#I blame the summary possibly being misleading

[hannibalcatharsis-zero]

So this happened the other day

[alaskasmonsters]

𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (michael kaiser)

pairing: michael kaiser x gn!reader

contents: flirting, foreign language (german), teasing, petnames, enemies to lovers, mistaking attraction for hatred, reader has anger issues

w/c: 2.486 (istg this was meant to be short,,,)

summary: kaiser is infuriating. there is just something about him that made your blood boil. and when the boy started teasing you in german, knowing damn well you had no idea what he was saying you could only imagine what type of things he was saying about you.

a/n: oh look it’s my favourite trope. mistaking attraction for hatred. <3 kaiser speaks german in this one because *looks at hand* i do what i want :)) you’ll find the translations for what he says at the bottom of the post. they are pulled from my own brain (this is me trying to say i am in fact fluent in german shshshhs) also writing some of kaiser’s lines made me cringe bdhdh ngl he thinks he’s so hot 🙄🙄 and he is also the title is lowkey highkey misleading hahaha

Kaiser got under your skin like no one else did. He always had that particular skill. No matter what he did, no matter what he said, the boy infuriated you to no end.

Everything about him down to his stupid smirk, his playful tone, his insufferable confidence and sometimes even just the way he would look at you… there was nothing in the world that managed to rile you up as much as being stuck in the same room as that boy.

Unfortunately, this was something that happened quite often. Kaiser and you being forced upon each other, like the universe was playing some twisted game, waiting to see who of you would break first and go at each other’s throat.

And you were pretty sure you were losing.

If getting the chance to choke Kaiser could be classified as a loss, that was. Maybe it would be a blessing. Maybe you shouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth. Maybe you should just wipe that arrogant smirk off his smug face forever and call it a day. Then you’d be rid of the pest called Michael Kaiser.

The boy who managed to bring out the ugliest side of you. An angry side, a spiteful side, a childish side. A side you did not like about yourself. A side you’d rather ignore, push deep deep down to the depths of your subconsciousness and never let see the light of day again.

You had no idea what you did to deserve this. Why the universe decided to punish you specifically was beyond your comprehension. Haven’t you always been an upstanding citizen? Haven’t you always tried your best to not be an asshole, to not let your anger get the best of you? And yet, and yet, here you were once again, standing in front of Kaiser, who was regarding you with one of his trademark smirks, while you were struggling to keep your cool.

The boy knew exactly how to push your buttons and he never held back. No, he seemed to bathe in your attention, all satisfied smirks and gleaming eyes, and your anger only spurring him on in his mission to be the most infuriating man on the planet.

You didn’t even know who started it this time but you were blaming Kaiser anyway. After all he was usually the one breaking the unspoken rule that was put in place for the two of you that said you were not allowed to interact. Because of how little you got along you were also advised to avoid each other as much as possible.

Regardless of who was the initiator today, it didn’t matter. The damage was already done. The “damage” being you, standing here, chest swirling with burning hot anger and Kaiser, who had nothing better to do than make it worse.

Like fucking always.

You hated Kaiser, and most days you were sure he hated you, too. Still, it was always you who got upset with him and it was always he who liked to make a joke out of the whole situation. Probably because he knew it would only infuriate you more.

The boy loved pushing your buttons.

“Weißt du, du bist echt süß,” Kaiser purred, tilting his head to the side as he regarded you, “Einfach zum Anbeißen.”

You frowned, jaw clenching in irritation as you glared at his smug face, the mocking tone of his voice not going past you.

Even when he was speaking another language. Despite knowing full well you couldn’t understand him and that you hated it. He loved it, though. Speaking German when you were already angry, knowing it only made it worse.

Whatever insults he spout at you or names he called you in the other language, with a fake smile in place, you couldn’t possibly know. But you expected the worst.

“Michael,” you warned.

His eyebrow ticked up at the usage of his first name.

That was only a small triumph. He preferred being called by his last name, especially by you. He was a weirdo who got off being addressed with the title of an emperor, and you weren’t an exception. You knew it made his skin buzz, could see it in the way he’d lit up.

Kaiser nodded, seemingly to himself as he leaned his shoulder against one of the lockers of the dressing room. Why you were even in here was beyond you. Maybe today was the day of bad decisions.

“Und dann ist es noch so einfach, dich sauer zu machen, fast schon witzig,” he continued, not dropping his smirk.

His eyes narrowed at you mockingly, hands pushed deep into his pants pockets. He seemed to look relaxed but you knew he was watching you like a hawk, waiting for what you’d do next. If you’d leave, like you did many times, storm out and slam the door shut behind you or if you’d talk back, something you often couldn’t resist either.

Your jaw ticked. Knowing that Kaiser was well aware of how easy you were to anger and provoking you anyways was something that got your blood boiling like nothing else. Your heart was already thumping wildly in your chest, the sound of it rushing to your ears. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins, spurting you to act, to run or to argue or maybe to punch him. And worst of all, you could already feel the onset of shivers.

It was such a nasty betrayal of your body.

Whenever you got upset, you started shaking. It was most likely the adrenaline but if driven to a certain point of anger it’s something you couldn’t help. Your hands and your shoulders and your legs would start shaking and you’d stand there looking like a stupid chihuahua — at least Kaiser loved to compare you to one of those.

He loved to make fun of you for it. He loved to make fun of you for a lot of things…

Your body moved before you could think.

“You’re a fucking jerk,” you hissed, stepping closer until you were stood right in front of him and digging your finger into his chest.

Kaiser didn’t appear appalled or the slightest bit worried about your trembling form. His grin was sharp, eyes narrowed with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Your anger, like so often, only seemed to spur him on.

He leant forward, pushing off the wall, weight against your finger on his chest increasing as he came face to face with you. Before you knew it his hand was on your face. His fingers found your chin, pointer finger gently lifting it as his thumbs graced your cheeks.

You froze, heart skipping a beat in disbelief at the audacity of this man. Your face flushed, you could feel the anger in your cheeks now.

“Wenn du meinst, Schatz,” Kaiser mused, emphasizing the last word and leant closer, your noses barely a breath apart.

Your hands tightened into fists by your side. You should move. You should push him away, maybe slap him while you were at it but you found yourself frozen, completely shocked by the intrusion of personal space. That was unfair. He couldn’t do that when you were angry.

Wait, no! He couldn’t do that at all!

Kaiser hummed, watching the conflict wash across your face with interest, lifting your chin up higher and dipping his head lower.

That was the moment your brain decided to bid its goodbye, your brain cells frying with its departure.

You had no idea what was happening. Whether Kaiser had just seen something on your face and gracefully decided to take it upon himself to remove it with his lips, or if he had finally thrown his last bit of dignity out of the window and was planning to bite you.

Which didn’t make much sense, because out of the two of you you were certainly the one struggling to keep yourself from being violent with him. He had never even come close, unless he was as good at hiding it as you would like to hope you were.

Kaiser’s face was still moving closer.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized what the only logical follow up to this action was and you stopped, not moving away when you easily could have, waiting for Kaiser to seal your lips with his.

But before it could come to that Kaiser stopped, waiting a moment, before drawing back, observing you out of hooded eyes and taking in your…whatever expression you must be making that moment.

If you had to guess it was probably similar to whatever a crashing Windows would be looking like.

“You look like you really want this ‘jerk’ to kiss you, though,” he murmured, still only centimeters away from your lips.

Before you could decide to do anything, like actually push him away or maybe pull him closer or any other insane thing, Kaiser giggled, fucking giggled, before pulling back. He didn’t withdraw without planting a kiss against your forehead, though, making you flinch.

What the-

You gaped at him, blinking. Then you realized what just happened.

You had almost let Kaiser kiss you.

You. had. almost. let. Kaiser. kiss. you.

You had almost let Kaiser kiss you!

No, wait, this wasn’t even all there was.

Kaiser had almost kissed you!

Kaiser, the most infuriating man on the planet, the asshole that got off on fighting with you, had almost kissed you. No, he did kiss you! On the forehead. He had planted his lips there, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. Which it wasn’t!

Who even did that? Who kissed their…their…enemy anywhere?

Your hand touched the space above your brows his lips had touched, as you stared at him. He gave you a challenging look.

“You’re….you’re so? You’re unbelievable!” You stuttered, completely out of your depth.

The both of you had entered new territory with this action of his and you had no idea how to act.

“Oh? Am I?” he asked unconcerned.

You glared at him, raising your finger then changed your mind. Instead you turned around and started stomping towards the door. You could not be dealing with this right now.

You simply refused.

Kaiser chuckled, snatching your wrist. “Come on, don’t be like that. If you wanted me to kiss you you should have just said so.”

You clenched your jaw, somehow managed to talk yourself out of actually hitting him and instead only ripped your wrist from his grip.

“I didn’t !”

“Mh?”

“I didn’t want you to kiss me, you asshole,” you bit out, turning to look back at him over your shoulder, face lowered and eyes narrowed to give him your best glare.

Kaiser looked unimpressed.

“Is that so?” He tilted his head to the side, grin cheeky.

“Oh now you can speak a language I understand,” you growled, winning the inner fight against your voice of reason and facing him again.

“Magst du es nicht, wenn ich deutsch für dich spreche?” He feigned hurt, placing his hand over his heart. “Das verletzt mich echt.”

You wanted to bury your face in your hands and scream. But you didn’t. Because you were strong. So, so strong. And so brave about it.

“You know I hate that. Stop being so fucking infuriating.”

He snickered. “Why are you even so mad at me all the time?“

“Because you’re infuriating!” You deadpanned.

“And yet you find me irresistible.”

“Irresistible not to beat up.”

“How crude.”

“Shut up, already?”

With every moment the urge to wipe that self-satisfied grin from his face became stronger and with it your resolve to hold back slowly started to crumble.

Kaiser seemed to notice. Just like a shark who smelt blood he could always detect your weaknesses.

“Or what?” The challenged, stepping closer, voice lowering into a murmur, “You know, if you don’t stop being so rude I might actually have to kiss you to shut you up.”

You gaped at him, trying to step back and gain more distance between you when he took another step forward but your feet were rooted to the spot.

Was it really so easy to catch you off guard? Was Kaiser really capable of reducing you to such a mess with the threat of a kiss?

The boy laughed softly, enjoying whatever expression you must be making with your face right now. Maybe this time it was similar to a cornered animal.

“I said shut up,” you repeated, but your words had lost their heat and your face wasn’t just flushed from anger anymore.

A few moments ago you had fantasized of punching Kaiser in the face, and now…now he was saying those confusing things like they had been on his mind for a while now and you were unable to shift your focus anywhere but his slowly approaching lips.

Why did he even think of kissing you? You hated him. He hated you. What kind of fucked up game was this?

Kaiser bent forward again, suddenly directly in front of your face. How he had managed to get so close again was a mystery to you.

“Make me,” he murmured, a challenge visible in his eye.

You snarled, your anger finally taking the upper hand as your arm shot forward, fingers burying themselves in the fabric of Kaiser’s collar. You considered pushing him away, forcing him to give you space. Instead, and for no reason you were able to understand you pulled, yanking him down. Then you pressed your lips to his.

Kaiser‘s mouth felt warm against yours, lips both chapped and soft, the hand now on your waist firm. He pulled you closer, returning the kiss with fierce

You shouldn‘t question this. Not right now…maybe never. Yeah, never was probably for the best.

“Maybe you don’t hate me as much as you pretend you do,” Kaiser hummed against your lips.

The words managed to bring you back to your senses. At least partly. At least enough for you to realize what you were doing. And what you were doing was kissing Kaiser, you, who had been given a chance and still chose.

Had you actually just done this?

“You! I- Fuck you!” You hissed.

This was…You hated Kaiser. You hated him. He made you angry. On purpose! What were you doing here…kissing him?

You loosened your grip around Kaiser‘s shirt and used your flat palm to push him away. The boy didn‘t stumble, barely took a step back when you had already turned around, ready to run off.

Kaiser‘s amused laughter followed you as you pushed through the door and rushed down the corridor. His last shouted words, “Bye Schatz!” accompanying you as you disappeared behind the next corner.

You couldn‘t believe what had just happened.

You had kissed Kaiser. And the worst part about it? You kinda wanted to do it again.

translations:

“You know, you’re really cute. I could eat you right up.”

“Not to mention how easy it is to rile you up, it’s almost funny.”

“If you say so, honey (=verbatim ‘treasure’).”

“Don’t you like it when i speak german for you? That hurts me.”

“Bye honey (=verbatim ‘treasure’)”

taglist: @crystal-lilac @duf3h6237 @hufflefluffslytherin @chucky-26o1 @lordbugs

[rreskk]

hii !! hope ur doing well

just wondering if you could do a Trevor x reader where the reader has a nipple piercing or like a lot of piercings sm like that lol

don’t mind if smut or not !

thank you :))

Apologies for the late answer. I've been stuck in writers-block for a while and trying to overcome it! Thank you for the request.

Summary: Trevor Philips likes a lady with nipple piercings.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1441

It was a sudden urge, a momentary collision from a stranger to a stranger. Your two worlds merged when catching eyes in the crowded, lively night-club. His brown eyes, them brown goddamn eyes. The first words to exit his troubled mouth were profound compliments towards your black dress. With poetic terms, highly exaggerated, he expressed how ravishing your thighs and curves were. His voice, his charms; your weakness, even then. You managed to get his name (throughout the many attempts of distracting him from your physical appearance).

Trevor Philips.

A recent visitor of Los Santos. He mentioned finding this night-club out of pure luck. There were large scales of alcohol in his system from the way he’d occasional lean against you for support, and the slight intangible slurs of his tongue. It was hard to understand certain words but it wasn’t really dependable considering he skipped from topic to topic, forgetting to engage you in his drunken rambles.

Nonetheless, the scenery changed as he hushed you into a private room (that was assigned to only janitors). He managed to get close to you, his hands eagerly tugging your waist, feeling your dress. You were flattered at the amount of praises, compliments, words of worship he’d express. This guy, Trevor, would stare at you like you were his saviour. That hungry, intense stare would slowly undress you until the shelves held both your weights.

He was sloppily kissing your lips, holding you on his lap. Your dress was torn off, underwear remaining. He too was shirtless for the time being as the kissing grew more passionate and wanting. There were hands clawing your bra-straps, burning your skin, tormenting your ass. He touched every possible sector of your skin until he couldn’t handle anymore, his patience lacking.

“Let me – “ Trevor would pant, “Let me see you, I gotta have you.”

From the tone of his voice, you knew he was demanding for the full package. It was visible from the beginning that he lacked self-control, so much so that refusing his affections at first had made him blame you for “misleading an innocent guy”. Childish yet hypnotising.

So you breathed in his neck and signalled him to take off your bra.

You could of sworn he whimpered with excited. Trevor’s fingers fiddled with the straps until it came loose. He then looked down and slowly revealed your bare chest, eyes glistening with delight when he came across a pair of nipple piercings that sat beautifully upon your breasts.

“Ohh… A nipple ring!” Excitement bubbled his voice. He allowed a finger to inspect this piercing, occasionally touching and pulling, testing the agility it had.

“Do you like it?” You’d squeeze together your boobs and lean forward, giving him a better viewing of it.

“That’s an underfuckingstatement… I fucking love when chicks have nipple piercings. It’s so hot.” Trevor was fixated on your chest before he cupped them into his big hands, giving them a squish.

You sat back as he continued playing with your breasts. Low groans would leave his mouth whenever it would bounce in his palms. He was utterly obsessed with your body accessory that it was driving him mad. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and licking the silver piercing, eyes darting to yours for assurance.

Hands grasped the back of his neck and he immediately knew you liked the sensation and carried on licking each nipple ring, giving them the equal amount of attention and love. You’d moan his name whenever his touch got aggressive and possessive. He nudged you further onto his lap until your tits were touching his chest. Trevor looked into your eyes with a heavy smirk, once again kissing like there was no tomorrow. His kiss caught you off guard and made you tumble back, but he used this chance to crawl over you, the cold floor torturing your naked back.

“You’re proof of the divine, sugar.” He’d breath throughout the kiss, his hands trapping you into his cage. Then he crouched against your lower stomach and kissed down your neck before returning to your breasts.

“Ah…” You softly gasped when he animalistically licked in between your boobs.

“I think I love you,” Confessed Trevor who was obviously love-structed within the crest of your chest, “Marry me… Marry me, love me, let me fuck you, eat your pussy – “ And he continued bombing you with fake assumptions made from the void of his heart.

“Trevor…”

“I’m desperately in love with you, my lady.” He quickly proposed before departing from your chest and grabbing your arm, bringing it around his shoulder so your faces were close and personal.

“You can’t be so sure.”

“Are you telling me what I feel?”

“You’re drunk.”

He scoffed and nibbled your jaw, “I’m sober enough to be here with you right now.”

“It doesn’t work like that – You know what, fine, whatever.” You decided to change the subject before he could fuck you.

“Now can you help your poor old Trev out? My boy’s burning with passion. He needs some… Warmth.” You felt his finger itch closer to your panties, drawing it down enough for the cool air to tickle you.

The next few seconds, you were stripped, pussy dared to be exposed. You still had your arm draped around his shoulder, even when he was beginning to line his boner against your opening.

“That’s a girl…” He praised before rocking into you and moaning with delight.

You suggestively whispered his name and kept a steady grip on his shoulder as he began to thrust into your cunt. Trevor lowered his head, chewing on his bottom lip with his eyes closed.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” He’d grumble when finding a satisfying pace, using a free hand to feel your tits again as it would bounce due to the force of his thrusts.

“Fuck… Yes – AH!” Squirming, you gasped loudly after your piercings were being fondled with again. You looked down and saw him squeeze them with a dangerously focussed face. Trevor’s gentle touch was replaced by pure bliss as he just mangled your boobs, making you a panting mess.

“I love when chicks have sensitive nipples…” He’d ponder – watching you react to every poke and twist of his fingers against your piercing and breast.

“Harder… Trevor, harder!”

His eyebrows perked after you begged for more momentum. He adjusted himself, giving you a subtle wink, then creating deeper thrusts, abusing your pussy. Trevor would moan and bury his face between your boobs as the whole rush of adrenaline was frustratingly overwhelming.

“FUCK! YES!” You immediately laughed and whimpered.

Trevor growled when receiving your verbal enjoyment. He rocked harder until the janitors cupboard had echoes of skin slapping against one another. He’d heavily grunt, occasionally releasing a high-pitched whimper and whine. He just wanted to feel every inch of you.

“Oh, God… Yes, yes… Fuck! Trevor!”  

It went harder.

“I’m gonna…”

And harder.

“Trevor… OH, OH!”

He was practically chanting your name every second, his mouth not giving any rest as he thrusted again, feeling his hips shake and penis throb.

“Sweet little… Fuckin’ cunt… FUCK!” He swore in a whiney tone before inhaling dramatically and spluttering out inaudible praises, his cock squirting cum deep in your pussy.

The heavy release of his semen made you gasp for air. Your stomach felt heavy after his orgasm as he trailing his finger down your breast and stomach, bullying your clit despite the leakage of his own cum drooling out from your sex. He was sweating and panting, watching the way you squirmed in his arms.

“C’mon… C’mon…” Trevor antagonised, “Cum for me.”  

“ – Ohhh… Oh, fuck! Yes!”

“You’re so hot…” He’d ogle your body, fixated on your tits again. Something about your chest had him hooked. He restrained himself from doing anything else before your legs jerked up and stomach churning. He smirked when you came all over his fingers.

“Fuuuck!” You moaned through your intense orgasm.

“That’s right…” He praised.

“God, I feel so good, fuck!”

Trevor crawled over your static body as he desperately kissed your lips again. He rubbed your hips and waist, wanting nothing more but to be as close as possible.

“Trevor…” You murmured through the kiss, tugging on his thin hair.

“You’re gorgeous. Sexy lips, fuckin’ body of a goddess, baby.”

“Mmm…” You were enjoying his lips on yours before the door knocked and someone, presumable the janitor himself, called out.

“Eh? Hey! Who’s in there! Let me in, dammit! Get out!”

Trevor gave you a cheeky smirk as you both got dressed and rushed out of the cupboard, outrunning the janitors attempts of stopping you.

[blogevaawrites]

Keeping to the schedule

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, sad, marriage, divorce, smut

Summary: After seven years of being married, two daughters and a difficult divorce, they try to understand what went wrong and why they let that happen.

Part I   Part II

I tried to process the whole information he was sharing and for the first time I believed I made a mistake. I saw it then, why he has been incredibly mad at me.

Sure, at first our separation was hard, but now he was looking happy, at least that’s what he shows me. I also was well, I still loved him but deep in my heart I thought it was the best for both of us. Now everything seems so wrong.

“There was another way. You could have told me everything, we could have dealt with all of that. You let this happen to us.” I said, full of resentment. His face was different then, he came here full of concern and then all what I was seeing was frustration.  

“What are you talking about? You filed for divorce. You decided unilaterally when we were done. You ran away from our marriage at first obstacle. This is not my fucking blame.” His words were like a knife in my skin. I never took it like that. All what I could see was his unhappiness and coldness, in my heart I was doing the right thing.

Tears fell down through my cheeks uncontrollably, our seven years together seemed thrown away. I could feel him moving around the room, he was trying to calm down himself.

“I thought you were being distant because you blamed me for the infection, and then when anything seemed to change, I thought you weren’t happy and that you didn’t know how to leave me.” I said after I got my shit together. I saw him shaking his head, I wasn't sure if he wasn’t satisfied with my words or if he was answering the accusation.

He didn’t response right away, he took a few minutes to breathe loudly.

“I felt ashamed of being the one who needed help after what you went through.” He said without looking at me, he was staring the wall behind me. “I could have never ever blamed you for something like that.” He finished. His hand went to caress my face before pulling me to his embrace.

“I’m sorry” I babbled between tears.

I let myself cry my eyes out in his arms. I felt like I threw out our life because I couldn’t put aside my anger to talk our problems out , like I put my daughters through all of that because I got mad at my husband. I knew he wasn't innocent at all but guiltiness took over my whole body and couldn’t shake it off.

His hands ran all over my back and the back of my neck; the feeling of security invaded my body and the need of get out of my own thoughts grew.

He was so close to me that I couldn’t help kissing him.

His hands didn’t take long before holding my face closer to him, in the perfect position to let our tongues connect with each other.

Needing for air we broke the kiss but not for long, he kissed me again letting his hand go to hold me up from my butt. I just could follow his actions; I didn’t want to do anything else. He took me to our bedroom quickly, he sat at the edge of the bed making me straddle him.

Without leaving my mouth, he moved the strips of my shirt away from my shoulders, leaving my breast on full display for him. His hands played with my nipples before taking them in his mouth. I just could moan, moving my hips to find some friction against his bulge. He showed me his excitement pushing my hips even closer to him.

“I love you so much” he mumbled against my collarbone. His words made my noxious thoughts hunt my mind, I knew he loves me, I loved him too; it wasn’t the first time he said it after our divorce, but it was wrong now. I stood up quickly, he looked at me confused while I tried to put my shirt on again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked extending his arm to reach me.

“Who am I now? Your sidechick. Isn’t works in the other way? From a sidechick to a wife?” I said with a sardonic laugh, rubbing my eyes, trying to concentrate again.

He laughed, laying down on the bed. I looked at him completely horrified by his reaction. He took his phone from his jeans and scrolled around it for a few seconds before handing it to me.

It was a kind of a contract, an agreement to release seven pictures along with a misleading and suggestive headline.

“Meghan asked me because her team want her to be related to a certain kind of people.” He explained, I knew that this is part of his job, and he was used to it before we got together.

“It’s a pap walk.” I said understanding what he meant, I wasn’t familiar to it because he hadn’t done one since we met.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to tell you when I came the last time.” He took my hand to bring me closer to him while he continued explaining “I shouldn’t have agreed to it, but I realized of it too late and I wanted to talk to you before the pictures got release. I didn’t want you to feel disappointed or mad and don’t worry! I already asked her and Meghan to shut down any rumor.” He guided my legs to straddle him again. “I tried to bail out of it after what happened between us, but I just couldn’t.”

“Okay.” I felt relieved. I wasn’t ready to see him with someone else, and thank God, he said he wasn’t ready to date again.

“Let’s just put you to sleep, okay?” He said caressing my head and taking my hair away from my face. He saw my face and quickly he explained to me his change of mind.

“The girls are with Scott, but he has a flight to catch in a couple hours. I need to pick them up. Okay?” he said forcing me to look at him. “Hey! Listen to me I will call you as soon as they fall sleep, will that be okay?” he asked again.  

I nodded, getting up. I thought he was going to leave right away but he did not. He uncovered the bed for me to get in and laid next to me for a few minutes.

“You will always be the one. I promise.” He slurred against my temple, after kissing it.

He left the room without waiting for an answer, he must have thought I was sleeping because he tried not to make many noises.

After a few hours, my phone rang, and I didn’t wait a second to respond.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be up.” he said. I could hear him closing a door. I haven’t been in his new house, but I know his style very well, enough at least, to imagine it.

“I’m a light sleeper.”

“I know.” He let go a sad laugh. “I wanted to call you early, but Anna was interrogating my ass about my quick trip of tonight.” he said cooling off the environment.  

“Oh! Yeah! She can be very tough, it’s probably a phase.” I said with a smile, remembering the last time I had a quick conversation with our neighbor, and she thought I was dating him.

“Yeah! I guess, but I think we should check on her, maybe she’s experiencing anxiety because of the changes or something like that. I’ve been reading about kids with divorced parents can suffers these kinds of things.” I knew he was just worried about them; I was too, but right then I felt guilty, I felt like I did this to them.

“Okay” I murmured.

I was excited about his call, I wanted to figure it out what we could do to save this, but maybe it was too late. We held on everything for so long, and now it’s probably just too late.

“What do you want to do?” he asked calmly, completely away from my thoughts.

“I don’t know.”

“Tomorrow my sister is going to the lake house. She wanted me to take the girls, but I could let them go with her and we could hang out. I don’t know, we could have a kind of a date and talk, we could try to sort this out.”  

“Okay.”

“Is everything alright?” I knew he was asking because of my monosyllabic answers.

“Yes, I’m just kind of sleepy.” I didn’t want to talk anymore.

“Okay.” his voice sounded disappointed now. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

“I love you” he said after a few seconds quiet.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, I loved him, but it felt like I was accepting everything, it felt like I was saying “yes, I broke us, our family”.

“Me too”  

I couldn’t say much else. I said bye and hung up.

He picked me up at 7:00 p.m, he told he wanted to spend the day with the girls because they wanted to spend the night over there with their cousins. We decided to just have a dinner at his house in order to have more privacy and also, we could be in a kind of neutral environment since he doesn’t feel it like home, and I don’t even know the house.

“You want a tour?” he asked as soon as we got in the house. I nodded and followed him through the house. I wasn’t wrong about this style, the house it was almost a copy of ours, and it felt weird.

“It’s very similar to ours, isn’t?” I said softly, I wasn’t sure how he was going to take it.

“Yeah, I know, Scott said the same thing, but I don’t know, I’m living here, and this has to be home now.” He said and all at once I felt the guiltiness coming back to my body, it was like I kicked him out of his home.

“We have your favorite for dinner” he said completely unaware of my harmful thoughts.

“Great.” I didn’t want to spoil any possible progress.

He took my hand guiding me to the dinning room. We had a nice dinner, just talking about our past, when we met, when I got pregnant with Anna, when we took her to Disney for the first time… we had a happy life.

We talked about everything, but we didn’t talk about why we let this happened to us. It was like we weren’t seeing the big fat elephant in the room. After the dinner he took me outside to have the dessert in front the fireplace.

“Are you okay?” he asked worried, I wasn’t being very talkative, and he knows me well enough to let it pass.

“Yes.” I said taking a spoon of mousse.

He took my dessert from my hands.

“You sure?” he asked, forcing me to look at him by my chin. I just could nod; I didn’t know what else to do.

He took my chin to his head, kissing me deeply. He got his body closer to mine and his hand went to hip and the other one didn’t leave the back of my neck. I kept to his leading until I felt his hand get under my dress, touching my naked thigh. I pushed him away from me softly. I stood up and rubbed my face trying to find the right words.

“This is not my fault.” I dopped. He smiled in confusion.

“Well, I guess it’s not, I started to kiss you, but…” he started to say.

“I didn’t break us. I may have been the one who made it official, but you decided not to tell me what was going on.” As I said that his eyes went dark. I knew he was ready to fight back, I have seen those eyes too many times.

“It wasn’t exactly an easy journey, I couldn’t…” he was accepting that he blamed me. His voice also changed; it wasn’t the same voice he used to used when we were married. This one was ironic, rough, and mean, the one he use since we were divorced.

“Mine wasn’t easy either! It wasn’t just a rough patch for me, Chris. I felt you were abandoning me, and you knew what I was feeling.”  My eyes were getting wet, and I tried to do everything not to cry.

“How I could have known that?” he sounded irritated, not just because he was talking louder but he also because his head was resting in his hands.

“Because I told you, Chris! I asked you to come back home million of times, and you rather take our daughters to the other side of the world than come back home with your wife.” I said, recalling the last time I asked him when he was going to be back. He didn’t answer, instead of that he set a whole plan. He made Scott flight to Boston to pick up the girls and then take them to Japan where he was filming his fifth film of the year.  

“I was working…” He said with a different voice.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” The air got cooler; we weren’t yelling anymore. He wasn’t looking at me when I started to walk out.

“I don’t think we can do this.” I said, ready to leave.

“We have to try it.” He caught my attention.

“Emma and Anna will be alright; they are fine now.” I’ve always thought that keeping kids in a unhappy marriage it’s way more dangerous that have a civilized divorce. I knew he was worried about them, but it wasn’t right.  

“Not because of them, because I love you and I know you love me too.” He was right.

“Maybe it’s not enough anymore.”

“Yes, it is! It has to be! I don’t want to be alone the rest of my life and if it’s not with you I will be, don’t you see it? It’s been almost a year and I still thinking of you as my wife.” He stood up to get closer to me.

It broke my heart that he was right. I can’t imagine myself with another man, and it could be just a matter of time, but I honestly didn’t think so.

“How could this work? We’re going to end hating each other.” I said verbalizing one of my biggest fears.

“We won’t. I promise.” He said pulling my body to his arms.

 @moonlacebeam @denisemarieangelina @lovebittenbyevans @popteest @aubageddon91 @hey-diddly-ho-neighborino @impala1967666 @firoozehmoon

[angellesword]

YOUR EYES TELL | JJK (08)

Summary: You live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It's simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if...Jeongguk, your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?

Alternatively:

"A future without you is a world without color."

Genre: soulmate au, e2l, slow burn, angst, fluff, roommate au

Pairing: Artist!Jungkook x Lawyer!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Series: CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 9

warnings: unrealistic court happenings i am not a lawyer ok mention of physical abuse, drinking problems, child trauma, mental illness, and infidelity. I want to build a whole new world in this fic that’s why i also didn’t research about divorce trials I’m sorry. OC is kind of annoying/disappointing in this chapter (?) or not (?) Young Choi Soobin of TXT is the kid in this chapter’s moodboard

Jeongguk was the ex-boyfriend Red was talking about.

You figured this out when you were at Seokjin's party. Frankly, the way your soulmate was looking at Red was already a giveaway, but then you had to confirm it yourself.

The only way to do that was to either confront Jeongguk or your assistant.

You chose neither and it was because you were afraid to hear what they would or wouldn't say. This being said, you resorted to your last option.

"Come on..." It was hard to sit on the floor when you're wearing a damn long dress, but this didn't stop you from rummaging through Red's personal things.

It's the middle of the night. You left Jeongguk at your apartment right after he reached his high.

You just wanted to teach him a lesson for being a brat. He was always so rude to you and you honestly thought that he was just in denial—that soon enough, he would realize that you two were really destined to be together.

Apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

You went to your office at one in the morning just to find something that would verify your speculation. You got what you wanted. The photograph of Jeongguk kissing your assistant confirmed it.

Your tears fell.

You didn't know why you felt betrayed. It wasn't like they wanted this. They hadn't done anything wrong. Fate was just cruel. Why didn't you meet Jeongguk first? You couldn't blame him for falling in love with Red—she was sweet, beautiful, and smart. Anyone would definitely like her, so you had no choice but to swallow the lump in your throat and accept this.

You just had to pretend like everything was alright.

It wasn't.

The divorce trial was near and there were still so many things you had to fix. Work was seriously draining the hell out of you and it wasn't like Jeongguk was helping. He was actually adding up to the stress you were feeling.

Jeongguk was giving you the silent treatment and no—it wasn't the type of silence you were used to. Before Seokjin's party, your soulmate was quiet, but not really. He would occasionally huff to let you know that he was annoyed at you. He would also stamp his feet and slam the door just to spite you.

You didn't mind. You knew he was just being a brat; however, things were different now.

After the night of Seokjin's party, Jeongguk changed. He was eerily silent, always avoiding eye contact with you.

You tried talking to him. Regrettably, you were only greeted by stillness.

"You want pizza, Gukkie?"

Nothing.

"Have you watched the latest episode of Start-up?"

Still nothing.

"Did you have a good sleep?"

Nope. Nothing. Nada.

"Wanna make out on the couch?"

Jeongguk's head jolted to your direction. His eyes were wide, cheeks turning crimson because of your bold statement.

"Hey!" You giggled, clearly happy with his reaction. "You finally looked at me!"

Jeongguk shook his head and then he went straight to his room.

You were unbelievable.

You pouted your lips, giving up. You had a feeling that he would come around.

He did. Days later, Jeongguk surprised you when he stood right in front of the door of your apartment. He was blocking your way out.

"Gukkie, I'm going to be late." You sighed. He reminded you of Miri, your cat that's always trying to stop you from leaving.

"You can't leave." His jaw clenched.

You let out a breath once again.

"Don't do this please. Mr. Kim needs me,"

The trial was happening today. You needed to run down a few things with your client before you go to the court room.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Jeongguk folded his arms over his chest.

You stared at him.

"I don't get what?" It was hard to keep your composure when the thing you had been trying to avoid for so long was being rubbed in your face. You knew exactly what Jeongguk was implying.

"—that you want me to drop this case because you want Red all to yourself?"

Jeongguk froze. What was the point of staying silent when you always knew what was running inside his head?

You just always knew.

"You don't have to pretend that you care about Soobin's well-being. I have enough people doing just that," you slightly pushed Jeongguk to the side so that you could pass through the door.

Ah, people.

They're all the same, always trying to conceal their self-interest by pretending that they care for others.

You liked Jeongguk—actually; you were convinced you loved him. He was your soulmate after all, but sometimes love wasn't enough to just give into what he wanted.

This wasn't about your relationship. This was about Soobin's welfare. He's just a child. You were a lawyer who swore an oath to protect the oppressed and incapable. You were their voice.

It sounded cheesy, but this was the type of person you aspired to be. The world was already dark, it wouldn't hurt to be someone's light.

Jeongguk didn't understand your reasons. It was evident when he showed up in court to watch you defend Kim Seokjin.

At first, you thought your eyes were failing you. Was he really here? Was he really the man at the back of the room wearing that big hoodie?

It was him. The familiar scowl on his face said so. Jeongguk was the only person who looked at you like you had offended his whole family.

"All rise!"

You turned to your client upon hearing the bailiff's demand.

"It's going to be alright," assured by you.

Seokjin smiled. He was looking at Red instead of you. He needed the comfort of his soulmate.

Red grinned back. She wasn't worried. She trusted you. She was certain you would succeed. Soobin wasn't going to be taken away from his father.

The first few minutes of the trial went smooth. You had your story straight and with the way the judge was nodding; you instantly knew she was in favor of your side.

Unfortunately, things started to go ugly during the cross-examination of witnesses.

Jung Hoseok was the first one to take the stand. He was the expert witness.

"You are the marriage counselor of Mr. and Mrs. Kim for months now, right?"

"Yes." Hoseok answered the opposing counsel. It was weird seeing him this serious. Your friend was always grinning, but you told him to try to keep a neutral face. This way, the judge and the jury wouldn't know if he was caught off guard by the question of the other side's attorney.

"Mr. Jung, is it true that marriage counselors rarely suggest divorce to their clients?"

"Depends—" Hoseok bit his tongue. You told him to simply answer yes or no. Be responsive to the question and never explain. "I mean, yes."

"And yet here we are..." Ms. Choi, the opposing attorney, shrugged her shoulders.

"Objection!" You stood up. "Relevance?"

You didn't understand why Ms. Choi asked that question to Hoseok when she's just shrugging it off now.

"Sustained." The judge felt the same way.

Ms. Choi raised her hand as if surrendering.

"My bad. I'm just curious, you know? If Mr. Jung is indeed an effective counselor, then why did he suggest that the Kim couple push through the divorce?"

Ms. Choi was furrowing her brow at Hoseok.

"Isn't that true, Counselor Jung? You told Mrs. Kim that it's better to end her marriage with Mr. Kim?"

"Yes." The expert witness answered truthfully.

The opposing side's attorney smiled mockingly.

"It's because you feared for Mrs. Kim's safety, right?"

"What?" Jung Hoseok was lost.

"Come on, Mr. Jung you know exactly what I am talking about! You found out that Mr. Kim is an alcoholic and you are scared that he might harm Mrs. Kim and Soobin, right?" Ms. Choi pointed at the five year old kid who was busy coloring books in the far corner of the room. He was with Seokjin's mother.

"Objection, Your Honor! Compound question!" You glared at Ms. Choi.

"Sustained." The judge clenched her jaw. "Ms. Choi, separate your questions. You are misleading the jury..."

Ms. Choi was flustered, yet she still held her head high. She knew she had the upper hand here.

"Is Mr. Kim alcoholic, Mr. Jung?" She tried again.

Hoseok cleared his throat.

"He had a history of abusing alcohol years ago."

"And you know this because you're also a licensed alcohol and drug counselor, correct?"

"Yes..."

"And Mr. Kim Seokjin also told you about his issue with regard to alcohol abuse?"

"Yes." Hoseok swallowed hard.

