#au where everything is the same except he gets in boxes and nobody acknowledges it

[spore-cast]

Bam Bam what if Sun didn’t look around effectively and threw himself in a small box instead of the tunnel, what then, what if he just starts getting in boxes afterwards

[gukyi]

good luck charm | kth

summary: kim taehyung has nearly everything he’s ever dreamed of: an apartment in new york city, a lead role in an off-broadway play, and a best friend to share it with. but even still, there’s one thing missing—love. and when he goes on the hunt for it, he dots every i and crosses every t, leaves no stone unturned, but forgets to look at the person who could ever love him the most: you.

{friends to lovers!au, roommates!au, actor!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, unrequited love word count: 11k a/n: a huge thank you to MK for commissioning me for this piece–i hope it’s everything you dreamed of!!!! these are tough times, but i hope this can serve as a distraction to everyone!! please stay safe and wash your hands! if you’re interested in commissioning me, check out this post! also, if the pictures are unclear, click on them for higher resolution!

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer.”

You see a tuft of purple hair sticking out behind a basket of orange pansies, two nimble hands with long fingers fiddling with the stems. 

“I bet you say that to everyone,” you tease, as Namjoon peers out from where he’s hiding behind a shelf of flowers, greeting you with the same warm grin he always wears. 

Namjoon pauses, gaze tilting upwards as he corrects himself, “my favorite customer who’s about to confess to her best friend of four years with a bouquet arranged by yours truly?”

You roll your eyes, thankful that there’s nobody else inside this little flower shop. Not that you seem to have an issue exposing your entire life story to certain strangers, especially if they’ve got dimples and colored hair to match. Namjoon has always been something of an exception—perhaps he is one of the closest friends you have here in the city, where everything moves so quickly you barely have time to say hello to a new acquaintance. Namjoon and his flower shop are a respite, a safe haven in a bustling world, where time always seems to move slower than it does outside. 

“Don’t remind me, I’m sweating just thinking about it,” you tell him, trying to cover your nervousness with a laugh. 

“Ah, well how could I forget, when you came to me to arrange the perfect bouquet for tonight?” Namjoon says. He chops a wilting flower from its stem and places it behind his ear. Even though it’s a little sadder, a little less lively than its comrades, the bright yellow of the primrose complements his hair nicely, making him look even more ethereal, magical, than he already does. 

“Who else would I ask besides the best bouquet-maker in town?” You ask as Namjoon leads you to the counter, where various bouquets have been laid out in vases, ready for pick-up. It’s a secret garden here, all green and fresh and calm, a sharp contrast to the industrial machine outside. 

Namjoon heads to the back, a room behind a little wooden door that’s the slightest bit too short for him, so he has to bend down to avoid hitting his head (he still hits his head rather frequently, though), as you breathe in the scents of the flowers surrounding you, the roses and the daisies and everything in between. It’s not much, but it does calm the thick beating of your heart ever so slightly, and that’s enough. 

He emerges a minute or so later, banging his head on the way out. In his hands is one of the biggest bouquets you’ve ever laid eyes on, thick with some flowers you recognize but more you don’t. It’s breathtaking and gorgeous and impressive, all at once. 

“Namjoon, you know that I didn’t ask for this many flowers,” you chide as he plops the bouquet down onto the counter, clicking away at the ancient cash register to his left. 

“Consider it a good luck gift,” Namjoon tells you with a wink. 

You sigh, pulling out your card to pay him. “I could use all of the luck I could get.” The likelihood of tonight going more right than wrong is miniscule. But what else can you do, besides try? “What do they all mean?”

“Well, the daffodils represent honesty and truth. The red carnations mean love, obviously. So do the chrysanthemums. The baby’s breath is just for decoration, but it also means everlasting love. The gardenias are for secret love. And the freesia is just because I thought it went well with the bouquet,” Namjoon says expertly, pointing to each one as he tells you what it means. “I don’t know if Taehyung’s super up with his flower meanings, but I think that even the gesture will say more than enough. But if he is, this is just a bonus.”

