s cheek. “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Princess?” Trini replies with a smile.

Kim lets a light chuckle slip out as she runs her hand through Trini’s short, messy locks. “God, I forgot how good you look like this.”

“Just like this?” Trini raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Without any warning, Kim flips them over, and Trini finds herself once again pinned down against the bar by the only woman she's ever truly loved. “Exactly like this.”

Kim punctuates her point with a short searing kiss, grabbing hold of Trini’s bottom lip with her teeth as she pulls away.

Not able to hold back, Trini lets out a much-needed moan of pleasure. “Jesus Hart. You’re gonna kill me.”

“Sorry,” Kim replies. “I can't help myself. I might've been fantasizing about this for a while now.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Kim whispers into Trini’s ear causing an instantaneous shock of chills to radiate down the Latina’s spine.

“How long?” Trini manages to say, fighting to keep her composure.

“Too long.” Kim marks yet another path down the slope of Trini’s neck, making sure to pay extra attention to her pulse point. Trini throws her head back against the bar stretching her neck out in the process, giving the raven-haired girl more runway to work with. She glances upwards, unable to pull her eyes away from the goddess hovering before her and then suddenly spots--

The diamond.

It sparkles in the dim lights of the bar, a silent yet a constant reminder of the sheer complexity of their situation.

Kimberly Hart has a boyfriend.

No. Scratch that. A fiancé.

She isn’t available for the taking.

And this…

This doesn’t mean--

“T?” Kim asks. Her eyes follow the invisible path of Trini’s gaze and land directly on her engagement ring. The smile melts right off of her face. “Oh.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“Don’t apologize.” Kim rolls over the side of Trini and props herself up with her elbow. “It’s… It’s just complicated.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of them as Trini watches Kim play with the diamond on her finger. The ring rotates around and around, slow and methodical, periodically catching a stray beam of light. Trini can’t help but notice the stark differences in comparison to the ring that’s currently tucked away in a random shoebox in the dark recesses of her bedroom closet. Different cut… Different size… Even a different metal.

Nothing about the ring seems to fit with the woman whose finger it’s on.

“Do you love him?” Trini can’t stop the words from falling out of her mouth and cringes with instant regret.

“No,” Kim replies without any hesitation whatsoever. “Not like I love you.”

“Then why…”

“Why did I say yes?”

Trini nods in response suddenly unable to find her voice.

Kim lets out a long sigh. “Do you know that I was at Jason and Billy’s wedding?”

“What??” Trini blurts out in total shock. She pushes herself up onto her elbows as her eyes search over Kim’s face for any inkling of a lie. But all that’s stares back is the unwavering truth.

“Yeah. It was sort of a last minute thing. Jason showed up one day at my shop a few weeks before his wedding and all but begged me to come. At first, I didn’t think I would go, but changed my mind at the last minute.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t see you,” Trini responds.

“I know,” Kim says with a bittersweet smile. “But I saw you.”

Kim once again reaches out and runs her hand through Trini’s short locks. Trini’s stress dissolves with the simple touch, momentarily causing her to forget the root of their conversation.

“You had on this gorgeous heather gray suit with a pale yellow tie and matching pocket square… And you had slicked back your hair. I think into a tight bun or something… You looked phenomenal.”

Trini lets a light laugh slip out as a flood of memories wash over her, bathing her in a once forgotten warmth.

That suit.

The one that Frank had gotten specially made for Trini for the Angel Grove Gala.

The one that could cause Kimberly to go weak in the knees at the mere sight of it.

Trini always has wondered why Jason suggested that she wear it to his wedding.

“Fuckin’ Jason,” Trini mutters under her breath.

“What?” Kim asks.

“You don’t remember?”

“I…” Kim trails off as a look of sudden realization crosses her face. “Wait. That’s the suit. The one, my dad, got you for the Angel Grove Gala.”

“Yup. That’s the one,” Trini responds with a hint of a smirk.