There were papers that could attest to Hoseok's claim. This was a win for Mrs. Kim. You could see her growing sarcastic smile that was directed at Red.

You inhaled deeply.

"Mr. Jung, can you please tell us the rate of patients going through alcohol relapse?"

"Uh, it's sixty to ninety percent after the first year of treatment," answered by Hoseok.

"I see. How long has it been since Mr. Kim sobered up?"

"As far as I know, it has been three years."

"Huh." Ms. Choi crossed her arms. "So is there a possibility that Mr. Kim would experience an alcohol relapse?"

"Yes."

"What's the statistical probability, Mr. Jung?"

"About fifty percent high." Hoseok looked dejected. He wanted to help Seokjin win the case, but he couldn't lie.

"I see." Ms. Choi was smiling as if she had already won the case.

"Can you tell us now the effects of experiencing an alcohol relapse? Or a slip?"

Hoseok's palms were sweating. Slip was one episode of drinking alcohol after trying to stay sober. Relapse, on the other hand, was the return to unhealthy behavior. Slip wasn't always followed by a relapse.

Hoseok also explained that there were different stages of relapse. Emotional relapse could cause suppression of emotions, becoming more isolated, trying to blame other people, and aggression, especially when they were confronted. There's also mental and physical relapse which included glamorizing alcohol and compulsive desires to drink.

"No further questions, Your Honor." The corner of Ms. Choi's mouth turned up upon realizing that the jury was in favor of their side now.

You had to step up your game.

The next witness was Son Chae-young. She was Soobin's babysitter. Chae-young had been living with the Kims ever since Soobin was born. She's a witness testifying against Seokjin.

Chae-young cleared her throat when your eyes landed on her. She already felt uncomfortable because of the way you were looking at her.

The way you stand up—shoulder down, neck long—was intimidating.

"You have a really nice necklace, Ms. Son."

Chae-young flinched upon hearing your compliment. She was confused. Mrs. Kim and Attorney Choi told her that you were scary, this was evident by the way you present yourself, but then...the way your eyes light up made her feel at ease. Your voice was soft too.

"Ah...thanks," regardless of your sweet persona, Chae-young still couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Why were you looking at her as if she was important? As if you were here to protect and not cross-examine her?

"Is it from Cartier?"

"Yes!" The babysitter beamed at you as she touched her pretty jewelry.

You smiled warmly at her.

"Did you buy it yourself?"

"Objection! Relevance?" The opposing lawyer clenched her fist. She was shaking, causing you to smile bigger. Guess she knew what was coming to her, huh?

"I'm getting there, Your Honor," said by you. Your expression screamed confidence that the judge was compelled to believe you.

"Overruled."

You continued.

"So...Ms. Son, did you buy that necklace? Or is it a gift?"

"Uh..." Chae-young's lips trembled. She was looking at Mrs. Kim, as if she was asking for her boss' help. "I-I bought it for myself..."

"I see." You nodded. Humoring her. "Do you have any other job aside from babysitting Kim Soobin?"

The nanny shook her head.

"N-No. I'm a full-time nanny of Mrs. Kim's son." Chae-young's lips were still shaking; her eyes were quivering as well.

"Hm, interesting..." You went closer to the witness. "That means you're earning what? Two hundred fifty dollars a month?"

"Objection, Your Honor! I still can't see the relevance of this!" Ms. Choi was losing her mind.

You turned to glare at her.

"Can’t you really see the relevance of this or are you just scared?"

You heard the judge's hit the gavel; she was calling your attention.

"Get to the point right now." The judge demanded at you. It was this or your statement was going to be sustained.

"I am merely establishing my point, Your Honor." Your voice was rough. "The necklace Ms. Son is wearing is worth four thousand three hundred dollars. I know because I have the same necklace and it took me, a lawyer, months!" You paused for a while just to emphasize the word months, "to buy it."

You turned to Chae-young when the judge remained silent.

"So tell me, Ms. Son, how can a full-time nanny like you who's earning minimum wage buy that kind of luxurious jewelry? Huh?" You were standing too close to the witness so Attorney Choi used this as an opportunity to object.

"Your Honor, she is badgering the witness!"

"Overruled." But the judge wasn't having any of it. "Answer the question, Ms. Son."

"I'm sorry!" The nanny's face twisted in fear. "Mrs. Kim bought it for me—"

"It's a gift!" Mrs. Kim blurted out, unable to contain her anger anymore. God. She hated you. "I bought it for her last month! It's my birthday gift for her!"

You smirked. Attorney Choi was panicking. She was caressing Mrs. Kim's hand, telling her to calm down.

Sadly, Mrs. Kim could not be stopped.

"Why am I explaining to you when you have no right to question my intention! It's my money so I get to decide what to do with it!"

She was yelling at you and it almost made you laugh. Why was she so defensive?

"May I remind you that you are a married woman, Mrs. Kim? You have to consider your husband's decision when it comes to spending that amount of money." You said this while glancing at the jury.

Base on their expressions, you knew that they agreed with you. This was a win on your side. One of the valid reasons of Seokjin for wanting a divorce was this. Mrs. Kim didn't know how to manage their assets.

You weren't done, though. You had to discredit the witness. You had to win the jury's side in all aspects.

"And you said you bought it last month for Ms. Son's birthday?" You shook your head, focusing your eyes at the nanny.

"Tell us, Ms. Son, when is your birthday?"

Mrs. Kim's face became pale upon hearing your question.

"January seventeen...”

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Kim again.

"Your birthday present is many months late, Mrs. Kim. Either that or you're just lying to hide the fact that you gave Ms. Son the necklace in exchange of testifying against your husband—"

"Objection—"Attorney Choi tried to stop you, but you cut her off too.

"Isn't that right, Ms. Son? You are bribed by your boss to say that you always see Mr. Kim Seokjin drinking alcohol—"

"Your Honor—" The opposing attorney was losing control, her objections were drowning because of how loud your voice was.

"Mrs. Kim wants you to lie! To say that her husband isn't a good father! That he isn't a good influence to Soobin!"

"Yes!"

You stopped trying to pressure Chae-young because it already worked. She admitted the truth.

"Mrs. Kim bribed me!" The babysitter sobbed, looking at you like you were the Lord and she was a sinner.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I can't say no, please...please...I need this job!"

"You bitch!" Mrs. Kim abruptly stood up. She wanted to attack you; fortunately the security officers were able to stop her.

The jury was surprised to see Mrs. Kim's violent reaction. You, on the other hand, didn't even flinch.

You were used to this kind of scene. Besides, you couldn't get sidetracked. You still needed to prove your point.

And so you faced the jury.

"Is this the kind of person that you want to raise a sweet, innocent five year-old kid?"

One of the members of the jury clutched her chest. She was affected by what you had said. Truthfully, they were almost decided to grant the sole custody to Mrs. Kim; however, upon seeing the latter's behavior, the jury was having second thoughts now.

"Just look at her!" You pointed at Mrs. Kim who was still seething with rage.

"She constrained an adult! Imagine the bad things she could force Soobin to do! Mrs. Kim is a manipulator!" You raised your voice dramatically.

"My actions are nothing compared to what that asshole is doing!" Mrs. Kim screamed as she angrily pointed at her husband.

She was crying.

Kim Seokjin was quiet. He was shocked by your responses. He didn't expect you to be this bold. You were different from the lawyer he thought he knew.

You didn't have any limit. You didn't know when to stop just to prove a point.

"He's teaching my son that it's okay to be unfaithful to your wife! Jury, please!" Mrs. Kim was desperate. "Don't let him come near my son! He's a drunken bastard!"

The judge was hitting the gavel again. There were too much drama and unnecessary comments from Mrs. Kim.

You shook your head. You couldn't stop now. The jury was undecided. They changed their minds from time to time. You could see sympathy in their eyes as they looked at the wife.

"Mr. Kim Seokjin is sober! You should be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Kim! You keep blaming your husband when you're the reason why he turned alcoholic in the first place—"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Attorney Choi glared at you. "The attorney is assuming facts!"

You disagreed before the judge could say sustained.

"Am I?" You smirked at the judge before turning to your table to get your evidence.

Seokjin looked at you nervously.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing," groaned by your client.

You were blinded by your role as a lawyer, so you ignored Seokjin's plea.

"Don't do this..."

Seokjin was already too late.

"I have here the evidence that will prove that Mrs. Kim is the reason why her husband turned alcoholic."

You brought out the printed photos of Seokjin's beaten up face. Bruises, cuts, and other physical injuries were seen.

The jury gasped. Attorney Choi was groaning as she told the judge that these photos were not entered into evidence.

You were playing dirty, but so were they. Ms. Choi told you that they wouldn't bring Mr. Kim's sobriety issue in this court. She lied.

"These pictures are given to me by Mrs. Kim Sunghee, Seokjin's mother." You glanced at your client's mother.

"She knows that her son's wife was assaulting him. Seokjin didn't want to feel his wife's punches so he resorted to drinking the pain away. Mr. Kim just wants to be numb."

"N-No..." Your client's tears streamed down his cheeks. He was calling your name, begging you to stop.

It felt like everyone was begging you to stop; even Sunghee was shaking her head.

It was wrong. This was a mistake. Seokjin's mother realized this when Soobin began to cry. He was silently crying at first, but when the little boy saw the photos in your hand, he started hyperventilating.

"Appa!" Soobin's eyes dilated. He could barely breathe.

Mrs. Kim stood up to attend to her son.

"Soobin!" Mrs. Kim was wailing.

Things were becoming messy.

You didn't understand what was happening, so you just stood there.

"Appa! A-Appa is hurting!" Soobin was losing it; his eyes were rolling in the back of his head.

"Call 911!" Red shouted.

The noise was deafening.

You still didn't get what was happening.

Seokjin went near you.

"I told you not to do it!" He shouted, snatching the photos away from your shaky hands.

"This isn't about me or my wife!" Seokjin continued to scream at you.

You were stunned.

Your client was blaming you.

This is your fault! Seokjin said.

You were wrong. You didn't have to bring out these photos because apparently, Soobin knew.

He witnessed how his mom used to beat up his father.

The poor kid was traumatized.

He had to get some help.

His parents thought he had recovered.

It had been years.

The thing about trauma was, it never went away. It was there—silently sleeping and waiting for that one thing that would trigger it.

You triggered Soobin.

"I-I didn't know..." Your voice was low as you stated your excuse.

No one wanted to hear your lame excuse, not even Jeongguk.

You looked at your soulmate once.

You looked at him desperately.

You looked at him hoping that he would understand—like he would comfort you.

He would never.

Jeongguk had this look in his eyes, the kind of feeling that expressed disappointment.

Jeongguk was disappointed in you.

It was clear because right now, he was shaking his head as if you had done the most horrifying thing in the world.

He shook his head before leaving you all alone.

No one wanted to be with you.

You were a disgrace.

[jadoue1999]

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 2

Summary: Erik finds out he has a son. But life doesn't like seeing him happy, so it made sure he was already missing when he learned about his existence.

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, 

Chapter 2: Erik and his rotten luck with family

It had been a week since the 70s episode had aired and no new episodes had shown up since. That left plenty of time for thinking and pondering on what was this WandaVision show. After many theories, they had conceded to Hank’s idea. It definitely seemed like a glimpse into a parallel universe. The mystery of Peter’s implication still lingered in the air. Charles wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answer. This all-powerful woman with the same surname as the speedster could have decided to do anything with him. He had yet to show up anywhere; they had combed the background for signs of him, but they had found nothing. The team went as far as to call it a misleading clue, but he didn’t let himself believe that. It was too strange to simply be a coincidence. The telepath was in his office one night when Raven entered.

“Is this a good time?” Wondered the shapeshifter. The professor nodded his head yes and she closed the door behind her before taking a seat. While he didn’t look into her head, he could sense her determination and hesitation about what she was about to tell him. Finally, she took a breath, “we need to tell Erik. About Peter.”

Erik. How could he have forgotten?

He was the boy’s father after all, even if he didn’t know it yet. Raven had told him as she filled him in with what had happened when they were fighting Apocalypse. She had mentioned Peter’s confession and how close he came to tell his father the truth. He had kept silent since, deciding that no one was in the right to inform the metal bender other than his own son. But now Peter was missing, they had to get him back. Erik needed to know.

Charles agreed with her and they were off to Erik’s room. The man was reading a book in front of the fireplace, seemingly enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. He turned to them as they opened the door.

“Charles. Raven.” He greeted them as he closed his reading. “What’s going on?”

The professor wheeled himself forward to his friend, he knew he had to break it to him gently. “It’s Peter,” he started. The man looked at him, his thoughts echoing his confusion as to why he was bringing up the speedster. “He’s missing. Has been for about two weeks, but I wanted to make sure before telling you.”

“Okay,” Erik replied after a few seconds of silence, “have you found anything?”

He could feel Raven’s frustration growing as the metal bender barely showed any concern. Charles didn’t blame him; the man had only seen Peter for an hour at most in the last ten years. He felt the same level of concern to the boy as he would with any other students at the school.

“We have found something, we’re not sure what it is, but it’s definitely linked to his disappearance.” He paused, trying to see if Erik was starting to understand. He continued when he found no reason to believe so. “Do you remember when he broke you out of prison?” The man nodded. “And when he came back to help fight Apocalypse and was injured in the process?” Another nod, more hesitant this time. Erik clearly didn’t get where he was going with this. “What I’m trying to say is that he’s a very special person, I hadn’t seen his type of power before meeting him and Hank found him fascinating as well. Can you believe he agreed to break you out just for the challenge? Quite extraordinary if I say so myself. But my point is, Peter’s-“

“He’s your son, you moron!” Snapped Raven, earning herself an offended glance from Charles. “What? You clearly weren’t going to tell him with all that rambling.”

The pair looked at Erik, awaiting a reaction. Had they not been aware of the situation, they easily could have believed that he was doing an aneurism. The man didn’t speak, but the metal in the room started shaking. Raven called out to Erik to try to calm him down, but her voice fell on deaf ears. Only when Charles shouted at him to stop that the man gradually calmed down.

“I... I have a son?” He seemed beyond shocked as he finally acknowledged the truth. Charles nodded yes and met Erik’s gaze as the man spoke once again. “What did you gather about his disappearance?”

“Don’t you need a moment to collect yourself and take in the situation?” Wondered the telepath. The man’s thoughts were all over the place, filled with shock and worry. It was obvious he needed some time alone. “Erik, please take some time, join us when you’ll be ready.”

The man didn’t protest as Charles and Raven exited the room. They closed the door and met up with the team, informing them about the situation.

...

Erik, in all his life, had never considered himself lucky. He had lost his family in Auschwitz and was then used as a lab rat by Shaw. Once the evil man had been taken care of, many years later, he had then accidentally paralyzed Charles, one of his few friends. Then he was wrongly accused of killing the president and imprisoned for nearly a decade until he was freed. By his son. But of course, he didn’t know, because life was just like that with him, and he had gone on a quest to show the world the true power of mutant kind. That, of course, ended horribly; so, he went into hiding. He had built a family, a happy one even. He truly had hope for a better future, but life loved to prove him wrong. Madga and Nina had died, and he had been chosen to be a horseman for a god. He had, in his grief, accepted and it led to Peter having his leg broken. He felt sick to his stomach as he recalled the panicked look on the young man’s face, his eyes pleading him to do something. He didn’t know, why hadn’t he known? The boy had almost died, and he did absolutely nothing.

How could he even consider himself his father when he had already failed him so much?

Still, he might not even get a real chance to properly know him now that his son had gone missing. Erik definitely wasn’t a lucky person.

He looked at the fireplace that had previously given him comfort and suddenly felt like the heat was choking him. He paced quickly through the mansion; the corridors were empty due to the late hour. After getting outside, he decided to walk around the lake. The little waves created by the soft breeze always helped grounding him. His Nina always loved the water. They had installed a bird bath because she had requested that the surrounding animals should always have something to drink when they came to visit her. He wore a small smile on his lips as he sat on the grass in front of the lake and sighed.

“Hello, my darling,” he told the water. “It’s already been a year since you and your mother left. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.” A curious bird landed next to him, looking at the man with puzzlement. Erik smiled, perhaps Nina lived on in all the creatures she loved so much. He held out a hand to the small animal, not really expecting anything. Surprisingly, it flew towards him and landed on his finger. Erik felt his heart grow warm as the bird let him pet his back. The soft feathers felt so similar to his daughter’s hair. “You might not believe it, but I just discovered that you have a half brother. He’s older than you, but I’m sure you would have gotten along well.” The bird chirped at his words. He stopped stroking it, “but I’m afraid he’s gone for now. What do you think we should do?” The bird looked at him with its small eyes and stretched its wings, taking off in the sky to regions unknown. Erik dared a hopeful smile as he watched it fly away. He looked at the sky, contemplating the stars before getting up. “Don’t worry Peter,” he told the wind, “we’ll find you.”

...

The moment he had gone back in the mansion, he was intercepted by Charles who called him to his office. The wheelchair bound man had a few files open on his desk. He motioned Erik forward as he spotted his friend.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, I take it you want to know what we’ve gathered so far?”

Erik nodded, of course he did. Charles took the files with him and led them out. They entered the room containing Cerebro, he was about to ask him their reason for being there, but he was interrupted by his friend.

“Before we start, I want you to keep an open mind. We don’t know what exactly is going on.”

Erik frowned but agreed to the conditions, nonetheless. The bald man pressed a few commands on the board and the screens lit up.

Whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t this. He had expected government videos showing his son dragged out of a car, him being taken or even tortured. He certainly hadn’t expected to see a sitcom that somehow changed decades every episode. It seemed completely irrelevant, but the few cuts and creepy details kept him from dismissing the whole thing as a joke. The third episode was particularly strange. Fear creeped into his veins as the woman menacingly approached her friend. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the cut that showed nothing or the possibilities of what could’ve have happened to the poor woman.

When everything was done, he turned to the telepath. “What does this mean Charles?”

The man sighed, putting a finger to his head for a second before looking at him again. “I’ve called the others; they’ll be here soon.” He turned to the screen that showed the rolling credits. “From what we’ve gathered, this is a parallel universe. The woman, Wanda, seems to either control this world or is trapped there as well.”

“But what does this have to do with my son? As far as I’m aware, he’s never met this woman.” Their discussion was interrupted by Jean, Scott, Kurt, Ororo, Hank and Raven coming in. They had probably been woken up by the telepath’s call, judging by their yawns and sleepy eyes. After a few seconds of questioning from the tired young adults, Charles motioned them forward and opened one of the files he had with him.

“This is Peter’s file, I hadn’t really thought about reading it, since he’s past high school age, but Wanda’s comment made me curious.” He pointed to his personal information, it contained his name, address, and schools he had previously attended. Nothing seemed amiss. “I did some digging and it turns out that ‘Peter’ isn’t his real name. It was changed when he was very young.” He flipped the page, showing a government document authorizing the name change. The team looked at themselves in shock as they read ‘Pietro Maximoff’.

“So, what does it mean?” Chimed in Hank. “Sure, he has the same name as the woman’s dead brother, but there’s no way they’ve ever met.”

Charles scoffed in amusement, “yes, you’re right. But I searched through various archives to find more about him, and I came across this.” He pulled out an old newspaper clipping. It read: mysterious death of a teen leaves the police baffled.

The article had one picture, it showed a teenage girl smiling, like any other child her age. Erik looked at Charles, demanding confirmation about his suspicions. The telepath nodded, “this is a picture of Wendy Maximoff, Peter’s twin.”

The group was silent for awhile when Jean suddenly gasped. “Oh my god,” she covered her mouth in horror. “I once asked Peter why he didn’t like celebrating birthdays and he told me how he used to have two cakes but only had one now.” She looked towards Scott and Kurt. “I- I assumed he was being greedy, but the loss of his twin could explain it!”

Erik didn’t listen to the group’s reaction; he was too busy processing the information he had just learned. How could he miss so much of his son’s life? He should have been there to help him and make sure that he would be alright. Instead, he was too focused on getting revenge and he had missed nearly thirty years of Peter’s life. And with his disappearance, it unfortunately was very possible that he’d miss more. Everyone’s rambling was interrupted by Cerebro lighting up again. Erik watched nervously as the front of a house appeared. The woman and her husband were trying to get their babies to sleep, something they were apparently not keen on. They continued trying, Wanda even tried to use her magic on them, but, surprisingly, it didn’t work. Their neighbor came in, saying how she had heard them and could help. Then it became strange as Vision suddenly suggested that she shouldn’t help. Agnes looked at Wanda for instructions, asking if she wanted to restart the scene. Erik didn’t have to look around to know that everyone here was confused. Wanda brushed it off, to the confusion of her husband. All of a sudden, the crying stopped; the twins were asleep. Except they weren’t in their cribs. A slight panic settled in Erik’s stomach; the loss of a child seemed too dark for a show like this... right? Strangely enough, the twins weren’t missing, they had aged up to five. The screen cut to the theme song.

“Are the children mutants?” Asked Raven, uncertain about the change of event.

Charles has a pensive look to his face, “I’m afraid I cannot say, for now.”

The episode continued, with the twins adopting a dog. Curiously, Wanda seemed tired of hiding her powers, going as far as using it in front of their neighbor. The most peculiar thing happened when the two parents settled that the twins were too young to keep their dog. They suddenly aged up again, now ten years old. Erik had to give it to Charles, this show definitely wasn’t just a coincidence. Were they looking at a new concept for a mutant prison? It certainly seemed like it.

The scene changed to show the husband’s workplace, they were installing computers and people around him were trying to figure out how to make it work. After some corny jokes, an email showed up and the whole room read it together. The X-Men watched Vision wake up his co-worker who seemed to panic about contacting his father.

“That’s mind control,” gasped Jean, “I know that panic, it’s horrible.”

The man screamed about a woman in his head, probably Wanda, and became more and more agitated. Vision zapped him again and, like a switch, he was back to Norm, the friendly co-worker. The group watched in stunned silence as it cut to Wanda and her children. Billy was training the dog and seemed pretty good at it. The twins excitedly got up, wanting to show their father but Wanda told them he was at work. The conversation then turned into a classic “family is forever” speech; telling them how they’ll always have each other, no matter what.

“Do you have a brother, mom?” Asked of the boys.

She looked off in the distance, obviously wondering how to explain her brother’s situation. “I do,” she said, “he’s far away from here and that makes me... sad sometimes.”

Erik didn’t have time to dwell on the possible meanings of her words as the dog suddenly ran out of the door. The twins and Wanda ran out, chasing it. They lost sight of it. Suddenly, the redhead looked up at the sky in anger and told the boys to continue look for Sparky without her. The scene continued with the boys walking alone.

“What do you think she meant by far away?” Asked the boy in green, Tommy, if he remembered well.

His brother shook his head, “I don’t know, but how cool would it be to meet our uncle?”

The boys giggled and continued calling for their dog. Seeing how the episode was significantly darker than the other ones, Erik didn’t have much hope for the poor animal. Turns out he was right; it had eaten a poisonous plant and the boys were heartbroken. After some strange comments about bringing back the dead, they were back at the house. There was tension between Wanda and Vision. He told her about what happened at his work, accusing her of being the cause.

“You can’t control me the way you do them.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, clearly challenged by her husband’s words. “Can’t I?”

There were scoffs of surprise in the room as the credits suddenly rolled. The android didn’t let that stop him as he pointed out the problems with the world, they lived in. He went on to say that he had no memories of his life before the show. That was puzzling, did this place erase people’s memories to guarantee their good behavior? Vision then pointed out the lack of children, something Erik hadn’t noticed but was unmistakable once you realized it. Wanda sat on the couch, trying to explain why she wasn’t controlling anyone. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“I swear, if Agnes comes in at that moment, I’m going to lose it,” whined Scott.

“I don’t know,” replied Ororo, “usually she just lets herself in.”

The doorbell rang a second time and Vision watched Wanda with accusations in his eyes as she walked to the door. She opened it and was immediately shocked at whoever was at the door. The android asked his wife for the identity of the guest with suspicion. The camera slowly panned over to the person, only showing to back of their head.

Showing his silver hair

The suspense didn’t last much longer, the camera showing that it was indeed the missing speedster. Quiet gasps were heard as Peter walked towards the woman.

“Long-lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin' sister to death or what?” His voice echoed on the walls of the room.

“Pietro?” He nodded his head and the two shared a hug. It lasted a few seconds and Peter pointed to Vision as he walked in.

“Who’s the popsicle?”

The audience laughed at his joke and the screen faded to black, leaving the team stunned as the credits rolled.

“We have to go get him,” said Raven. “I don’t think he’s safe with her.”

Hank nodded, “I think I can find a way,” he pointed to Jean, “I think you could open a gateway to wherever Peter is. I’ve adjusted the machine to focus on the frequency. If you really concentrate, I’m sure it’ll work.”

“Alright, Raven, Erik and I will go,” decided Charles.

Kurt stepped in, “you might need a quick way out, I can help.” He shook his head as Raven and Charles were about to protest. “I’m the one that noticed he was gone; I want to be there when we bring him back.”

The professor agreed and told them to go pack whatever they’d need and to be back as soon as possible.

***

Jean put on the helmet and closed her eyes in concentration. She held out a hand to better focus her power. Nothing much happened, but she frowned her brows with renewed efforts. Flickers of orange light made itself known, slowly gathering together to form a small circle. She grunted in efforts and the portal grew bigger. She opened her eyes which were now glowing a fiery orange and she let out a screech. The gateway was now big enough for them to go through. They quickly said their goodbyes, Charles leaving Hank in charge for the time he was gone. The four shared a look and took a determined step forward. Passing through another dimension definitely felt strange. Nothing seemed solid as they were suddenly free falling.

They landed on the grass. Erik quickly helped Charles back into his wheelchair and took a look around. There was a military base with soldiers that stared at them with dumbfounded faces. He could hear an alarm, probably trigged when they came in. An older man that seemed to be an authority figure started shouting at them, but Erik didn’t hear him. All he could see was the sign that indicated that Westview was in front of them; and the force field surrounding it.

***

Notes: I have to say, Erik talking to Nina is probably my favourite part of this chapter. I've also made up a scene of the boys talking together based on the image of them walking alone that was in the SWORD base in WandaVision. Next up: The x-men meet Hayward (Erik doesn't like him) and learn about who Wanda Maximoff is.

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: An examination of endings and how to realize them.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 24: brief claustrophobia; some RSD/fear of abandonment stuff; extensive discussion of death (this chapter’s all about Terminus, babey); allusions to past suicidal ideation on Jon’s part; mentions of eye gouging/blinding (not graphic); some internalized victim blaming; anxiety symptoms; spider mentions; swears. Let me know if I missed anything!

Chronic fear has been Jon’s baseline for so long, it’s difficult for him to conceptualize what he would be were it to abandon him. In some ways, he’s become acclimated to it. On the other hand, fear is a volatile, prolific thing, its many shades relentlessly coalescing and mutating to form new strains. It all but guarantees that the Eye will never truly be sated: there will always be some heretofore unknown species of terror to discover, experience, and add to its collection.

Sprinkled in amongst the more noteworthy moments of abject terror and the constant background pressure of existential dread, there are smaller fears: everyday anxieties; pervasive insecurities; acute spikes of panic and adrenaline. Each discrete instance may pale in comparison to life-threatening peril, but muddled together and given time to ferment, they compound. They feed into one another. Sometimes, they come to attract the attention of larger, far more forbidding monsters.

In this way, Jon is no different from the average person – and one of the oldest, most deep-rooted of those comparatively banal fears is his fear of rejection, of disappointing, of being seen and found lacking. It guided his path long before his first supernatural encounter, and in many ways, it still does. His self-awareness of that fact does little to dampen its influence.

So it’s vexing, but not surprising, that the foremost concern vying for his attention right now is whether this might be that final straw that chases Georgie away for good. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes closed and brow furrowed as she gathers her thoughts. The longer she remains silent, the more time Jon has to run through all the worst-case scenarios.

It’s already difficult for him to capture a full breath under the crushing weight of anticipation. It doesn’t help that his intermittent claustrophobia has decided that right now is the perfect time to manifest. A tunnel collapse would probably damage the Archives above it, though, and there’s no way Jon would be so lucky. He isn’t sure whether to consider that a consolation or not.

Finally, Georgie takes a breath, opens her eyes, and leans forward.

“Okay.” She tilts her folded hands towards him in an indicative gesture. “Explain, please.”

“Right,” Jon says, rubbing one arm nervously. “S-so, Oliver –”

“I knew his name wasn’t Antonio,” Georgie mutters.

“No. That was an alias he used when he first came to the Institute to give a statement, back in 2015.”

“The prediction about Gertrude’s death?” Martin asks.

“The same.”

“And what was a harbinger of death doing looming over you while you were in a coma?” Georgie presses.

“I don’t know that I’d call him a harbinger –” Jon’s mouth snaps shut immediately when Georgie shoots him an impatient glare. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t trying to – to reap my soul or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He was called there,” Jon says. “By the Web, according to him.”

“Oh, and you don’t think that makes him dangerous?” Martin says, throwing one arm out in a surge of exasperation.

“He isn’t allied with the Web,” Jon replies, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “It just… got into his head, and it was easier for him to go along with it, rather than fight it indefinitely. Oliver tends to have a fatalistic outlook. If he sees something as inevitable, he’s not inclined to try to stop it.”

“So, what – he’s serving an evil power not because he’s sadistic but because he’s just apathetic?” Georgie couldn’t sound any more unimpressed if she tried. “How is that any better?”

“It’s, ah… it’s really not that simplistic,” Jon says, adopting a delicate tone. “And I don’t think I’d call it apathy so much as…”

“Acceptance,” Georgie says stiffly. “Everything has an ending.”

“Yes. Oliver is an Avatar of the End, and the End is characterized by its certainty–” Jon pauses when he catches a glimpse of Georgie’s hands, fastened to her knees and trembling with tension. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I –” Georgie sighs, relaxes her grip, and flexes her fingers. “Just – tell me why you invited him here.”

“It’s like I said upstairs – there were things I couldn’t tell him about outside of here.”

“Why do you feel the need to tell him anything?” Martin asks.

“I just thought… he might be able to help us.”

“Why would he,” Georgie asks, “if he’s so fatalistic?”

“Because, he…” Jon hesitates, biting his lip. “I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe he’s like me.”

“He’s nothing like you,” Martin says vehemently.

A flicker of a smile crosses Jon’s face. “You don’t even know him.”

“What, and you do?”

“Not well,” Jon admits. “But I do think I understand him.”

Martin crosses his arms, transparently miffed. In an attempt to suppress his amusement, Jon presses his lips tightly together. It doesn’t work, evidently.

“What?” There’s a flat, defensive edge to the demand, highlighted by a suspicious scowl. “What’s with the smirk?”

Jon already knows the answer to the question he wants to ask, but he can’t help himself: “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Martin yelps. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jon shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not!”

“If you say so,” Jon says with a shrug and a sly grin.

“I am not jealous,” Martin insists – and now Georgie is snickering, one hand clamped over her mouth to (unsuccessfully) stifle the sound. Martin glowers at her, betrayed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Just – didn’t realize you were quite so jealous.”

“I’m not,” Martin says for a third time. “But – but even if I was, I would be completely justified.”

“Because he woke me up,” Jon says, toning down the smugness now.

There is an uneasy boundary between affectionate teasing and perceived mockery, and here in the past, he hasn’t quite mapped the shape of that line. Between seeing one another in the Lonely and anchoring each other through the apocalypse, he and Martin had been forced to confront long-held insecurities about themselves, both as individuals and as a unit. That shared history no longer applies. While Jon has no desire to repeat that chain of events – there are happier, healthier pathways to a relationship than bonding via trauma, or so he’s heard – it does mean that this version of Martin hasn’t yet had the same epiphanies.

Much like Jon, Martin struggles to take a declaration of love at its word. People lie; they mislead; they say what they think others want to hear – whether out of self-interest, sympathy, or simple social ineptitude, the results are the same. Sometimes they start out sincere, but little by little, their tolerance dwindles and they recognize their mistake: what they thought was genuine affection was at best a passing fancy for someone who turned out to be far more trouble than they were ever worth. Or worse: a caring façade born of pity or guilt or obligation, only to turn rotten and toxic when the burden grows too tiresome.

Add all of those deep-seated convictions to the lasting influence of the Lonely, and Martin needed proof before he could entertain the possibility of being loved. Following him into and then leading him out of the Lonely was a fairly convincing statement. Absent another life-or-death gesture to act as a catalyst, Jon suspects that this time around, building that confidence will come down to time, practice, and repetition.

“Okay, yeah, about that – what does that – what does that mean, he woke you up?” Before Jon can get a word out, Martin barrels on: “I mean, what makes him so special? I spent weeks – weeks – begging you to come back, and nothing. He visits you once and suddenly you’re fine?”

“I really did try to come back on my own,” Jon says – not accusing, not pleading, not even self-flagellating. Just plain, sincere assuredness. “I heard you calling me. Not at first, but – the last time you visited. It was the first time I’d heard your voice in… in so long, I – I never thought I’d hear it again, and then you were there, and I was – I was so relieved, so… so elated.”

Martin sulks quietly, glaring at the floor, but there’s a noticeable flush staining his cheeks now.

“And then – and then I heard you on the phone with Peter, and…” Jon swallows hard, the despair he felt in that moment still stark in his mind. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me. The Lonely was drawing you in, just like before, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I just… couldn’t figure out how. I still don’t know why – I don’t know the exact mechanics of it all – but for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to wake up until Oliver’s visit. Same as the first time.”

At that, Martin seems to deflate somewhat, finally looking up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“If I could have come back sooner,” Jon continues, smiling sadly, “I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Martin pouts for a moment longer before surrendering, his rigid posture slackening as the rancor drains out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you owe him,” Georgie guesses. “For waking you up.”

“Partially,” Jon admits. “But that’s not why I invited him, really. He just seems… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess?” Georgie rolls her eyes. “He never – he never asked to be a death prophet. No more than I wanted to be a – a trauma leech. And arguably – arguably he was even less to blame for what happened to him than I am for what I’ve become –”

“Jon,” Martin says warningly.

“No, just – just listen.” Jon takes a measured breath as he puts his thoughts in order. “Oliver started having prophetic dreams several years ago. Just – out of the blue. As far as I know, he did nothing to tempt fate. Eventually, those dreams carried over into the waking world. Everywhere he went, every single day, he could see the evidence of imminent death. There was no escaping it.

“In the beginning, he tried to help people. But it never worked. When he was unable to save his own father, he stopped trying to change fate, for the most part. I think the last time he tried was when he dreamed of Gertrude. He saw how far-reaching her death would ultimately be, and he tried to warn her, even though he didn’t have much hope that it would make a difference. And he was right, in the end. He couldn’t save her, and he couldn’t prevent what came after.”

“So he just… gave up,” Martin says flatly.

“When you fail over and over again to do good in the world, when you witness horror after horror with no recourse to stop it, when you try again and again and again to escape and never even come close… at some point, you burn out,” Jon murmurs. “Lose all hope. It becomes your new normal. Exist like that long enough and you start to become numb to it all.”

“You lived through an apocalypse and you didn’t give up,” Martin counters.

“I did, though,” Jon says quietly.

Martin frowns. “What?”

“After I lost you.” Jon averts his eyes and folds his arms tight against his middle, holding his elbows. “I was lost. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t change anything, I couldn’t even look away. I wasn’t allowed to sleep. I wasn’t allowed to die. So I just… survived, even though I wanted anything but.” When he glances up, he sees that Martin’s expression has softened. “You were my reason. Then you were gone, and I was alone.”

Jon hadn’t known that the world could end a second time, but there it was. With Martin gone, what little that remained of Jon’s own microcosm shattered. Yet the Ceaseless Watcher’s world dared to continue turning, to go on churning out horror after horror as if nothing at all had changed. And Jon was just another cog in that machine, going through the motions and fulfilling the purpose for which he was cultivated.

It wasn’t truly ceaseless, of course. Everything has an ending. But it felt like an eternity – and for Jon, indefinite waiting has always been a special kind of torture.

“So what changed?” Georgie asks, her tone gentler than before.

“For a while, nothing,” Jon says. “I sort of… drifted. Wandered aimlessly through the domains for… I don’t really know. When nothing ever changes, keeping track of time becomes pointless. The Panopticon kept trying to draw me in, of course, but I – I suppose there was still enough spite left in me to make a show of ignoring it.

“At some point, I got lost in a Lonely domain. Which was fine, really. Or – it would have been fine, had I been allowed to succumb to it. I wanted to just – fade into it, let it in, but” – Jon breathes a bitter laugh – “it wouldn’t take me. Wouldn’t let me go numb, wouldn’t let me forget – didn’t have the decency to let me disappear, no matter how long I stayed.”

No one got what they deserved in that future, but this was a rare exception to that rule: to be allowed to simply forget his role in creating that nightmare world, to sink into blissful ignorance, would have been a miscarriage of justice. Not that the Eye cared about what was just or fair, of course. No, it simply would not – perhaps could not – deign to relinquish its hold on its Archive.

“But the longer I stayed,” he continues, looking at Martin now, “the more I thought about you. In retrospect, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s part of why it wouldn’t have me – I couldn’t let you go. But being there, it kept reminding me of the first Lonely domain we came across after the change. We were separated, and I was – I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me. But you did.” Jon smiles to himself, remembering the relief and gratitude and awe he felt in that moment. “You rejected the Lonely all on your own. Found your own way out – found me, and… every time I thought about that, I imagined your voice in my head. Telling me off for wallowing. For giving up.”

“Sounds like I would have been justified,” Martin says delicately.

“You would have,” Jon confesses with a contrite half-smile. “I was in peak brooding condition. Eventually I wore myself out wallowing there, though, so I left to go wallow somewhere else. I needed a change of scenery, and – well, I got one. Stumbled into a Spiral domain. Ran into Helen, and… funny enough, that was the last straw.”

Jon can still recall the encounter down to the smallest detail.

‘Still drifting aimless, are we?’ Helen bared an unsettling number of teeth as her grin stretched – literally – from ear to ear. ‘Exactly how long do you plan on moping about, Archivist?’