“I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?” You say, the nerves overtaking you. You were hoping to just act calm and collected, thank Namjoon for the bouquet and be on with your lives, but even you can’t help but seek advice from him. 

Namjoon lets out a laugh. “If you think it’s going to go so badly, why have you planned so much?” He poses. “It’s normal to be nervous about this sort of thing—what if I mess up, what if he doesn’t feel the same way, what if he rejects me—but I think that, deep down inside of you, there’s a part that thinks that it will all be worth it. And I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sucker for happy endings, but I think that that’s the most important. The part of you that doesn’t want to spend the rest of its life thinking about what might have been.” Namjoon’s phone lights up next to him, his lockscreen a picture of him and another boy, shorter, but with the same dyed hair. The two look so happy together. He gazes down at it, exhales, and shuts his phone off. “Just my two cents.”

“You’re wise beyond your years, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him with a smile. Maybe you are nervous about the what ifs, nervous that this whole thing could blow up in your face, but is it so naive of you to listen to that whisper in your heart? The one that says, maybe he feels the same? “I wish you’d take your own advice, sometimes.”

“It’s different,” Namjoon murmurs to himself. “He and I… this is all we’ll ever be.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” you tell him. You know the feeling. Perhaps, if tonight goes well, it will encourage him to give it a shot himself. “You never know.” Namjoon looks up at you, smile wide but eyes sad. There’s clearly something more that he isn’t mentioning, but you won’t push it. You get it. How could you not? “What if he does feel the same?”

The bell above the door rings on your way out, fingers clenching onto a bouquet, praying and wishing and dreaming that maybe this will all be worth it, in the end.

Something is up with Kim Taehyung. 

When you return to your apartment, Kim Taehyung is slouched on your dinky loveseat, arm deep inside a six-month-old box of Frosted Flakes, as an episode of Jeopardy! plays on his laptop, his eyes empty and glazed over as he stares at Alex Trebek, wordless.

You nearly jump in shock, terrified that he’ll spot you and the enormous bouquet in your hands, terrified that he’ll ask you about it, terrified that your entire plan for tonight will get flushed down the toilet the moment you and him lock eyes. But it doesn’t, because Kim Taehyung doesn’t even acknowledge you when you walk in, for better or for worse, and you manage to stash the bouquet into a vase in your bedroom before rounding on your roommate, because something is up with Kim Taehyung. 

Kim Taehyung hates Frosted Flakes. The only reason they’re in your apartment to begin with is because Jungkook had brought them over one time when he was visiting, and even then they were stale. Now they’re extra stale. So stale that they make a hollow sound on your countertop when you tap them against the laminate. 

Kim Taehyung normally shuffles through Jeopardy! like it’s nobody’s business. He gets at least a quarter, if not half of the questions correct, and always earns more points than you. But he doesn’t even open his mouth when Alex Trebek says, “This Renaissance artist left Florence to serve as principal engineer for the Duke of Milan’s army” and you know that he knows it’s Leonardo Da Vinci. 

Kim Taehyung normally has plenty to say, especially to Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip, who currently resides in your living room. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has been your honorary second roommate ever since the two of you moved into this apartment four months ago. Taehyung made him a little museum placard that is framed and hanging on the wall above him, and he has an account on every social media website under the sun. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has more followers on Instagram than you do. But today, both he and Sawyer are silent and unmoving. 

“Tae?” You ask, treading over to the couch as he empties the box of Frosted Flakes into his stomach, finishing up the episode. “Is everything alright?”

“Mmrph,” he mumbles in response. You suppose that means he said fine, which means that no, everything is not alright. 

“What’s going on? You’re normally really excited the day of your shows,” you ask. At least he hasn’t entirely turned into a soulless hermit, and he moves his legs off of the couch so you can sit beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Taehyung says, louder. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you reach a hand out, letting it rest in his lap before he takes your hand in his. “No, it’s not. Tonight’s a big deal, isn’t it? You must be under a lot of pressure to do well.”