“Damn. I knew it looked familiar. I mean I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, but… God, I loved that suit on you.”

“And Jason knew that too. He’s the one that suggested that I wear it.”

“Ah…”

“Yeah,” Trini says shifting her weight once again to move a bit closer to Kim. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Don’t. He meant well… He really did, but--”

“But?” Trini askes.

“But he didn’t take into account the rest. That maybe me seeing you there… with someone else… It would make me realize that it was time for me to move on,” Kim replies holding back her emotions.

The words sit between them, heavy and suffocating, silently playing on a loop in the depth of Trini’s mind.

Ruby.

Trini’s date to Jason and Billy’s wedding.

The girl that had gotten the closest to breaking through Trini’s rock hard armor.

“Kim, I--”

“Don’t you dare think of apologizing yet again.” Kim ever so gently caresses Trini’s cheek as a softness settles within her chocolate brown eyes. “You had every right to date whoever… Especially after what I did.”

“I know, but she didn't mean anything to--”

“I said yes to Richard because I thought it would help me move on.”

“Did it?” Trini asks before she can second guess the question.

Kim doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. They both already know the answer. It’s written all over every single inch of Kim’s face.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kim rolls back on top of Trini, pinning her down against the bar with one hand, while the other traces the edges of her body at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Trini sucks in a long gasp of air as her core re-ignites with a burning desire of what’s to come. She leans into Kim’s touch, body automatically answering and all she can think of is just how utterly breathtaking the moment is.

“Tell me what you want,” Kim husks into the crook of Trini’s neck as she lavishes it with a series of interchangeable bites and kisses.

“Mierda,” Trini exhales. She feels Kim’s hand dip lower, drawing playful circles on the sensitive patch of skin right above her center. It’s a tease. One that Trini knows too well.

“You need to be more specific.”

“I need you to--”

BANG.

Jason materializes out of thin air in the dead center of the room instantly causing Kim to collapse herself on Trini, in a feeble attempt to hide their lack of clothing.

“Fuck!” Jason exclaims.

“Jesus, Scott!” Trini fires back, throwing him a more than noticeable eye roll. “Ever heard of a warning?”

“Fuck. Sorry. Billy got the teleporter working, and we could sense you were trapped and… Fuck. I really didn’t mean to… Is that a Sabertooth Tiger on your back?”

Kim whips her head around and glances behind at her left shoulder. There, just beneath her shoulder blade, sits a detailed looking black and white Sabertooth Tiger that bears a striking resemblance to that of Trini’s Zord. “Uh… yeah. It is.”

“Impressive,” Jason responds, continuing to stare at Trini and Kim.

“Jason!” Trini yells as him, practically breathing fire.

“Shit… Right.” Jason turns around and shields his eyes.

Kim plants a light kiss on Trini’s lips and then pushes herself up off of the bar and goes about gathering her clothes. Trini slides down as well and instantly finds her eyes drawn to the intricate tattoo that resides on Kim’s back. She had briefly noticed it in the frenzy of clothes being ripped off of bodies, but up until this point, hasn’t had a chance to thoroughly study it. The tattoo is hauntingly beautiful, complimenting the natural slope of Kim’s muscles and true to Jason’s comment, is impressive in every sense of the word.

Kimberly Hart has a tattoo…

Sabertooth Tiger tattoo…

Her Sabertooth Tiger…

God, it’s hot.

No. Scratch that. It’s beyond hot. It’s--

“See something you like?” A playful smirk slides across Kim’s lips. She finishes clasping her bra and then slips her shirt over her head.

“Nice ink,” Trini replies as she pulls up her boxer briefs.

“Had a hunch you might appreciate it.”

“Good hunch.” Trini buttons her jeans, matching Kim’s smirk.

“Ahem… Still here,” Jason pipes up. He gives a wave with his free hand while keeping the other firmly planted over his eyes.

“It’s okay. You can look now,” Kim says as she finishes adjusting her clothes. She takes a seat at a nearby table with both Jason and Trini following her lead.