Jon did not answer; did not even meet her eyes, instead staring vacantly over her shoulder. The incessant reel of horror scenes playing in the back of his mind made it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time, and there was nothing he cared to see so much that it was worth the effort it would take to grant it his undivided attention.

‘You know,’ Helen said, tapping an elongated, crooked finger against her lips, ‘I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now.’

It didn’t matter. Martin was gone. Those parts of the world that hadn’t already been thoroughly razed were slowly but surely withering. There was nothing left to salvage.

‘Disappointed, I imagine,’ Helen continued, distant and muffled by the din of a splintering world. (Somewhere deep below their feet, a man was screaming himself hoarse in a labyrinth made of mirrors and fog.) ‘But not surprised. It’s not the first time you’ve let him down, is it?’

Jon gave a listless shrug. Her words stung, certainly, but they were a far cry from some of her more artful jabs. A pointed insinuation to send him spiraling into his own self-destructive conclusions would always be more corrosive than outright disparagement.

(The man in the maze gazed into mirror after mirror, hoping to find himself within. In every one, his reflection had no face.)

That said, Helen wasn’t wrong. Even as a child, Jon had always been a burden. He never did manage to prove himself worthy of all the many unwilling sacrifices made on his behalf. Never measured up; never put nearly enough good into the world to balance out the cost of having him in it.

(The man in the maze had misplaced his name. Did he drop it somewhere? He checked his pockets only to find holes. Yet another eyeless reflection stared back at him from beneath his feet.)

‘You were always headed here, weren’t you?’

Yes.

(The man in the maze tried to retrace his steps, but everything looked the same: an endless, recursive corridor of mirror images. He asked one of the doppelgängers for directions, only to realize that the man in the mirror had no mouth with which to answer.)

‘To think – all that time he spent coaxing you along, and you crumble the moment you don’t have a prop to coddle you.’ Helen cackles, high and cruel. ‘What a waste.’

She wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

(The man in the maze was scouring the mirrored ground, searching for… something he’d lost; he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that it was important. He checked his pockets, only to discover that he had no pockets.)

‘Although, I guess the blame doesn’t fall squarely on your shoulders. He was naïve. It isn’t your fault he was foolish enough to hope for–’

The words jolted Jon back to the present like an electric shock. Whatever else Helen had to say, he’d never know. He tuned her out, and he started walking.

“She was having a go at me – nothing new there – but then she brought you into it, and…” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think it was her intention, but it nudged me back on track. You and I had a plan, before, and… honestly, I didn’t have much hope that it would work, but you had. That made it worth trying.”

It wasn’t like Jon could break the world more by parleying with the Eye. At worst, it made no difference, but at least Jon did something to honor Martin’s memory; at best, it put Jon out of his misery, one way or another.

“I’m glad I did, because… well, it changed things, obviously. You were right.”

“Sorry,” Martin says with unmistakable self-satisfaction, “could you say that again?”

“You were right, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but the effect is undercut by an indulgent smile he can’t quite repress. “You often are. All of this is to say – I’m only here because you gave me a reason to be. If not for that, then… well, I meant what I’ve said before, about needing a lifeline in order to stand any chance against the Fears. I was – I am lucky enough to have one.”

More than one, he thinks with a sense of wonder. The support he has now is such a far cry from the ostracism he experienced the first time he was here. It still gives him pause every time he dwells on the contrast. Sometimes, it almost seems too good to be true.

“Oliver didn’t,” Jon continues. “It’s hard to begrudge him for resigning himself to fate, especially considering how the power that claimed him is defined by fatalism. He never asked to be chosen, he was given no hope of escape, and he had no one to reach out to, let alone anyone to reach back. It’s unsurprising that he would come to accept the inescapable when the only anchor he had was the certainty of oblivion.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Georgie says quietly.

Jon nods. “And without a dependable reason to see the moments in between as significant, it’s… well, it’s hard to see the point in anything. I’ve been there.”

As has Georgie, Jon knows. She exhales heavily, massaging her temples, visibly conflicted.

“I still don’t think you should trust him,” Martin says.

“I’m not suggesting we trust him wholesale,” Jon says, “but I’m certain that he isn’t an enemy. He might not resist the End, but he doesn’t work to end the world in its name, either. He’s… thoroughly neutral.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll lift a finger to help?” Martin asks.

“I doubt he’ll go out of his way to help,” Jon admits. “He might be willing to trade information, though. I just thought… Avatar of the End – he would have more insight into the limits of Jonah’s supposed ‘immortality’ than I do.”

“You think he can tell you something about the dead man’s switch,” Georgie guesses, rubbing at her forehead.

“That’s my hope, yes. He can see the route that a person will take to their end. Or, he can when their death is imminent, at least – I’m not sure how far into the future his foresight stretches these days.”

In the hospital, Oliver implied that he could see something in Jon’s vicinity. Whether that suggests Jon’s own end is near enough for Oliver to foresee it, Jon does not Know. Given his proven resilience, he suspects it’s just as likely to be a quirk of his strange existence. There’s no shortage of idiosyncrasies that may mark Jon as an outlier: he’s the Archivist; he’s traveled through a rift in time; he’s the primed and practiced focal point of the Watcher’s Crown, and the fate of the world hinges on his ability to keep that potential in check.

And if his situation is an exception to the rule, perhaps Jonah’s is as well.

“Maybe he’ll be able to see whether our routes flow into Jonah’s, so to speak,” Jon says. “When Oliver dreamed of Gertrude’s impending death, he saw how much of the world’s fate was intertwined with hers –”

“– the veins, whose domination of the dreamscape had only ever been partial before, had thickened and now seemed to cover almost the whole space of every street – the destination – into which all the veins flowed – The Magnus Institute – choked with that shadowed flesh – following that red light that would now pulse so bright that I knew were I to see it awake it would have blinded me – and every one of those veins – where they ended – a person sitting at that desk and it was them that all of this scarlet light was flowing into.”

“Gertrude,” Martin says.

Jon nods, then holds up one finger: Wait. The Archive has more to say; Jon can practically feel the words bubbling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth. As discomfiting as it is to have it hijack his voice, sometimes it’s easier to ride out that compulsion than to tamp it down.

“I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you – such a thing is likely impossible – but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try – there is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.”

Statement ends, Jon thinks, working his jaw to soothe the unnatural tension that has taken root there. Happy now? Anything else to add?

As expected, it doesn’t answer. He’s well aware that addressing the Archive essentially amounts to talking to himself, but carrying on an internal dialogue with the more frustrating aspects of himself was a habit long before he took on the mantle of Archivist.

After a few seconds, he feels the Archive’s imposing presence start to recede, releasing him from the compulsion. It’s still there, of course – it’s always there, looming over him like a vulture, as impossible to ignore as a knife to the throat – but for now it seems content to fall back and observe once more.

Georgie sighs. “That’s why you’re sympathetic to him.”

“He tried.” Jon shrugs. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s going to help this time,” Martin says.

“No, but he has no incentive to hurt us, either. There’s no harm in asking him questions. He’s not going to run to Jonah to inform on us. The worst that happens is he says ‘no’ and goes back to minding his own business. But if he agrees to talk… well, it might be our best chance to determine how much of what Jonah says is true.”

Georgie chews on her thumbnail for a few seconds before looking back up at Jon, a pensive frown on her face. “Why’d he go out of his way to come here at all, if he has no motivation one way or the other?”

“Honestly? Curiosity, I think. But… I suppose I’m also hoping that there’s a part of him that might sympathize.”

“Do you really think there is?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know. In my future, probably not. He wasn’t enjoying himself like some of the other Avatars – I mean, he was feeding on the fear produced by his domain, but even then, he didn’t strike me as cruel. It was just… acceptance in the face of a conclusion at ultimately stayed the same regardless of the path leading up to it, and…”

And maybe it speaks to Jon’s mental state at the time, but there were a few points in Oliver’s statement that struck him as almost merciful. After all, in the face of seemingly endless torment, death was a covetable escape.

“I have no power to stop it,” the Archive recites, “and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming – I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it – perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned – I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor ability to change its state of existence – even you, with all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

“That Oliver again?” Martin mutters tetchily. “Doesn’t sound to me like he’ll be particularly inclined to help.”

“Well–” The word comes out as a rasp, and Jon has to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “That was – that was the Oliver of the future. After the change, he was too much of the End not to live its truth, just as I was too much of the Eye not to walk its path and archive its world. We were both conduits, inseparable from the powers that laid claim to us. Here and now, though, I’m hoping he might still be…”

“What, benevolent?” Martin says incredulously.

Jon is quiet for a long moment, trying to find the right words to explain.

“At my most hopeless,” he says slowly, “I still cared, even though there was no meaningful way for me to put it into practice. I don’t think I ever managed to reach the level of acceptance that Oliver did – and sometimes I envied him for that. But embracing the End as a foregone conclusion doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely unmoved by what happens in the interim. Not yet, anyway. And as of right now, whether it’s out of curiosity or compassion, obviously he still interacts with the world from time to time, even if he prefers to exist in the background for the most part.”

Martin and Georgie both look unconvinced.

“I’m not asking him to help us change fate,” Jon goes on. “In his view, there is no obstructing fate – not in any way that genuinely matters to his patron. Oliver isn’t particularly concerned about when the End will come – he’s just secure in the knowledge that it will happen eventually, with or without the interference of any mortal actor. Passive or active, nothing he does or doesn’t do will change that. But I’m thinking it’s been a long time since someone has asked him for help that he actually has the power to provide, and… I know what that’s like.”

Despite the immense power that Jon could exercise after the culmination of the Watcher’s Crown, he was ultimately powerless to change things for the better. It’s why he leapt at the chance to help Naomi in her nightmare: even a small, low-effort act of kindness after so long without the opportunity was overwhelmingly liberating.

It was insignificant against the vast backdrop of the universe, perhaps, but it still left a mark. It prompted a cascade of little changes that completely rewrote their dynamic; it curtailed some of the suffering in which Jon had previously been so unwillingly complicit; it's even acted as an inoculation against the loneliness that had permeated both of their lives during this stretch of time when Jon was last here. Those little changes mattered to him, and they mattered to Naomi – not only in that first moment, but in all the time since.

All of that had to count for something, right? It took fourteen ill-fated marks to end the world, after all. With any one of them missing, the Ritual wouldn’t have worked and the world at large would never have noticed. But that didn’t make any one of those marks wholly insignificant on its own. They scarred him and the people around him; every encounter changed him, whittled away at his sense of self, left him progressively vulnerable and set him up for successive marks.

The repercussions still linger. They probably always will.

In his sporadic moments of cautious optimism, Jon cannot help but wonder: If a series of little cruelties can create such a perfect and terrible storm, is it really inconceivable that a pattern of little rebellions could keep it at bay? And Jon has long since come to the conclusion that compassion in the face of unimaginable cruelty is its own form of rebellion.

“As much as Oliver talks about fate and inevitability,” Jon says, “he still seems to believe in free will to an extent. That we all make choices. When he last spoke to me, he offered me a choice. Now I’m offering one to him.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” Georgie releases a weary exhale and tosses her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite you?”

“We have nothing to lose by asking,” Jon says. “And he has nothing to lose regardless of what choice he makes, but… it feels right to at least give him the option. Whatever he decides, I won’t begrudge him for it.”

“Fine,” she says tersely. “Do what you want.”

Jon just barely suppresses a wince. “Georgie?”

“Sorry, that came off as –” Georgie heaves another sigh. “I’m not angry with you. I get it. It makes sense. I just don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Just… be mindful, alright? You don’t owe him any answers you don’t want to give. And he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt just because you relate to him.”

“I know,” Jon says again.

“I mean it, Jon,” she says sharply. She takes a steadying breath before continuing, more diplomatically this time. “It’s… sweet, I guess, that you want to empathize with him, but you have a tendency to…” Georgie pauses, weighing her words. “I mean, I’ve seen you compare yourself to Helen, too. And Jonah.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would deny that there are certain… similarities,” Jon says, not quite under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re always going to have something in common with other people if you look hard enough. But sometimes you see the worst in people and you fold it into how you see yourself. Like you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, but you can’t see how the reflection is distorted.” Jon avoids meeting her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have a history of comparing yourself to your abusers. Sorry,” she adds when he flinches, “but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it. Just… think about it, okay? Ask yourself whether this is compassion or if it’s just another way to dehumanize yourself.”

“I –” Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, his mouth gone dry. “Okay, I – I get your point, but – I swear that’s not what this is. With Helen, and – and – and Jonah, it’s – they’ve actually gone out of their way to – to manipulate, to cause real harm. Oliver is different.”

“You were marked by the End,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Yes, but that wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t hurt me, never tried to trap me or trick me – never pressured me into making one choice over another, even at the end of the world. I really don’t think he’s evil, or sadistic, or – or scheming, weaving some grand web. He’s just watching things unfold, because he had a crash course in the stages of grief forced onto him and the end result was… well, acceptance. He doesn’t fear the End, but he doesn’t worship it, either. He just embodies it, openly and authentically.”

Georgie is silent for nearly a full minute, scrutinizing Jon intently, before she capitulates.

“Alright. I’ll… trust your judgment, I guess,” she says, but she shares a knowing glance with Martin – who looks just as leery as she does – when she says it. “Still, be careful.”

“I, uh… I imagine you don’t want to be here when I talk to him?” Jon ventures, though he’s certain he already knows the answer.

“No,” Georgie says summarily.

Jon releases a breathless chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“I really should be getting home to Melanie, anyway. It’s stay-home date night. Pizza and a movie.” Georgie offers a tentative grin, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “She hasn’t seen the new Ghostbusters yet, somehow – something about having been preoccupied with real paranormal bullshit for the last few years – but I checked and the DVD version has audio description, so I bought a copy. She’d be cross with me if I stood her up for the grim reaper.”

“I imagine so.” Jon tilts his head. “Although, Oliver isn’t actually the–”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs, “I was being facetious.”

When the three of them leave the tunnels, they find Oliver still waiting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs out of the Archives, Basira standing sentinel nearby. Daisy leans against a far wall, eyeing him from a distance.

Georgie gives a long, doubtful look at Oliver before turning to Jon and offering a hug that he gladly accepts.

“Text me later tonight?” Georgie says. “And keep me updated on your travel plans.”

“Will do. Tell Melanie I said hello. And tell the Admiral he’s a national treasure.”

Georgie snorts at that, shaking her head in amusement before turning towards the stairs. Oliver nearly jumps out of the way as she strides in his direction, but she doesn’t stop to confront him beyond a glare as she passes. A prolonged, awkward minute of silence passes after she leaves, charged with suspicion and tension.

“Tunnels,” Basira says eventually, her tone and expression giving nothing away. She doesn’t wait for a response before stalking off down the hall, Daisy falling in line behind her.

Basira barely waits for the others to take their seats before she launches into her interrogation. Although her eyes remain fixed on Oliver, her first question isn’t directed at him.

“Why is he here, Jon?”

“Like I said, I invited him.” Jon glances at Oliver, apologetic. It feels odd to talk about him as if he isn’t present.

“Why?”

“Mutual curiosity, I expect,” Oliver cuts in, inclining his head towards Jon. “You have questions for me.”

Jon returns a nod. He has ulterior motives, and Oliver knows it. To pretend otherwise would be pointless, not to mention insulting.

“Oliver is an Avatar of the End,” Jon tells the others. “There might be a chance he could tell us how much of what Elias says is true.”

“And what’s the price tag?” Basira asks.

“He has questions of his own. He could tell in the hospital that there’s something… wrong about me. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about it where Elias could hear.”

“You shouldn’t disclose it at all,” Basira says. “If any of it gets back to him –”

“Oliver has no reason to betray our confidence.” Jon’s gaze flicks to Oliver. “Right?”

“Consider me a neutral party,” Oliver replies.

“You’re going to just… take him at his word,” Basira scoffs.

“The End has no Ritual,” Jon says, “and it has no reason to prevent any of the other Entities from successfully pulling off their own Rituals. No matter what happens to this world, the End will claim everything eventually. The when and how are irrelevant to it. In the meantime, the world as-is suits it just fine. It has no desire to postpone or hasten the end of all things.”

“Terminus is what it is,” Oliver agrees. “I have neither the power nor the desire to contradict it.”

“Then why would you help us?” Basira asks.

“I never said that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to actively intervene,” Jon says before Basira can offer a retort. “I just want to talk. That… is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before answering. “Your curiosity must have rubbed off on me.”

Unbidden, Oliver’s statement rushes to the forefront of Jon’s mind: I still remember the first time I tried to touch one…. I don’t know why I did it; I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I just… maybe I wanted it this way.

“Don’t know about that,” Jon says quietly. “Curiosity is only human.”

And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it, the statement plays on. Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home.

“Perhaps,” Oliver says, noncommittal.

“So you’ll tell us what we want to know,” Daisy finally speaks up. Despite her veneer of calm – leaning back in her chair, arms crossed – her bouncing leg belies her agitation.

“It makes no difference to me.” Oliver shrugs. “Though I can’t promise my answers will be satisfying.”

“I still don’t like this,” Basira says, glaring askance at Oliver.

“Look,” Jon says, “this is the only way I can think of to figure out what stakes we’re working with. Jonah has been cheating death for centuries–”

“Jon!” Basira hisses.

“It’s important context,” Jon argues back. “And anyway, it’s going to come up when I tell him my story. It’s not exactly a detail I can gloss over; it’s central to the plot.” He sighs and looks at Oliver. “Elias is Jonah Magnus, the original founder of the Institute.”

Basira throws her hands up with a frustrated snarl. She turns to Daisy for support, but Daisy only offers a sympathetic grimace and a half-shrug.

“I thought there was something odd about him,” Oliver says blandly. “He’s long past his expiration date.”

Daisy snorts at that. Judging from the bemused, almost startled expression on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t expected to garner anything other than aggression from her.

“Whenever one of his vessels is… compromised,” Jon elaborates, “or nearing the end of its usefulness, he takes a new one.”

Recovering from his fleeting bewilderment, Oliver turns his attention back to Jon. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Maxwell Rayner and Simon Fairchild,” Basira says.

Oliver nods. “Among others.”

“Does that… I don’t know – offend the End?” Martin asks.

“No,” Oliver says. “They can’t outrun it forever, as so many have discovered firsthand.”

“Like Rayner,” Daisy says.

Once again, Oliver looks thrown off-kilter by Daisy’s diminishing hostility, but he does offer a wary nod in response to her contribution to the conversation. “And in the meantime, their fear of their own mortality ages like a fine wine.”

“Is an unnaturally long life somehow tastier for the End, then?” Martin asks. “I think most of the statements I’ve read about it involved somehow cheating death.”

“Perhaps. If my patron has a conscious mind, it has never spoken to me directly. Everything I know to be true is just… feeling.”

“So it’s as cagey as the other Powers, then,” Daisy says with a derisive chuckle. “Good to know.”

Oliver smooths his hands across his coat, draped across his lap, before glancing at Jon for guidance.

“I gave you a story,” he says reticently. “I would like to hear yours. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Fair enough,” Jon says – and abruptly realizes that he has no idea where to start. “You, uh… you don’t need to hear my whole life story, do you?”

“I did give you an outline of mine,” Oliver says with just a hint of amusement. “I admit I’m curious as to what led you here, but I imagine if you went into detail, we would be here for hours.”

“Much of it doesn’t bear repeating, anyway,” Jon says. “Just the highlights, then?”

“If you please.”

“Right,” Jon mumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Had my first supernatural encounter when I was eight, never got over it, and a combination of lifelong obsession and unchecked curiosity brought me to the Institute. After Gertrude died, Jonah chose me as her replacement because he knew I would be easily molded into the catalyst for his Ritual, and I was.” He looks up. “Is that enough?”

“Which of the Powers marked you first? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Web.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you seemed… entangled.”

There’s something… off about you, Oliver had told him when they last spoke. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – tangled.

It’s possible that Oliver was speaking in metaphor – alluding to the threads of fate, so to speak – but the question has been simmering in the back of Jon’s mind for months…

“When you visited me before,” he blurts out. “You said the Web sent you.”

“Yes,” Oliver says candidly. “Not an explicit command, of course. It was more a… well, a feeling. A tug. The Web usually prefers subtlety, but there are times when it wants its marks to know the hand that moves them.”

“S-so, when you said the threads around me were tangled, was that figurative, or could you… see the Web’s influence?”

“The Spider might make its presence known sometimes, but Terminus doesn’t give me the ability to see the shape of its web any more than the Eye does you.”

“Not unless the Web allows itself to be Seen,” Jon says absently.

Despite how much he could See in his future, the Web always remained something of an enigma. It wasn’t until after his standoff with the Eye that he was able to follow the Spider’s threads.

But then, the Eye hadn’t been the only watcher lurking in the Panopticon. The Web had woven itself into the foundation of that place from its conception, and the Spider made no effort to hide. More than once, it stationed itself where he was sure to notice it. The more he thinks on it, the more he suspects that the ensuing ability to See its threads, to Know where they converged, was as much an allowance by the Web as it was due to his communion with the Ceaseless Watcher.

“When I spoke of threads, I meant more…” Oliver opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles with his phrasing. “Well, I’ve not yet found a perfect description for it. Think of a life and fate as… a jumble of intersections. Some people feel like thread-and-nail art. Others feel like a snarled ball of yarn. You,” he adds, looking at Jon appraisingly, “are something of a Gordian knot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Martin demands, a protective edge in his voice.

“It’s not a compliment or an insult,” Oliver says mildly. “Only an observation. Come to think of it, Gertrude was much the same way. The fates of many hinged on the routes she took. Less of a butterfly effect and more of a hurricane.”

“So you can see fate?” Basira asks. A genuine question, but the flat skepticism in her tone makes it sound rhetorical.

“To a limited extent,” Oliver says haltingly. “I see the near-future as it relates to death specifically. When people near the ends of their routes, I can make out the details of their–”

“Seeing those awful veins crawling into them, into wounds not yet open, or skulls not yet split – they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse – webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car – one snaking along the road, over towards the railing – I’ll never forget seeing a field of cows the week before they were sent to the abattoir…”

Jon trails off with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“You have a good memory,” Oliver says.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. “Archivist thing. Can’t always control it.”

“S-so,” Martin redirects, “if any of us were about to die, you would be able to see it, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes,” Oliver clarifies before Martin can ask. “Knowing your end is coming does nothing to prevent it. It only ensures that you will live your final days in fear.”

“Wouldn’t your patron like that?” Daisy asks.

Basira immediately latches onto that thought. “We have a statement here about a book that tells you how and when you’ll die.”

“Case number 0030912,” Jon cites. “Statement of Masato Murray, regarding his inheritance of an untitled book with supernatural properties. Each time the reader rereads their entry, they’ll find that the recorded date of their future death draws closer and the cause more gruesome.”

“Thanks, spooky Google,” Basira says sardonically. “Who needs an indexing system when we have a walking, talking card catalogue on staff?”

“One of my predecessors in ancient times once filed a complaint with the Eye, aggrieved by all the terrible powers it foisted upon him,” Jon says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. “Being a benevolent patron, it granted him and all future generations of Archivists a convenience feature as compensation.”

“Smartass,” Basira says, but it sounds almost amiable, and Jon allows himself a tentative smile.

His tolerance for making light of this part of himself tends to be variable. Unpredictable, even. On good days, shared gallows humor is a balm, bringing with it a sense of solidarity and camaraderie; on bad days, even the gentlest dig feels like a barb.

He also tends to be selective about whose teasing he can weather. Martin and Georgie are safe more often than not. Daisy can usually get away with it; she’s prompt to let him in on the joke whenever he doesn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Given how blunt Melanie can be, it at least tends to be obvious when her pointed comments are meant in jest or in umbrage; and anyway, he hasn’t yet spoken to her directly since she quit.

Basira, though – she’s always been difficult to read. They have a similar sense of humor, but part of his brain is still living in a time when she saw the worst in him. No matter how many times he tells himself that things are different now, he can’t quite shake that feeling of being on indefinite probation. Hostile attribution bias, he recognizes, but having a label for it doesn’t make it any easier to silence those perennial fears. It’s only recently that he’s been able to take such joking from her in stride. Not always, but sometimes.

“Anyway,” Basira says, looking back to Oliver, “I take it that book is affiliated with the End. It feeds on the reader’s fear of knowing the details of their death.”

“Almost everyone has some degree of fear regarding mortality – their own or that of others,” Oliver says. “For some, that primal fear permeates their entire lives. Others only spare it any thought when it closes in on them. Terminus feeds on all of it equally. I suspect that active encounters with it are more about…”

“Flavor?” Basira suggests.

“So to speak,” Oliver says. “Welcome variety in its diet, but not necessary to sate it.”

“Which is why its Avatars have such wildly different methodologies,” Jon says, nodding to himself. “Justin Gough was allowed to survive a near-death experience, but acquired a debt that had to be paid in the lives of others, killing them in their dreams. Tova McHugh was granted the ability to prolong her own life by passing each of her intended deaths onto others, adding their remaining lifespans to her own. Nathaniel Thorpe was cursed with immortality after trying to cheat his way out of death. He was only one of many gamblers who played such games of chance–”

“Jon,” Basira sighs, “you don’t have to go through the whole roster of personified death omens.”

“Sorry.”

“So what kind of Avatar are you?” Basira asks, looking Oliver up and down. “How do you feed your patron?”

“For me, Terminus has not been particularly demanding. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I never attempted to cheat my way out of death. It simply… chose me – or I wandered across its path – and it never left. Thus far, it seems content to have me play the observer.” He glances at Jon. “You can probably understand that.”

“The Beholding isn’t satisfied to have its Archivist simply observe. It wants its knowledge actively harvested, recorded, curated.” Jon huffs, not bothering to contain his disgust. “Processed.”

The conversation lapses into a tense silence for several seconds before Basira changes tack.

“About Gertrude,” she says. “You tried to warn her about her death.”

“Yes,” Oliver replies.

“Why?”

“The evidence of her death snaked its roots all across London – as far as I could see, and perhaps further. At the time, I’d never seen anything like it. Such a sprawling web of repercussions stemming from a single death – I felt like I had to say something. As I expected, it made no difference in the end.”

Jon worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You said the roots surrounding me seemed sick.”

“You saw roots around Jon?” Martin says urgently, jolting up ramrod-straight in his seat.

“They’re… different from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to,” Oliver says slowly. “There’s no light pulsing within them, no life flowing to or from them. And looking at them, it’s almost like…” He frowns, squinting down at the floor as if it might offer up the words he needs. “It’s like they’re there and not there simultaneously. Faded, like an afterimage – one that can only be seen from a certain angle.”

“Okay, and what does that – what does that mean?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was hoping Jon could shed some light on it,” Oliver says, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “I may not have the same drive to know that you and yours do, but I find myself returning to the question frequently over the past few months.”

“R-right,” Jon says. “Let me just, uh… where to start…”

Jon rubs at this throat with one hand, the other clenching into a fist where it rests on his knee.

“Jon,” Daisy says, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I just, uh –” Jon breathes a nervous laugh. “This never gets any easier.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Martin offers, schooling his tone into something approaching calm. His posture remains rigid, though, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“No, it’s fine.” Jon takes a few deep breaths and then looks Oliver in the eye. “In the future, I ended the world.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the Beholding gave you any precognitive abilities.”

“It, uh – it doesn’t. I didn’t foresee the future, I lived it. For… for a long time, actually, so I –” Jon exhales a humorless chuckle. “I probably meet your definition of past my expiration date.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering.

“Hard to say,” he settles on. “You’re… a bit of a paradox. Feels as if you exist in multiple states at once, and it’s difficult for me to tell which one is true.”

“Maybe all of them are,” Jon says distractedly. “But, I, uh – I eventually found a way to come back to before the change – or, to send my consciousness back, anyway. But only as far back as the coma. I… I wish it had taken me back further – back to the very beginning, though I” – Jon huffs – “I suppose it’s hard to say what counts as the beginning.”

“It depends on how you want to define a beginning,” Oliver says. “In a way, the advent of existence marked the beginning of the end. Everything since then has been just another domino.”

“Well,” Jon begins, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Nope,” she says bluntly. “You go down that semantic rabbit hole and we’ll be here forever.”

“Fine,” Jon says with a petulant sigh. “Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up on my own, so just like the first time I was here, I had to wait for you to come along and help.”

“I still don’t understand why,” Oliver says.

“Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

“Not to encroach on your sphere of influence, but I think in this case, not knowing the answer might bother me even more than it does you.” Oliver releases a quiet sigh. “So you came back to stop yourself from starting the apocalypse.”

“It’s not like he chose to end the world,” Martin says, immediately leaping to Jon’s defense once more.

“Apologies,” Oliver says with an earnest nod in Martin’s direction. “I didn’t intend to imply otherwise.” He glances at Jon. “I’ve known of many who seek to bring on the end in the hopes that they will be able to choose what shape it takes. You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“No. But Jonah is.” Jon ducks his head as he speaks, fingers twisting in his jumper. “He wanted – wants to rule over a world reshaped in the Beholding’s image. He needed an Archivist with particular qualities to serve as the linchpin of his Ritual. So he created one. By the time he showed his hand, it was too late. I was the key, and Jonah didn’t need my consent in order to open the door.”

“I imagine it didn’t go as he planned,” Oliver says.

“No,” Jon says with a grim laugh. “No, it didn’t. He suffered as much as anyone else did in that reality. It all started because he was afraid of his own mortality, and yet – in the end, he met a fate worse than death.”

“Whatever it was, he deserved it,” Martin mutters.

“Maybe so,” Jon says. “But it was never about deserving. There was some poetic justice there, seeing him brought down by his own hubris, but… at the end of the day, he got the same treatment as anyone else. Just – pointless suffering, utterly divorced from the concept of consequences. Had a way of… diluting the schadenfreude, honestly.”

Martin’s spark of vindication appears to fizzle out as Jon speaks, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening.

“Regardless,” Jon continues, “Jonah wanted to be a god, but at his core, he was no different from any other human. Fodder for the Fears. And the one he feared the most – it was in no hurry to finish the meal. I imagine by the time Terminus finally came for him in earnest, he would have welcomed it.”

“Those who seek immortality always come to see it as a curse in time,” Oliver says sagely. “When they come to terms with the fact that there is no such thing as a truly immortal existence, it comes as a relief.”

“I walked through your domain once,” Jon says after a pause. “You gave me a statement about the End’s place in that world. The domains were reluctant to let their victims die – they’d bring them to the brink, then revive them and repeat the process – but the Fears are greedy. Eventually, they would suck their victims dry –”

“– bones – every one of them – picked clean and cracked open – desperately gnawing – trying to reach whatever scant marrow might have remained inside – sucked from them to leave nothing but dry, white fragments – the hunger he saw in their eyes–”

Jon bites down on his tongue. That’s quite enough of that.

“You alright?” Martin says, leaning over and putting a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry,” Jon says gruffly. “That one was…”

“Grisly?” Daisy says.

“Yeah,” Jon huffs. “But – not necessarily inapt? That reality was a closed economy. No new people were being born. The ones who already existed were destined to die, no matter how unwilling the other Fears were to grant that release.”

“As has always been the order of things,” Oliver says.

“You predicted that eventually the Fears would start poaching victims from one another’s domains – and they did. There were…” Jon grimaces. “There were a lot of territorial disputes, towards the end there. Domains encroaching on one another, monsters fighting over scraps. The Eye got its fill Watching it all play out, of course, but given enough time, it would have starved, same as all the rest.”

“And once the world was rendered barren,” Oliver says, understanding, “Terminus itself would die.”

Jon nods. “And until that happened, both you and your patron were content to let things play out.”

“Terminus is patient.”

Too patient, Jon thought at the time.

“I don’t think it was your intention,” he says, “but your statement did come as a relief. I already expected as much – that eventually it would all end – but having it corroborated by an authority on the matter was… very welcome.”

“People may fear death,” Oliver says, “but anyone who outruns it long enough finds that there is a much deeper fear hiding underneath – that of having the release of death withheld from them.”

“We have a lot of statements to that tune,” Basira says.

“I imagine so.”

“So,” Daisy says brusquely, “is that enough of a story for you?”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. “Although it raises more questions than it grants answers.”

“Our turn for questions, then?” Basira asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The… veins, or… roots you saw around Gertrude. You’re saying they didn’t just foretell her death, but showed how it would impact everything else. So, what about the ones you saw around Jon?”

“It’s difficult to observe them for any length of time, but they do seem… more sprawling.” Oliver studies Jon for a moment, considering. “Like you are the heart of a watershed moment destined to happen.”

“So that’s it, then,” Jon says dully. “I’m still the spark for it all.”

Pandora’s box with a ‘use by’ date, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

He already knew it to be true, but that doesn’t make the confirmation any less harrowing. Everything hinges on his ability to keep his head above water, but the fate of the world weighs ever more heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, down, down –

“Does that mean…” Jon hugs his middle, slowly curling in on himself. “Does that mean it’s going to happen again?”

“I cannot say.” If Jon’s not mistaken, Oliver sounds… almost sympathetic. “This is unprecedented. I can only theorize. It’s possible that you’re like Gertrude, and what I see is a premonition. Or maybe the reality you came from still exists, parallel to this one, and it still clings to you. Perhaps it’s a Schrödinger’s cat, and it both does and does not exist, right up until the point where you do or do not bring it into being. Or maybe it doesn't exist, and the roots I see are only… imprints, so to speak. Echoes of a time and place that this world will never overlap.”

“Like trace fossils,” Jon murmurs. “Ghosts.”

“If you like.”

“Could you – could you follow them?” Jon can feel his pulse quicken, his heart thrumming in his throat. “See where they originate?”

“They originate from you.”

“O-oh.” Jon’s gaze darts uncertainly around the area before fixing on Oliver again. “Then, uh – can you see where they end?”

“You have a suspicion,” Basira says, watching Jon carefully.

Jon swallows around the breath caught in his throat. “What if they go back to Hill Top Road?”

“As far as I can tell, they reach out in all directions,” Oliver says. “There may not be a single end point. Regardless, I have no desire to visit Hill Top Road.”

“Oh,” Jon says despondently. It’s not like he expected Oliver to go out of his way to help, but…

“Would it really tell you anything of value anyway?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair, one finger getting caught in a knot and pulling hard at his scalp. “But – but it feels like something I should at least check –”

“To what end?” Daisy asks. Jon looks at her blankly. “No offense, Sims, but the most likely outcome is you get no real answers, you lose yourself obsessing over theories, each more catastrophic than the last, and you spend the next few weeks compulsively checking yourself for spiders. Some things aren’t worth chasing after.”

“I just – I feel like I should know one way or the other –”

“Is that you or the Eye talking?” Martin asks.

“What’s the difference?” Jon says flatly. He immediately regrets it when he glimpses the expression on Martin’s face – a very familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Jon tugs on his hair once more, focusing on the dull ache it produces. He’s always had trouble letting things go. Letting questions go unanswered; letting mysteries go unsolved. The Beholding just nurtured that obsessiveness, encouraged that impulse to proliferate in his head like a weed and choke out his inhibitions.

“You’re here now,” Martin says firmly. “You can’t go back, so you may as well go forward.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, guilt heavy and searing in his chest.

“Like I said,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck, “my knowledge of the future is narrow. I can’t tell you anything about parallel universes, or branching timelines, or the ability to alter history. The only certainty is that anything that begins will have an end, one way or another. All the rest is just… details.”

Martin folds his arms across his chest, examining Oliver with narrowed eyes. “You say that like the details are irrelevant.”

“I wonder about that,” Oliver says softly.

“Well, I think our experiences matter,” Martin says. “The fact that we were here at all, it’s… it’s not nothing.”

“Even those who make the greatest impact are forgotten in time.”

“So what? It will always have happened, even if no one is alive to remember it. And – and you never know when something little will have an impact on someone, which contributes to them doing something that makes a greater impact – that changes history.”

“Even time itself will end eventually. History will be forgotten, and nothing will remain to register its loss.”

“And?” Martin persists. “We won’t be around to see it. In the meantime, we’re here. We’re alive. If we’re going to end no matter what, why not make it worthwhile? Sure, there are no equivalent powers of hope and love to counter the Fears, but – but who cares? That just means that we have to make up for that absence.” Jon smiles to himself as Martin builds momentum – shoulders pushed back, chest thrust out, head held higher, speech growing more impassioned as he argues his point. “If a few mistakes and some asshole with a god complex can end the world, who’s to say a few deliberate kindnesses can’t save it?”

“Am I the asshole with the god complex?” Jon says drily. Judging from Martin’s disapproving scowl, he is not in the mood for self-deprecating humor. “Sorry, sorry. But, uh – in all seriousness, I think it was more than a few mistakes on my part–”

“You know what I meant, Jon,” Martin snaps. “And – and fine, maybe a few kindnesses can’t save the whole world, but – but they can save someone’s world. They can save a person. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” Jon says with a small smile. “Yes, it does.”

“R-right.” Martin blinks several times, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “It doesn’t change the world – except for how it does. Just – the universe might not care, but we can, and that’s exactly why we should. It’s… it’s what we owe to each other. That’s what I think, at least.”

Martin goes quiet then, arms still folded with a mixture of self-consciousness and sullen defiance.

“How long have you had that rant queued up?” Daisy teases.

“A while,” Martin says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“You’re quite the romantic,” Oliver says. He says it like a compliment, albeit somewhat wistful.

“Yeah, well.” Martin blushes at the praise in spite of himself. “Someone has to counter the fatalism around here.”

If you ask Jon, there are many reasons to love Martin Blackwood. This is doubtless one of them.

“Besides,” Martin recovers, apparently on a roll now, “it seems to me there’s as much evidence for fate being changeable as not. Yeah, sure, eventually everything dies, but who’s to say that the details are set in stone? Like – like that book, the one where the details of a person’s death change every time they read it.”

“But does their fate actually change, or is it just the book messing with their heads?” Basira says, tapping her fingers against her lips and looking down at the floor pensively. “If the End has foreknowledge of a person’s death, maybe the last entry a person reads before dying was always their fate, and all the previous accounts were just lies intended to seed fear.”