“I’m just so worried that I’ll fuck it up and everyone will hate me forever,” Taehyung says, exasperated. It’s almost as if he’s tired with himself for being so negative. 

“You’re not gonna fuck it up and nobody is going to hate you. I’ll always love you, you know that,” you assure him. 

“Yeah, I know,” Taehyung says, but the worst part is that you’re not sure if he really does. 

“It’s okay to be nervous, and to worry. Tonight is really important. But you’re an incredible actor, and you’ve always been so good at what you do,” you tell him, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand softly. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”

Taehyung lets his head rest on your own and the two of you sit together on the couch in silence, watching as the minutes on his laptop clock tick by. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and soft, firm underneath his chest. You wonder if he can hear yours. Hear how it’s picking up speed, hear how it beats only for him. 

“You always know what to say,” Taehyung tells you. “I wish I knew how to do that.”

You grin sadly to yourself, happy that the two of you are side by side so he doesn’t have to see your face. How could Taehyung tell you something like that? How could he, when every time you’re near him, you’re speechless?

You never really considered yourself to be a theater person when you were younger. You would fall asleep when you went to see plays with your parents or on a school field trip. You never made an effort to go see the performances that your school put on. You were one-hundred percent confident that you would go through all four years of university without seeing one of the fifteen different theater groups’ shows, not because you hated them, but because they never crossed your mind in the first place. 

And then, you met Kim Taehyung. 

You met Kim Taehyung halfway through your freshman year because the two of you were in the same Cinematography in the 1900’s class. And then, suddenly, you were eating the same shitty food in the dining hall after class ended at seven in the evening. And then, suddenly, you were studying together, spending nights watching Jeopardy! on his laptop when you didn’t feel like doing any work. And then, suddenly, Kim Taehyung mentioned in passing one day that he had a show that Friday, and would you like to come, it would really mean a lot to him, he thinks you’ll really like it. 

And then, suddenly, you were a theater person. 

That night was the first night Kim Taehyung had ever taken your breath away. And every performance, every night, every fucking moment after that, he never stopped.

Tonight is no exception. You can’t say that you’re super well-versed in theater fame and its technicalities, but you think that this may just be Taehyung’s best performance yet. Here, in this theater off of Sixth Avenue, to a crowd of two, perhaps three hundred people, Taehyung is nothing short of amazing. He never is. From the moment he steps on stage in a raggedy old flannel and jeans, eyes wide with dreams, he reels you in and makes sure that you won’t leave this theater, won’t leave here unscathed. But the fatal blow is halfway through, when he finally spots you in the third row, sees you staring up at him in wonder, and he smiles. 

There is so much that you wish you could tell him. 

After the show, you race back to your apartment, desperate to finish up the last of the preparations before he arrives, after taking off all of his makeup and his costumes, saying goodbye to all of his co-stars. Normally, you’d hang around, let him introduce you, but tonight is different. Special. 

[September 8th, 9:35PM]

You: Had to go home bc I’m planning a special something for the star of the night! Sorry I missed all of the fun afterwards You: Something very important to tell you

Taehyung: ohoho Taehyung: I wonder who that could be Taehyung: Coming soon. I have something to tell you too! ^^

You stare at the text as you grab the vase of flowers from your room, setting it up at your very unimpressive kitchen table. What could Taehyung possibly have to tell you? Other than perhaps a thanks for showing up (as if you weren’t going to). 

What if, that voice whispers. The part deep in your heart, the one that you wish would shut up sometimes. 

“No,” you say aloud, perhaps more for yourself than anyone else. “No. I have something to tell him. I have to tell him this.”

You never know, she says. He might. What are you waiting for?

You pull out all of the scented candles in the apartment, setting them up on the coffee table and on the windowsills. There’s a plate of macarons that you had purchased from the fancy bakery in Midtown sitting by the vase, a little treat for the two of you since your diets usually consist of premade Costco pasta and takeout. 