“Like the hair.” Jason motions with a simple head nod to Trini’s hair, causing Trini to self-consciously reach up and run her hands through it.

“Thanks,” Trini sheepishly replies. “Kim did it.”

“Kudos. Tommi and Mamaji have been trying to convince her to do it for years now.”

“They have not.”

Jason doesn’t even humor Trini with a response. There’s just no need to.

“So what’s the latest? Have you guys heard from Tommi and Zack? Is Max okay?” Kim asks, changing the subject.

“As far as we know, yes. We were able to talk to Tommi roughly an hour ago, and she said they were holding down the fort. A broken window or two from flying debris, but otherwise they were doing just fine.”

Trini notices Kim exhale a slight sigh of relief and instinctually takes hold of her hand. It’s a small gesture, but she knows that it won’t go overlooked. Kim entwines her fingers with Trini’s and gives a squeeze in return.

“What about that stone Billy mentioned. Find anything else out about it?” Trini asks.

“What stone?” Kim’s eyes ping-pong between Trini and Jason, desperate for someone to fill in the blanks.

“The Epithymía stone. Yeah, it’s 99.9% the cause of this, but no such luck on locating it.”

“Do we at least know what it looks like?” Trini replies.

Jason gives a simple nod in confirmation as he begins to rub the back of his neck. A classic tell that his stress levels are on the steady climb. “Small, yellow, and gem-ish. Or at least that’s how the text describes it.”

“How small is small?” Kim asks picking up on the underlying tone of concern in his voice.

“Small,” Jason responds with an ominous emphasis to that immediately sends a wave of chills down Trini’s spine. “Small enough to fit in a pocket.”

Fuck.

A gem.

A small yellow gem that can easily fit in a pocket…

A jean pocket.

Like the strange yellow gem that’s currently residing in the pocket of dirty jeans on the floor of her bedroom closet.

Fuck.

Kim lets out another sigh and tucks a loose strand of her raven locks behind her ear. “So where do we start looking?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Billy thinks we should start with--”

BANG.

Billy suddenly appears on top of the bar. “Yes! Woot! It worked!”

“Babe? What are you doing here?” Jason asks in a state of utter shock. He leaps to his feet and goes to help Billy down from the bar.

“I detected another spike of Ranger energy. A huge one. Bigger than the last one and was worried you were in trouble. Did you… Oh! Trini you cut your hair again. I always liked it better that way. Did Kimberly do it for you?” Billy rambles on as he takes a seat at the table.

“Yeah,” Kim says with a hint of a smile as she lovingly runs her hand through Trini’s hair.

“But wait… Trini hasn’t let anyone touch her hair since… Oh!” Billy turns towards Jason with a sudden look of realization. “That’s what we felt! Trini and Kimberly. They weren’t in danger. They were having--”

But Billy is cut off by Jason’s hand clamping down over his mouth. “Yes.”

An ear to ear grin spreads across Billy’s face as he glances at Trini and then Kim and then back again at Trini. His pure excitement is nothing short of infectious, causing a round of light and slightly awkward chuckles to circle the table.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it uncomfortable, but… yay! I knew it was only a matter of time with you both back together in the same location,” Billy replies as his smile somehow manages to grow even wider. “Oh! It’s over 72 hrs. That means I win the pool, right?”

“You bet on us?” Trini exclaims. She shoots a dagger-like stare in Jason’s direction, instantaneously causing him to flush with embarrassment.

“No… Not really… It was more like a general conversation where some money exchanged hands,” Jason stumbles through a response, unable to maintain eye contact with either Trini or Kim.

“You’re so dead, Scott.”

“If you want to blame someone, you should blame Tommi. The pool was her idea. Ironically enough, though, she was grossly off with her prediction. She said that you two wouldn’t reunited in the physical sense for at least another four days and it would require a great deal of alcohol,” Billy chimes in.

“She wasn’t that far off,” Trini mutters under her breath as she gives a quick glance over to the now empty bottle of Johnny Walker on the edge of the bar.