When Jon opens his mouth to chime in, the Archive seizes the initiative, unceremonious as ever.

"When did it change?” comes the cadence of Masato Murray. “Was it when I turned back to read it again? Or perhaps when I had made the decision to never visit Lancashire? If the book knew the future, then how much did it know me? My decisions and choices were my own, so was it responding to them or simply to the fact that I opened the book again? Perhaps it changed every time I opened it, even if I didn’t read the page, every interaction changing my fate…. When I close the book I wonder: are those same words still there, squatting and biding their time, or have they already changed into some new unknown terror that I can neither know nor avoid, waiting to spring on me.”

Jon holds his breath in anticipation. After a few seconds of suspense, the pressure recedes, the Archive having spoken its peace.

“Archive’s talkative today,” Basira observes.

“Apparently,” Jon grumbles. “What I originally meant to say was that I’ve wondered the same thing – whether the book was really telling the future or simply playing on the fears of the reader.”

“Maybe offering textual support is another convenience feature?” Daisy keeps her tone carefully neutral, gauging his mood.

“The Beholding is known for being exceedingly generous,” he retorts.

Basira ignores the banter and speaks directly to Oliver. “Do you know?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the book in question,” he replies. “All the deaths I’ve personally foreseen have come to pass so far. That says nothing about whether or not the End always reveals the truth to all who cross its path.”

“Right.” Basira shakes her head. “Not sure why I expected a straightforward answer.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin says. For a fraction of a second, Basira tenses. Jon suspects she’s just as repulsed by such a prospect as he is.

“Whatever,” she says curtly. “It isn’t important right now. What I want to know is how to deal with Jonah Magnus. So” – she pins Oliver in place with sharp, unblinking eyes – “what can you tell us about his mortality?”

“In short? He won’t live forever, regardless of how much he wants to deny that reality.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Daisy says, tossing her head back with an impatient groan. “Him dying eventually doesn’t help us now.”

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Oliver says. “If there’s more to your question, you’ll need to elaborate. What are you actually asking? How to kill him? For me to tell you whether his death is on the horizon?”

“Jonah claims that he’s the ‘beating heart of the Institute,’” Jon explains. “He says that if he dies, everyone else who works here dies as well. You were able to see the ripples created by Gertrude’s death. I suppose I thought – maybe you could tell us if there’s something similar with Jonah.”

“If his death was imminent, perhaps.” Oliver averts his eyes as he twists a ring around his finger, growing increasingly tense under such concentrated scrutiny. “But as I said before, I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes.”

“So you won’t tell us,” Martin says.

“To be frank, this place is rife with potential.” Oliver casts his gaze around the area, as if seeing something the others cannot. “It would be… difficult to untangle it all.”

“Fine,” Basira says tartly. “Then can you tell us whether it’s possible for him to set up a dead man’s switch in the first place? Seems to me something like that would be the End’s domain, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“Then would he be able to exercise any real power over it?” Basira persists. “There’s nothing inherent to the Eye that suggests its Avatars should be able to bind others’ lives to them. Even the Archivist doesn’t work like that – we’re linked to Jon as far as being unable to quit goes, but we won’t die if he does. I think it’s more likely that Jonah did something extra to bind the Institute to himself.”

“Assuming he’s even telling the truth,” Daisy says.

“So, is there an artefact that could let him do it?” Basira asks, still staring Oliver down. “A ritual? A favor from an affiliate of the End, maybe?”

“Terminus has a variety of ways in which it operates,” Oliver says cagily, “same as all the other Powers. I don’t seek out instances of those manifestations. Given the sheer number of statements collected here, it's likely you’re all more familiar with the breadth of its influence than I am.”

“You’re very helpful,” Daisy scoffs.

Oliver hunches his shoulders, chastised. It’s an odd sight – Jon wouldn’t have expected him to be particularly affected by such an accusation. Oliver never promised to be helpful; does not owe them his cooperation. Before Jon can pursue that thought any further, though, Oliver continues.

“I will say that Terminus is its own master. Those who believe they have tamed it are only fooling themselves. Orchestrating their own misery. The moment in which they finally realize that fact – that they have never had the upper hand, that the entire time they have never strayed from the route to which Terminus binds them…” Oliver chews the inside of his cheek, considering. “The existential terror that moment creates – I wonder sometimes whether it’s a delicacy to my patron.”

“Sounds a lot like the Web,” Basira says. The suggestion must pique his interest, because Oliver sits up straighter and leans forward ever so slightly.

“Except the Web reviles its extinction as much as the other powers, and as much as any mortal mind,” he says – not quite excited, but more engaged than before. “Terminus, on the other hand – its eventual oblivion is part and parcel of its existence. It does not fear the conclusion of its story. The Web will never surrender to such a fate. It will always seek an escape route, some way to appoint itself the weaver of its own ends. Its threads can never stray from the confines of the routes dictated by Terminus, but the concept that it may itself be under the guidance of another… such a thing is incompatible with its definition. Still, the shape of the Spider’s web will always mirror the blueprints of a greater architect.”

“And you think the same is true for Jonah,” Jon says.

“I know it is.”

“Okay, but – but Jon changed fate,” Martin protests. “In a million little ways – some we probably don’t even know about – and some big ones, too. So who’s to say that every step of the route is part of the End’s blueprints? What if – hold on.”

Martin stands and moves to Jon’s makeshift desk, rummaging around for a few seconds before coming up with a pen. He snatches one of Melanie’s therapy worksheets from the top of the pile and turns it over to the blank side.

“What if the only things set in stone are – are certain points along the route,” he says, scribbling a scattering of dots across the page, “but all that matters is that the route eventually intersects with those points?” Martin connects two points with a wavy, sine-like line. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter how convoluted” – he draws another line, this time with several loop-de-loops – “or long” – yet another line, this one traveling all the way up to the top of the page and making several winding turns before plunging back down to connect with the next dot – “the path is.” He holds up the finished product for everyone to see. “As long as the dots connect, the rest is free reign.”

“I like to think that choice plays a role,” Oliver says. “That fate is less of a track and more of a guideline. But honestly, there’s no way to know for certain. I only know the end point. The rest is speculation.”

“It’s also possible that the rift brought me to an alternate reality,” Jon says, eyes downcast. “If the reality of my original timeline still exists, I haven’t changed fate at all. I’ve just jumped to a different track.”

“Okay, and if that’s the case, and this is a different dimension,” Martin says heatedly, “then that means it has its own timeline and its own future, and whatever happened in your future has no bearing on ours.” Martin glares, daring Jon to argue. He doesn’t. “So it’s a moot point. If we can’t know one way or the other whether the future is already written, then let’s just act as if it isn’t. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At least then it will feel meaningful.”

“The worst isn’t something you can prepare for,” Jon says darkly. “Trust me, I know.”

“If I want ominous proverbs, I’ll let you know,” Martin immediately counters – and Jon loves him for it. Daisy chokes on a startled laugh; Martin ignores her, instead pivoting to face Oliver. “We want to kill Jonah Magnus. Or, at least make it so he can’t perform his Ritual. But preferably kill.”

“Never realized you were so bloodthirsty, Blackwood,” Daisy says approvingly.

“The world will be a better place without him in it,” Martin says without a hint of indecision, not looking away from Oliver. “Jonah’s original body is in the center of the Panopticon. Except his eyes, because apparently transplanting them into innocent people is how he cheats death, because of course it is, why wouldn’t it be some messed up–”

“Martin,” Basira sighs.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” Martin sasses back. “It makes me wonder, would destroying his original body hurt him, or do we need to destroy his original eyes as well, or would destroying just his eyes be enough? And – and would it kill him, or just – blind him, disconnect him from the Beholding? Or – or would that kill him, because the Beholding is what’s keeping him alive?”

“Your guesses are as good as mine,” Oliver says. “Much of this really does come down to speculation and thought experiment, and it seems you’ve done plenty of that amongst yourselves already. I’m afraid that the only certainty I can offer is the certainty of an ending, and I don’t think that’s as much of a consolation to you as it is to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Martin says.

“But, uh – thank you for your honesty,” Jon jumps in. “For trying.”

“I really do wish I had better answers for you,” Oliver says, not quite meeting his eyes. “The End is… somewhat of an echo chamber at times. When you’re already on the inside looking out, it can be… difficult, to shift perspective.”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer many straightforward answers about my patron, either,” Jon admits.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Could you… could you at least tell us whether you can see anything about our deaths?”

Oliver draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “In my experience, there’s nothing to be gained from such knowledge.”

“Tell us anyway,” Basira says.

“Why?” Oliver says tiredly, his hands curling into loose fists. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you can see something, it could help us narrow down possibilities,” Basira replies. “If you see all of us dying in the same way, maybe it means we all die when Magnus does.”

“Or it just means you all die in the same freak accident.”

“Wait, do we?” Martin asks, his voice pitching higher in alarm.

“It was just an example,” Oliver says, scrubbing one hand down his face. “I’m just saying that this kind of knowledge doesn’t tend to give people the answers that they want.” Met with nothing but four determined stares, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Are you all certain you want to know?”

Everyone nods. Oliver equivocates for a full minute, rubbing at his forehead in complete silence. Eventually, he releases a long, low sigh.

“Right now,” he says, “I don’t see death closing in on any one of you.”

“Shit,” Martin says on a heavy exhale. “The way you were putting it off, I was sure you were going to predict a massacre.”

“Honestly,” Daisy mutters. “Bury the lead much?”

Jon ignores them, preoccupied with the implications of Oliver's revelation. If they were planning on killing Jonah tomorrow, it would say nothing about whether they were to succeed, but it would suggest they don’t die in the process, which would at least offer some reassurance going in. But Jon has no idea when they’ll be able to execute any sort of plan. This only confirms that none of them are likely to die in the next few weeks – and that’s assuming that Oliver’s premonition is accurate. Up until now, his predictions have come true, but there’s a first time for everything.

Judging from the contemplative frown on Basira’s face, she’s running through the same calculations.

“How far out can you see?” she asks.

“It varies,” Oliver says. “Weeks, usually. Sometimes months.”

“And it could change in a few weeks,” Daisy says.

“It could change tomorrow. It could change an hour from now.” Oliver looks between the four of them with a faint, melancholy smile. “I did warn you that it wouldn’t offer much sense of security. It only makes you want to know more.”

“Look where you are,” Basira scoffs.

“Point taken,” Oliver says with a startled laugh. “But honestly, ask yourself whether it’s all that different from Masato Murray and his book. If it’s worth living your life around the question of when and how – especially when the answer, should you receive one, will never put your mind at ease.”

“Just to be clear, ah – was I included in that prophecy? Or do you still see the veins around me?” Jon asks. Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I know, I know – the answer won’t satisfy me. Just – humor me?”

“Yes,” Oliver sighs, “I can still see them, if I look for them, but as we covered quite exhaustively, they look atypical and wrong and I don’t know what to make of them.” A tinge of indignation breaks through Oliver's characterisic mild manner – and then the moment passes. “I don’t think they indicate an imminent demise, but much about you is an enigma.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about Jonah Magnus?” Basira asks.

“It isn’t a matter of if he can be killed, but how. Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that part out for yourselves. As for whether or to what extent he could bind his fate to the rest of the Institute… there are any number of strange phenomena and improbable feats in this world. I would never claim to be an authority on the scope of it all.” Oliver offers another wistful ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid you might just have to take a leap of faith.”

Again, Jon thinks with an inward sigh.

But at least he can say he’s had practice.

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 011; 011; 168; 121; 156; 070. The “I still remember the first time…” & “And the worst part was that…” Oliver quotes are from MAG 121.  

Yes, “what we owe to each other” is a nod to The Good Place.  

So. This… was a beast of a chapter, and the last half of it really kicked my ass, which is why it’s taken so long to finally finish it. Still not sure how I feel about it – it’s a bit of a digression, but I’m hoping it still fits in thematically. Either way, next chapter we’re moving on to Ny-Ålesund.

Hopefully it won’t take me an entire month this time to write the next chapter, but… we’re down to two episodes left, folks. Chances are, next time I update, we’ll have heard the series finale. Are you all ready? Because I categorically am NOT. aaaaaaaaa

(That said, I already have a handful of epilogue standalone fics planned for this AU once the main story is done. Because hurt/comfort and recovery fics are going to be at the top of my hierarchy of needs once Jonny Sims destroys me in two weeks, I s2g.)

Thanks for reading!

[luki-fanfic]

Miraculous Ladybug - Kill Them with Kindness

So…Miraculous Ladybug has been disappointing for quite some time now.  I can barely even watch the show any more.  What started as a fun, sweet cartoon with a great premise has been all but run into the ground by bad writing, erratic characterisation, and very lazy setups.  As such I’ve mostly been inhabiting the salt fic corner of the fandom, since their out of character scripts and personalities are at the very least, intentional.

However, after reading many, many ‘Marinette-snaps’ regarding Lila’s lies, I wondered how I would have written Marinette handling the situation. For me, I think it would involve slightly less salt, more spite, and a whole lot of petty vengeance on Marinette’s part as their ‘Everyday Ladybug,’ without turning the class into an obsessive anti-Marinette-mob.  

This sort of ended up part fic/part summary, so apologies for that…

After two weeks of Lila’s lies, Marinette is near the end of her rope.  She rants to Alya about her frustration, and Alya isn’t much help, since she suspects that Marinette’s anger has more to do with Lila’s closeness to Adrian.  She is known to get jealous, and often takes things too seriously – remember her first impression on model boy?

Marinette insists this is different, and Alya tells her it doesn’t matter, because the class likes Lila. While Marinette might insist that Lila is fake, they haven’t seen any reason to disbelieve her.  Like it or not, the class - Alya included – believe everything that Lila has said.

She expects Marinette to growl or groan in frustration.  Possibly throwing up her hands and starting another thousand-words-in-thirty-seconds vent her way regarding Lila.  What she doesn’t see coming, is Marinette freezing in place, her eyes wide in revelation.  When she asks if Marinette is okay, the girl starts laughing, saying something about why she hadn’t realised it before.  She can’t possibly handle Lila, but their class can.

Before Alya can question this, Marinette shakes off her episode, and asks Alya if Lila has any allergies she knows about.  At the negative, she runs out the school gates, insisting there’s something she needs to do.

After lunch, Marinette goes up to Lila, and apologies for not welcoming her to the class properly.  As class rep, it’s her responsibility to make sure everyone’s needs are met, and that’s what she’s going to do from now on.  And as an apology, she went to her parents bakery and got an assortment of treats for the whole class.

Everyone is delighted Marinette has finally decided to bury the hatchet (although Alya and Adrian are very confused).  Lila doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, but she’s certainly not going to back off just because Marinette has suddenly realised she can’t win.  She says she’d love to try something, but she’s deathly allergic to certain ingredients.  In reality, just being this close to them is very dangerous for her, and could Marinette please take them away?

Everyone is horrified, and Marinette puts the tray outside, but Lila is surprised to see something other than anger and frustration in Marinette’s eyes when she returns.  

She apologies for not knowing about her allergies, because when she’d asked Alya, she hadn’t mentioned any.  Lila – realising Marinette had been smart and covered her gesture – has to frantically cover and admit she doesn’t like to mention it as she just takes allergy medication to recover.  

Marinette merely asks for a list of anything else Lila is allergic to – because she has other options from the bakery and would like to know for future reference.  Lila rattles off a handful of ingredients she knows are in baked goods, and Marinette makes a point to write down everything Lila says she’s allergic too ‘for future reference,’ before taking the pastries to be thrown out.

Lila doesn’t know what to make of it, and while everyone is kind of irritated at being offered baked goods only to have them removed because Marinette ‘should have asked Lila about her allergies,’ she goes to lunch feeling smug.  Right up until she goes to the cafeteria, and the lunch lady refuses to give her what she orders, ‘because of her allergies.’

Turns out, when Marinette went to throw out the treats, she did it by the cafeteria, and when they’d asked why she was throwing them out, she told them all about ‘poor Lila’ and her allergies.  She was so sweet to take their food without complaint, no doubt she had to use an epi-pen every day.  But now that they know, they’re going to make sure Lila has a perfectly safe meal.  Of course, the number of things Lila can eat with her ‘allergies’ means she’s currently stuck with little more than plain white rice.  She can’t counter it without admitting she lied, so she’s stuck with it for now.

Marinette is also getting smarter with Lila’s own words.  No matter how she spins things, Marinette manages to turn it back on her.  If Lila tries to trick Marinette with wordplay, she never insists ‘Lila said,’ but that it’s a classmate who told her – and then recites what they said verbatim.  She can’t insist Marinette misunderstood unless she reveals she was misleading the classmate first.

A week later, Marinette is acting as class rep at the front of the class, trying to organise a class trip that’ll happen soon.  Lila decides to use this to her advantage, and when Marinette suggests visiting a local restaurant near possible trip locations, Rose remembers that Lila ‘knows the owner’ of a much fancier 5 star restaurant very close to it.  Lila grins and gets ready to play her role, ready to twist words and make it so Marinette refuses to let them go, only for Marinette to reply first.

“I can’t just ask Lila to use one of her connections like that,” she insists. “It would terribly rude of me to just assume someone could do that without them offering first.”

“Oh, I’m certain it wouldn’t be any bother at all,” Lila insists, trying to get the conversation on track.  Marinette shakes her head, and repeats that she can’t possibly ask that of Lila – she doesn’t ask Alya to get her mother to host parties at the hotel, or get Adrian to ask his father for help with fashion connections, or get ask Alix to get them into the museum for free.  it’s rude to demand someone use their connections, especially if they haven’t offered.  However, if Lila wants to arrange it, that’s fine with Marinette.

Lila is completely thrown.  Marinette has to know she doesn’t have the connection, so why is she letting it happen?  The only possible theory she has is that Marinette wants to watch her fail, which is foolish.  Lila will have plenty of time to manipulate things so that Marinette is the one that ruined the reservation.

…Except Marinette then asks Ms Bustier to make sure everything is okay and confirm the reservation a week beforehand, since Marinette is far too young and unconnected to get a reservation in such a fancy place.  Lila can make the reservation and give it and the restaurant number to Ms Bustier to confirm.  Everyone agrees that this totally makes sense, and Lila realises it means Marinette could never be blamed for it failing.  She manages to save herself by spinning a lie about the restaurant being booked solid and while the boss would love to fit her in, they were just too big a number.

Everyone is disappointed, except Marinette, and Lila seizes on this, trying to make it seem like Marinette is happy they couldn’t go.  Marinette insists nothing could be further from the truth, she’d love to visit the restaurant, but she’s not surprised they couldn’t fit them in.  It’s such a busy restaurant, and even if Lila knows the boss, look at how busy Lila is most of the time. Successful places and people are always busy, and it was such short notice.  She’s sure Lila did her best, but Marinette has done commissions before, she knows how important scheduling is.

She looks at the members of Kitty Section and reminds them of when they couldn’t take a booking because they were already busy, and Chloe, clearly getting the game and going ‘enemy of my enemy,’ mentions that her Daddy once ended up not speaking to some Minister in Spain for months because the man demanded to see him last minute and he couldn’t make it because he was already seeing a baron from England that day.

The whole class starts talking in realisation, and before Lila can try to wrest back control, people are coming up and apologising for always asking about her contacts, especially since they always seem to back out at the last minute.  They hadn’t realised just how busy those circles were, and they’ll stop doing it now.  Within days, while people are still listening to her stories, any offers to ‘introduce’ people are met with a sincere, ‘thanks, but I know you’re very busy. That’s not necessary.’  

A few days later, it gets worse.  A few minutes before class starts, their maths and literature teachers appears to speak to Ms Bustier.  They then take Lila outside, and tell her that they’ve arranged personal tutoring for her during lunch breaks and after class to help her catch up with what she’s missed.

Lila insists that’s not necessary, the class is helping her, but they tell her that Max came to them explaining how busy Lila is with her humanitarian goals and charity work, and that it’s clearly been hard for her given how much time she’s had to spend with other classmates tutoring.  He thought it might be easier if she got one on one tutoring with experts – that way she could catch up even faster and not have to cut back on her work.

When she asks Max why he went to the teachers, he admits that Marinette gave him the idea.  Since Lila was away for so long, and the other kids have done her work so many times, she was worried Lila might never be able to catch up.  Wouldn’t it be better if a friend the teachers would listen to managed to arrange personal tutoring during times that wouldn’t impede her work?  Other students agreed that it made sense, so Max talked to them.

Max clearly expects her to be grateful, and Lila can’t find a way to explain she isn’t without making it clear she wanted other people to do the work and spend time with Adrian, so she’s stuck.  She’s ticked at losing so much personal time, but it’s only a day or two, and Max even made sure to get it on days outside of Adrian’s ‘tutoring’ so Lila can’t even say Marinette did it to make that stop.  She can live with this.

Except, later that week, just before PE, the gym teacher takes Lila aside, and she meets with a woman she’s never met.  She’s a physiotherapist, and a relation of one of the sport’s teams coaches.

She explains that Kim and Alix both came to said coach, worried that Lila’s many physical injuries are still causing problems despite being out of casts.  While Lila isn’t in any sports classes, she wants to help Lila as a favour to some of the school’s most athletic students (who she’s helped before at the coach’s request), and so they’ve arranged physiotherapy during two other lunch periods, gym class and twice after school, to help strengthen her after so many injuries.

Lila doesn’t even need to ask, Kim and Alix both readily admit Marinette is the one that mentioned it.  If Lila doesn’t even have the strength to carry books, how could she possibly plant trees in Bolivia?  Or hike life saving medicine 20 miles into the African desert?  This is what they can do to help her with her goals – and the coach is one of the best, she’s really doing them a favour by doing it for free – and Lila can’t get out of it again.  

(What they don’t mention is that the physiotherapist is getting paid.  She’s getting married and when Alix told Marinette, she promised to make her bridesmaid dresses if she could help out their ‘poor, injured classmate as a ‘thank you.’  As someone whose seen Marinette’s work, the therapist thought it was a bargain, and Alix and Kim don’t tell Lila because Marinette doesn’t want her to ‘feel guilty’ about it.  They’re just delighted Marinette is finally helping Lila like she does for the rest of them).

At this point, Lila’s free time during and after school is limited, and going out isn’t much fun as it used to be, because everybody is super aware of her ‘allergies’ now and won’t let her eat anything that could be a risk, and most people just want to do study groups to ‘help Lila get her free time back.’  At least Marinette can’t do anything else to her at this point.

Except, clearly, she underestimated the Baker’s daughter.  Because on Friday, she’s called to the Headmaster’s office to meet with a medical student from a nearby university.  Apparently, she’s decided to do a report regarding Ladybug’s lucky charm and it’s apparent healing properties that have kept the Akuma’s injury and body count at zero.  She’s learned that Lila’s Tinnitus was healed by the lucky charm, and as the only person to ever have a pre-existing condition healed, she’s desperate to study Lila.  

Lila, smelling yet more obligation she can’t get out of, tries to back out, only for the student to admit she’d planned to call Lila’s mother in order to explain everything before they got the agreement set up, and Lila – desperate to keep that from happening – finds herself agreeing.  She tries to hold off by saying she just doesn’t have the time at the moment…only for the Med student to ask if she can steal her away a few mornings.  She’ll even drive her to school, and the principal promises to give her exception for being late.  

And so Lila returns to class, somewhat horrified that she now has to properly study tinnitus to make sure she can lie to a trained medical professional well enough that she wont realise she’s faking former symptoms.

She demands to know why Marinette contacted the nurse, only to learn that it was Alya. The nurse had contacted her via the blog after seeing Lila’s interviews, and Alya had thought Ladybug’s ‘best friend’ would love to help other people with something like this.

(She doesn’t admit that while that’s true, she’d been hesitant to call without asking Lila first, but Marinette had reminded her that Lila doesn’t mind the spotlight, and Alya has said she’s supposedly helped with this sort of thing before.  She can always so no if she doesn’t want to, right?)

Even Rose pipes up that Lila had insisted it was her duty to help people, and Lila is forced to sit down and eat her words.  Her schedule, once lazy and easily managed, is now crammed with tutoring and unnecessary physiotherapy and now experimentation.  It’s a miracle she’s managed to keep it away from her mother so far, and the only time she sees her ‘friends’ is during class.  While Marinette has done nothing regarding the validity of her celebrity or charity lies, she no longer has the time to use them for her advantage.  The only way she can break free is to admit she lied, or work through everything to the point where she no longer needs the tutoring and therapy…and thus can no longer use the lie to get away with things.

“Well played, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she says to herself at the back of the room, glaring at the girl’s back.  “Well played indeed.”

—

After school, Adrian catches up with Marinette and asks how she did it considering she hates lying so much.  

Marinette admits that while she knows Lila is lying, nobody is willing to believe her.  So her only option is to act as if the lies are true, and treat Lila as if she’s being honest.  And since everyone else believes what she’s saying is true, they’re the ones she talked into helping.  She argued with the class that if Lila isn’t lying, then she needs their full support given all the terrible things that happened to her.  If that means reducing her diet, forcing her into long physiotherapy classes or talking teachers into giving her extra tutoring, so be it.  

She smiles and explains that, simply put?  If Lila isn’t going to tell the truth, Marinette is going to act as if she is.  Whether Lila likes it or not.

Adrian finds himself approving.  And just a little bit terrified of ever crossing his other Ladybug.  He’s suddenly very glad he’s on her side.

[mshermia]

2020 Writer’s Year in Review

A big thank you to @lbigreyhound13 for the tag!

Total number of completed stories: 5! (I guess this stat is a little misleading for me though. I wrote all those stories between mid-October and December while procrastinating from finishing my main story, which still remains unfinished.)

Total number of words: 290.991 (257.523 of that was for “If They Knew All About You”)

Fandoms written in: The MCU, specifically for Irondad & Spiderson

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? 

In fics as in stories, I definitely wrote more than I expected because I was not expecting the prompt fills for whumptober to draw my attention like they did. However, I was definitely expecting to finish my long Bio!Dad story, but. No. Will still need a couple of months on that one... ;)

What’s your own favorite story of the year? My favorite has to still be my Bio!Dad fic “If They Knew All About You”. It’s not just that I spend the most time on it, but while there was a lot of set up for the story in the first half of it, this year I could put out a lot of the scenes I started the story for in the first place - scenes and chapters that I had written months ago, that just sat there in my inbox, waiting for their turn to come. (Tony and Peter both finding out about their history, Tony finding out about who’s to blame that his son was taken, Tony coming to Peter’s rescue... I could keep going :P). I’ve been waiting to publish some of those scenes for more than a year (especially Tony reacting to finding out that Peter is his son) and it’s been so great to see people’s reactions to it as well!

Did you take any writing risks this year?  Erm... I had one chapter for “If They Knew All About You” where I went for a bit of a different approach. I knew what I wanted from the chapter but I wanted it to be less linear. While I do have other chapters that are structured similarly (like for example early on Tony is in the lab working on a project and then he mulls over the situations he’s in with the team and I cut back to an excerpt of their conversation so I can have the just of the situation without having to go on and on about everything happening around it.)

For Chapter 55 - Time To Take A Shot - I took it a bit to the extreme starting the chapter out with Peter holding a gun and having shot someone because I wanted it to have a shocking effect, but I’m still not sure if it was a bit too much or if it worked. Honestly, I’d might write it differently now if I had to do it again, but well, it is what it is ;)

Most popular story of the year: Easily “If They Knew All About You”. At Chapter 29 on December 31st 2019 the fic was at 34.357 hits. On December 31st 2020 the story had grown to 73 chapters and was at about 148.000 hits, (150.000 as of yesterday) which just blows my mind. 

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: “Nothing Left to Lose” which is part of my post-Endgame series and a (late) Whumptober prompt fill. It’s not finished yet, but compared to the other stories in that series it got *very* few hits. I really like the premise of it about the consequences of undoing the Snap and also Peter and Tony’s conflict with each other, but for some reason there are very few hits and just one comment I think, which honestly surprised me. I think maybe my summary was too vague? Who knows. Maybe it’ll get better with the second chapter :)

Most fun story to write: Probably “Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?” which was the first prompt fill I’ve ever written. With Morgan and Peter being a few years older in this one, it has such a different dynamic than every IronDad story I had written and I really enjoyed the change of pace. 

Most unintentionally telling story: Chapters 56, 57 and 58 of “If They Knew All About You” where Peter (and also Tony) find themselves on the receiving end of the wrath of the NYPD police chief Clarke, who seems to be hell-bend to make their lives as miserable as possible, trying to force hospital staff to ignore procedure to get whatever he wants.  I had written those chapters months before I put them up (actually inspired by a Utah nurse who was threatened and then arrested by an asshole cop who tried to force her to ignore her patient’s rights) but when it came time to publish them, they fell smack in the middle of the demonstrations and riots going on in the US in June/July against police brutality and those chapters got very strong reactions. I hadn’t planned any of that but I guess it’s a sign of how long and publically this problem had already existed before people couldn’t take it any longer.

Biggest surprise: Probably how much I enjoyed dusting off my old tumblr account. I still tread carefully trying to avoid as much Endgame stuff as I can unless it’s an unapologetic “Tony Stark lives” one, but I’ve really enjoyed finding short one-shots like @jen27ny or @superherotiger as well as just connecting with fellow fans and fellow fanfic authors, especially to bounce some ideas off. Compared to other social media sites where I focus on a lot more social issues and politics, tumblr feels like a wholesome and happy place, that’s getting rare to find online (as long as I can dodge those dreaded Endgame gifs) ;)

...

I still don’t follow enough blogs but tagging who I haven’t seen post this yet (no pressure :P) @spagbol99 @ninjazzz3 @polaroid15 @jelly-pies

[thecoleopterawithana]

What does your tag "Paul is a concept why which we measure our pain" mean?

Hello, Anon dear!

I applaud your sharp eye! You know, I actually thought twice about adding the tag to that particular post; even going as far as deleting it and then putting it in again. My reticence came from the fact that the reference was quite oblique (even for my standards). Nevertheless, this is a subject that I’ve been mulling over lately, so I thought, “Whatever, these tags are mostly for me, anyway!” 

But you caught me! (Though I appreciate that you did.)

I first came across this brilliant phrase in a tag by none other than the ever-insightful @amoralto. I’ve since found out that Rob Sheffield has a chapter of the same title in his Dreaming the Beatles (2017), though he doesn’t go exactly where I thought he would with it; I don’t think we give it the same meaning. 

It is, of course, a variation of John’s “God is a concept by which we measure our pain”, whose meaning didn’t hit me fully until I read his 1971 interview with Robin Blackburn and Tariq Ali (the post in which @amoralto used the tag). Here he describes how Janov’s Primal Scream Therapy had been for him until that point about acknowledging and facing his own pain, going to the root of it, instead of seeking refuge in the usual distractions and God-like figures absolution. I can not recommend this quote enough. It is, in my opinion, essential to understanding John Lennon. 

In fact, the deeper understanding about this side of John was so important to me that I made a whole post about his patterns of disillusionment immediately after. There, I try to express, among other things, what the phrase "Paul is a concept by which we measure our pain" means to me.

In short, what all this God/Idol/Parental-figure talk boils down to is Agency and the existence or absence of a conscious exercising of it. It’s about the perception of control and how that translates to notions of power.

To reach the absurdity of quoting myself:

“I can’t say that I’m familiar with theology or the exploration of the purpose of faith, but I see John as addressing how people use God - and all the other things he claims he doesn’t believe in anymore - as coping mechanisms for the pain in their lives. The greater the pain, the more you cling to these “distractions” from reality.

Though, this is not simply about distractions, like drugs, sex and success, as a means of escapism. When the despair is overwhelming, you want someone or something you can hand it all over to, and an all-powerful entity to whom you can just turn everything in and absolve yourself of the responsibility. And this Father figure will either make it better and make the pain go away, or it will tell you that there is a grander purpose to the pain, life works in mysterious ways, and it is as it is destined to be.

But the main point here is John’s need to hand over responsibility.” 

My hypothesis is that John was made to feel so unloved, his self-esteem was destroyed in such a way as a child, that he doesn’t believe himself to have agency over his life, to have the power to actually chose. Or if he does, he’d rather hand-over that power to someone else and be simply taken care of, instead of having to face the world alone and vulnerable, a possible victim of his own mistakes.  

But if John’s strategy in the face of pain and fear was to give up control, Paul’s response was to seize it.

I have explored the possible origins of this coping mechanism in a post about Paul’s childhood. There I propose that the pain of suddenly losing his mother and then feeling he couldn’t count on his father in the aftermath convinced him that he couldn’t really rely on anyone but himself.  

To quote myself again:

“Not only had the only reality he’d ever known been destroyed by his mother’s sudden death, his own father – who was supposed to be this strong, unshakable pillar in his life – couldn’t be relied on to hold it together.

Paul had been let down. He was on his own.

Fear steems from a feeling of powerlessness. You feel painfully vulnerable to whatever life might throw at you, at constant risk of being hurt again, and the only solution is to be on the lookout. Be prepared.

Paul was caught unawares because the people he’d counted on to always be there suddenly weren’t. And with his compassionate and reasonable nature, he probably didn’t even blame them at all. But the facts were that Paul had been left hanging, not once but twice, when he needed them the most. So he kind of lost his faith in everything.

Life is chaotic and unpredictable; and people, through no fault of their own, are just as inconstant.

And so, in order not to risk being let down again, Paul took matters into his own hands. He tried to escape the pain and dread of being powerless by seizing control of whatever he could. And that was mostly himself.

And so begins Paul McCartney’s saga of isolating independence and other control-issues.”

It’s that last bit about the “isolating independence” that I haven’t explored fully yet, though it’s something I hope to put out soon. 

The thing is, Paul got really good at being self-sufficient. He was confident and had his hands firmly placed on the steering wheel of his own life. He felt he had agency; he had control; he had power. 

In a world where people mostly feel afraid, lonely, and powerless, someone who presents such strength is magnetic. You can’t help but admire and love them; you want to be watched over by them and be loved in return. 

And there were those who felt rejected from the start, and so grew hateful of their Idol (Yoko Ono, Allen Klein, Phil Spector, Jann Wenner). 

But then there were those who felt the Grace of God shining upon them, but by then, they didn’t want to feel such an imbalance in the relationship. Anyone can be a god, after all. 

So now Paul’s self-reliance didn’t just mean strength; it meant detachment. As John put it in that Blackburn interview:

“The worst pain is that of not being wanted, of realising your parents do not need you in the way you need them.”

John’s biggest fear and hurt was that of feeling like he needed Paul a lot more than Paul needed him. 

That’s why we reach a point where Paul’s way of showing love (especially by trying to help and “ease the pain”) is no longer welcome because it only served to increase the perceived imbalance in the relationship. Paul was seen as always fine and unbothered, so much so that he could afford to be “charitable” with his bandmates. It made them feel inept and redundant. 

And this is not just in John’s “head”. This was exactly George’s main complaint during the breakup: that even though Paul always helped him with his songs, he never took George’s own suggestions, which made George feel infantilized, unappreciated and no more than a “backing band”.

Of course, things get infinitely more interesting once we also look at them from inside Paul himself! But I’ll leave that to its own post; I feel I’ve given enough spoilers as it is. 

In summary, that tag is used when I feel there is an instance of people treating Paul like God: an unknowable, generally-benevolent, omnipotent being, whose grace you seek so he may deliver you from pain and fear. 

And you both adore his steadfastness, his unconditionality, and resent him for being invulnerable, unaffected by your behaviour. 

And when you suddenly feel abandoned by this God, if you no longer feel his love or as if he didn’t do his job of saving you from harm, you may as well cast him and his “religion” away; accuse him of being a false idol and everyone who still loves him to be ignorant mislead fools.

(Of course, needless to say that Paul was no unshakable god. But like I said, more on that later.)

[menatiera]

*Crashes in with prompt ideas* Hi my Mena! Ok, here we go... I'll just suggest a character and a prompt and let you take it from there. Tony, Someone turning up in the nick of time to save the heroes in a car/plane/spacecraft/etc and asking "Need a ride?" Bucky, “We live together. You can’t blame this on anyone else.” Steve, "So violent. You want to mug and tase everybody these days." If you're needing more, just hit me up, honey! *Mwah*

Hey my dearest megmeg! Sorry it took me so long to actually post it while it was written since Easter... :’) But here it is! I went with the first prompt, and I hope you’ll like it!

Title: Showing up to save the day Collaborator: Menatiera Card number: 3109 Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239134 Squares Filled: Natasha Romanoff Bingo - O5 - Depression Tony Stark Bingo - T1 - I'll sleep when I'm dead. Ship/Main Pairing: Gen Rating: Teen and Up Major Tags: One-Shot, Depressive Thoughts, Mission Gone Wrong, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Written for the prompt Someone turning up in the nick of time to save the heroes in a car/plane/spacecraft/etc and asking "Need a ride?" I got from Rebelmeg on Tumblr. :)

Showing up to save the day

Natasha had never been more grateful for Tony’s tendency to adopt children than today.

The mission had been a disaster from start to finish. The Avengers had had to react quickly, and therefore went in based on insufficient information. It was something that would probably leave any other first responder unit in a screaming match with their superiors, while it was the most common and most expected from a group of superheroes, really. And on most days, it was okay. On most days, they were quick on their feet and could handle whatever was thrown at their faces.

But there were days when the given intel wasn’t only insufficient but completely misleading. There were days when it meant going into a situation expecting a handful of ordinary goons, when in reality they went in to be pinned down by a squadron of enhanced, intelligent dinosaurs armed to the teeth under the command of the handful of not-exactly-ordinary and not-exactly-human-anymore goons.

Which was challenging, to say the least, even to superheroes, because being super and trained and hard to kill is one thing, and being this far outnumbered by competent enemies was another.

(rest under the cut)

When the reptiles had successfully managed to separate them from each other, they all kind of started to make their peace with the very likely option of not leaving the scene alive. Or at least not all of them, despite their best efforts. Natasha felt the icy feeling settle in her stomach, the ruthless truth of it run through his veins with cold certitude. She didn’t have more time than to spare a few glances to her teammates, but she had been trained to see the important details even by just that.