There is so much you want to tell him. So much to say, and no way to do it. It seems impossible. As the minutes tick by, as he gets closer and closer, you wonder if you even have the courage to open your mouth. It’s not as if this is life-changing news. It would be so easy, so easy to just pretend that this is nothing but a celebration of Taehyung’s very first major off-Broadway show, to push down the ache in your heart and tell that voice to stay quiet, if only for a little longer. You’ve lived like this for so long already. Who’s to say you can’t live like this forever?

Taehyung comes home as you’re flicking through late-night television show reruns and fiddling with a Rubix cube, anything to keep your mind occupied and your fingers busy. You hear as he fumbles with the lock—his key has always been a little bit off—and scramble to get everything ready, shutting your laptop and putting the Rubix cube on your designated Weird Stuff Shelf. The apartment smells like a hodgepodge of vanilla, flowers, cinnamon, and champagne, and the flowers are already starting to wilt slightly. But it’s now or never, really. 

Taehyung swings the door open with a grin and gasps in excitement when he sees you, standing in the hazy, flickering yellow light of the kitchen, surrounded by candles, with a plate of macarons and a vase of flowers on the table. 

“Oh my God!” He says, overjoyed, high off of the adrenaline from a successful show, eyes still sparking from the spotlight. “Y/N! What is all of this?”

“Just a little something from me to you,” you say awkwardly. You have no idea how to tell him. You’re not sure if you even will. “To celebrate.”

“Dare I say, this apartment has never looked better,” he tells you, beaming. He walks over to where you’re hovering by the kitchen table, knee deep in it all, admiring the sight before him. He leans over you, ever so slightly, as he takes in the scent of the flowers, the macarons sitting before him. And then he turns to you, the glow from the candles making his eyes warm and caramel-y, almost as if they’re shimmering in the light, and he says, “You did all of this for me?”

“Of course,” you tell him, because you would do this again and again if it means you could see him like this. If you could watch him burst through the front door for the rest of your goddamn life, watch as he comes home to you. “Tonight’s special.”

“It wouldn’t be without you,” he tells you honestly, candidly. He tells you that because he means it. You wish you could say the same things to him. “You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

It’s now or never. If he takes one step closer, turns to look at you one more time, you don’t know if you’ll still have the courage. You don’t know if you even have it right now, but tomorrow, when you wake up, you don’t want to regret this night. You don’t want to wonder what if, what might have been. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“I have something to tell you,” you breathe out, words heavy on your tongue. You can feel your heart seize up, almost like it’s holding its breath with you. 

“Right, you said that,” Taehyung says with a nod, stuffing a cherry macaron into his mouth. “I have something to tell you, too.”

“Do you want to go first?” You ask him. You just need a little more time. You just want to hear his voice once more. 

“Okay,” Taehyung says happily. “I got a girlfriend!” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Well. 

Okay. 

“Really?” You ask, trying to make it sound more like a Really? That’s great! and not a Really? I thought that we had something special. You don’t think that you’re doing a very good job.

“Yeah!” Taehyung says. He’s ecstatic. It tears your heart in two. “I mean, I know I’m just… a super, hopeless romantic and I fall in love with people when they hold the door open for me, but I’m really happy with her. It’s Ariel, actually, she played Lucy! Isn’t it funny how even though our characters never even officially met, we still found something there?”

“Yeah,” you say, emotionless. Taehyung is far too excited, far too joyous to notice. 

“I just—I wanted to tell you, because you’re my best friend and you deserve to know,” he says, breaking off half of the raspberry macaron and holding it out to you. “What did you want to tell me? Did you say it was important?”

“Oh, uh…” you fumble, shaking your head at the macaron. Your stomach has never felt smaller. It’s like there’s nothing left to say to him. “I think I’m getting transferred to another office.” It’s not news. Your job told you that last week. But it’s something, and it’s better than being honest. Anything is, at this point. “They might pay a little more.”