“Okay. Can we get back to this stone?” Kim turns her full attention to Billy. “What else were you able to dig up on it?”

“Did you tell them about the connection to our power coins?” Billy asks Jason, warranting a quick head shake in response.

“What about our coins?” Trini’s voice unusually rises up on the tail end of the question as to the ever-growing lump of fear and dread swirls within the pit of her stomach.

“Well, oddly enough, there appears to be some sort of connection between the Epithymía stone and the green power coin. Or at least that’s what I was able to determine. The last time the Epithymía stone was activated, it unleashed an unknown entity that essentially proceeded to hunt down the Green Ranger and attempted to strip them of their coin.”

Tommi.

Breathe, Gomez.

It’s going to be okay.

“Wait… What? Did you tell Tommi this?” Kim questions, her voice rising as well with a more than a clear underlying sense of sudden panic to it.

“Yes, but there’s no need to worry. The Epithymía stone acts as a beacon device. As long as Tommi is not near the stone then there no immediate threat.”

Fuck.

No.

Oh god, Tommi…

Zack…

Max.

Fuck.

Max.

“We need to get back to the house,” Trini says, voice trembling as she fights back the overwhelming mass of fear not residing in the back of her throat

“T? What’s--”

“Now. We need to get back there now!” Trini cuts Kim off, breath quickening with each and every word. A full-blown panic attack is on the horizon. She knows it. It’s only a matter of time.

“Okay… Okay… We will, but you just heard Billy. There’s no reason for us--”

“No. I know where the stone is,” Trini blurts out in a rushed exhale of breath. “It’s in the house.”

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #trini #kimberly hart #power ranger 2017 #power rangers #wlw #ao3

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destroyed-conscience · 5 years

Text

Be Good {Analogical} (Part 9)

Oh... My God... It has been like an entire y e a r I am so unbelievably sorry for the long wait. I made it a bit longer to make up for it! So hopefully y’all can forgive me lmao. This is a very important chapter! It’s all starting to come together now!

As Always: Reblogs > Likes

Trigger Warnings: References and Descriptions of Physical Abuse, Swearing, Referenced Infidelity, Recreational Drug Use, Cheating, Domestic Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Dark!Logan, Ask to Tag!

Virgil should have known that it wouldn't have lasted. Granted, the calm period had lasted longer than usual, giving him what was now proved to be a false sense of hope. But the peace had still been eventually broken by an equally broken glass that had fallen to the floor.

The shouts had taken him by surprise, more so than the actual slap itself that soon followed, or the corner of the counter jabbing into his thigh when he was shoved before he fell to the ground, hands landing in the shards of glass in a vain attempt to protect himself from further damage. His hands stung from behind their new bandages, the cuts from the jagged pieces of glass not liking the way Virgil had his hands clenched into fists as he walked.

Logan had been quick with his apologies, immediately seeking out the first aid kit and gently removing any shards from his palms that had pierced his flesh.

The guilt in his eyes as he saw the blood staining the shards caused Virgil to pull him into a brief kiss. It hadn't been too big of a deal, just a gentle press of his own against Logan's, an attempt to tell him 'You're forgiven.'

The smile that Logan gave him was enough to make Virgil forget the warm sting in his cheek.

Still, the moment Logan had left for work, Virgil was out the door not five minutes later. He needed to get out of the house for a little while, the air was too stuffy despite the windows that had been opened, the silence threatening to drown him in his own thoughts.

That had been hours ago and, despite it now being midnight at the least, the moon having risen hours ago, he was still wandering aimlessly.

He didn't want to go home just yet.

Still, he wasn't exactly sure as to where he was walking, or what it was that he wanted to do. He just knew he didn't quite want to return at the moment. Rather, he would like to admire the scenery, the darkness falling on the objects around him painting the area in shadows, looking unfamiliar to his eyes that were so accustomed to seeing it in the daylight.