She saw how heavily Bucky was bleeding; the dinosaur teeth had gone through tac gear like it was cotton candy. She saw the desperation as he switched from rifle to gun to blades, as he had ran out of ammo or lost them to the enemy. (She dodged sharp fangs and shot through the jaw of the beastie.) She saw Steve, his jaw clenched and teeth gritted, partly because of determination and partly simply to not bit his tongue as he flipped, fought, punched and defended himself with the shield, growls of frustration escaping him as he got farther and farther away from the rest of his team. (A goon came close enough for her to slam her body in. Stomp on his feet. Elbow to his noise; hear the satisfactory crack of bone. Push him away, into the waiting jaw of a dinosaur.) She saw Clint, running out of arrows, refusing to move away from his spot as he defended Wanda, who had been knocked unconscious earlier. (Switch the knife from her right to her left hand and thrust into the chest of a reptile, push push push until she couldn’t further, until the warm blood of the animal coated her hand.) She saw Vision, struggling and immobilized by one of the alien devices the enemy had, his synthetic-vibranium body withstanding the dinosaurs but who knew how long would that last. (Get a moment to breath and spray the enemies in front of her with bullets, without aim, just to keep them at bay while she panted.) She saw Rhodey, out of his armor for some reason she had missed, teamed up with Sam who was forced on the ground too, but at least the pair still had their guns. (A bullet hit her chest, stopped by her gear but she still stumbled back two steps, trying to get her bearings again through the pain. A dinosaur nearly chomped her head off. She danced away, further from the others…)

So it was really looking fucking great for everyone. 

Natasha wasn’t afraid of dying, hadn’t been since she had turned twelve, always accepted it as an unlikely but possible scenario. And to be completely honest, she wasn’t even displeased with this way of dying. Being eaten alive wasn’t ideal for sure, but she was practical enough to know that there were worse ones. Plus, if there were an afterlife, Clint would be able to brag about it for eternity as something pretty unique and, in his terms, badass way to go.

(She was forced on the ground, assaulted from too many directions to be able to stand up, just rolling away and away - sometimes being able to retaliate, but mostly just avoiding, rolling, dodging…)

She was a bit worried about Steve and Bucky. But hey, they’d died a few times already, they should be good for another round. As long as they went out together, because she was pretty sure they’d commit suicide to drag the other back personally anyway if one of them miraculously survived where the other didn’t. 

(Finally she was on her feet and she fired, almost blindly, only paying attention to turn away from her teammates, even though she was going to run out of ammo too soon.)

The rest of the team, well. Natasha could guess, but she was pretty preoccupied with a dinosaur snarling at her face, so she didn’t. They’d figure out afterlife if they even got there.

Which, personally, Natasha doubted, but it was just her belief. Everyone was allowed to have their own delusions. (Even if they were wrong.)

The whole building started to shook around her, and through the roaring of the battle she heard thumbling, thunderous sounds of bricks collapsing, structures shattering, and she looked up, surprised and too damn deep among the enemies to feel hopeful. Even if Thor arrived just in time to save the day, there was never any insurance that all of the team would survive long enough to see him - Natasha herself was bleeding, the cuts from the dinosaur claws slashing deep into her flesh, making her slower, easier to target.

But what she saw when the roof was torn away from above them wasn't the God of Thunder.

What she saw was... a spaceship.

It was bulky, less sleek than the Guardians' ship with which she had experience. It seemed used and old, the way a thirty-years old car would look despite being loved and cared for through the decades. She didn't have time to goggle too much, having plenty enough to focus on without the appearing spaceship. The Avengers were in a bad enough situation, if the newcomer turned out to be hostile, it was all lost anyway, and she couldn't do anything against a spaceship in her condition - she ran out of ammo already, not to mention the exhaustion of the blood loss and the fight.

The spaceship, hovering above them, opened fire.

Dinosaurs and goons fell like they were skittles, the hail of bullets avoiding the Avengers carefully.

The spaceship turned in the air, almost like making a dramatic pirouette, and the head of it tipped down, revealing the pilot.

Natasha had never been more grateful to see an alien.

Nebula was holding a sippy cup in one hand, nibbling at it absent-mindedly as she piloted the ship.

Natasha sliced through the garters of a reptile and grinned up. Nebula parted the cup from her lips long enough to smile back, then continued to nibble on it.

Natasha's smile faltered, partly because a goon got close enough to nearly hit her face with his gunstock, and partly because someone joined Nebula on the cockpit, and of course Tony had to be there.

She was happy to see Tony, always. She wasn't happy to see him out of bed against doctors’ orders. But honestly, what else did she expect.

There was no music, no AC/DC filling the air like the first time Tony had shown up for the very first Avengers mission, joining the fight against Loki. Maybe Tony grew out of some of his antics; maybe he just got older and more tired to waste it without good reason. But he was still dramatic enough to switch on a loudspeaker. "Need a ride, team?" he asked.

The resulting growls, thankfully, were lost to the noise of the spaceship landing. On top of some of the dinosaurs. No one particularly minded that bit.

One by one, the Avengers fought their way to the opening hatch. Natasha helped Clint dragging Wanda, while Sam and Rhodey carried Vision and the supersoldier duo covered their hasty exit with punching or stabbing anything that came close enough to punch or stab it.

They all but collapsed on the floor once the ramp was up and they felt the ship rising to the air.

Natasha heard part of the conversation happening in the cockpit. "These are bad guys by Terran standards, right?" Nebula asked.

"Absolutely," Tony confirmed, voice audibly proud, and also audibly shaky. He probably wasn't as good to go as he tried to convince himself.

"Okay then," Nebula said. 

The next moment, there was an explosion huge enough that it shook the ship in the air, throwing everyone off-balance who tried to be on their feet. Natasha was wiser than that to begin with, still sprawled out on the dirty iron lattice. Every inch of her body hurt. Adrenaline had kept the sensations at bay, but even hormones could do miracles only for so long. She was very grateful to just lay on the floor, happy to be still breathing, and getting acclimatized to the fact that she missed her meeting with death yet again.

Thanks to the amazing team. The team that included Tony Stark, Iron Man, the best defender of planet Earth, and foster dad of many deadly being. Including, but not limited to Nebula.

Half-deaf from the explosion, Natasha wondered if they should make Nebula an Avenger in the eyes of the world, too. She always showed up if Iron Man got involved, anyway - they might as well make it official.

Once the ringing of their ears dissipated, Tony sighed, loud and exasperated.

"Neb, Mean and Angsty Blue Princess, dearest of the aliens, when I say bad guys, I mean you should turn them to the authorities, not to blow them up, remember?"

"Ooops," Nebula said, tone as flat as possible. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

Natasha rolled to her back and couldn't help a smile as he listened to the team roustling and groaning and complaining around her.

Nebula didn't blow up the facility because she forgot the rules of Earth. She did it because the people in there had hurt the Avengers. She had chosen Tony as his family, and with Tony came a bunch of other superheroes, and as much as Nebula tried to keep up appearances, she had grown fond of them. All of them. Natasha knew, because she'd been there once where Nebula was now, too attached to not care but too scared to show it openly. Yet.

She'd come around, Natasha was sure of that.

And until then, here she was, saving them all.

Natasha knew there were a lot to come. They'd have to thank Neb and Tony. They'd have to ask them where did they acquire a spaceship. (Or more like, where the hell had been Tony and Nebula secretly building it, since it was clearly a shared project between the pair.) They'd have to deal with the fallout of this mission gone wrong. They'd have to justify the extreme measure of violence to authorities. They'd have to figure out how did this facility got weaponized dinosaurs, which wouldn't be easy with the evidence blown up to kingdom come. They'd have to sit down with Nebula yet again, pretending they didn't all know why had she done what she'd done. And they'd have to chew another one on Tony for not staying in bed when he had been on the brink of death only a few days ago.

But all of that could wait.

At these moments, she just wanted to sleep, preferably for a whole week, surrounded by her family. 

So she did.

[jjkfire]

Sweet Saccharine; pt.4

Reader x Jungkook // sugardaddy!AU // 14.5k words

Summary: Trying your best to stay afloat in a ruthless city, you decide to join the sugar bowl. Who knew the sugar baby business would be this exciting?

Genre: Fluff?

A/N: here we are! a year later lmaooo but !!! better late than never amirite? sigh sorry for the wait ): i should really get into the habit of pre-writing my fics. anyway, i hope you guys like it! tis the reveal of the hooded man hehe. also never drink and drive pleaseee.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 *tumblr still hasn’t fixed the link thing, sorry!*

Previously...

His plan was really beginning to fall into place and it was all because of… you. Oh little Y/N has come so so far, he smiles but you still had a long way to go, still so much to do but it was only a matter of time before he would stand from afar and watch everything crumble around the Jeons, your very existence the sole thing he needed to kick-start complete chaos.

“Why?” You groan. “Why would you let me do something as stupid as that?”

“Listen, I tried to stop you but—”

“You didn’t try hard enough,” You grumble, head in your hands.

“If it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem too bothered by it.”

“This is your fault,” You huff. “I told you I didn’t want to go drinking but you insisted that I—”

“Oh, don’t you dare blame this on me.” Wendy wags her finger at you. “I said we should go drinking, yes, but it’s not my fault you decided to drink up half the bar.”

You let out a whine, letting your head thud against the table as you grumble to yourself.

“Anyway so, for your sake I pretended like the logistics conference bullshit story the two of you fed me last night was the truth, but come on, tell me… how’d you meet him?” She questions, prodding at your cheek.

“Well, a uhh, a c-conference.”

“Honestly Y/N, you expect me to believe that?”

“Okay, fine,” You sigh, shrinking away as she gives you a pointed look. “It wasn’t a logistics conference, but it was a conference…”

“Oh, don’t tell me it was comic-con or someth—”

“Hey, comic-con is cool,” You frown. “And so what if that’s where we met?”

She simply rolls her eyes at that before she squints at you, the gears turning in her head, a moment of realization dawning on her.

“No, no that’s not where you met him,” She murmurs. “You were busy during comic-con… you wouldn’t stop bitching about how you were going to miss it.”

“N-no, I went! I uhh took a day off and I—”

“Don’t lie to me. You’d be the last person to get a day off work,” She snips, eyebrows furrowed. “When did you meet him? Why wouldn’t you tell me you know him? Did our days of dreaming of running into him on the street mean nothing to you?”

You laugh at that, shaking your head at her.

“It’s complicated… he’s a secretive person,” You mumble. “Anyway, it hasn’t been too long okay... Maybe 2 or 3 months max. You know I can never hide anything from you for too long anyway.”

Wendy taps her fingers on the table, doing the math in her head. 2 or 3 months meant that it was right in the timeframe of— no way.

“No,” She gasps. “No… don’t tell me you met him at my conference!” She practically screams out the sentence, causing everyone to look at your table.

“N-no, no that’s not where we met!” You lie before you put your index finger to your lips, trying to get Wendy to calm down.

“My god, that’s why you’ve been avoiding all the texts where I try to set you up with potential sugar daddies! You—”

“Not so loud!” You scold before you look around, hoping no one in the café had caught that.

“Okay, so he’s your sugar— fructose father,” She corrects when you smack her hand. “And you didn’t think to tell—”

“Fructose father… honestly Wendy?”

“What? Okay, glucose guardian… or carbohydrate caretaker! Take your pick,” She smiles.

“The term isn’t the problem!” You grumble, burying your head in your hands. “Look can we just drop this?”

“Absolutely not,” She replies. “You bagged the literal whale shark of the industry… y-you’re set for life!”

“Whale sha—?” You shake your head at your friend before you clear your throat. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone… and I mean it okay? I don’t want you to say yes to me and then text your whole friend list seconds after I leave.”

“You have such little faith in me,” She fake sobs, sniffling as she wipes away imaginary tears. “You know anyway, no one would even believe me if I told them. He doesn’t seem like the type of person who would need a sugar baby.”

You nod at that, sipping at your drink, hoping that she would move on to another topic, but you know Wendy and she would milk you off every single drop of information before she leaves you be.

“So, you’re really not going to let me have any details?” She questions as you busy yourself with stirring your drink. “Oh come on! Tell me one thing. At least tell me he’s bad in bed. He can’t have good looks, money and be good in bed. That would be unfair.”

“Seriously? That’s what you want to know?” You snort, shaking your head. “Anyway, I can’t say because we haven’t really… done t-that,” You stammer. “We’re just in a uhh platonic… thing.”

“Please,” She snorts. “I saw you and him getting all handsy last night. Don’t lie.”

“We… we were? Oh my god. How handsy?” You query, worried. “H-he won’t fire me… will he?”

“Not with the way he was looking at you he won’t.”

“Wendy, I’m serious,” You wail, groaning inwardly. “We’re supposed to be just friends, okay?”

“And how are you doing with that? You’ve loved him ever since I’ve known you.”

“That’s not true,” You mumble, looking away. “I was uhh, enamoured by him, yes, but… that’s like you know, my daydream version of him. That’s not him, him. I can separate fact from fiction, okay?”

“Okay, sure,” She smirks. “Just saying, he looks better in person.”

“I know,” You hum, smiling.

Perhaps you like the fact that you can finally tell someone about your whole Jungkook situation… even if technically you’re not supposed to. The whole thing just seemed so crazy to you and being able to tell Wendy about the whirlwind of events that had taken place, feels… nice. The girl could coax anything out of you and as much as you hated to admit it, you loved talking to her about anything and everything. You trusted her with your whole heart and she just always understood you, always laughed at your jokes, no matter how bad they were which you thoroughly appreciated.

You tell her about him from start to end. You tell her about all the places you’ve brought him to, all the trouble you’ve almost gotten him in to and she laughs because whatever friendship or relationship you had with him, it sounded so entirely you. You have a penchant for danger, that Wendy is well aware of considering that she had been subjected to the many adventures you’d taken her on during college.

As you tell story after story, Wendy only grows more worried because you had that look, that smile and it’s one she rarely sees. She’s glad you’re happy, in fact she’d wish for nothing more, but the sugar business has always been misleading like that. One day you think the man you’re with has genuine feelings for you and the next, they drop a big fat cheque in your mailbox with a short letter saying this was fun, but we’re done. Sugar babies like you and her are in abundance thus, essentially, replaceable, expendable. It hurts, having to burst your bubble but if not her then who?

“He’s Jeon Jungkook,” Wendy says as a response to your story, her voice stern and you know what that means but… you wanted her to know that he was more than just his name.

“I know he’s Jeon Jungkook and all of that but, he’s really sweet too… nothing like how they paint him in the media.”

“Careful,” Wendy hums. “You have to remember your place.”

“I know my place,” You snap, before you let out a sigh.

“You know I’m not trying to be mean, right?” Wendy pouts. “It just looks like you sort of… actually like like him even if you’ve been trying to convince me otherwise.”

“Okay, maybe I do… a little… but it’s under control,” You frown, letting your finger idly draw patterns on the table.

“I trust you,” She smiles. “I just thought a reminder wouldn’t hurt. I know I’ve appreciated it every time you gave me one.”

You simply smile at her and nod, a soft thanks leaving your lips to which she crunches her nose at. Wendy always means well, has always been there to look out for you. She protects you with the ferocity of a mother and you’ve never been anything short of grateful for her. Well, except for when she convinces you that a night at the bar is a good idea… you’re not so grateful for her then but otherwise, you are. You know what she means about remembering your place and as much as you hate to admit it, you needed the reminder. Though Jungkook has been nothing but kind and sweet to you, you know that all of this is merely a contractual agreement. Sure, you let yourself get carried away once in a while but you guess you’re allowed to have some fun too. At the end of the day though, you must remember that you and him come from essentially separate worlds and no matter how enticing the idea of you and him being anything more than friends seems, it’s something that can never be.

As you stand outside the café, giving Wendy one last hug before the two of you part ways, you sigh when she reminds you that you should probably call Jungkook soon.

“You better thank him for carrying you up to your apartment too,” She laughs, remembering how mortified you looked when she had told you that it couldn’t possibly be her that got you up to your apartment last night considering that she wasn’t in the car.

“I’m a mess,” You sigh as you rest your forehead on her shoulder.

“It’s going to be fine,” She smiles. “He isn’t going to fire you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do,” She winks before she pulls away, waving to you as she walks down the pavement.

You’re not sure what she means by that and although you think the statement had meant to comfort you, ease the nervousness that you feel, it doesn’t. You grumble to yourself as you walk towards your apartment, the sun already beginning to set in the horizon. It’s no surprise to you. Put you and Wendy in the same place and the two of you could talk for hours on end. It’s a wonder how you got any work done in college when the both of you had shared an apartment.

It’s a long walk home and all you do is think of what you’re meant to say. You’re not sure how to start. You had a host of things to apologize for. First, you had to apologize for even calling him down to the bar, then apologize for the fact that he had to drop both you and Wendy home. Oh, and you had to apologize for being handsy too. God, you can’t believe you did that. Wendy said you did it all. That you had slapped his chest teasingly when you were trying to get him to buy shots, that you had cupped his face in your hands when he said no. She said you even placed your hands on his waist… ugh, why did you do that? You’re never touching alcohol again, is what you mumble to yourself over and over again. You can’t believe he even had to carry you up to your apartment. A fool, that’s what you are. You grumble continuously to yourself, garnering weird looks from passing strangers, but you’re too deep in thought to notice any of that. Mortified. You’re mortified at how drunk you has managed to destroy the one good thing you had going for you.

The same thoughts replay over and over again in your head, even after you’ve slipped into the tiny restaurant by the street to grab a hot bowl of noodles. You would think that the food would at least distract you but oh no, not even food can fix this one.

You’re sat in your apartment, phone in your hand, stomach queasy and as much as you would like to blame it on the dinner you just had, you know it has nothing to do with it. You’ve called Jungkook and hung up before the dial tone starts at least 5 times now. You know you have to do it, that there is no avoiding it, but you’re just so nervous. You’re rambling to yourself, playing out the planned conversation in detail when you hear muffled sounds coming from your phone. You look down at your screen, eyes widening before you curse when you realize that you had accidentally called him. Begrudgingly, you press your phone to your ear, groaning inwardly when you hear his voice.

“Hello? Y/N? Say someth—”

“Hi.”

“Hey,” He answers, voice sounding smooth, happy… not mad or uncomfortable. Odd. “Thought you butt dialed me or something,” He laughs.

“Well, yes, sort of but no I mean… I, yeah I don’t know.”

You shut your eyes, warmth flooding your cheeks because you sound like a babbling idiot right now.

“Uhh, right… Well, are you free right now? Because I’m actually a few minutes away from the bridge and I was thinking I could come pick you up for some donuts.”

“Huh? Oh, s-sure.”

“Great, I’ll see you in a few!”

He must’ve been lying because he reaches your house far too soon or perhaps you hadn’t realized you had spent all those minutes playing out 15 different conversations in your head.

For the most part, the car ride isn’t awkward but that’s only because you weren’t given a chance to speak. Someone had called him on his phone, moments after you had said hi to him and the conversation lasted all the way till you reached the destination. He gestures for you to go ahead of him when he parks his car near the usual hangout spot. In all honesty, you’re glad whoever it is that called him had decided to discuss business matters at such an odd hour. If he didn’t, who knows what would have transpired in the car. You can’t run away forever though because now you’re here, seated on the bench next to Jungkook with twice the usual number of donuts in your hand.

“I guess you’re really in the mood for donuts tonight huh?” Jungkook laughs, peering into the brown paper bag that holds his favourite snack. You only nod, still trying to arrange your thoughts.

“How’s that hangover you’re nursing? Did you sleep well?” He questions, nonchalant as he munches on his donut.

“It’s uh, alright and y-yes I did…” You mumble, eyes downcast as your fingers tug at your earlobe nervously.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be shy about. We all have nights like that,” He smiles, using the back of his hand to wipe off the powdered sugar on his lips.

There’s an uncomfortable silence that hangs in the air and it makes Jungkook feel like he’s done something wrong. His mind starts working at a hundred miles per minute. Does being around him make you feel uncomfortable now? Was it the cuddling that had put you off? Well… you couldn’t really blame him for that. You were the one that had wrapped yourself around him first. Granted, he knew you were drunk. Damn it. He’s a dick, he frowns. He didn’t really mean to take advantage of the situation like that but he couldn’t help that it felt… nice to be in your arms. I-If you hadn’t put your arms around him, he would’ve let you be. See, he’s a good guy. He had nothing to worry about, he hums. But then again, he did kiss you on the cheek... multiple times. Ah, this was starting to look bad. He wants you to know he meant it in the most innocent way possible. You just looked adorable in your sleep and… and and there’s just all of these feelings he has that he’s still trying to properly map out but at the time it just seemed like a good idea. His lips are parted, an apology just at the tip of his tongue, but you’re speaking before he can get anything out.

“I’m— it’s… umm… I’m sorry I called you yesterday. I-I shouldn’t have and I caused you all of that trouble and I just—” You hesitate, forcing yourself to look at him, eyebrows knit together. “Please don’t fire me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Fire you? Why would I— I’m not going to fire you,” He laughs. “Where did you get that idea?”

“I mean wasn’t what I did yesterday sort of a breach of the contract? You wanted all of this to be on the down low but then I called, and I basically forced you to come down to the bar and—”

“You didn’t force me to do anything.”

“I know but it was… unprofessional of me to do what I did and you had to carry me up to my apartment too,” You frown, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “N-Not that I actually remember that… Wendy had to refresh my memory because the last thing I honestly remember is seeing you walk into the bar and even that part is foggy at best. Ugh, I’m so sorry. This… this rarely happens and I’m just… I’m so sorry.”

You don’t remember anything… He’s in the clear for now, he guesses.

“Y/N, relax,” He tips your chin up so you’d look at him, offering you a soft smile. “What are friends for if they don’t drive halfway across town to pick you up drunk from a bar? You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I doubt you would want your posse to see me,” You laugh. “But, if I had a car, yes, I would.”

Jungkook frowns at your first statement. Why would you think that at all? He knows he makes it seem like he doesn’t want to be seen with you in public sometimes but that’s not really what it’s like. He didn’t know how to say it but more than anything, he’s concerned for your safety. He could handle the rumours, handle the press and well, even his mother’s wrath but you on the other hand, it would be cruel to subject you to all of that. He means to say all of that to you but when he peers over at you, you have this expression that mimics fear because—

“Oh y-you’re frowning… was that a test?” You ask, gulping. “Was I supposed to say no because then no I wouldn’t—"

“No, no,” He snorts, waving his hands. “No, it wasn’t a test. It’s— Look, it’s all good. You shouldn’t even have to apologize about yesterday.”

“Okay… but I’m still sorry,” You mumble, pouting as you tap your feet at the ground at an uneven rhythm.

He sighs, shaking his head at you as he grins. Why and how are you so adorable all the damn time?

“You know you and I should go out for drinks sometime,” He smiles. “You should show me how you guys live it up here in the South. Seems to be a lot more fun than the North judging by the state you were in yesterday.”

“Even after what you saw yesterday you actually still want to go out drinking with me? Are you a masochist?” You laugh.

“I happen to think you’re quite fun when you’re drunk. Slurring and babbling,” He hums. “Plus you talk with this perpetual pout because you think it’ll get you whatever you want.”

“I don’t do that,” You grumble.

“You do.”

“Do not.”

“Well, I’ll record it for you when we go drinking.”

“Fine.”

It’s an opportunity that never presents itself because it’s been a week since he’s last seen you. You say you’re busy with work and he understands that because you work two jobs after all. Jungkook’s not really the clingy type but he… misses you. He wonders if perhaps you were lying, that maybe you do remember the events of that night. Maybe more than that, Jungkook just wants to clear the air because his guilty conscience is eating him alive. Although nothing he did was technically bad as per se but… he still feels it was out of line. 

Perhaps he just needed to rip the band-aid off, just tell you that maybe he sort of kind of likes you and see where things could go? No. What if that freaks you out? He likes your company too much to risk you breaking off the contract but then again… he knows you wouldn’t do that. You needed the money, bad. But… he doesn’t want you to feel forced into staying friends with him. He hates how his mind always goes off on a tangent of its own, making mountains out of molehills. Maybe he just needed to see you to reassure himself that he was just making everything up in his head and that’s why he stops by the convenience store you work at, knowing that you have tonight’s shift. When he steps in however, he sees a young male working at the counter and at that he simply snorts.

Your phone dings and you grumble from your spot on the couch. Swiping at the message on your screen.

[9:31] Jungkook: busy working you say

[9:31] Jungkook: but you’re not at work???

[9:31] Jungkook: [image sent]

Crap. You groan when you see the image. It’s a picture of the convenience store counter, the worker at the register looking a little confused.

[9:33] You: …

[9:33] You: omg are you stalking me?

Oh damn… Jungkook just realizes how creepy this actually seems. He didn’t really think this through, he mumbles to himself as he slurps the instant ramen he just got for himself.

[9:33] Jungkook: wait what? no!

[9:33] Jungkook: I was just in the area

[9:33] You: hmm suspicious but ok sure

[9:33] You: anyway sigh fine you got me

[9:33] You: im not at work because im sick

 He frowns at that, wondering why you would lie and say you were busy instead.

 [9:34] Jungkook: so that’s why we haven’t been hanging out?

[9:34] Jungkook: lol why didn’t you just say so

[9:34] Jungkook: how bad is it

[9:34] Jungkook: did you go see the doctor?

 [9:34] You: ah yeah it’s just the flu

Jungkook hums at that, finishing the remainder of his meal before pocketing his phone to move towards the hot food section of the store to get a bowl of warm soup to go.

The pain in your abdomen hasn’t subsided and your body feels like it’s on fire. You haven’t been able to keep anything down at all today and you wonder if it’s the funky tasting egg sandwich you had for lunch two days ago that’s making you feel like this. You’d go to work if you could… you really can’t afford to take the day off, but you can hardly move. You’ve made your couch your bed for the past two days because from this spot you can crawl to the front door to open it when your food gets delivered. Speaking of, the delivery boy should have been here at least half an hour ago, but you don’t mind, you’re not that hungry anyway. Though you don’t really feel like eating, you know you should. You wonder what the point is though. You’ve barely digested it before you find yourself hugging the toilet bowl, retching out the contents of your stomach.

*Ding Dong*

“Coming,” You answer weakly, crawling to your door. You can’t stand, not for too long anyway because it feels like you’re being stabbed in your abdomen repeatedly.

You get to the entrance, pulling yourself up by the door knob. Your hand feebly reaches into your pocket for money as you open the door, not even bothering to check who’s on the other side of it.

“Y/N,” Jungkook smiles. “I come bearing gifts!”

“J-Jungkook, what—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence, he’s already stepping in your apartment, rushing you to the couch.

“Just rest,” He mumbles. “I was close by so I thought I should bring you some soup.”

“You didn’t really have to,” You murmur, watching him set the plastic bag down on your coffee table.

“Well, what are friends for if— Y/N?”

You’re running to the washroom, throwing the door open before squatting by the toilet bowl as you heave out water and bile, having already thrown up your lunch much earlier in the day.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook questions, rushing to pat your back.

You nod, breathing heavily as your hold your abdomen in pain. Curse the stupid egg sandwich. You’re never eating one again.

“You said you had the flu,” Jungkook grumbles. “This isn’t the flu.”

“It is. It’s the stomach flu.”

He rolls his eyes at that and you scowl.

“It’s real, okay? It’s a thing.”

“Did you even go to the doctor’s?”

You mumble something under your breath, flushing the toilet before you move away from him to crawl back to the couch.

“Well, did you?” He questions again as he tries to pick you up, but you push his hands away, getting onto the couch on your own.

“No.”

“Why not?”

You refuse to give him an answer, trying to reach for the soup instead.

“We’re going right now,” He says, moving to pack up the food on the table.

“You’re overreacting,” You sigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks, okay? It’ll go away in a few days.”

“You can barely stand, you’re vomiting and you have a fever,” He mumbles, touching your forehead. “It’s bad and we should get you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“Why not? Are you afraid of doctors? I’ll be there—”

“No.”

“Stop being stubborn,” He frowns.

“I can’t go,” You sigh.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I-I don’t have insurance,” You mumble.

“You have me,” Jungkook says matter-of-factly. “You don’t need insurance.”

“Jungkook,” You sigh, shaking your head. “No.”

You hate being indebted to someone and especially so to Jungkook. You already had your whole drunken fiasco last week and you can’t let him do this for you. You’re probably the worst sugar baby in the business, you sigh.

“We’re going,” Is all he says as he picks you up, empty plastic bag hanging off his hand.

“No, please,” You beg, attempting to get out of his hold but you’re too weak to fight. You try to squirm, but Jungkook holds you tight, hands secure under your knees and back as he presses at the button in the elevator. God, you’re a mess, you sigh.

Sat in the front seat of his car, Jungkook curses as he looks up directions on his phone.

“Seriously? The closest hospital is in the North?” He questions. “Why isn’t there one in the South?”

“Ask the mayor,” You huff. “He said the South doesn’t need one.”

“Incredulous.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Hold this,” He places the empty plastic bag in your lap before his hand squeezes yours. “I’ll get you there, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, fiddling with the bag. You’ve never seen Jungkook look so worried and you hate that you’re the reason why. It’s why you had lied to him in the first place because you knew he would do this. You start doing mental math in your head, wondering how long it would take to pay him off. You don’t even know what the ballpark figure is because going to the doctor has always been out of the question for you. It shouldn’t be too much, you hum. Except… it is.

Appendicitis. That’s what they say you have. You’re going to need surgery they say, and you freeze.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes ma’am. There is no alternative.”

“What if I don’t get the appendectomy done?”

“Well, then your appendix might rupture, and septicaemia might occur. Your body could go into septic shock and in the worst-case scenario, death may occur.”

“Oh… How much will it cost again?”

“About thirty-thousand dol—”

“Thirty thous— oh my god. Wait, can you give me a few minutes to think about it?”

“Y/N, this is ridiculous!” Jungkook scolds. “Just get the surgery.”

“I don’t have insurance,” You hiss.

You watch as the faces of the doctor and nurses pale. One of them scans your admission form and frowns at the address written on it, instantly recognizing your postcode.

“Perhaps you would like to transfer to a different hospital then? North Court Hospital just a few minutes from here is a hospital that suits your… kind better.”

It’s not really a question, the way the nurse had said it. It was more like a statement and at that you nod meekly.

“Y-yeah, I think we’ll do tha—”

“It’s illegal for a hospital to refuse treatment to their patients,” Jungkook glowers. “How dare you—”

“The law does not apply to southerners.”

“Jungkook,” You mumble, moving to climb out of the bed. “Let’s not make this a bigger deal than it—”

“This is insane. You know there’s a possibility of death if you don’t treat her and you’re refusing to do so because of where she’s from?” Jungkook growls, fists clenched. “What kind of doctor are you?”

The doctor snorts, shaking his head.

“Listen here, scum. I’d watch that tone if I were you,” He cautions. “All you Southies with your fucking attitude. The fact that any of you think you even deserve our time at all is simply nauseating.”

Jungkook has his fists clenched, his jaw taut and you panic, not wanting to cause any more of a scene than this whole debacle already has.

“No, you listen here, asshole,” Jungkook warns and you tug at his arm to get him to stop but he ignores you. “I’ll be paying for the surgery in full right after it’s over so don’t worry about that. Heck, you can have my credit card right now,” He snaps, digging his card out of his wallet to show it.

Jungkook pulling out his sleek, matte black credit card is almost like something out of a movie and you have to stifle a laugh at the sight. When the nurse reaches out to inspect it, you watch as his face crumples in fear after seeing the name printed on it. One by one, instant regret sweeps across each of their faces and it’s a sight to behold, one you don’t think you’ll ever forget.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon… i-it seems like there has been a uhh misunderstanding,” The doctor mumbles before clearing his throat. “We will attend to her right away.”

“Good,” He hums.

“We will be back to prepare you for the surgery in a second, miss,” One of the nurses addresses you and you nod.

When they leave the room, you laugh despite the pain in your abdomen and Jungkook scowls. You give him three slow claps, shaking your head as if you had seen an Oscar worthy performance.

“That was impressive,” You smile. “Did you see their faces when they saw you pull out your all black limitless card? And then when they saw your name, they looked like they were just about to piss themselves,” You snort, laughing.

“Well, serves them right,” He huffs. “Absolute dickwads.”

“You don’t think the doctor will ‘accidentally’ mess up the surgery and kill me on the table as revenge, do you?”

“Don’t joke like that,” Jungkook frowns and you simply laugh.

“Hey, Jungkook,” You mumble. “I know you got all pissed because of what he was saying to you and in the heat of the moment you said you would pay but… it’s thirty thousand dollars and if you uhh regret what you said—”

“Y/N, you’re getting the surgery. That’s final.”

“O-okay… but I’ll pay you back! By instalments…” You mumble. “It’ll take a while, but I promise—”

“You remember our deal, right? I’m supposed to pay for everything when we’re together.”

“Yes, but that’s different. That’s only when we’re out having a meal or whatever.”

“No, I never stipulated that in the contract.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be stipulated. It’s common sense,” You sigh. “Jungkook, it’s thirty thousand dollars. It’s not chump change.”

Jungkook sighs fiddling with his phone for a second before he shows you his screen, the PDF of the contract pulled up with one sentence highlighted.

All expenses will be paid for by Jeon Jungkook when both parties are present during an arranged meet-up.

“Yes, exactly my point! It has to be an arranged meet-up!”

“It is an arranged meet-up,” He smiles. “I said we’re going to the doctor’s and you said yes.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You did,” He exhales. “In the car I said, I’ll get you there okay? and you said, okay which is the equivalent of a yes. Thus, you agreed to this arranged meet-up.”

“Jungkook, this is ridiculous. I’m not going to let you pay.”

“You know, you never listen to me,” He grumbles. “Actually, you breach this very same rule every time you pay for donuts. So, this is payback.”

“The donuts are worth peanuts compared to this! It doesn’t even come close to a quarter of the bill!” You yell.

“Well, you can keep buying me donuts until you reach the equivalent amount then! That’s your installment plan.”

“It’ll take years!”

“It’s either that or nothing at all.”

“Fine,” You frown, and he smiles patting you on the head before he takes a seat on the chair next to your bed. “But just so you know, this is absolutely ridiculous. This isn’t a meet-up. Aren’t the meet-ups supposed to be date-like activities? That’s what your contract says.”

“Yes, this is a meet-up. I’ve always wanted to have a hospital date,” He smiles. “It’s romantic don’t you think?” He grins, holding your hand in his.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” You grumble, pulling your hand out of his as you sulk. Jungkook simply laughs, looking at you with an endearing smile.

While you scowl at him, the nurses shuffle in to prepare you for the surgery and Jungkook is called out to the counter to address issues with the admission form.

“The patient did not list an emergency contact. Do you know anyone she would like to list? Perhaps her parents or siblings?”

“Umm, I’ll ask her in a moment but for now I’ll just list myself as one of the contacts.”

The nurse nods, handing Jungkook a pen to fill up the section of the form. After filling the details, he gazes at the form looking through the information.

First Name: Y/N

Last Name: Lee

Huh, so that’s your last name… You’ve always avoided telling him what it was, always hiding your identity card from him which he’s always found a little suspicious. You had said that the picture you had on your card was horrible and that your last name was embarrassing, that it didn’t suit you and he never understood what that could possibly mean. What was wrong with the name Lee anyway?

“Excuse me,” Jungkook mumbles, addressing the nurse behind the counter. “Is Lee her official last name?” He asks.

“Yes, the last name given matches the last name on the identity card database,” The nurse answers. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” He shakes his head. “I’m just double checking,” He mumbles before he says his thanks and returns to the room.

When Jungkook slips into the room, you’re nodding at the nurses while they tell you that they will be back shortly. As he steps closer to you, he realizes you look visibly shaken and he begins to worry.

“What’s wrong? Did they hurt you? Did they do something to you?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—”

“Oh, is it the drip?” He says after noticing the tube connected to you. “This is just the way they administer the anaesthesia.”

“No, I mean this is fine, b-but they did something alright.”

“What?”

“Th-they shaved me,” You mumble.

“Shaved you?”

“Shaved my pubes,” You whisper. “Do you think they did it just to make me uncomfortable?”

“What? No,” He laughs. “It’s just standard practice I guess because the incision point is close to the area.”

“Oh, okay,” You murmur. “I’ve never had to do this before okay? I’ve never been to a hospital, I’ve never seen a real doctor. I’m just a little… nervous.”

“Hey, I’m right here,” Jungkook smiles. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You’re here,” You nod, repeating after him and Jungkook finds it oddly adorable.

“Oh, um by the way the nurse asked about your emergency contact section. Do you want to put anyone on there?”

“No…”

“You sure? Maybe you could put your mum’s details down. Just in case anything happens.”

“No, I uhh don’t want to trouble her.”

“Okay, what about your dad?”

It’s a question he asks for selfish reasons. It’s just that you’ve only ever mentioned him in passing... and perhaps that’s because you don’t have very fond memories of him, he assumes.

“No, no no. It’s fine.”

“Alright… you sure? You don’t want anyone on there? Not even Wendy?”

“I mean… it’s a relatively safe procedure, right? Nothing’s going to happen so just leave it blank. I don’t want to trouble anyone.”

“Well, yeah, but every surgery comes with a risk… even if it’s a small one. Anyway, it’s fine. I put my name down,” He smiles. “I’ll be here though so it doesn’t really matter,” He laughs, sinking down onto the chair.

“No, you should go. It’s late and you have to work tomorrow.”

“It’s fine. It’ll be quick anyway… Plus I did say I would pay right after the surgery.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind you paying tomorrow since you’re the Jeon Jungkook after all,” You snort. “Why didn’t you use that line? The ‘do you even know who I am?’ line. It was the perfect chance!”

“I hate that line,” He scrunches his nose. “I don’t really like flaunting my name and well… the power that comes with it, but they were being really shitty.”

“You know I always assumed you had celebrity status in the North. That people would instantly recognise you and bow at you or whatever.”