“Yay!” Taehyung says. “That’s great! Now, maybe we can fix up the lights in the kitchen. So they don’t read horror movie every time I try to make pasta at 2AM. I’m happy for you, you deserve it!”

You smile, putting on a brave face, just for him. “Me too.” You can’t muster up the strength to say anything else. 

Taehyung spends the rest of the night gobbling down the macarons and telling you all about Ariel, as you try desperately to tune him out. Even the sound of your own thoughts would be better than this. Anything. Anything. Eventually, after it’s long past midnight and Taehyung realizes he’ll need his sleep for the show tomorrow night, he bids you goodbye and sets off to his room, a bounce in his step.

You stand in the middle of your apartment. Even though it’s small, and even though you have him, it’s never felt emptier.

Namjoon always says that flowers don’t just need food and water to stay happy. They need love, they need to be surrounded by happiness. He says that they can feel it, that they react to it. That’s why he always tries to be happy when he’s working. Because he hates seeing the flowers so sad. He says they remind him of himself.

It’s no wonder why the flowers in the vase look even more wilted than before.

Here’s the thing: You had pretty much always known that it was going to hurt like this. There had always been that part of you, deep down inside, that knew that there was no way it wasn’t going to hurt like this. That knew that there was nothing you could do to stop it from hurting like this. 

And still, foolishly so, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, telling him would make it stop. You gave into this fantasy that, even if he didn’t feel the same, even if he let you down easy, even if he told you that he just wanted to be friends, it would be better. 

That’s the worst part of it all, really. The fact that you never even told him. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t. You never told him, and now, somehow, everything is even worse than before. 

The flowers have long been thrown out by now, tossed out after hardly a week, unable to stand the tension in the air, the emptiness that lingered far beyond that night. Still, you remembered to keep one, plucking it from the vase before it died of secondary sadness. Because even if they hurt you, even if they tear at your heartstrings one by one, you’ve always had this terrible habit of never letting go of what you love. You pressed the flower with an old college textbook, placed it into a thin little vase, meant for one flower only. A red carnation, to remind you of what you could have had. What might have been. 

Kim Taehyung is significantly less worried this time around as he prepares for the opening night of his latest play. He wakes up early and does some yoga in the living room, pushing all of the furniture to the walls so he has enough space to Downward Dog in peace. He watches a couple episodes of Jeopardy! as he eats the Pad Thai he Doordashed to your apartment, and gets half of the questions correct. Even from your bedroom, you can hear him talking to Sawyer. 

“I’m excited for tonight, Sawyer,” he says to him. “I don’t know, last time I did Shakespeare was sophomore year in college, I think? I was Mercutio. It was fun and I got to use a sword. Y/N came to that show, too. I annoyed her so much that night that she told me that she was glad Tybalt killed me, but we had a good time anyway.”

Sawyer doesn’t say anything back, because he is a Suspicious Floor Dip in your living room. But it’s so lovely to hear Taehyung’s voice again. 

“Do you think that Y/N’s been acting weird, lately?” Taehyung asks. “I just feel like—I feel like she and I aren’t as close these days. She works in her room a lot more and some days I don’t see her at all. Which is crazy, because we live together. My ex always said it was a little weird how I lived with my best friend who is also a girl. But I don’t think it is. Do you think I did something wrong?”

No, you wish you could say, leaning against your thin bedroom door as you hear Taehyung wonder aloud. Never, in a million years. It was me, you want to tell him. I got my hopes up and now I’m paying the price. It’s not you. It’s never you. 

“Yeah, I guess she’s just busier these days,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “She did get transferred to that new office a couple of months ago. But she’s still my best friend. I’ll never stop telling her that—she deserves to know that no matter what, she always has me.”

“Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Therapist, huh?” You interrupt, finally getting the nerve to open your door. Taehyung’s on his way out, all dressed, backpack on his shoulder. He has to be at the theater a few hours before the show begins, anyway. 

“He’s just so easy to talk to,” Taehyung jokes. “Did you… uh… did you hear that?”