Logan didn't like it when Virgil stayed out too late, but right now, he felt he needed it. Besides, Logan seemed to be trying to get better -despite the earlier events-, maybe he'd understand? Just this once.

When the sun dropped from the sky, the temperature followed and Virgil was just now feeling the effects of the chill. He buried his hands in his hoodie, which he had luckily remembered to bring with him. As he buried himself in the warmth of it, he looked around his person, freezing for a moment as he saw a familiar face just footsteps away from him.

He almost outright laughed at the sheer coincidence of having run into Roman again, after what had previously happened as a result of the last time. Virgil could still feel a slight pang from where he had been injured from Logan's rage over Virgil's closest friend. And here he was. Again. Right when Virgil did not need him to be.

Virgil prayed silently that Roman hadn't noticed him, but seemed to have no luck, as the other man's eyes widened in recognition and immediately sped up until he was stood in front of darker clad man.

"Virge, hi!"

Virgil ducked his head down in greeting, mumbling out a quiet "Hey.." In response to Roman's. The taller of the two seemed to deflate a little at the other's lack of enthusiasm, cocking his head slightly in a visual display of his confusion.

"What's wrong?" He questioned him, Virgil quickly scanning his brain for one of his many, pre-written excuses.

"Nothing, really! I'm just... really tired." Virgil let out an awkward chuckle, hoping for Roman to just drop it and move onto another subject, or even just leave.

He didn’t seem to have luck on his side, though. Roman merely quirked an eyebrow, obviously not believing a word he said. “So, you’re going for a walk? At night? Because you’re tired?”

Okay, maybe Virgil should have given a more realistic lie.

The paler man heaved a sigh, removing a hand from his pocket to drag it down his face. “Sorry, Roman. I just—me and Logan had a fight. I just had to get out of the house for a while.” He glanced at his friend from beneath his hand, seeing Roman’s eyes soften.

“Aw, Virge. I’m really sorry. Hopefully you guys will be able to talk through everything...”

Virgil scuffed the ground with his feet, pushing his hands back into his pockets. He ducked his head. “... Yeah.. I hope so.”

The two stood in a semi-awkward silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. Until Roman piped up with an idea, that is.

“I know exactly what will take your mind off of all this!” Virgil looked up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“What?” He asked nervously, almost regretting the words before he even said them. After knowing Roman for so long, he could already guess what the other was going to suggest.

“My friend is actually having a party!” Yep. Should have known.

“What are the odds.” Virgil muttered, although Roman chose to ignore it.

“My friend, Patton, is hosting it with his flatmate! I think you and Patton would get along pretty well, maybe I could introduce you? I’m not sure about his roommate, though...” Roman continued talking, but Virgil blocked out most of it.

Every aspect of his life seemed to be melding together. Virgil would laugh if it wasn’t so tiring.

First, he finds out Logan had a secret relationship he never told him about, then he finds Logan and Patton together, now he finds out Roman and Patton are friends? Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to find out Elliot is Patton’s brother or some shit at this point.

Virgil was snapped out of his train of thought at the sound of his name being said. Looking up from where his gaze had subconsciously lowered to the ground once more, he saw Roman looking at him expectantly.

“... Huh?” He murmured dumbly, causing Roman to chuckle.

The man ran a hand through his hair “I said,” He let his hand drop from his hair, instead holding it out in front of him and towards Virgil instead “Are you coming?”

Virgil studied the hand held out to him for a few moments, weighing his options and the outcomes before heaving a sigh and taking his friend’s hand.

The grin that broke out of Roman’s face when their fingers intertwined almost made the squirming feeling in his gut go away.

The music coming from the house was loud enough for Virgil to hear when he and Roman entered the block the house was situated on. Roman gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he opened the already unlocked door, the pair being greeted with even louder waves of music and crowds of people (mainly college students, by the looks of it).

Virgil took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and focus on the fact that Roman was there in an effort to ground himself. He could trust Roman. Roman always protected him when he needed him. Roman wouldn’t lead him into something that could hurt him (at least, not knowingly).