“No,” He chuckles. “I’m rarely in the news or magazines. My mother has always made sure of that.”

“I guess that’s nice then that you have that anonymity to a certain extent.”

“Yeah, on a day to day basis I guess but if we’re at some high flung gala or event, they almost always know who I am.”

You nod, feeling a little light-headed.

“This thing’s really getting to me,” You mumble, pointing at the drip bag.

“Yeah? Don’t worry, it just means they’ll be wheeling you in soon enough.”

“I’m actually… a little scared,” You admit. “I-I won’t feel anything, right?”

“Wow, you’re okay with gangs, being held at knife point and all of that but you’re scared of this?”

“Shut up,” You mumble.

You don’t tell him but yes, both doctors and surgeries scare you. Always did ever since you were a kid. It was never really a pretty sight whenever you saw a doctor in your home... and the screaming... you shudder every time you think about it.

“I’m here, you big baby. Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” He smiles, holding your hand. You hum at that squeezing his hand in return.

Holding your hand shouldn’t be a big deal. The gesture after all is meant to reassure you that you had nothing to worry about. It’s platonic, with no other meaning tied to it but the only thing Jungkook can think of is how naturally your hand fits in his. Of course, it’s technically all in his head because he wouldn’t be able to pick out your hand in a blindfolded test but… it just felt nice. He looks down to where your hands are linked, cherishing the moment when he sees something on your wrist that piques his interest.

Three small dots.

They form a triangle and— oh, your former gang! The Trinity! Jungkook smiles, patting himself on the back mentally because isn’t he a genius for figuring that one out? It’s odd though… didn’t you say the official insignia for your gang was a triangle? Why would you get only 3 dots and why would you hide it from him? He’s never seen it before, he’s pretty sure, but you did have a habit of rubbing your thumb over that spot from time to time. Well, that and tugging at your earlobes whenever you were nervous. It feels like his mind is playing tricks on him because he’s very sure that the tattoo wasn’t there the last time he saw you. He’s not obsessed with your wrist or anything, but he’s seen you rub at that same spot before, many times over and there was always nothing. It was a nervous tic you had, one he had always meant to ask about. It’s a question he would have to reserve for next time because soon enough the nurses are wheeling you off to the operation room. You simply turn to wave at him, smiling as you said see you later. The anaesthesia surely had gotten to you by then. There wasn’t an ounce of fear on your face.

When you awake, there’s a dull ache in your abdomen area but it’s much better than what you had been feeling just a few hours ago. You peek under your gown to find a dressing pad taped to the area and you sigh, wondering if the scar would be noticeable. Turning to your side, you find the chair empty, but you see a little note on your bedside table with a teddy bear next to it.

Y/N,

I waited a while but it didn’t seem like you were going to wake up anytime soon. The doctor says the surgery went well and that you can leave tomorrow. I have an early meeting to get to, so I’ve gone home to get some shut eye. I’m sorry ): I’ll come pick you up after my meeting though! In the meantime, your new friend which I got at the gift store downstairs can keep you company.

P.S: press his hand for some relaxing tunes

You reach for the teddy bear, pressing the paw that’s painted bright red with the words Press Me! stitched onto it. You click on the paw, waiting to hear something but all you hear is static before a Oh, wait... is this thing on already? Crap. You laugh, shaking your head but then you hear the instrumental playing in the background, and you laugh even harder. Soon enough, the classic melody starts playing and you’re snorting to yourself in your bed. Of course of all songs, he had chosen a meme song.

Shooting Stars is a song you and Jungkook had first heard in Mr. Kang’s donut store. It had been perhaps the fourth visit to the store. You remember the both of you standing in the middle of the store trying to search up the song because it had such a catchy tune. After saving the details of the song on your phone, like the free spirit that you are, you break out into a tiny dance, prompting Mr. Kang to join you from behind the counter and he obliges, laughing as Jungkook recorded all of it. You still have to get him to delete that, you laugh. Anyway, weeks later, you started seeing these hilarious meme videos with the tune playing in the background. Then, while you’re catching up with Jungkook over donuts, he shows you a compilation video of the meme and says: Isn’t this our song??? And so that’s what the song is. Our song, you hum. Of course only you and Jungkook would pick a meme song to be the soundtrack of your friendship.

The nurse must think you’re out of your mind because she’s giving you a look that borders on fear and disgust as she watches you sing along to the song playing from the bear. You debate explaining to her why you’re laughing at a mere song but you decide against it. Though patients are usually advised to stay overnight, she gives you the all clear to leave when you ask. Considering Jungkook has already paid for everything and was no longer in the vicinity, they didn’t have to be nice to you anymore. You’re unbothered though and you say your thanks before you simply slip back into your clothes and grab a cab back to your place.

You see Jungkook later that night and he’s obviously angry at you… that you already know because he called you in the midday after getting to the hospital only to find out that you’ve already left. You had a game plan though. You make him meet you at his favourite noodle store and after a bowl of rich curry noodles, he seems to have calmed down considerably… or perhaps he was just too busy sweating, gulping down his drink in an attempt to quell the fire that the curry had left behind in his mouth. Next, when you get to the donut store, you make sure to buy more of the custard filled donuts than usual but ah, you should’ve known that unlike you, Jungkook can’t be bought with food.

“Why did you go to work today? Why didn’t you just rest?” He questions.

“I-I didn’t go to work…”

“You did. I could hear your walkie-talkie going off in the background when I called you, Y/N.”

“Okay, fine, I did,” You grumble. “I already missed two days of work, okay? I can’t afford to miss any more.”

“I-Is it the money? I already told you I can help, Y/N,” Jungkook sighs. “You have to stop returning the excess money,” He frowns.

Jungkook has been trying to pay you more than he should be and it frustrates you. You only want what he had agreed to pay you. Sometimes, you find that he pays you double, even triple the amount and no matter how tempting it is to take the money… you always return it, hiding it in the glove box, under the seat, stuffing it back into his wallet when he’s in the washroom.

“I don’t want… handouts.”

“Are you really in the position to refuse it though? If you keep working like this, you’re going to—”

“I’ll make it work,” You huff. “I… I don’t want to hear any more about this, okay?”

“Fine,” He huffs. “Just know that all you have to do is ask.”

Jungkook is too nice for his own good. He trusts you far too much. He’s naïve. With the way that he is, he would end up donating his fortune away if he stopped to talk to everyone in the South. Everyone here had what someone would call a sob story. Why did he want to help you so badly, anyway? Didn’t he think it was odd that it was hard for you to make ends meet even with two jobs and the money you get from being his sugar baby?

“By the way,” Jungkook mumbles, softly pulling your hand towards him. He frowns when he looks at your wrist to find it blank. “I swear it was on this one,” He murmurs as he grabs your other hand, twisting it to find nothing there too.

“Oh, you mean my tattoo?”

“Y-yeah. You have one, right? I saw it at the hospital, and I thought I was hallucinating.”

“It’s here,” You smile pointing at your inner right wrist and Jungkook furrows his eyebrows because there��s nothing there. “I use make-up to cover it up.”

“Why?”

“Habit, I guess,” You shrug. “It’s a gang-related thing and you know how it is in the North. I hid it when I was in college because I didn’t want to freak people out… and well, I don’t really have a reason to hide it anymore but it’s just a habit now.”

“But, no one in the North actually knows much about the gangs. I’m sure they would’ve thought it was some minimalist tattoo you decided to get.”

“I guess,” You exhale, sighing. “I was just a little paranoid about it all, I guess. Didn’t want anything that would make me stand out or whatever.”

“Why three dots instead of a triangle though?”

“Hmm?”

“You said The Trinity’s insignia was a triangle.”

“Oh, r-right,” You hum. “Well, I didn’t want a tattoo at all to begin with and I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to needles, so they let me get away with three dots.”

“You have the weirdest fears,” Jungkook laughs. “I mean, they’re valid, but like in comparison to all the things you’ve seen… I just find it weird that you’re afraid of needles but not guns and knives.”

“What can I say? I like being unique,” You smile, thumb rubbing at your inner wrist.

The short well… interrogation that Jungkook had subjected you to has you feeling nervous. It’s over now but you’re surprised by how much he actually remembers. All those stories you told, you had thought he was barely listening, but he remembers all the little details. You shouldn’t be surprised, he’s done it quite a few times, mentioning random facts that you had said in passing and yet, it catches you off guard every time. It’s okay, you mumble. You had it under control. All your stories are in line, you had made sure of that. But, isn’t it time you start letting people in? How long can you go on keeping all these secrets? Those were questions you didn’t want to answer. Your heart is still thudding against your chest, palms slightly sweaty and maybe that’s why you say what you do next.

“You want to get a drink? You said you wanted to know how we live it up in the South.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean you just got out of surgery… yest— well technically, today.”

“Guess you’ll have to drink for two then,” You smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

You don’t even let him answer as you stuff the last donut in your mouth before you take him by the hand and drag him down the street.

One drink. You said you only wanted one drink and turns out one is all that you need. Wendy wasn’t joking because you really are a light-weight. All it took was one soju bomb and that pout has already appeared. It’s the same one you had on at the bar when you begged him to buy shots. It’s the same one that almost made him cave even when he knew you were way past drunk. It’s just… how could he say no to that? You whine, pout on full display as you beg him to share a scallion pancake with you. He has his phone out to record the whole ordeal and you grumble, pawing at it so that he would put it away. Although he doesn’t give you a verbal yes, you order it anyway because the tipsy version of you seems to be more perceptive than the sober version of you. Tipsy you had Jungkook all figured out it seems. Tipsy you knows that Jungkook can’t really say no to you. He laughs, reaching over to ruffle your hair as you smile up at him.

How Jungkook’s never been here is honestly a wonder but then again is it really? You had walked him through a series of dodgy alleyways only to come to a mysterious door. It was like those speakeasy bars they had in the North but instead of a fake door front, the actual entrance to the bar was just ominous looking for no reason. It wasn’t for the aesthetics; the bar owner just couldn’t be bothered to put in the money to make it look inviting.

After stepping into the bar, the two of you had been greeted by an elder man seemingly unbothered, only giving a simple grunt which Jungkook assumed must’ve been his way of saying welcome. The place was poorly lit, paint was peeling off the walls but you didn’t seem bothered one bit. In fact, you seemed rather excited. The establishment resembled what Jungkook would think a brothel would look like with private rooms separated only by screen doors. Truth be told, he was trembling a little when the staff led both you and him down the dark hallway to your own room. You had laughed at the fear that was present on Jungkook’s features but you had reassured him that the food would change his mind. And that it did. Spicy rice cakes with ramen? A combo he hadn’t tried before but boy was he glad he did. As the food started to fill up the table, so did the drinks. You’d set up these drinks for him, making him slam his fists on the table so that his soju glass, delicately balanced on a pair of chopsticks atop his glass of beer, would fall in. It seemed like you never ran out of these intricate set ups and he was in awe with how the North hadn’t discovered any of this yet. You northerners are too busy being posh that you’ve forgotten how to have fun, you had said, and he had only sneered in response because well, to some extent, that was true.

It had been quite some time since Jungkook had enjoyed the prospect of drinking. It was odd that he was having so much fun when there was only you and him in the room. He was always under the impression that he needed a large group of friends for a night of drinking to be even remotely tolerable but you, you’re a one man show. From the fancy drinks you were making him, to the odd games you make him to play, to your choice of food, he didn’t need anyone but you in the room. You move from one topic to the next with ease and he wonders why nights out with his friends couldn’t be like this. Perhaps when it’s just him, Yoongi and Taehyung having a relaxing night out, it came close to this, but otherwise, there was nothing like it.

You barely need Jungkook’s help to finish the scallion pancake. In fact, the boy only had one piece. The food at this bar is your kryptonite… well, food in general is but it’s been far too long since you’ve been to this place. You and Wendy used to frequent this place so much that you could memorize the posters hanging inside each room. They’re still the same, you note. This bar is timeless, never-changing. Even the menu was exactly the same. You liked that though.

“Wendy and I used to come here to celebrate anything and everything,” You smile. “We haven’t been here for months though.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know… It’s harder to find time for these things when I have to work,” You mumble. “Do you have a place like this? Like your old haunt or whatever it is you posh northerners say.”

“Literally no one says that in the North,” Jungkook snorts, his speech slightly slurred from all the alcohol he’s drank. “But… yeah, I guess. Yoongi, Tae and I hang out at Tae’s place all the time. He has an insane view of the city from his penthouse and there’s this amazing takeout place just across, so we always get food from there.”

“Cute,” You smile. “The three of you are inseparable.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s because— and I know how elitist this is going to sound but, it’s because it’s hard to find people who can understand our plight,” He mumbles, and you let out a quiet laugh which garners a playful scowl from him. “There’s just so much pressure in being you know… us. We’re always being watched, being judged, so it’s nice to have each other because when we’re together, we don’t really have to worry about all of that. We can bitch about whatever we want without worrying that we’re flaunting or whatever.”

“Yeah, I get that. Even if I guess I don’t understand your plight,” You say with air quotes and he simply rolls his eyes at you. “It’s nice to have friends that you grew up with and struggled with. Friends you can always count on.”

He nods at that. “Well I’m sure you had friends like that growing up. None of them moved out here to the big city?”

“Oh, I never stayed in one place long enough to have friends like that,” You laugh. “I have Wendy though. She’s like family to me,” You smile. Although, there are many things that you’ve kept from her too. Perhaps you understand what Jungkook meant to some degree because your plight is one nobody would understand.

“Family. That’s sweet,” He murmurs, resting his head in his palm, arm propped up by his elbow. “So what about me then? What am I to you?” He questions, leaning closer, his cheeks tinged red from the alcohol. Jungkook surely has had a few too many glasses of soju, you snort to yourself.

“Hmm?” He hums again, prompting you to answer his question and you lick your lips.

The question had caught you off guard and you hesitate for a second, not knowing what to say. You know Jungkook is enjoying this, the smirk on his lips tells you as much but oh, two can play this game.

“Hmm… you? Well, we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” You answer easily. “I thought you knew this already,” You continue with an expression that’s blank and cool, as if you’re simply stating a fact. The statement leaves Jungkook stunned, his eyes wide because you’ve never said it yourself first but then he sees you smile, trying hard not to laugh.

“My, you looked worried there,” You grin, devilishly so. “You’re the one that gave us the title though.”

Jungkook scowls at you, picking up some leftover lettuce on the table to throw at you.

“I just needed time to process what you were saying. I had a long day,” He mumbles, watching you pick up the lettuce stuck to your shirt. “But, yes, we’re soulmates,” He nods, laughing lightly as he attempts to dodge the same soggy vegetable that you’re trying to throw back at him.

“Only the rich would ever disrespect food like this,” You huff, shaking your head disapprovingly as you place the lettuce on your plate.

“Yeah, yeah, says the one who was trying to toss it right back at me.”

“You know you’re lucky you’re rich and cute so, I’m just going to let that one slip,” You huff, standing up to open the screen door. “Anyway, let’s go? I have to be at the port at 5 and I want at least 5 hours of sleep.”

“S-sure.”

Cute? How is it that you always say things like that so nonchalantly? Unfair, utterly unfair.

Jungkook must’ve been standing there in the middle of the hallway, looking all dazed and unsure which you probably mistook for fear because you’re storming up to him, holding him by his hand to lead him to the exit.

“It’s not that scary, you big baby,” You laugh. “We’ve been in far scarier situations.”

He only hums, letting you tug him along because wow, your hand is so warm and… nice. He’s held your hand 3 times now in the last 24 hours. He likes that. Was it weird to keep count? When did he become this soft? Doesn’t matter… it’s not like you’ll ever know about it. Damn. He shouldn’t have let you order that many bottles of soju. He didn’t think you were serious about making him drink for two.

Jungkook’s pretty much in his own world, lost in his thoughts until he feels your hand slip away from his to dig into your purse.

“Wait, no,” Jungkook frowns. “I’m supposed to pay.”

“Please, I owe you thirty thousand dollars. Let me pay.”

“No. We agreed you’ll only be paying with donuts.”

“Jungkook—”

The elderly man at the counter lets out an annoyed grunt and you apologize, hastily grabbing notes out of your wallet to place on the counter. Jungkook swipes it the moment you put it down, replacing it with his money instead and you frown.

“Let me pay,” You whine as you attempt to snatch your cash away from him but, it’s too late. Jungkook is already pocketing his change.

“Donuts only,” He grunts, placing your cash and wallet back into your purse for you before he grabs your hand and leads you out the door.

“You’re so stubborn when you’re drunk,” You huff.

“You’re stubborn,” He grumbles in return. “Also, I’m not drunk... Just slightly light-headed.”

“You’re tripping over your feet like every 5 steps.”

“That’s because you’re walking so fast,” He frowns as he attempts to get you to slow down.

“I don’t know maybe it’s because I don’t want to get shanked in this alleyway.”

The sentence makes Jungkook jump slightly and he walks faster to match your pace. You laugh at that because the boy was far too gullible. Maybe all your stories about the South had made the place seem a lot scarier than it really is.

“I’m just joking,” You laugh, squeezing his hand. “This area’s pretty alright.”

“I hate when you do that,” He frowns. You only smile in return because it was fun to tease him.

“By the way, you’re such a liar,” You say. “If you’re already this tipsy from just a few soju bombs, I highly doubt you can down 10 tequila shots in a row and still be standing.”

“I can and I’ll show you. Name the time and place.”

“Wow, no need to get defensive now,” You laugh. “You just—”

“Shit,” Jungkook mumbles as he stands in front of his car.

“What?” You query, looking at the vehicle. All the tires were still there, so were his mirrors.

“I can’t drive.”

“Well, okay you didn’t have that much to drink. You’ll be below the 0.08%... maybe... anyway I’m sure the cops will let you pass,” You mumble. Paying off the cops to get out of a DUI is nothing new. In fact it’s the norm. “You can still—”

“No, I can’t do it,” He mumbles. “My fath— No… I’ll just sit here until I sober up,” He hums, taking a seat on the curb.

Oh… Oh right. How could you have even suggested that? Idiot. You’re a bona fide idiot.

You remember seeing the news. You were still young then, but it was all anyone was talking about.

We’re standing at the spot where just last night a car veered off the road and plunged into the river right here in the province of—

Two bodies have been found, both middle-aged men who—

The driver is said to have been under the influence at the time. His blood alcohol levels though not high—

Mr. Jeon, aged 38, the heir to Jeon Logistics leaves behind a wife and a son, only aged—

As Jungkook attended the funeral of his father that week, you attended a funeral too, your eyes swollen from crying even days after the accident. Just as his world fell apart that week, so did yours. That was the week your mother had decided enough was enough.

“I can drive,” You offer. “The last drink I had was more than 2 hours ago.”

“It’s fine… You’ll have to come back to the South and—”

“Come on,” You mumble, swiping the keys out of his hand. “Or I’ll just leave without you.”

Jungkook sighs, scrambling to his feet when he hears you start the engine.

The drive is quiet aside from Jungkook giving you directions from time to time and you feel… bad because he’s only this quiet because of you.

Jungkook has never once mentioned his father, even if he probably knows that you know the story. There probably isn’t anyone who didn’t know about it. For 2 whole weeks, his father’s face was plastered in the newspaper, in TV screens. The police bounced back between claiming there might be foul play involved, to ruling it out completely. There were rumours of tampered evidence and then there was confirmation that the evidence has been left untouched. Everyone was watching, the whole nation wanting to know the series of events that led to the accident. It was anti-climatic in the end. The road had been wet from an earlier downpour. That, coupled with the fact that the driver had some alcohol, had probably led to the accident, said the investigators. Case closed.

He had been so young then and you cannot imagine what it must’ve felt like to lose a parent and have to deal with the media constantly scrutinizing everything. He probably didn’t get time to grieve and if he did, it was on display for the whole public to see. You mean to say sorry, sorry that you made him inadvertently bring it up but you’re not sure if you should mention it at all. In any case, you run out of time because you’re already pulling into his parking bay.

“Wow,” You gasp as you stand at the lift lobby. The floors and walls were lined with marble tiles and you smooth your hand over the surface. “This place is really fancy.”

“You should see Tae’s place,” Jungkook laughs.

“Do you live on the penthouse floor too?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, of course you do.”

“Why? Do you want to see it?”

“C-can I? I mean I’d love to only if you umm don’t mind… I guess.”

“Of course you can,” He chuckles. “I’ll call concierge to get you a taxi from the unit too.”

Concierge? Wow. So this is how the rich live.

Everything about the place screamed fancy. From the lobby, to the lift and of course Jungkook’s unit itself. Everything was opulent, grandeur. Well, to be fair Jungkook’s unit was a little on the minimalistic side but it still looked expensive. You think it had a lot to do with the grand piano sitting in the middle of the living room. Either way, it’s been a while since you’ve seen anything like Jungkook’s house. The only thing that could come close were the houses the gang bosses lived in.

“The view is amazing,” You breathe, nose almost touching the large glass window. You’ve always seen the city from the South and it’s stunning even from there but this was a different kind of view. You don’t think you’ve been in a building so tall. It was odd seeing the city from within the city.

“Taehyung’s view must be crazy good if all of you choose to hang out in his place over yours.”

“Oh, it’s about the same,” He smiles. “He lives over there,” Jungkook points to an equally as tall building. “But he loves having guests over and I don’t… well not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” He sighs. “Sometimes things get out of hand… Like you see this car collection I have—” He pulls you towards a room, his room you assume, and shows you a fancy looking large glass case.

You had expected those all metal, collector’s edition cars but inside the case, you just find multiple average looking tiny toy cars. In fact, you think you used to own a few of them. They had given them out for a limited time at the gas station as part of a promotion.

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone gives me the same look,” He grumbles, noting your confused expression. “It’s just my dad and I used to collect them and we— well, I had all 100 of them… until I didn’t.”

Jungkook had thrown a party a year ago. First it was a few friends but then those friends started inviting their friends and suddenly it was a full on rager. It was all fine and dandy. Jungkook didn’t mind as long as it was still in control, but then he would constantly hear amused cheering from his room and then distant shouting from the streets below. Weird. He ignored it the first few times but after the third time, he slips away from the couch to his room to see what the commotion was about. 5 minutes and a screaming match later, his apartment was empty. Yoongi and Taehyung had never seen Jungkook so angry before and it’s safe to say they never want to ever see him that angry again.

He had 100 cars in the glass case prior to the party and after that, he was only left with 95. Apparently, whoever was in his room had thought it would be a grand idea to toss his toy car 20+ stories down. In fact, they found the idea to be so entertaining, they did it 5 times. After that fiasco, Jungkook swore he’d never have a party in his home ever again and a year later, he still hasn’t. He had scoured the streets that very night and the morning after for the toys, but he couldn’t find any of them.

“I managed to find 4 of them… some online, some in thrift stores but this one,” He points to the empty spot, a simple picture of the supposed car in its place. “I just can’t find it anywhere.”

“Have you tried emailing the company that made them?”

“Yeah,” He sighs. “But they stopped making them a long time ago so they said they couldn’t help.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll eventually find it somewhere, someday,” You smile. “This is a nice room though,” You mumble, looking around.

“Yeah it’s my room so it’s the only one I put effort into decorating,” He laughs. “The rest of the rooms, my mother insisted on decorating.”

“Yeah, I can tell you decorated this one. That’s why this is here and not out there,” You smile, pointing to the TV. “It’s how you impress the ladies, huh?”

“W-what? No? I like to game and watch things from the comfort of my bed.”

“Yeah, sure,” You snort. “This right here screams premium Netflix and ch— Wait. Oh my god, this is amazing,” You hum, as you sit on the bed, testing it out. Maybe you should’ve asked first but you’re lying down on it already. “Wow. If I’m ever rich, this will be the first thing I’ll purchase.”

“You can’t. It’s custom made,” He smirks, lying next to you.

“Of course it is,” You shake your head. “I expect nothing less for his majesty.”

“Shut up. I have long legs and the commercial beds, when they come in the right length, it’s the wrong width, so I got a custom-made one.”

“Whatever you say,” You sigh as you snuggle against his sheets. “Anyway, just give me 5 minutes right here and I��ll go grab that cab.”

“Right, sure,” He mumbles. “Oh... about that. Thanks for driving me home. It’s— I just have this irrational fear because— Well, my father… I uhh—”

“Don’t worry about it,” You smile, patting his hand as if to say he didn’t have to tell you why exactly he didn’t want to drive. “It’s not every day I get to drive a Lambo around anyway,” You smile.

“That’s the only reason you agreed, isn’t it?” He grins, laughing lightly.

“Hey, watch it,” You warn. “Next time, I’ll leave you out there in the scary South to fend for yourself.”

“I’ll do just fine.”

“You’re afraid of stray dogs and you jump at any and every noise you hear. I doubt you’ll last 10 minutes out there.”

“I do not jump at every noise,” He grumbles. “And listen, everyone knows the dogs in the South have rabies, okay? Did you see the ones that chased us that one time? They were frothing in the mouth! Even had the crazy eyes.”

“Those were guard dogs… and we were trespassing which is why the chased us,” You laugh. “Also, don’t lie. If you were close enough to see their eyes, I’m pretty sure you would be dead by now.”

“Whatev—”

His phone rings, cutting his sentence short. He points at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say he wasn’t done arguing yet before he fishes his phone out of his pocket. Staring down at the caller ID, he groans before he answers. His voice sounds smooth, peppy, not a hint of annoyance despite how he seemed like he didn’t want to answer the call. You glance at the clock on the wall as he slips out of the room, not wanting you to hear about the intricacies of his business deals, you assume. It was already half past twelve and you wonder if this is what it’s always like for Jungkook considering that he has taken a few calls here and there when the two of you are having late-night donuts. The calls seem to be a more frequent thing as of late and you pity him because you can see the tiredness in his eyes, you can see fatigue in the way his whole body sags when he gets to the bench at your hangout spot. For some reason, it seemed like he was coming to the South to escape but he could never really run from it all, could he? Everyone thinks his life is all roses, but you know it’s far from it. They think he sits in the office with his feet up on the desk, waiting for time to pass but it seems like he never really does get rest. He always has something on his mind, always asking you if he could optimize the truck routes, if he could organize his warehouse space better. You wonder if you should take him to a karaoke lounge the next time the two of you hang out. Screaming out the lyrics to your favourite songs always helps you forget your problems.

It’s been 15 minutes and the call is still going. You really want to leave but you assume it would be rude to when he’s still on the phone. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter close because god, this bed is so nice. It felt like you were being caressed by a cloud. It’s so soft you almost forget the dull ache in your abdomen. It sounds outlandish, like an over exaggeration but it genuinely felt that way. Maybe you only think so because the bed you have back home is lumpy and hard. Humming, you let your hand slide across his sheets, the material feeling soft to your touch. It’s Egyptian cotton isn’t it? Not that you actually know what that means but you know it’s expensive. You don’t know the slightest thing about thread count either but you’re sure it’s high. You know that one. You knew after a certain number, the price was just ridiculous. You find yourself dozing off a few times but you always snap out of it, only to shut your eyes again. 5 minutes, you mumble to yourself. Just five more minutes and you’re leaving... even if Jungkook isn’t done with his call by then.

Jungkook sighs, pocketing his phone after what feels like an eternity. Mr. An was basically slurring on the phone, asking why his promised shipment of timber has yet to be delivered. Jungkook had to reiterate 5 times that it already has, that Mr. An’s staff had already signed off on it. Only then did Mr. An say, why didn’t you say that earlier? Jungkook knew it was odd that his grandfather had given him such an important client to take care of. It’s now that he realizes that his grandfather was tired of these drunken calls.

When he returns to his room, Jungkook is fully determined to continue the argument, picking right where he left off but he finds you completely passed out on his bed. He prods at you, trying to shake you awake because he knows you’ll be mad at him if he didn’t at least try but like the last time when you were asleep in his car, you’re impossible to wake up.

“Cab,” You mumble in your sleep, accompanied with a slew of gibberish.

“Yeah, come on, I’ll get you one,” Jungkook answers as he tries to wake you up, but you grumble curling into yourself, instead. He laughs before sighing, shaking his head because you even scowl in your sleep. Unconsciously, he uses the back of his hand to stroke your cheek, your features instantly relaxing at the gesture. He feels his heart squeeze at that and he knows he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be lying next to you but it feels nice, safe even being right here.

He doesn’t blame you for falling asleep. You must be exhausted. You had been in the hospital less than 24 hours ago, had your appendix removed and even went to work just hours after. He really wishes you would reward yourself with a break once in a while. If you needed money so badly, why won’t you just let him help you? He had given you a big cheque for a few thousand before, but you had refused that. He has snuck a few extra hundred into the envelope he passes you every week or so but he eventually finds the extra bills in his pocket or car. Anyone in your situation with their head screwed on right would take the money but you… you just didn’t want to. The fact that you let him pay for your surgery at all is a surprise but truthfully, he strong-armed you into letting him anyway. He absolutely abhorred how they treated you at the hospital. It was a look into the reality of your situation, of Southerners in general. How people had so much hate was beyond him.

He exhales, letting his hand drop from your cheeks to play with your fingers instead because damn it, he loves the way your hand feels in his. It’s pathetic, he sighs but… he really likes the little things in relationships. The hand holding, the sneaky kiss on the cheek, the feeling of you in his arms. Well, not that the two of you were in a relationship anyway. He has to keep reminding himself of that. It’s hard to keep that train of thought, especially so when your fingers grip around his softly. He smiles at that, a warmth spreading across his chest when he glances down at his hand, barely enveloped by yours. Against his better judgement, he leans in to kiss you on the forehead, letting his lips linger before he pulls away slowly. He doesn’t want to leave, not yet at least. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away from yours but knowing you, you’d probably have a heart attack, maybe even two if you saw him next to you in the morning. He wonders what that’s like though... waking up next to you, your hands wrapped around him like the last time, him leaning in to kiss your li—  Oh. He shouldn’t be thinking of that. But... still, he wonders, wonders how he even got to this point.

Y/N Lee.

Who would’ve thought a girl he met by chance, in the oddest of places would have him wrapped around her little finger like he was a grade school boy, totally enamoured by his first ever crush. It’s quite the pickle he’s found himself in because, now what? How is he supposed to tell you that all he really wants to do sometimes when you’re sitting on that bench with him is... kiss you? How is he supposed to fight the urge to hold your hand whenever you’re telling him a story with the widest smile on your lips. How does he make you see that even if you don’t open yourself up to anyone at all, maybe... maybe he’s worth letting in. There’s just this warmth that envelops him when he’s around you and it feels comforting to be in your presence, like it was entirely alright to just be him. And that smile, god he’d do anything, say anything, to see it. Ah, but that pout too, it makes him weak in the knees, his heart reduced to a mere puddle whenever he sees it. He knows Yoongi and Taehyung would laugh if they ever found out about the thoughts that are currently swirling around in his mind but what could he say, he’s just a fool who hasn’t met anyone quite like you before.

Time, he hums. In due time, he’ll eventually tell you he likes you or maybe you’ll figure it out, hopefully, because he’s not too good with words. With his finger on the switch and with one last glance, he flicks the lights off and shuts the door quietly. Sighing, he sinks down onto his couch, stretching out as sleepiness washes over him. With a yawn, he lets the thought of you curled up against his chest lull him to sleep. Boy, he really is in a pickle huh?

Your alarm is ringing for perhaps the third time... you can’t really tell because it’s mixing in with the dream you have, playing in the background as if it were a soundtrack. Slowly, you peel your eyes open, reaching into your back pocket where you had left your phone last night. Your hands skim the sheets and—

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This isn’t your room and this most definitely isn’t your bed. You panic as you rise to your feet, quickly grabbing your purse off the table side before you pull open the door. The ruckus you made in his room causes Jungkook to rise sleepily from his spot on the couch. You’re shouting words of apologies, fully intending to make clear how sorry you are but when your eyes dart to the fancy digital clock display, you almost let out a scream. You’re going to be so late for work and given your recent attendance record at work, your boss is not going to be happy.

“I’m so sorry! I’ll call you later to apologize properly!” Is all Jungkook hears you say before you slam his door shut. He can barely keep his eyes open since it is 3 in the morning after all. That’s far too early for anyone to be awake, he mumbles.

You’re practically pacing up and down the sidewalk, trying to stay under the dim streetlight as you wait for your cab. Your boss didn’t seem too happy when you called in to let him know you’ll be a little late today. That was a problem you would atone for once you get to the port. As for the other one… you know, the one where you fell asleep in Jungkook’s bed? Basically, relegating him to the couch in his own home? After he had had paid thirty-thousand dollars for your surgery? You didn’t know how you were going to atone for that one. You’re not sure he’d even pick up your call later. You’re so busy beating yourself up you barely register the sight of a hooded man standing a few steps away from you. It’s only when he speaks that your head perks up, your body freezing in your spot when you hear those words leave his lips. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, recognize that pet name anywhere.

“Hello, Empress,” He smirks, pulling his hood up just so you could see his face. The scar starting just below his eye, stopping right at corner of his lip confirms your worst fear and you back away as he takes a step forward. “Now don’t tell me you don’t recognize me. I know it’s been a while but is that how you greet your family?”

You open your mouth to answer but your throat seizes up and nothing but a whimper leaves your lips. He lifts an eyebrow at you and your eyes widen before you move quickly to bow. 

“Fraternizing with the enemy, I see,” He exhales, head nodding towards Jungkook’s apartment. “Boss would be disappointed. Angry even.”

You haven’t felt fear like this in years. You can barely move, can’t even speak. Every nerve in your body is telling you to run but you’re glued to your spot.

“Don’t worry,” He smiles. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” He winks.

“W-What do you want?” Is all you can muster to ask.

“Oh, nothing in particular.” Yet. But of course he leaves that part out. “Can’t I just see how my favourite niece is doing?”

“How did you find me?”

Your question comes out as barely a whisper and at that he laughs. Ever so timid, his dear niece is.

“Well, I never really lost you in the first place. Never for too long at least,” He smiles, condescendingly so as he steps up to caress your cheek. “You think you and your mum would’ve been safe all this while if it wasn’t for me?”

You don’t want to show him any sign of weakness, but tears are already forming at the corner of your eyes. The sight makes him laugh because aren’t you cute. It didn’t matter how old you are now. You’ll always be a little baby in his eyes. He coos at you, wiping away the tears that fall as you struggle to move out of the grip he has on you.

“Don’t worry, boss doesn’t know... but, nice little province you’ve chosen to hide her in. Enemy territory too...” He mumbles. “Took me a while to find her. Smart little nugget, aren’t you?”

You can barely breathe. You thought your mother was safe. You had taken great care to make sure that she would never be found.

“Why are you scared, Empress? If you think I’m here to bring both you and her back, then you’re mistaken,” He smiles. “There are more pressing matters that I have to deal with... though I must say, I wonder what boss would have to say if he ever saw the two of you again.”

“L-leave my mother alone. She has suffered enough,” You sob and he frowns, using his sleeve to soak up your tears.

“That she has,” He murmurs. “Choices, choices. She had many to make and she made all the wrong ones,” He shakes his head.

“Please. Spare us.” 

You’re practically begging at this point because there’s nothing else you can do. One phone call and life as you knew it would be over.

“From what?” He smiles. “As far as I know, you’re Y/N... Lee. Not of my blood, neither of my interest,” He mumbles as he takes a step back, hand peculiarly grabbing for your arm as he twists it to look at your wrist.

“I can see you’ve tried hard to erase your past. So, Y/N Lee it is,” He hums, frowning as his thumb rubs at the spot your tattoo should be and it is, but the make-up has done a good job of covering it. “Cute little name, isn’t it? L/N just wasn’t working for you anymore huh?”

*Honk*

The sound makes you jump and you quickly pull your hand away to see a cab waiting for you. You glance from the cab to your uncle and he nods toward the cab, as if he was giving you the permission to go ahead. You didn’t need to be told twice. Quickly, you run over, pulling at the door handle in a haste to escape.

“Farewell, Empress.”

That’s the last thing you hear before you shut the door. Your voice is shaking terribly as you tell the driver your address, unsure if any of it was intelligible but he lets out a grunt of assurance and you finally sink in your seat as he pulls away from the curb. With your hands shaking in your lap, you wonder how you’re going to make it through the work day today.

Your uncle laughs as he watches the cab leave, enjoying the look of pure fear on your face. It’s been too long since he’s seen you up close. He’s always been watching from the shadows, always close but not too close. He wonders if he had made himself known far too soon. It was the perfect opportunity though and he couldn’t resist. When else would he ever get you all on your own with no one else in sight?

He whistles an old tune as he strides back to his car, perusing through the gallery on his beloved camera like he always does. There were so many pictures to choose from tonight. He had pictures of you and Jungkook at the noodle store, had a few more of the both of you at the bench, eating donuts. Though he must say, he has many of those already. Those weren’t that interesting, he huffs clicking through the pictures before he smirks. See, now these ones were interesting. He has a few of you and Jungkook going to the bar you love so much and finally the saucy ones of you driving him home and subsequently leaving his house looking haphazard. My, my, now what could’ve happened there? Mrs. Jeon would surely love to see these.

Oh, his sweet niece. Gone are the days where he would seat you in his lap to play peek-a-boo with you. Gone are the days where he would be standing with you in your backyard, teaching you how to slice a throat with utmost precision. He didn’t mean to involve you in this but no, things had unfurled too perfectly for him to ignore this chance. He wanted nothing from you, that much was true but it’s what you could do for him, what he would eventually make you do, that he wanted. Years of keeping tabs on you has finally come to fruition. What he once thought was a useless endeavour would prove to be one that would bring the entire gang to his knees.

Ah, Empress. You don’t seem too fond of the title now, but like it or not, it is your destiny, he believes. You could try running, but in the end, you can never really escape. It’s going to be the coup of the century and you are going to be the centre-piece that unlocks it all... and the best part about all of this? Well, you see he wouldn’t even have to do any of the heavy lifting. You were going to do all the work while he sits back and reaps all the benefits. Ah, bliss. Boss wouldn’t even see him coming. Nobody would. Chaos, he smiles. It was going to be pure chaos and he loved that.

Maybe then, everyone will see just how wrong they were. Maybe then, your mother would see what could’ve been.

You make it to work just barely under 20 minutes late. Your boss is furious, that much you know by the way he basically growls at you. Your side aches and maybe it’s because you ran to the port when the doctor had said to avoid any strenuous physical activity for a few months. That’s the least of your worries though and you struggle to stay focused most of the day. Your mind drifts back to your uncle, to the way he smirked when he talked about knowing where your mother is. You remind yourself to call her later from the payphone. Maybe you should move her somewhere else now. God, why is it that when one bad thing happens, your life tends to descend into chaos? It’s almost as if you were getting punched from every direction possible. You guess your life always has been like that, like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You can only run away from your past for so long.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Things can only stay secret for so long.

join the tag list here!

A/N: Please don’t drink and drive! Also please don’t bribe the cops!

Ae knee way, tb to when my friends took me to this sketchy af pocha and I was so scared, but the place had bomb af food and super cheap drinks lmao love that place. Too scared to go back without them bc the uncle that owns the place looks like he hates everyone. Genuinely. I love him tho.

Also I wanted to post half of this chapter last week but I think y’all would’ve decked me in the face if I didn’t give more clues as to who hooded mystery dude is!!! I know everything seems random but everything happens for a reason my dudes. Anyway as always, thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!!! (:

[mayonaka-no-sasayaki]

CoAi/ShinShi Week 2019 - Day 5: Choice

@coai

Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or it's characters.

August 29th - Day 5: Choice

Summary: Considering the circumstances, Shiho finds that the best way to protect Kudou and the people they both care about is to have the Organisation shift their attention elsewhere; on a bigger target than Kudou.

And who better to be it, than Sherry?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439038

Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13375386/1/Infinite-Possibilities

Infinite Possibilities

Bloody hell.

"What will it be, Sherry? Your life?" The cool barrel of a gun presses against her forehead and it takes everything within her not to flinch back when cold green eyes flick behind her. "Or theirs?"

A soft whimper sounds from one of the kids and Shiho lets out a snarl at Gin, too furious to be afraid of her tormentor.

An ambush.

With the rumours of Kudou-kun sudden return from when he was in Kyōtō spreading like wildfire, despite it being put to rest— the Organisation's second-in-command; the ever elusive Rum, had ordered elite agents to track down leads regarding the detective.

And what better way to start than to go to the people closest to Kudou-kun. It's even more of a pain since Rum is meticulous and paranoid; using connections to have the Suzuki family invite Kudou-kun's friends and family to a gathering at Haido Hotel as a means to monitor and eventually, take them hostage along with all the important people that the Suzuki family are connected to as a means to further their agenda.

Two birds with one stone.

Initially, they were all separated into certain groups; CEOs, celebrities, athletes, so on and so forth. It was misleading since it gave the impression that it's done by a greedy criminal group that Kudou-kun seems to attract. Or even a rival company of the Suzuki family looking to get rid of the competition. Those kind of idiots are easier to handle than the threat They pose. Of course, it's just her luck that both Gin and Vermouth are amongst the agents sent to this particular task. But it's not her that They are hunting down; not after 'killing' her on the Mystery Train all those months ago. It should have been a relief to know that she's not the target.

Until her mind realised how carefully all the people in attendance are selected. They are all the people who are close or connected to Kudou Shinichi in some way or another.

Shiho wants to face palm so badly when she figured that part out. Honestly, that reckless idiot is going to be the death of her one of these days.

They want to draw out Kudou-kun by taking all those he cares about as hostages. Brilliant.

Shiho has had her suspicions before but this proves the fact that Rum really is a bloody bastard.

Considering that Kudou-kun is one of the key players to finally bring Them down once and for all, Shiho obviously can't let Them dispose of Kudou-kun or the people here. So she makes her choice. Considering the circumstances, Shiho finds that the best way to protect Kudou-kun and the people they both care about is to have the Organisation shift their attention elsewhere; on a bigger target than Kudou-kun.

And who better to be it, than Sherry?

As far as They are concern, while Kudou-kun is a famous high school detective, he is still just a teenager and an unfortunate witness to Gin and Vodka's deal at Tropical Land. Herself, on the other hand? Well, she knows things that not many in Their ranks know about, mostly in regards to That Person's obsession with the Apoptoxin and the lengths he'd take to achieve it. And that includes orders and experiments that not even Vermouth knows about. It should be a terrifying choice; sneaking away to take the temporary antidote and revealing herself to Gin of all people.

Honestly? Shiho is too numb and furious to even be afraid.

From her peripheral vision, Shiho can see that Kudou-kun is white as a sheet. She worries if the brunet is even breathing considering how still he is. It's the first time that she's ever seen Kudou-kun so terrified but then, she can't blame him. All the people he's sworn to protect are hostages to Them right now— Shiho would be surprised if the detective isn't at least a bit afraid.

"Shouldn't that be obvious, Gin?" Stepping forward so that the muzzle is pressed more firmly against her forehead, she glares up at the assassin. "Leave them be and I'll come quietly."

Vodka chuckles at Gin's side, a constant shadow. "No can do, Sherry. Got orders to dispose of a certain detective."

"Fool," she drawls out with a scoff. "That detective you're searching for is dead. You're wasting your time."

The gun barrel almost cuts her skin from the sudden pressure as Gin levels a smirk at her. "Hoh~? And how can you so sure, little traitor?"

"Simple." Despite her old fear, Shiho doesn't look away from Gin. "The one who confirmed his death on the database and performed his autopsy— was me."

There's a pause before Gin lightens the pressure. "Explain."

"Aniki," Vodka implores, a skeptical frown on his face. "She could be lying."

Shiho lets herself smirk. "I'm not. Blood and DNA samples can prove that. Along with the autopsy report I wrote up for the subject."

"Then why is Rum so hellbent in finding the brat if it's confirmed that he's dead?"

Huffing, she gives Gin a pointed glance. "The reports are only accessible to That Person."

"And why is that?" Vodka demands while Gin sighs, before he finally pulls the gun back.

"Because the brat's results are what the Boss is looking for." Gin raises a brow at her. "Isn't that right?"

Shiho nods, relieved but still on guard. "He came closest out of all the test subjects, yes."

Sirens wail from the distance. Shiho wonders if it was Bourbon or Rye (despite Kudou-kun's best efforts, she's not fooled. She would recognise the man who her sister loved anywhere after putting him under surveillance for so long) who tipped the authorities. Either way, she's grateful. There's no need for Rye to blow his cover and come back from the dead as well; Okiya Subaru is just a graduate student after all and should stay that way until the moment is right.

From a nearby window, Chianti curses aloud and tears away from her rifle scope. "Cops are surrounding the place. Shit tons of 'em too. Let's just take Sherry and go already."

"But that detective brat!" Vodka protests, looking between her and Gin.

"Is dead," she repeats firmly then, tilts her head with a widening smirk. "Or did you forget who was the one that created the poison in the first place? I know very well how effective it is."

The sounds of shouting and ricocheting bullets are edging closer and a quick glance to the side shows her the desperation in Kudou-kun's eyes as he tries to think of a way out for everyone. Rye is much the same, looking ready to pounce on the nearest grunt at a moments notice. Even Bourbon appears to want to jump into the fray despite being a NOC.

Shiho makes her choice and steps closer to Gin. "Keep me alive and I'll prove it to Rum myself."

"...very well."

Shots fire, terrified screams cut through the air as people curl up close together.

Shiho drops to the ground with a grimace, mouth pressed tight from the pain, twin bullets dug deep into her things. The carpet underneath her is getting soaked from the blood streaming out of the wounds.

"No!"

Even through the pain, she can see Kudou-kun struggling to free himself from Mouri-san's hold, glasses askew and snarling hatefully up at Gin.

"Leave her alone!"

Exasperated, she turns her head to pin Kudou-kun a reproachful glare. "Shush now, brat."

"Brat trying to play superhero or something?" Vodka comments, coming closer to haul her up. "Ya know him?"

Shiho hisses, the wound searing into her. As expected of Gin. He aimed at the right place to make sure her legs would be useless; making an escape impossible for her.

Knowing that she has to be careful with her words lest they pay too much attention to the too clever child, Shiho shrugs with a breathless chuckle. "Just a brat that I just met tonight that likes quizzes too much." Shiho feels her lips twist into an apologetic smile at Kudou-kun. "Guess he's a bit angry that he won't get the answer to the quiz I gave him. Don't worry, brat. You're almost at the right answer."

The permanent antidote is almost complete and with the instructions she left for the Professor and Kudou-kun in case of emergencies like this, they'll be able to finish it even without her.

Kudou-kun's expression blanks for a moment until he connects the dots, before it turns absolutely livid. "I don't care about that, you infuriating woman!"

That's hard to believe, considering how much the detective likes to beg for an antidote.

"Rude brat," she comments with a pained chuckle, shuffling forward and bites back another hiss when Vodka shoves her. She's caught by the one woman she had hoped she'll never meet again.

The cold smirk Vermouth gives her brings a chill down her spine but she endures to edge closer and whispers furiously to the other woman.

"Protect him, Vermouth."

"Of course," the pale blonde says loftily, smirk taking on a condescending edge. "He is the precious Silver Bullet after all."

A snarl on her lips, indignation and protectiveness flaring. "He is not a pawn to your sick games."

"How noble of you, Sherry." Vermouth then passes her back to Vodka. "Let's hurry up, now— before our uninvited guests come barging in."

There's a commotion behind her, and she sees one of the locked double doors to the dining hall straining to be broken down from the other side. Guns still trained on the hostages by the grunts, Shiho snaps off a pained yelp when she's unceremoniously hauled out by Gin towards the only other set of doors.

"Conan-kun!"

"Let me go, Ran-neechan!"

Shiho watches as Kudou-kun; pale and terrified trying to claw his way out of Mouri-san's protective hold, hand outstretched and reaching out for her.

Unbidden, a smile curves along her lips and Kudou-kun stops struggling, blue eyes wide and glassy as a tear streams down his face before his mouth parts.

I'm sorry.

Despite the fear that's finally creeping in, she continues to smile, eyes flitting to all the people she cares about.

Agasa-hakase. The Tantei-dan.

Her gaze finally lands back to a stricken Kudou-kun and she allows herself to show how much she cares for the detective (is it love? Shiho isn't sure but she does know that there's no other man as incorrigible as Kudou-kun). She doesn't break eye contact even as the doors close shut behind her.

But I'm not.

She's led to the only working elevator on the floor with Gin while Vodka waits for his turn with the grunts. Once the doors slide closed, she's shoved against a wall with Gin's gun back on her forehead.

"If neither Rum or myself are satisfied with your report, Sherry..."

The threat goes unfinished but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what will happen. And just like that, the old fear is returning with a vengeance and she shakily nods, trembling.

"Understood."

Gin steps away from her and she lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Shiho tries to distract herself from the pain of her wounds by looking up at the floor numbers as they make their descent.

Seven, six, five—

Don't run away from fate, Haibara.

Cold sweat dribbles down onto her chin and she feels her lips lifting into a wan smile. Of course the voice of the boy who inspires her to live would snap her out of the despair that's threatening to swallow her whole.

Four.

No more running. She has people that she still needs to protect. There's still so much to do before Shiho can rest her weary bones. Until the day comes where she doesn't have to be afraid of every shadow that lurks in the corners, she will continue to fight.

I won't, Kudou-kun.

But more importantly, she will survive and live.

"Three."

Gin throws her a sharp glance. "What?"

"You gave me two choices." Blinking sluggishly up at Gin, she gives him a deadpanned stare. "There's actually...three."

Looking as if he's actually humouring her, Gin scoffs. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Shiho sways as her vision swims from the blood lost but she has to do this. It was hasty but she didn't reveal herself to Them unprepared. "Me." A finger points to herself then, to the elevator doors. "Them."

Two.

"Or you."

A scream; more surprised than pained resounds in the tiny space of the elevator as Shiho digs the syringe deeper into Gin's jugular. The toxin has an instant numbing agent that she's been experimenting on in case if she ever runs into Them. Never before has she ever been grateful for her paranoia that she even thought of bringing the damnable thing tonight.

Gin roars, eyes so wide that there's barely any green in them. "Sherry...!"

"This is for all the people you've hurt," she hisses into Gin's ear.

Gin takes a swipe at her and she dodges in time, only to cry out in pain when she hits the floor hard. Not a second later, Gin descends on her, hands wrapped tight around her throat with a mad grin.

Gasping, she claws at Gin's eyes and hears the satisfying grunt of pain. There's a clatter and she doesn't even stop to think as she grabs Gin's beretta and takes aim.

"This," she chokes out, firing at Gin's chest; at exactly where Onee-chan was shot at, "is for my sister!"

Though he stumbles, Gin presses a hand to his chest and lunges at her. Shiho tries to scramble away but her legs are useless and she's lost too much blood to even think of overpowering Gin. They struggle against one another and her eyes blur from the pain and fear; from the sheer frustration of it all. Enough. No more. She's made the choice to live and she is going to continue on living because she…! Is. Not. Done!

One.

"And this…!" The effects of her toxin is finally taking effect and she levels the gun to Gin's forehead with a grim smirk. "This, is for me!"

The shot echoes long after it's fired and she coughs as Gin slumps on top of her, the assassin's blood and brain matter soaking her clothes. Eyes burning, she blinks up at the ceiling as the elevator doors slide opened.

"Goodbye, Gin." Shiho places a hand on top of blood matted silver hair, tears streaming down her face. Relief and grief war in her. Although there's no love lost between them, Gin had been a companion of sorts and maybe some part of her had wished that Gin was someone that could've been saved. "May you burn in Hell."

Reaching a hand out to stop the doors from closing, Shiho quickly shoots the panels to make sure it won't go back up to be used as an escape route for any of Their agents. Ripping strips of cloth from Gin's coat, she wraps up her wounds and crawls out of the elevator. Shiho tries to be careful not to leave obvious trails of blood in her wake but she's not sure if she succeeds. Dragging herself to the nearest break room, she manages to find a first aid kit and proceeds to take the bullets out, lest the apoptoxin causes more damage than help in closing her wounds once the antidote wears off. Once done, she rehydrates herself from the water dispenser and a chocolate bar from the fridge.

Hiding herself in a nook at the far corner of the break room, she holds onto Gin's gun close and waits for the apoptoxin to take affect. Shiho isn't sure for how long she hides, blinking in and out of consciousness until she hears a pair of footsteps getting closer. Hotel staff? Or perhaps one of Them? Maybe Gin's corpse was found and They are looking for retribution?

As whoever it is comes closer, Shiho takes aim until familiar sneakers come into view. The rest of the body follows soon enough to show the shrunken form of Kudou Shinichi with his Tracking Glasses on. Ah…Kudou-kun must've tracked her down by following the signal of her Tantei-dan badge. And if Kudou-kun can actually sneak away to take the chance in trying to find her then, that means the hostages are safe. Thank goodness.

There's a smile on Kudou-kun's face as pure relief washes over childlike features, before Kudou-kun rapidly pales at the state she's in. "Haibara..."

"Kudou-kun," she mumbles back, and seeing the horrified look on Kudou-kun's face because there's no doubt the detective has already deduced what happened for her to be soaked in blood and brain matter, she lets out a tired sigh. "I am not sorry."

Shiho is well aware of Kudou-kun's aversion to killing but in this, she refuses to be ashamed of her actions. She does regret it had to come down to it but she's not sorry for making the choice in defending herself or those she loves from the monster that was Gin.

"I know…but, I am," Kudou-kun says, blue eyes terribly sad but lacking any pity or censure. "And honestly? I don't blame you."

That's unexpected. A relief but unexpected all the same.

"You should be with the others." Strength starting to come back, Shiho can already feel the apoptoxin reactivating and replenishing the blood she's lost. If there's one good thing about the poison she made, it's that it activates the necessary cells to heal wounds as time reverses back. "Go. I'll join you once the antidote wears off—"

She glances down at her blood soaked clothes and feels her shoulders drop. "— and wash up as well."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Kudou-kun…" Shiho sighs, head rising up to give Kudou-kun an unimpressed stare.

The glare Kudou-kun sends her is stern and perhaps even a little terrifying. "I. Am. Not. Leaving. You."

"Fine," she eventually grits out, turning away to lean her head against the wall. "But stay away, I'm filthy."

Ignoring her warning, the idiot has the gall to plop himself beside her. "Don't care."

"Little punk."

"Tsundere brat."

"…you did not just called me that."

"I so did."

"Ugh."

Steam rises as the antidote starts to wear off, and Kudou-kun finds one of her hands to grasp in his own as her body spasm with the familiar pain of being shrunken ten years younger than she should be. Shiho appreciates it, clutching Kudou-kun's hand to help anchor herself from being washed away from the pain.

"Thank you," Kudou-kun whispers once the transformation subsides, voice hoarse and still holding onto her hand like its a lifeline. "For protecting everyone I care about. Protecting me. I…just—" Kudou-kun ducks his head, tone hushed with heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you."

There's guilt mixing in with the gratitude of Kudou-kun's voice. That won't do. While the circumstances were dire, Shiho was the one who decided to reveal herself for being alive. True, she's a target again. But honestly, she's too tired in being afraid all the time and thinks it's best to let it be. With Gin dead, she has a better chance in protecting herself and others so she supposes in retrospect, it's not a too terrible situation to be in.

Shiho flicks Kudou-kun's forehead, smirking at the yelp the detective lets out. "Wasn't even a choice."

"Yeah?" Kudou-kun rubs his forehead with a scowl, brow raised. The guilt in his eyes have lessened from indignation. That's good. "What, like I'm a fact?"

"Exactly that." At the stunned look she receives, Shiho lets her smirk turns teasing. "No matter how absolutely exasperating you are."

"Like you're one to talk," Kudou-kun grumbles out, before his face softens as he folds her hand into his grasp with both of his own. "You should know that it's mutual."

Shiho lets out a very unlady-like snort at that. "As if you'd choose me."

Kudou-kun's priority always has and always will be Mouri Ran. Anybody with a working braincell knows that.

"Oi, oi, you did say it wasn't even a choice for you." There's something like hurt in Kudou-kun's eyes as he looks at her. "What makes you think that it can't be the same for me?"

Shiho honestly doubts that Kudou-kun would ever choose her if there's ever a situation that calls for it and— that's not even adding to the fact that she doesn't need Kudou-kun to play her knight in shining armour. But the hurt in Kudou-kun's expression is making her feel guilty so she decides to humour the detective, looking away as she does so. "...I see."

"Yeah," Kudou-kun whispers, determined and ever stubborn. It makes Shiho feels a sliver of hope in Kudou-kun's words before she quickly locks it away.

There's no use to think about things that aren't meant to be.

Once she's washed up and changed back into the clothes that she wore earlier that night...or is it morning now? (which Kudou-kun was kind enough to retrieve for Shiho before searching out for her), Shiho shuffles out of the restroom and gratefully lets Kudou-kun guides her by the hand back to where everyone is. Thankfully, the apoptoxin has healed the majority of her wounds, including the bruises around her neck. Shiho knows it's a relief for Kudou-kun as well since he had flinched so badly when he first saw it. Kinda odd since Kudou-kun has probably seen far worse; being a homicide detective and all.

"We're gonna live, y'know? All of us." Kudou-kun turns bright, determined eyes to her and says firmly. "Both of us."

Lips quirking into a wry smile, she tightens her hold on Kudou-kun's hand. "Together?"

"Always," Kudou-kun promises, grin rivalling the sun that's peaking over the horizon as they walk out of the hotel.

Shiho laughs and follows Kudou-kun into the light.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 6 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

Getting a summons to "meet me in my office in five, Allen" from the Big Guy is never a good sign, particularly when Barry's, like, 95% sure he hasn't done anything recently.

Anything, like, oh, masquerading as a police officer. Taking unapproved days off without notice. Investigating supernatural events with a CCPD badge and pretending he's sanctioned.

All things he's been yelled at before.

But he hasn't done any of those things recently! That’s got to be worth something, right?

Of course, now he has all his secret work as the Flash...

Barry slips into Captain Singh's office and offers a hopeful smile. Maybe this is just a chat, not a yelling at?

The smile is not returned.

Yeah, this is definitely a yelling at.

Singh is on the phone, so he just waves for Barry to sit down while he finishes up.

Barry does so, snagging a pen from Singh's desk as he does. Maybe if he just holds onto the pen, he won't embarrass himself by flailing.

Singh eventually finishes the call and turns to look at Barry.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment.

Barry's dying here. Seriously.

"What are you doing, Allen?" Singh finally says with a sigh.

"Uh," Barry says, fiddling with the pen between his fingers and promptly dropping it with a loud clatter that makes him flinch. So very not cool, Barry. "I don't know what you mean? Sir."

"I bet you don't," Singh says, more to himself than Barry.

"Have there been any problems with my work?" Barry tries, figuring that must be the issue. "If it's about the paperwork, I know it was late, but I did get it all done -"

About five seconds before coming into Singh's office.

But no, Singh's shaking his head.

Barry frowns. "With my results, then?" He's fiercely protective of his work, like any CSI, and he'll stand behind his work product any day. Sure, he's been distracted by the Flash business, but he hasn't let it impact his actual work.

He thinks.

"No, Allen," Singh says. "Your results are fine."

"Okay," Barry says, relieved but also deeply confused. If it's not any of those, and he's pretty sure Singh doesn't know about the Flash stuff, then what could it be? "Then why'd you call me in here? Uh, sir?"

"Someone's been doing some searches in the personnel files with your login," Singh says. "It sent up some flags. I want to know if it was you."

Personnel files? Why would Barry be looking in -

Oh.

Right.

The Captain Cold investigation.

Cisco hadn't been able to hack the CCPD (something about their systems being too antiquated) and they didn't want to bother Felicity, who'd gone back to Starling in a hurry to inform Oliver of the possibility of supervillain cops, which apparently hadn’t ever occurred to either of them, so Barry figured he could start off the investigation himself by checking the files through legitimate channels.

He'd checked the public directory, but couldn’t find anything other than Captain Cold’s real name (“Snart, Leonard Jacob,” apparently, which, seriously, poor guy – Barry wouldn’t much like being named something like ‘Snart’ in middle school, he can tell you that much), so he’d set a search running on the personal file database earlier - the CCPD computers were protected not so much by their firewalls but by their sheer ancient creaking weight, and that meant they ran slower than glaciers - and went back to work, forgetting all about it.

And now Captain Singh is asking questions.

"Uh," Barry says. "I mean. That is..."

"That's what I thought," Singh says with a sigh. "I'm going to pretend for both our sakes that those searches were a mistake, Allen, and you're going to drop it. Now."

"What? Why? It's just personnel files, those aren't confidential -"

"They are if someone's undercover," Singh says.

Barry pauses. "But Captain Cold - uh, Snart - is the head of IA."

AKA, not a member of undercover operations.

"That's right," Singh says. "But he was an undercover guy for nearly twenty years before that. Family work."

Barry's eyes go wide. "Wow." He's never met anyone who’d done serious undercover ops, much less Family work. Much less for twenty years! "And he survived?"

"Barely," Singh tells him, his mouth tight. "He didn't get caught for years, one of the best guys we had on the inside, and then it all blew up because someone here in the CCPD spilled the beans on him, leading to him getting tortured and shot a few times."

Oh, shit.

Well, that's certainly a reason to be on the warpath against CCPD cops. A pretty valid reason, too.

"I thought - Joe said - that is -"

"Let me guess," Singh says, his voice suddenly very dry. "Nasty old Captain Cold's unreasonably biased against all cops, guilty or otherwise, because he's got unresolved issues with his abusive dad that he's taking out on the rest of us? Seems like that’s Detective West's favorite line, nowadays."

Barry winces. "Yes, sir."

"Don't get me wrong, Allen," Singh says. "I know West. I know that he means well, and I know that he's a damn fine detective when he pulls his head out of his ass, but sometimes..." Singh shakes his head. "Most of the precinct listens to him, too, which isn't helping any of us."

Yeah, Barry can see the problem there.

"Anyway," Singh says, voice brisk again. "As I was saying, Captain Snart's records are still sealed because he's still the number one target for multiple Families."

"That must be why he wears a mask!" Barry exclaims.

Singh stares at him.

"Uh," Barry says. "Or so Joe tells me. There was an incident -"

"Thank you, I'm familiar with the incident in question," Singh says. He looks like he has a headache. "Yes, you're correct; Captain Snart has decided that wearing a mask will be useful in maintaining his personal security while he pursues – certain lines of investigation -"

"The new joint task force?" Barry asks. He'd heard whispers. "It's related to the Fl- I mean, the Streak, right?"

"Or whatever weird stuff's been going on in Central recently, yes," Singh says, looking even more pained. "I don't suppose you've got any insight on that?"

Barry should probably tell Captain Singh about the metahumans. But if he does, then Singh will want to know how he knows, and that would turn attention onto Wells and STAR Labs and maybe even on the Flash himself, and then Captain Cold will have everything he needs to come after all of them, putting Barry's friends and loved ones in danger...

"I didn't think so," Singh says when Barry remains quiet. "As it happens, yes, the new task force will be focusing on the Streak, among other things. It'll be co-run by Captain Snart and myself; he'll be taking lead personally, since he doesn't have much of a staff yet -"

Too paranoid to trust anyone, Barry interprets.

"- and I'll be assigning one of my detectives to be his local liaison."

Barry nods. That sounded about right. "Understood, sir. If you don't mind my asking, which detective were you thinking? Because I know Joe would be interested..."

Joe would be pissed off beyond all belief at having to work with Captain Cold, but, on the other hand, it would give Team Flash an inside man on the CCPD's investigation into the Flash. That way Joe would be able to give them updates, warn them of any trouble, even redirect the lines of inquiry away from them, maybe plant some misleading clues...

Barry feels sick all of a sudden. What he was just thinking sounds an awful lot like corruption.

Like exactly the sort of corruption the head of IA would be looking for.

Like the sort of corruption that Barry fought so hard against when it was Dibny doing it.

Fuck.

Yeah, maybe all of that stuff might be necessary to keep the CCPD from finding out about the Flash. But if deceiving the police to such an extent is necessary just for him to stay operational, what does that say about what Barry is doing?

Is Barry really doing the right thing in being the Flash, if it means that he has to break laws and corrupt the course of justice to do it?

"- wouldn't agree to take him, and I can't blame him," Singh is saying. "He's agreed to take Detective Thawne instead."

Eddie.

Barry's first thought, shameful as it is to admit, is to wonder how Iris will react to finding out her boyfriend is involved in hunting down her hero.

But - no. No, Barry. No hoping that she gets angry and breaks up with Eddie, and then somehow discovers she's always been in love with you via some unrealistic twist of events. You're better than that.

You should be better than that.

Besides, you're going out with Cool Coffee Guy (Len!) later today.

As friends, sure, but still.

"Listen to me, Allen," Singh says, rapping his knuckles against his desk to get Barry's attention. "You need to step lightly for a while, okay? It's hard for all of us, having IA staffed here, and a lot of people are very angry for a lot of different reasons, some of which are more justified than others. There's a reason that your little search threw up red flags so quickly. So whatever it is that you may have heard that sparked your interest in Captain Snart, you need to drop it."

"But -"

"Allen. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Barry says. "It wasn't anything in specific, sir; I was just curious about him. Sir."

Singh looks at Barry for a long moment. "Allen," he finally says. "What I'm going to tell you doesn't leave this room, okay? And I'm only telling you because I know you're boneheaded enough to try to find a different way to keep tracking Snart down, and I want to make it clear to you why that would be a bad idea, okay?"

Barry nods, his interest piqued. "Yes, sir. I can keep a secret, sir."

"Captain Snart's looking at you."

Barry freezes.

No.

No!

How - did he know - how could he know - Cold couldn't have figured Barry's identity out so quickly - are the others in danger? Joe? Iris? The STAR Labs team?

Barry needs to warn them. Cold could be going after them even now - there could be warrants - charges – shit, even just accessory after the fact or conspiracy could be enough to put them in prison - why hadn't Barry thought about any of that, why hadn't any of them thought about it -

"It has to do with your leave of absence," Singh says, oblivious to Barry's rising panic. "Now, I've tried to tell him that you're not involved with the Families -"

"The Families?!" Barry exclaims, abruptly derailed from his prior line of thought. "I would never work with – wait. He thinks I'm working with the Families?"

"Nine months is about as much time as it would take someone to get in through the ranks as a blood-sworn Family man, if they went at it intensively enough," Singh says. "And Captain Snart would know that better than most."

The Families.

The Families, not the Flash.

Captain Cold doesn't know yet.

Captain Cold doesn't know yet.

He's just made a lucky guess, investigating both Barry Allen and the Flash at the same time.

Lucky, or maybe Joe is right and the guy really is investigating everyone all the time.

"- and that's why you need to tread carefully for once, you hear me, Allen? You're a good kid, you do good work, important work, but you're reckless; you always have been. I don't want to lose my on-site CSI to an IA investigation, okay?"

"Okay," Barry says.

Singh pins him with a look. "I'm serious, Allen. If you go down, even on charges ultimately found to be false, all of your cases will be reopened and reexamined for any mistake, intentional or otherwise, and anything they find could be used to put criminals back out on the street where they can start hurting people again. Snart's already sent some of your cases to forensics to be looked over."

Barry's back straightens in offense. He's not corrupt. He's not working with the Families. And he'd never fake his work! "I stand behind my results, sir."

"And your results stand behind you," Singh agrees. "I don't think he's found anything there - he said something about some weird centrifuge results, but nothing that'd affect the analysis -"

...oops.

Barry has been using his speed powers to do the analysis and get the results he'd normally have to wait to use the centrifuge for, especially when the office's sole machine is busy on something else. He hadn't realized that it would be noticeable, though of course he should have. He knows very well that every machine of that type leaves its own special trace, working at a different speed, a different set of kinks, a recognizable pattern - Barry's job is literally based on uncovering little details like that.

Of course, Barry also didn't realize that anyone would ever look at his tests for anything other than the end result.

He's going to have to stop cutting corners.

...when did Barry start cutting corners, anyway? Wasn't that what he got so pissed off at Dibny about, the cheating, the laziness, the corruption?

Crap. Maybe this Captain Cold guy has a point about the CCPD needing to shape up.

(But if he's right about the CCPD, then what does that say about the Flash..?)

"- but either way, I want to know that you're taking me seriously," Singh says. "No searches on Captain Snart. No extracurricular investigations, no mysterious sick days, none of it, and certainly none of those stunts like you used to pull with pretending something is an official investigation. You get me? Those are all on your record if someone looks hard enough, and someone's looking. You want to get through this, you need to be clean and you need to be hands off. Understood?"

Barry looks Singh straight in the eyes. "Yes, sir. I understand."

And he means it, too.

Singh seems to get that, because he relaxes. "Good. Dismissed, Allen. And make sure that that paperwork's actually in people's inboxes, rather than sitting on your desk."

Barry nods and leaves, feeling more than a bit shaken.

He joined the CCPD to make things right for his dad, to find out the truth behind what happened to his mom, but it wasn’t just for them. When Barry took his oath to join the force, he meant it with all his heart – he swore that he'd do his job right not just for himself, but for everyone else in the process, too. He became a CSI rather than a cop because he loved science, really loved it, and because he wanted to make sure someone was checking the work of the cops who took the easy answer waiting for them the way they had with his dad.

When did he start taking the easy way himself?

Is this how it started, with the little things: not wanting to wait for the office centrifuge, getting lazy with his documentation, fudging a bit on his time entries to account for the fact that he can work so much faster now? With a desire to do good, but to do it faster, better, easier?

Is this how Dibny started?

Barry doesn't like that thought. Oh, he wasn't wrong about Dibny - the man planted evidence on someone, for God's sake. That's absolutely unforgivable, a violation of everything the police stand for; when it had been uncovered, the hit to the CCPD's credibility had been a bad one, but not as bad as if Dibny'd actually succeeded in sending the man to jail based on his phony evidence.

Not as bad as it would have been if it'd been covered up.

But now Barry's starting to wonder about his own actions, too. This Flash thing - he is breaking the law, he knows he is, but on the other hand, he's trying to help people in a way he knows the CCPD can't. Surely that justifies it. Right?

Isn't he helping?

Sure, when Barry's fighting metas, that's one thing. The CCPD doesn't know how to handle them - though they'd stand a better shot at if they knew about them in the first place, the voice in Barry's head whispers, why are we keeping this a secret - and in those situations, then yes, Barry's powers mean that he’s the one best positioned to act. He doesn't want good people like Joe getting hurt because they're up against things they're not trained for, things they aren’t equipped to handle, people with powers way above their punching level.

But what about the robberies? D'Angelo - sure, Barry stopped him, and there's a chance the police wouldn't have responded in time to such an audacious attack on a traveling vehicle. But did that make Barry's actions right?

Unlike Captain Cold, Barry's not a cop. He's not authorized to arrest people whenever he sees a crime in progress, not any more than any normal person making a citizen's arrest – and as a CSI, he knows better than most that the rules for those are pretty limited. Maybe he could weasel away the D'Angelo incident, but some of the other ones...

But on the other hand, if Barry can do good in his own way, then isn't he obligated to do it, even if it means he has to work outside the rules?

Yeah. Barry bets that's just what Dibny told himself when he was planting that knife.

Great. A major crisis of conscience is just what the Flash needs right now.

Barry wonders, a little resentfully, if this is part of Captain Cold's evil plan.

Or not-so-evil plan. He hasn't actually heard much about Captain Snart that's really bad, just that he's both a stickler for rules and a reckless crazy person and vicious and ruthless and -

To be fair, most of the bad stuff Barry's heard has been from cops angry that one of their own is being investigated, no matter how just the cause. Surely if they realize that the cause is just, they'll stop being so...

No, they won't.

They won't stop being angry, the way they've never entirely warmed back up to Barry after the whole Dibny thing. The only reason Barry's even halfway as accepted as he is? It’s because Joe ran some serious interference on his behalf, pleading childhood trauma as an excuse. Barry knows that to be true, even though he prefers not to think about it.

He sighs.

"Is the sightseeing good, wherever it is in your head that you've drifted off to now?"

Barry turns with a smile. "Iris! What are you doing here?"

Iris is beaming, the honest joy in her face making her glow. She's radiant and beautiful and everything Barry's ever wanted. "Oh, you know, catching up with people," she says, waving a hand. "And something I can't quite tell you about yet, so don't even ask."

"Scout's honor," Barry promises.

"You were never a scout, Barry Allen," Iris teases. "You okay? You were pretty out of it."

"Oh, it's nothing," Barry says. "I just got called in to talk to Singh - late paperwork, you know -"

"You get going on that paperwork, then!" she exclaims. "Shoo, shoo!"

"Iris!" Barry laughs.

"But no, seriously, I'm just passing by," she says. "I promised Dad I'd pick something up for him, you know the drill, but I have to run as soon as I find him."

"He's in the back," Barry says. "With Ballistics, I think."

"You're the best, Bar," Iris says, unaware of the pang that causes in Barry's chest. "Say, what're you doing tonight? Me and Eddie are planning to check out that new art installation in the park -"

"Oh, man, you know I'd love to -" There is literally nothing Barry would like less than to gatecrash one of Eddie and Iris' dates. "- but I have plans."

Iris looks skeptical.

Somewhat justifiably.

"Really!" Barry says, glad that, for once, he actually does have plans. "I'm meeting someone for dinner."

Iris' smile broadens. "A special someone?"

"...maybe," Barry allows. "But not yet; we're still just getting to know each other!"

"You'll have to tell me everything," Iris says. "Is it Felicity?"

"No - Iris, I told you already, we're just friends -"

Iris makes a not-entirely-believing noise. "Sure," she says. "Anyway, I really do have to run. You free for lunch, then? By then I should have permission to talk about some news that I really want to share - and I think you're going to like it, too!"

"Really? What -"

"No way," Iris says. "Wait until later."

"You and your surprises," Barry says fondly, then he goes upstairs and he sits down and he works.

For once, he doesn't rush through his day, daydreaming of things he could be doing as the Flash. He doesn’t stare at the clock, he doesn’t play on his phone, he doesn’t leave in the middle of the day to go train himself to be faster – he focuses on doing what he’s supposed to do.

It’s his job, his stupid frustrating wonderful important job, and he likes what he does.

When did he let that get eclipsed by the Flash?

Wells texts him after a while, asking where he is. When Barry explains that he’s at work, Wells asks why he doesn’t just speed through his work then sneak out for a few hours to train his speed some more, the way he's been doing on a nearly daily basis these last few weeks.

Barry winces, thinking about it. He’s been treating his day job like a joke, like it was something he did on the side while he focused entirely on being the Flash, and that’s not fair to the people he’s supposed to be working for – the men and women whose lives could be irrevocably altered based on what facts he’s able to prove or disprove in his lab.

People like his dad.

No, Barry can’t just go play superhero all the time. This is important, too.

He texts Wells back, explaining that he needs to catch up on some work things he's been neglecting.

Wells takes a while to understand, which Barry really can’t blame him for – Barry’s been showing up religiously for Wells’ tests and experiments and suggestions on how Barry can get ever faster – but it’s a little annoying that Barry has to reiterate three times that yes, his job is important, yes it’s just as important as getting faster as the Flash, no, he’s not coming to STAR Labs even if there's been a new meta sighting, not until there’s actual evidence of the meta doing something wrong, so please don't call unless people are actually in imminent danger.

He ends up texting something a little snippier than he really meant it to be, saying something about how getting faster isn’t exactly his top priority all the time and that Wells needs to respect that, but eventually his message gets through and Wells apologizes for pushing.

With that done, Barry goes back to focusing on doing his work well and doing his work right.

He -

He has a lot of fun, actually.

It's not just the pride he gets from obtaining results, but rather the actual fun of doing science. Taking down results, thinking about them, analyzing them, selecting what process would be best to put them through rather than just running the standard tests and calling it a day -

He even calls the main CSI building to ask some of his CSI colleagues about a weird result he's been getting from a few different crime scenes.