Roman weaved his way through the crowd, Virgil trailing after him and clinging to his hand with a vice grip. The last thing he wanted was to end up stranded in the crowds of people.

It’s been so long since he was at a party.

Virgil looked up as he and Roman came to a stop, stiffening upon seeing who his friend was greeting.

“Patton! Hey!”

“Oh my gosh, Roman! God it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, I’m so glad you made it!” The bespectacled man grinned, freckles still so obvious despite the darker environment. His grin turned teasing, eyes crinkling “I was worried you wouldn’t show up, at the time you seemed to be taking! Did you get preoccupied?” The question was punctuated with a wink, to which Roman huffed a breath of laughter at.

He gave Virgil’s hand a soft squeeze, tugging him forward gently, although leaving Virgil enough room to decline and back out should he not feel comfortable enough.

“Patton, this is Virgil. My best friend! I hope you don’t mind me bringing him along,” He smiled sheepishly.

Patton, however, was too busy staring at Virgil. His smile never left his face, although Virgil –who was staring right back- noticed his lips twitch downwards by the most minuscule amount in surprise. He kept his smile on, though; quickly turning his gaze to Roman.

“Not at all! I never said you couldn’t bring a friend, after all!” He turned to Virgil once more, holding a hand out “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

Virgil looked at the hand extended to him before looking back up at Patton. He knew this wasn’t just for show with Roman. He knew what Patton was trying to convey.

Start over?

Virgil bit his cheek for a moment, contemplating. It felt like eternity (although it really was less than a second) before he made a decision.

He shook Patton’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Virgil gave a small smile to the other, who’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

Patton gave his hand a soft squeeze before releasing it.

“Well!” The other man smiled at them both, having to yell as the crowd suddenly had a surge in volume. “I should go and check on everyone else! Make sure nothing’s broken around here. If I can’t trust Remy around my Grandmother’s vase, how can I trust anyone else?” The joke seemed more aimed at Roman, which made sense, seeing as he was the one who was actually friends with Patton.

Virgil watched Patton leave, Roman grinning at him as he disappeared into the crowd. The older of the two turned towards Virgil, grin still on his face.

“I told you that you two would get along, didn’t I?”

Virgil gave Roman a shaky smile, finding the other’s smugness adorable despite it all. “Yeah, Ro, you did.”

Virgil had no idea what amount of time had passed since he got there, he just knew it was probably a lot. He was forcing the twisting in his stomach to calm down, having lost Roman somewhere in the house, when he jumped at a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was met with a man around his age, if not maybe 2 or 3 years older at most. He donned a leather jacket and had sunglasses on, despite it being dark out and being indoors. Virgil brushed it off, he’d met plenty of strange people in his life, anyway.

Instead, he looked questioningly at the stranger in front of him, wondering why he had tried to get his attention. Was he standing in his way, perhaps? Maybe he thought he was someone else?

The man quickly answered his internal thoughts, tilting his head slightly to the side. Despite the dark sunglasses he had on, Virgil could practically feel his gaze surveying him from behind the shades. He tried not to fidget, not really knowing what to say. He didn’t want to risk his words coming out as confrontational when he didn’t mean them to be; it had happened with Logan plenty of times, after all.

Virgil just didn’t know how to conduct himself properly in a social situation. But it’s alright, Logan could always do the talking for him, it was better that way.

He was yanked from his thoughts as the leather-clad man in front of him finally spoke. He glanced at him, eyes peeking up over his sunglasses as he scrutinised the younger man before him.

“I’ve never seen you before,” He narrowed his eyes, studying him in the dark room as people bustled around them, dancing and just exploring the house, stumbling drunkenly. “You that friend Roman’s always talking about? Virgo?”

Virgil gave what he hoped was a good-natured smile “Virgil, actually. Most people just call me Virge, though,” He scrunched his nose “Virgil sounds like a Philosopher or something.”

His attempt at humour managed to get a laugh out of the man in front of him.

“I can relate to that,” The stranger snickered, stepping closer so they were now properly face-to-face, rather than the awkward few inches apart they had been. The other man was relatively close to Virgil in height, maybe only having an inch or so on him. He stuck his hand out to him, Virgil hesitantly taking it.

“My parents for some god-awful reason decided to name me Remington, of all things, but if you ever actually call me that, we’re gonna have some serious issues,” He said, surprisingly serious before smiling blinding teeth at Virgil “You can call me Remy, instead.” And by God, Virgil could feel Remy winking at him from behind his sunglasses.

Virgil nodded, giving what he hoped was another smile, the process coming easier to him this time around. “Consider it done.” He promised earnestly, receiving a grin from the leather-clad man in return.

Remy released Virgil’s hand suddenly “Well, Virge,” He said, emphasising Virgil’s name pointedly, a smirk pulling at his lips. “How about I show you how to really party?”

Virgil tilted his head slightly “What do you mean by that?”

Remy simply offered him a grin, raising an eyebrow “Ever gotten high before?”

Virgil hummed from where he was stretched out, eyes not leaving where the lights were flashing. They had seemed so dull at first when he came here with Roman but now, they were so bright and alive and beautiful. They flashed along to the beat of the music playing in the background and Virgil could feel the music practically wrapped around him. Maybe that’s what was making him move so slow? Maybe.

He looked to his side where Remy was sitting, criss-cross apple sauce –oh, apple sauce was so good, he needs to buy some immediately- currently lighting another blunt, the other was currently being passed around and clearly Remy had no patience to wait for it to reach him again. Whatever, Virgil mused, it was his weed, anyways.

Logan would have never allowed Virgil to try any type of drug (hell, he rarely had alcohol) but when Virgil had timidly mentioned that his boyfriend wouldn’t approve of him getting high, Remy had just scoffed and rolled his eyes, having pushed his sunglasses up to rest atop his head, and given Virgil the blunt anyway.

Now, fast forward to them now, and here they were sprawled out and high as all hell.

Virgil was busy musing about past events and appreciating the bassline of the song currently playing –bass... whatever happened to Meghan Trainor? Her songs were catchy- and didn’t hear Remy the first time he called his name, the other man having to call his name a second time to get his attention.

He slowly turned his head to look at the other brunette, who was holding a now lit blunt and looking at him expectantly. Virgil blinked at him for a moment, only uttering a non-committal “Hmm?” as he examined how the lights reflected off Remy’s hair, the colours pulsing like a heartbeat.

“You ever shotgunned before?”

Virgil furrowed his brow “I’m pro-gun control.”

Remy snorted; the weed-induced haze placed on his brain concluding what he said was the funniest thing ever. “Not that shotgun. Shotgunning, it’s when you take a hit, inhale a bit then exhale in another person’s mouth so they get the rest of the smoke.” Due to how long the sentence was, it took quite a bit for Remy to coherently get it out, but Virgil was pretty sure he understood what he was talking about.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s fun,” Remy nodded, almost mater-of-factly to himself. A silence hung over them again, although it wasn’t exactly awkward, the two of them just allowing the faint buzz to roll over them in waves.

Remy broke the silence.

“Wanna try it?”

“Try what?” Virgil asked, looking over at him again.

“Duh, shotgunning. Do you wanna try it?”

Virgil contemplated for a few seconds, before deciding it probably wasn’t that bad of an idea. He nodded “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.”

Virgil found himself, after a few seconds of lazy effort on both their parts, kneeling so he was straddling his new friend’s lap, their mouths level. He watched as Remy took a hit from the blunt that had been burning away for the entirety of their silence, their eyes staying locked on each other’s the entirety of the time.

Remy’s eyes were coffee brown.

He didn’t need much more coaxing than a hand gently placing itself at the nape of his neck to place his mouth over Remy’s own, allowing the smoke to pass to him.

If either of them lingered, they simply blamed the haze for slowing them.

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