"Barry!" Gila exclaims in an ear-piercing shriek of excitement. Not surprising; Gila always did believe that conversations were ideally had at capslock volume. "Well, this is a surprise!"

"We were starting to think we should rename you MIA Allen instead of CSI Allen," Andre jokes. Looks like Barry’s on speakerphone.

"What's new in cop-land?" Terri asks. It’s always hard to tell over the phone, but Barry thinks they’re feeling more feminine today than masculine; he’ll try to keep that in mind. "Bored and begging to come back to Scienceland Central City yet?"

"Every time I call, I remember that you're all a bunch of jerks," Barry teases, immediately at ease. He's always gotten along surprisingly great with his fellow CSIs, even if he’s the only on-site crime scene tech stationed at this precinct while the rest of them are busy being forensic investigative scientists in the suburbs. "Must be a side-effect of being stuck out in the boonies, huh?"

"Suburbs," Gila sniffs, clearly not offended in the slightest. "Stuck out in the suburbs. At a high-end fully-equipped CSI laboratory with all the fun toys in the world, let me remind you."

"You ought to come out to visit us sometime," Terri says. "We've got a whole pile of new equipment named after you."

Barry laughs.

"No, really," Andre says. "The city paid for it in the name of improving workplace safety after you had your accident at work - like anyone could predict a lightning strike."

"Or the Accelerator explosion," Barry agrees.

"No, that could have been predicted," Terri says, voice suddenly intense. "There were signs - workplace norms being ignored, protests overridden, sudden dismissals in clear retaliation -"

"Whoa, whoa, where's this come from?" Barry asks, taken aback. Terri's one of the best forensic accounting experts he's ever met; they could have any job they wanted at any major institution, but, like Barry, only ever wanted to be a CSI.

"Terri's pet project," Gila says. "Proving that the Accelerator explosion was intentional."

A shiver goes down Barry's back. "No, you don't understand," he says. "It was an accident - things were definitely overlooked, yes, Wells said as much in his press conference last week -"

"Oh, right, that whole claptrap," Andre says scornfully. "I bet you dollars to donuts that he only did that because some whistle-blower came forward."

Technically, yes, it had been after Hartley Rathaway had made those accusations – and tried to blow up STAR Labs and part of the city with his sonic blasters – but –

"I lost friends in that explosion," Terri says, still angry. "Cars that crashed, fire patrols and ambulances that never made it to their destinations, people that just disappeared - it was bad. And I was depressed, but there wasn't anything I could do about it because it was just a tragic accident. I wanted to reassure myself that at least they did everything they could - except they didn't. Their construction timeline is unreal - fourteen missed safety tests - evidence of bribery -"

"Bribery?" Barry asks, a sharp pang in his chest. It's like everywhere he goes, there's corruption all around him. And yes, he knows that Central City has something of a reputation in that line, but he'd always tried to keep himself clean...

"Oh yeah, definitely," Terri says. "Property board approvals, safety inspectors, the works; I've got transfers out of Harrison Wells' private accounts that match up perfectly. But no one wants to do anything because -" And their voice turns sticky-sweet-sarcastic. "- hasn't he been punished enough, he broke his back, he lost his reputation, oh no, must be just awful sitting there being a multi-millionaire -"

"I know Wells," Barry protests. "He's sincerely remorseful."

"You would think so, B," Terri says. "You've always been the nicest one of us."

"No, I mean, I actually know him - I'm friends with some of the STAR Labs employees -"

"Bring them to one of our science parties, then," Gila says. "We've missed you, you know! It's like you don't have time for us since you woke up from your coma - which, don't get me wrong, you must have a million doctor's visits -"

He doesn't, not really. And sure, they're only work friends, but he still used to like hanging out with them - all of them at the misfit table, Andre sometimes joked -

"I'll introduce you," Barry promises. Cisco and Caitlin are misfits and science nerds, too; they'll fit right in. It'll be great. "You'll love them."

"I'm sure we will," Andre says. "Why'd you call, anyway? I assume it wasn't to shoot the shit on company time."

"No, no," Barry says. "I’m being good for once, really! I called about something I found in those disappearances cases, the ones that got sent up to me because someone started thinking might be connected, you know? Anyway, there's a residue in the dirt surrounding each of the scenes that I can't seem to place -"

"Oooh, you mean Chemical X?" Gila interrupts.

"Wait," Barry says. "Is that a Powerpuff Girls reference?"

"Gila found it first, so she had naming rights," Andre says, long-suffering. "Anyway, we know what you mean - it's been spotted all over the city, near these disappearances, possibly elsewhere, and it doesn't match up to anything we're familiar with."

"Tar made from jet engine exhaust is a weirdly close match," Gila says. "But it has similarities to charcoal and to skid marks, too! It's so weird. It's not like there's a jet plane running through the streets of Central City."

Barry looks at his feet with a sudden suspicion. "What about the Streak?"

"Urban legend," Andre says immediately.

"It is not, you old skeptic!" Gila shouts back.

"You had to get them started on that again," Terri groans. "Ugh, Barry, why? I'm the one who has to sit with them."

"Sorry," Barry says, managing not to grin only because he's pretty sure Terri would know, somehow. He's not sorry at all.

"Anyway," Terri continues, "putting aside the 'is it/isn't it' debate, what we do know for sure is that the residue started appearing around crime sites seven, maybe eight, months ago, well before the Streak made its first appearance."

Huh. Seven months ago, Barry was still in a coma. So it's not him.

Maybe another meta?

"Anyway, we're glad you called," Gila says after she's exhausted her well-worn (barely) muffled argument with Andre. "Weirdo residue is right up your alley, Allen. How's that supernatural blog going, anyway?"

Barry can't help but smile a little. He's almost entirely forgotten about that blog. He hasn't had much time for anything but Flash stuff lately, not really...

There's a loud knock on his door. "Oops," Barry says. "Reality calls."

"Boooo," the other three chorus.

Barry laughs. "I will take a closer look at that residue, though, run some extra tests," he promises.

"Come down to the lab sometime! You can try out the new machines!"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Oh, and Allen?" Terri says. "One more thing. Could you check through the archives over there? I wanna know how far back this residue really goes - seven months ago just means that that's as far back as we've been looking, nothing more."

"Sure," Barry agrees, though he doubts he'll find anything pre-dating the Accelerator explosion if it is in fact a meta. "Later, guys."

He hangs up and turns to face - Eddie?

"Oh, crap," Barry says. "Lunch with Iris! I'm so sorry, I totally forgot -"

His lateness thing has never been about his speed, after all.

"No, no," Eddie says, holding up his hands with a smile. "That's not - well, actually, that is why I'm here, sort of. Lunch is cancelled on account of - and I swear I'm quoting Iris here - West family drama."

Barry can't help a grin. "Oh boy, that bad? Did Joe try something else to try to tank your relationship?"

"Nope, it's a new one," Eddie says, grinning back and pulling a chair over. "Mind if I take refuge here for a bit? They're still fighting downstairs right next to my desk, so I took my break early..."

"Sure," Barry says. As he's discovered over the past few weeks, he actually does like Eddie, despite every Iris-related reason not to. "Something new, huh? What is it?"

"Her new project. I warned her Joe wouldn't take it as well as she thought he would," Eddie says, shaking his head.

“Sounds juicy,” Barry says fondly. “Is this what she was going to reveal over lunch?”

“Yep, exactly that. I’m sure she won’t mind if I spill the beans, though, if you don’t mind hearing it from me instead of her..?”

“If it means staying out of a West family fight?” Barry asks with a laugh. “Spill away.”

Eddie grins. "Okay, you know how he's been leaning on her about that Streak - uh, Flash blog of hers? Saying it's dangerous and she should stop writing it because it might make her a target because this Flash guy could be anyone?"

That last one wasn't exactly Joe's reason, for obvious reasons, but Barry wasn't about to say so. He knows all of Joe's arguments along those lines; he'd used many of the same ones himself to try to convince Iris to stay out of the superhero reporting business.

Hadn’t worked, of course. Another massive Iris-related failure he really shouldn’t have been surprised by...

"I thought you said it was a new argument they were having?" he says dryly.

"It is, I swear," Eddie says. "Anyway, Iris thought he'd be happy because she finally agreed that she shouldn't be working on reporting Flash related things without adequate protection."

That does sound like something that would make Joe happy.

It also doesn't exactly sound like Iris.

Barry says as much. Eddie laughs. "Yeah, well, I think Joe was going for more 'stop writing anything about it' and less 'keep writing about it, just with police support'."

A chill goes down Barry's spine. "Police support? What do you mean?"

"Captain Singh's got me on the new Flash task force that Captain Snart is running," Eddie says. "Did you hear...?”

Barry nods.

“Anyway, we were talking a bit about it, Captain Snart and I, and he ended up going to talk to Iris himself, since she's one of the few people other than him that's actually spoken with this Flash guy. And, long story short, he’s agreed that she can help us out as part of the task force – she's actually going to be working with us in a consulting role. A full-time, getting-paid consulting role...it’s her first big break into real journalism!"

Eddie beams when he concludes the sentence, clearly proud of Iris for having been offered an official role like that, but Barry's too busy gaping at him to share in the joy that he would normally have upon hearing about Iris’ career finally getting moving.

He'd been worried about Captain Cold getting to Iris, maybe even had a few daydreams about rescuing her from some extremely low-key and non-threatening but maybe mildly traumatizing kidnapping, but he'd never imagined he'd get to her like this.

"Hold up," Barry says, swallowing through a suddenly dry throat. "You're telling me that Iris agreed to join an anti-Flash task force? I thought - I thought she liked him!"

"She does," Eddie agrees, clearly slightly confused by Barry's admittedly odd reaction. "Captain Snart cut a deal with her - well, honestly I think he was planning on doing it anyway and just used his talk with her to formalize it. The task force is designed to analyze the Flash's actions and recommend a solution. If Iris is right and he's not doing damage, he'll get leniency based on the idea that he's just being overzealous citizen rather than an actual criminal. But if Captain Snart is right and he's involved in criminal activity, then he gets arrested and faces the full force of the law."

"And Iris agreed?"

"She didn't see any reason not to," Eddie points out. "She really believes in this Flash guy."

"So she's helping the police hunt him down?!"

"It's his only chance of clearing his name, Barry," Eddie says with a slight frown. "He might even be able to work out some deal with the city this way, get some official backing or something like that. Otherwise, if he keeps doing what he's doing after being warned off by the police, then he doesn't have even the excuse of ignorance anymore. He's breaking the law, Barry. I know it doesn't always seem that way - he's right out of the comic books, isn't he? - but it's like that vigilante in Starling, the one who murders people -"

"The Arrow doesn't murder people anymore," Barry protests weakly, still reeling.

"And, what, that somehow excuses the murders he already committed while he was still going as the Hood?" Eddie says skeptically.

“We don’t even know if this Arrow guy is the same guy as the Hood,” Barry points out, feeling a bit guilty, because he happens to know that they are the same person.

Also, that's a good point about those past murders...

“There can’t be that many super-athletic archers willing to become vigilantes,” Eddie objects. He has a point, though Barry’s pretty sure Oliver’s mentioned there being at least three or four. Though now that Barry thinks about it, that does seem like an unusually high number of people to interested in a very specific combination of parkour, martial arts and archery... "Either way, just because some people think they're above the law to the point that they can take it into their own hands doesn't mean they should be doing it."

"But - but what if the things these people are fighting are something the police can't fight?"

"That's why this task force is analytical in nature," Eddie explains. "If we figure out that this Flash guy really is doing stuff that we can't - which I personally don't think is the case, but Iris disagrees with me - then Captain Snart is willing to cut him a break and say he's been working under a citizens' arrest sort of deal. Maybe even hire him to work with the CCPD. But first we have to find him."

It's a good plan. A solid plan.

If it wasn't being suggested by a supervillain, Barry might even be tempted to agree with it.

It's not that he has anything against working with the CCPD, after all - it's not even a bad idea, he's not sure why Team Flash didn't think of it - but the fact that Captain Cold is involved...

Not good.

"Anyway, you know how Joe feels about Captain Snart," Eddie says ruefully. "He nearly bit my head off about joining the task force - right before he turned around and asked me to keep him updated about it. But either way, Iris thought Joe would be happy to hear that she'd have police protection in all future dealings with the Flash, but instead he blew his lid when he found out about it, probably because the police protection is Captain Snart."

Yeah, Barry's not feeling too happy about that either.

It'd never even occurred to him that he was taking Iris' unflinching support of the Flash - even in the face of his own half-hearted arguments against the Flash that he'd made in the hopes that she'd drop the blog thing like Joe wanted - for granted.

He just - it's Iris. She's always been on his side, even when she didn't know it was him.

And now she's been tricked into being on the supervillain's side, instead.

Barry doesn't even know what Captain Cold wants!

And worst of all, what if Barry's sinking suspicions are right and Captain Cold's not a supervillain? What if he's exactly what he claims to be: a cop worried about a vigilante gone wild? A vigilante with unimaginable powers?

Wasn't that why Cisco built the cold gun, after all? He'd been worried about Barry turning out to be just like all those other metas, the ones that abused their powers and went evil; it was only after he got to know Barry that he realized that Barry wouldn't do that.

The CCPD don't know the Flash is Barry. They barely even have confirmed proof of his existence. No wonder they're suspicious!

And, more to the point, why hasn't Barry thought of any of this? He's a CSI! He works with the police! He knows most of the laws by heart! But he's just been going along with it, not thinking about it, feeling like it was just out of a comic book, just like Eddie said, instead of thinking about the real world applications of what he was doing -

His phone goes off.

"Sorry," he says to Eddie, who waves a permissive hand, and answers. "Barry Allen."

"Barry, we need you to come down to STAR Labs right now," Wells says urgently. "Something's come up on Cisco's screens. He's not in right now - I sent him out for something, but I'll go myself to find him and bring him back - we need your help!"

"I'll be there ASAP," Barry says, alarmed by the unprecedented concern in Wells' voice. He hangs up and looks at Eddie.

"Guess lunch would've been canceled anyway," Eddie says with a laugh. "I'll tell the boys you took a half-day off, yeah?"

"You're the best," Barry tells him, simultaneously wishing it wasn't the case so that he could be properly jealous and also happy for Iris' sake that it is true. "Thanks, man."

"No problem."

The second Eddie is out the door, Barry is in the Flash suit and running towards STAR Labs.

He's got a crisis of conscience, yes, but his friends might be in danger; his crisis of conscience can wait.

Right now, they need him to be the Flash.

He runs.

And as he runs, someone else suddenly runs, too, runs at his speed, runs faster than his speed, runs right next to him, turns his face to look at Barry, his face, a face that Barry knows from his nightmares -

The Man in Yellow.

The man who killed Barry's mother.

He's back.

[cckuro-blog]

Greenwashing and Environment Protection

Summary

In chapter 1 (pp. 1-25) in the book An Introduction to Sustainability: Environmental, Social and Personal Perspectives, Mulligan (2014) explained the concept of global sustainability and efforts made by countries, and the problems confronted to nations while they try to fight with climate change. He also stated the sustainability principles that can be considered in policies for global warming. Especially, Mulligan introduced a concept of “greenwashing”. He wrote:

The term “corporate social responsibility” (CSR) is widely used to identify efforts made by corporations to seriously address the social and environmental consequences of their business activities. Many informed commentators - notably Sharon Beder (2000) – have suggested that major corporations have adopted the rhetoric of sustainability only to undermine the political influence of the environmental movement. Others may cynically use the rhetoric of environmental responsibility to increase their “market share” among ethical consumers (p. 21).

In this paper, I will first explain my perspective of the role of greenwashing in people`s daily life, and how it affects their behavior. Secondly, based on how greenwashing misleads the mass in the daily life, I will demonstrate how straw banning leads people to a wrong way of environment protection, and point out that environmental protection measures focusing on a specific item miss the point.

What is Greenwashing?

What role does greenwashing play in the public’s day to day life? Greenwashing is a tricky tactic that misleads consumers “regarding the environmental practices of a company or the environmental benefits of a product or service” (Bradford, 2007). I agree with Mulligan (2014) when he said that “major corporations have adopted the rhetoric of sustainability only to undermine the political influence of the environmental movement”. Out of the willingness to protect the environment, the mass trend to consume environmental-friendly products, such as “Sunlight Green Clean Laundry Soap” and “Biodegradable J Cloth”. Both products propagandize their ingredients as organic and natural. Nevertheless, CBC found that it is simply a manipulative claim that induces shoppers to purchase those seemingly eco-friendly commodities. Based on CBC`s investigation, a host of corporations declare ingredients in their products are derived from natural products and won`t pose threats to the earth, but in fact, the ingredients consist of dangerous environmentally unsafe chemicals.

Image source

Based on the perspective of Mulligan (2014), I think that marketers usually grasp the concern that customers are pleased to protect the environment, so they package their products in an environmentally progressive fashion. Consequentially, customers are appealed by the gimcrack description on product wrapper and think they can contribute to saving the environment by using those products labeled “eco”, “green” or “natural”. For instance, energy rating labels can be seen on home appliances, and most of them declare that the product can save electricity. However, no research data on how much electricity those products reduce is offered by the manufacturers.

Briefly, I maintain that “greenwashing” is a gimmick in marketing that bamboozles the public, so as to increase sales. Starting from good intentions, a great number of folks are willing to spend more on the fraud eco-friendly products. It has now become the vogue to consume goods featured with “environmentally-friendly” written on them. (Northen, 2011, pp. 105-108).

Greenwashing and the Ban on Plastic Straws

However, as Leo Tolstoy said: “Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.” (Leo Tolstoy, 1882). Greenwashing is literally a rhetoric marketing strategy giving customers a false sense of eco-security, which stimulates plenty of people to buy those fake eco-friendly products. In a similar pattern, the ban on plastic straws that has been taking place this summer appears to be a “greenwashing movement” in policy. “Plastic waste is one of the greatest environmental challenges facing the world, which is why protecting the marine environment is central to our agenda.” Britain’s Prime Minister Theresa May (2018) said. Since straws are ubiquitous in daily life and everybody uses it, inhibiting straws has become the starting point for politicians looking to tackle ocean plastic waste. Yet, I have to point out that May`s position has recently changed on the matter.

Image Source

Straws – Are They to Blame?

It is undeniable that plastic pollution has been posing a severe threat to the marine environment. However, according to the data from National Geographic (2018), 8 million tons of plastic waste annually go to the ocean, and plastic straws comprise only 0.025% of that. In terms of environmental pollution and the decrease of oceanic biodiversity, the damage caused by straw is just the tip of the iceberg. When it comes to factors contributing to ocean pollution, I argue that there are far more egregious cases to blame.

        In fact, while looking for the cause of the straw movement, it is possible to observe that a few companies are at the forefront of it: SeaWorld, a well-known marine theme park, and Royal Caribbean, a tycoon cruise retailer, have joined the anti-straw movement by announcing that they will stop selling plastic straws (The Washington Post, 2018). However, SeaWorld is infamous for mistreating marine animals, and Royal Caribbean contributes to ocean pollution. It is absolutely hypocritical that those companies attempt to downplay their unethical practices with a policy that seeks to ban a product that only makes up a measly 0.025% of marine pollution.

In accordance with the data offered by National Ocean Service (2018), one of the biggest pollution sources to the marine ecosystem is “nonpoint source pollution” from the land. It is worth noting that the concept of nonpoint source pollution is broad, including oil from vehicles, air pollution, as well as dirt, in that they can convert to toxic runoff and flow to the ocean by soil and water. Now that almost every substance that human beings consume can be regarded as a pollutant when it goes to the ocean, I harbor the view that straws shouldn’t be the main target of the public’s criticism.

Image Source

In addition, the elimination of straws has posed negative impacts. The most controversial one is that anti-straw movement hurts the physically disabled. Even though metal straws and paper straws have emerged as the plastic straw`s substitute, drawbacks are still reported. To begin with, removing plastic straws hinders people with mobility limitations to drink. Moreover, paper straws are too fragile to be durable, and metal straws can be so hot as to burn mouths. Additionally, it also might be hard for the disabled to clean metal straws.

I believe it is true to bear in mind that anti-straw movement can decrease the number of straws in the society in a short period, but such a movement, which can cause a host of unintentional harms, will not yield impressive achievement on marine pollution or animal extinction. The cons vastly outweigh the pros.

Video Source

Conclusion

Combining Mulligan`s explanation (2014) for greenwashing and Northen`s research (2011), I suggest now that “greenwashing” is no longer a simple sale strategy. When people`s environmental consciousness is grasped, greenwashing can be compared to brainwashing. Corporations exploit the public`s compassion for the earth to sell products, and politicians exploit the voter’s consensus on environmental protection to facilitate their career. However, regulations focusing on just straws miss the point. Among all the suggestions, I advocate that the top priority is that the populace certainly should be aware of protecting the environment; in spite of this, they also should be knowledgeable to distinguish between true moral practices and the capitalization of eco-friendly culture into a commodity to avoid further pollution.

Reference

Abedi, M. (2018). Banning plastic straws – a look at how much it really helps, and who it could hurt. Retrieved from https://globalnews.ca/news/4320295/banning-plastic-straws-benefits-drawbacks/

Bradford, R. (2007). Greenwash confronted: Misleading advertisement regulation in the European Union and its member states. Retrieved from www.foeeurope.org/corporates/pdf/ greenwash_confronted.pdf.

Fears, D. (2018, June 11). SeaWorld, Ikea and Royal Caribbean are getting rid of plastic straws and bags. The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/energy-environment/wp/2018/06/11/seaworld-ikea-and-royal-caribbean-are-getting-rid-of-plastic-straws-and-bags/?fbclid=IwAR0K4uMosum3mlsyCquWMbsYFp4Iii0gcEzvPMWh76NZog_wLhKuZs7kL5Y&utm_term=.32a4a40f99df

Gibens, S. (2018, July 6). A Brief History of How Plastic Straws Took Over the World. National Geographic. Retrieved from https://www.nationalgeographic.com/environment/2018/07/news-plastic-drinking-straw-history-ban/?fbclid=IwAR1xK2pZSmqkGQCz_OQEf5HhC7zoWi9YmN2BEBekAEDWHxnpHFpPdBiCpME

Mulligan, M. (2014). Introduction. An Introduction to Sustainability: Environmental, Social and Personal Perspectives (pp. 1-25). New York, NY: Routledge.

Northen, G. (2011). Greenwashing the Organic Label: Abusive Green Marketing in an Increasingly Eco-Friendly Marketplace. Journal of Food Law & Policy, 7(1), 101–134. Retrieved from https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=112542666&site=ehost-live

Smout, A. (2018, April 18). Britain to ban sale of plastic straws in bid to fight waste. Reuters. Retrieved from https://www.reuters.com/article/us-britain-chogm-plastic/britain-to-ban-sale-of-plastic-straws-in-bid-to-fight-waste-idUSKBN1HP338

Ten worst household products for greenwashing | CBC News. (2012). Retrieved from https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/10-worst-household-products-for-greenwashing-1.1200620

What is the biggest source of pollution in the ocean? (2018, June 15). National Ocean Service. Retrieved from https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/pollution.html?fbclid=IwAR0Et0xN3RR6dvwizeLUQdjE8qiHNETBc71syxRg2Jtim1ACpCOSpb5OLJ4

[tinyshe]

“Around the world,  reports are pouring in of people dying shortly after receiving the COVID-19  vaccine. In many cases, they die suddenly within hours of getting the shot. In   others, death occurs within the span of a couple of weeks.

“One notable case  is baseball legend Hank Aaron, 86, who died January 22, 2021, 17 days after  publicly getting vaccinated for COVID-19.1,2 He said at the time that he hoped other Blacks would follow his lead and  get their vaccines too.

“According to news  reports, he died “peacefully in his sleep” and no cause of death had been  announced. Aaron was famous for being the home-run king of baseball, and broke  Babe Ruth’s record when he hit homerun No. 715; he had hit 755 by the time he  retired from the sport.

29 Dead in Norway

“In related news,  Norway has recorded 29 senior citizen deaths in the wake of their vaccination  push.3 Most were over the age of 75. A total of 42,000 Norwegians had by that time  received the vaccine.

“While health  officials initially downplayed any connection to the vaccine, a report in  Bloomberg suggests the Norwegian Medicines Agency are now reconsidering. At the  time of the deaths, the Pfizer  vaccine was the only COVID-19 vaccine available in Norway, so “all deaths  are thus linked to this vaccine,” the agency told Bloomberg.4

“’There are 13 deaths that have been assessed,  and we are aware of another 16 deaths that are currently being assessed,’ the  agency said. All the reported deaths related to ‘elderly people with serious   basic disorders,’ it said.

‘Most people have experienced the expected side  effects of the vaccine, such as nausea and vomiting, fever, local reactions at  the injection site, and worsening of their underlying condition’ …

“The findings have prompted  Norway to suggest that COVID-19 vaccines may be too risky for the very old and  terminally ill, the most cautious statement yet from a European health  authority.

The Norwegian Institute of  Public Health judges that ‘for those with the most severe frailty, even  relatively mild vaccine side effects can have serious consequences. For those  who have a very short remaining life span anyway, the benefit of the vaccine  may be marginal or irrelevant.’”

Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious  Diseases, commented that the deaths have to be “put into context with the  population they occurred in.”5

In other words,  they were old and old people die. It’s hypocrisy at its finest. When seniors  die before vaccination, it’s due to COVID-19 and something must be done to  prevent it, but when they die after vaccination, they die of natural causes and  no preventive action is necessary.

The World Health  Organization added that since there was “no certain connection” of the vaccines  to Norway’s deaths, there is no reason to discontinue giving it to senior  citizens.

Questionable Coincidences

Interestingly,  several areas have reported that deaths are rapidly increasing AFTER  vaccination programs are implemented. The news stories don’t actually say it  straight out, but if you look at dates given, it raises questions. One such  example is what’s happening in Gibraltar at the southern tip of Spain, which  has a population of 34,000.

The area rolled  out its vaccination program on January 9, 2021, using the Pfizer mRNA vaccine.  By January 17, 2021, 5,847  doses had been administered (about 17% of the population), according to a  report by MedicalXpress.6

The curious thing about it is that the area’s  first recorded death from COVID-19 didn’t occur until mid-November 2020. By  January 6, three days before the vaccination program began, the total  COVID-19-related death toll reportedly stood at 10.

Then, by January 17, the total death toll had suddenly skyrocketed   to 45. In other words, 35 people died in the first eight days of the   vaccination program. Most were in their 80s and 90s.

Chief  Minister Fabian Picardo said, "This is now the worst loss of life of  Gibraltarians in over 100 years. Even in war, we have never lost so many in  such a short time."7 None of the deaths are being blamed on the vaccine, however. Instead, they’re loosely  blaming them on the new variant of SARS-CoV-2.

Vaccine Rollout Coincides With Outbreak

Other  areas are also reporting “outbreaks” of COVID-19, resulting in increased death  tolls, after the rollout of vaccinations. Case in point: In Auburn, New York, a COVID-19 outbreak began  December 21, 2020, in a Cayuga County nursing home.8,9 Before this outbreak, no one in the nursing home had died from COVID-19.

The next day,  December 22, they started vaccinating residents and staff. The first death was  reported December 29, 2020. Between December 22, 2020, and January 9, 2021, 193  residents (80%) received the vaccine, as did 113 staff members.

As of January 9,  2021, 137 residents had been infected and 24 had died. Forty-seven staff  members had also tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 and one was on life-support.

Considering we’re  also seeing cases in which healthy young and middle-aged individuals die within  days of receiving the vaccine, it’s not inconceivable that the vaccine might  have something to do with these dramatic rises in deaths among the elderly in  various parts of the world. In fact, I’d expect it.

You can rest  assured, however, that the public health authorities and media will not report these  observations. Anything that conflicts with vaccine safety and effectiveness  will be intentionally and universally buried. This is precisely their modus  operandi of the past three decades, so it’s really up to each individual to do  their own research.

Massive Amounts of Serious Side Effects Emerging

While  the global  vaccine campaign is less than a month old in most places, reports of serious  side effects have already started pouring in. Many are sharing their  personal experiences on social media networks. Disturbingly, many are having   their stories censored as misleading or false. Videos, in particular, tend to  be taken down.

Aside  from sudden death within hours or days,10,11,12,13,14 examples of side effects among survivors of the Pfizer and Moderna mRNA  vaccines include:

Persistent malaise15,16 and extreme exhaustion17

Severe allergic, including anaphylactic reactions18,19,20    

Multisystem inflammatory  syndrome21

Chronic seizures and convulsions22,23

Paralysis,24 including Bell’s Palsy25

To get a feel for what’s really happening, check out prezi.com, where someone has started  collecting stories from various social media posts. It’s a rather shocking  compilation that is well worth sharing with family and friends who are still on  the fence about getting the vaccine.

Many say they  “feel weird” and that they “don’t feel like myself.” Dizziness, racing heart  and extreme high blood pressure seem to be a common complaint, as is severe,  chronic seemingly “unbreakable” headache that does not respond to medication.  Many describe the pain they feel in their body as “being run over by a bus” or  “being beaten with a bat.”

Some report  swollen and painful lymph nodes, severe muscle pain and gastrointestinal  issues. Symptoms mimicking stroke are being reported, even though CT scans show  nothing of concern. One such report is from a 19-year-old girl. Several report  lethal heart attacks claiming the lives of someone they love.

Psychological  effects are also starting to creep in. One woman who is on chemotherapy reports  “mood changes with intermittent periods of elation and mild euphoria.” Bouts of  anxiety, depression, brain fog, confusion and dissociation are also being  reported, as is an inability to sleep.

One person  reports having lost “the voice in my head,” which I suspect is the ability to  hear yourself think. Another reports losing the ability to formulate words  about half an hour after getting the first dose of vaccine, and a third reports  “struggling for lost words.” Loss of taste and/or smell are also being  reported, as well as taste alterations. Several say they have developed a  metallic taste since their vaccination.

One pregnant  woman reported spontaneous rupture of the amniotic sac resulting in premature  delivery. Another woman’s baby was found to have no heartbeat two days after  her vaccination and was delivered stillborn. Several describe effects  suggesting vascular problems, such as skin blotchiness and fingers turning  blue.

We see mass cell activation syndromes. The clinical symptoms are  going to be the inflammatory diseases. We hear everybody calling it ‘long haul  COVID’ — the extreme, profound, crippling fatigue, the inability to produce  energy from your mitochondria. It's not long haul COVID. It's exactly what it  always was — myalgic encephalomyelitis, inflammation of the brain and the   spinal cord. ~ Judy Mikovits Ph.D.

While people are  hoping and praying their side effects will be temporary, a significant portion  say they’re still struggling with the effects one or two weeks after their  shot. Time will tell whether they turn out to be permanent, but considering the  fact that the mRNA vaccines reprogram your DNA, there’s certainly the  possibility that they might be long-lasting.

Side Effects Were Predictable

I recently interviewed cellular and molecular biologist Judy Mikovits, Ph.D., about the mechanics of COVID-19 mRNA  vaccines, which are in actuality gene therapy. They’re not conventional  vaccines. Compare the summary of reported side effects in the section above to  the longer-term side effects she suspects will become commonplace, based on the  mechanics and biological effects of these gene therapy “vaccines”:

Migraines

Involuntary muscle movements,    tics and spasms

Parkinson’s disease

Microvascular disorders

Cancers

Severe pain syndromes

Bladder problems

Kidney disease

Psychological disorders such    as psychosis and autism spectrum

Neurodegenerative diseases

Sleep disorders

Infertility and other    reproductive problems

The underlying causes, according to Mikovits, are  neuroinflammation and dysregulation of the immune system and endocannabinoid  system.

“It's the brain on fire,” she  says. “You're going to see ticks, you're  going to see Parkinsonian disease, you're going to see ALS, you're going to see  things like this developing at extremely rapid rates, and it's inflammation of  the brain.

We see mass cell activation syndromes. The clinical symptoms are going to be the inflammatory diseases. We hear everybody calling it ‘long haul  COVID’ — the extreme, profound, crippling fatigue, the inability to produce  energy from your mitochondria.

It's not long haul COVID. It's exactly what it always was —   myalgic encephalomyelitis, inflammation of the brain and the spinal cord. What  they're intentionally doing is killing off [certain] populations.”

Discrepancies in Moderna’s FDA Report

According to a  recent report by The Defender,26 there are significant discrepancies in the data Moderna submitted to the U.S.  Food and Drug Administration:

“Moderna’s reported death rate for its COVID vaccine, based on   clinical trials, is 5.41 times greater than Pfizer’s. Yet neither are   representative of national death rates — that’s a red flag …

The Moderna vaccine arm  death rate of 0.36 deaths/100K/day) is 5.14 times higher than Pfizer’s (0.07  deaths/100K/day). This large discrepancy deserves notice and requires explanation.

If Moderna’s on-vaccine  death rate is so far below the national death rate and also simultaneously more  than five times greater than Pfizer’s on-vaccine death rate, then Pfizer’s  study sample appears even less representative of the entire population. This, too,  requires due consideration …

When comparing [Moderna’s] study-wide number of  deaths per day per 100K for the study to that of the entire U.S. population  from 2019, I was shocked: the national number of deaths per day per 100K is  2.44.

Moderna’s screening process and exclusion  criteria in the trial led to evidence that the general population is dying at a  rate 6.3 times greater than the death rate in the Moderna trial — which means   the Moderna study, including its estimated efficacy rate and the vaccine’s  alleged safety profile — cannot possibly be relevant to most of the U.S.  population.

The super-healthy cohorts studied by Moderna are  in no way representative of the U.S. population. Most deaths from COVID-19   involve pre-existing health conditions of the types excluded from both Pfizer  and Moderna trials …

Those enrolling in the post-market surveillance  studies deserve to know the abject absence of any relevant information on  efficacy and risk for them. In their zeal to help humanity, or to help  themselves, these people may very well be walking into a situation that will  cause autoimmunity due to pathogenic priming,  potentially leading to disease enhancement should they become infected  following vaccination.”

Why Is Moderna’s Gene Therapy Deadlier Than Pfizer’s?

What might  account for Moderna’s gene therapy “vaccine” causing more than five times more  deaths than Pfizer’s? One possibility raised in The Defender’s article is that  they failed to “screen out unsafe epitopes to  reduce autoimmunity due to homology between parts of the viral protein and the  human proteome.”

According to a  2020 paper27 in the Journal of Translational Autoimmunity, “Pathogenic priming likely  contributes to serious and critical illness and mortality in COVID-19 via  autoimmunity,” noting that the same may apply post-vaccination.

As  explained in this paper, all but one of SARS-CoV-2 immunogenic epitopes are  similar to human proteins. Epitopes28 are sites on the virus that allow antibodies or cell receptors in your immune  system to recognize it.

This  is why epitopes are also referred to as “antigenic determinants,” as they are  the parts that are recognized by an antibody, B-cell receptor or T-cell  receptor. Most antigens — substances that bind specifically to an antibody or a  T-cell receptor — have several different epitopes, which allow it to be  recognized by several different antibodies.

According to the author, some epitopes can cause “autoimmunological pathogenic  priming due to prior infection or following exposure to SARS-CoV-2 … following  vaccination.”

In  other words, if you’ve had the infection once, and get reinfected (either by  SARS-CoV-2 or a sufficiently similar coronavirus), the second bout has a great  potential to be more severe than the first. Similarly, if you get vaccinated  and are then infected with SARS-CoV-2, your infection may be more severe than  had you not been vaccinated.

For  this reason, “these epitopes should be excluded from vaccines under development  to minimize autoimmunity due to risk of pathogenic priming,” the paper warns.  The abstract lays out the basics of the pathogenic priming process.29 As noted in The Defender:30

"Thus, concern over vaccine-induced pathogenic priming is not   zero, but it may be less than COVID-19  vaccines that  use more than one SARS-CoV-2 protein. However, the hyper-focused IgG response  to the fewer antigens could cause hyperimmunization, a condition considered   ripe for off-target autoimmunity attacks."

Are Lethal Effects Being Hidden?

The Defender  points out that vaccine trials never use inert placebos. Instead, many use  another vaccine. By doing so, they effectively hide side effects. In the case  of Moderna, a total of 13 people died in the trial, seven in the vaccine group  and eight in the placebo group. One severe adverse event in the placebo group,  however, was relabeled as a death, and one death in the vaccine group was   relabeled as a severe adverse event.

In the vaccine  group, deaths were listed as cardio-respiratory   arrest, heart attack, multisystem organ failure, head injury and suicide. None of the deaths were  linked to the vaccine.

However, as noted in The Defender, heart attacks  can involve autoimmunity and have been seen in post-vaccinations before.   Multisystem organ failure is also “consistent with autoimmunity against ubiquitously expressed proteins as a result of vaccination.”

“The suicide cannot be ruled  out as not due the vaccine, either,” The Defender writes, noting it could be  related to “autoimmunity against oxytocin or serotonin receptors,” which might  result in “devastating depression.”

Indeed, prezi.com includes a number of reports of people saying  they’ve experienced anxiety and depression following their vaccination.  Depression is also a possible outcome of neuroinflammation, as noted by  Mikovits.

Do a Risk-Benefit Analysis Before Making Up Your Mind

While both Pfizer and Moderna report low rates of side effects — Moderna’s  being just 0.5% — the rates of side effects in the real world appear to be  extraordinarily high. Data are still hard to come by, but if we go by initial  data reported by the U.S.  Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,31 we end up with a side effect rate in the real world of 2.79%.

By December 18, 2020, 112,807  Americans had received their first dose of COVID-19 vaccine. Of those, 3,150  suffered one or more “health impact events,” defined as being “unable to  perform normal daily activities, unable to work, required care from doctor or  health care professional.” If you divide the number of reported side effects  with the number that received the vaccine, you get a side effect rate of 2.79%.

If you then extrapolate that to  the total U.S. population of 328.2 million, we may be looking at 9,156,780  Americans suffering vaccine injuries if everyone gets vaccinated.

[to see full article with tables/graphs and other information not picked up in a cut and paste please go here]