“The part about being your best friend?” You ask with an eyebrow raise, making Taehyung smile. You don’t mention the other things you heard. You don’t think that would make things better. 

(You’re not sure what will, at this point. Telling him is off the table. You distantly wonder if it was ever on the table to begin with.)

“Just making sure you knew,” Taehyung says with a grin. “Don’t want you forgetting about that.”

“How could I?” You muse, and it makes him smile something fierce and makes you wish that things were different. 

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Taehyung says. He must know the answer, already. 

“Of course I am,” you tell him. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’ll look for you in the crowd, okay?” Taehyung says, a hand on the doorknob as he gets ready to leave. “Keep an eye out for me. Promise?”

It’s always been so hard to say no to him. 

“Promise,” you tell him. 

That night, you sit a little further back, shadowed by the mezzanine above you, but Taehyung finds you anyway. As he schmoozes his way through the storyline on stage, he sends a wink your way, a couple of the girls in the row in front of you giggling to each other when he does. You sort of wish he was really winking at them. That way, it would hurt a little less. 

Afterwards, you linger around in the lobby, waiting for him like you always have, like you always do, like you always will. You don’t have anything special waiting for him back at your apartment. There’s nothing left to tell him. 

You spot his head of soft, wavy brown hair far before he spots you, can make it out in a sea of cast members as they cheer for themselves, celebrating another successful opening show. Your face lights up when you see him, when you see that he sees you. This is how it has always been. This is how it should be—you find each other in the crowd, grinning as you congratulate him, as he introduces you to his cast members and then invites you to the afterparty. You spend the night together, high off of the adrenaline and just a little tipsy, before stumbling back to your apartment, basking in the afterglow. 

You want nothing more than for things to go back to the way they were. 

And then, you see her. 

“Y/N!” Taehyung shouts excitedly, and it takes all of your strength to not let your face fall as she comes into view, hand interlaced with Taehyung’s. “I knew you’d be here!”

“How could I not be?” You say, letting Taehyung wrap you in a one-armed hug rather than two. “You know me.”

“This is my girlfriend,” Taehyung introduces proudly, motioning to the pretty girl beside him as she waves at you good-naturedly. “Madison, this is my roommate and college best friend, Y/N.”

“Taehyung talks about you non-stop,” Madison says with a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the love of your life’s new girlfriend? How else can you salvage this conversation when you already see it going terribly? “You both were really good tonight. I’m happy that I came.”

“Me too!” Taehyung grins. “Did you see me wink at you? I promised you I would.”

You nod, eyes desperately scanning the rest of the room, the rest of the people, the floor, anything to keep from watching as Madison drapes herself over Taehyung, intertwines their hands as she leans against him, like she can’t get enough of him. 

“Hey, do you want to come to the afterparty? It’s at Alex’s house, apparently he has this brownstone in Brooklyn all to himself, I’ve heard it’s gorgeous—”

“No, actually, I have a lot of work that I need to catch up on,” you interrupt. You don’t think you’d last five minutes there, where the only person you know is Taehyung, where he’s got a girlfriend on his arm the entire time. You aren’t even sure how you’re faring now, if you’re even  breathing, standing before him and his equally-gorgeous new partner. 

You just wish everything could go back to normal.

Taehyung’s brows furrow, disappointed. “Oh, you do? But—”

“Yeah, I’m just—I’m really sorry, Tae, you know I want to. But I should get going. It was really nice meeting you, Madison, I hope we can see each other again sometime—” You spew out a few more goodbyes and even more apologies as you rush towards the exit, turning away so you don’t have to see Taehyung calling after you. 

On the way back, you bump into Namjoon, who’s closing up shop for the day. He looks positively exhausted, always working diligently from morning to far past sunset every day, but he smiles when he sees you, setting aside his tired eyes to say hello. 

“Hey, Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” he greets. “How are you? How’d it go?” He gives you a sort of grin that means that he thinks it went super well. 

“Not great,” you tell him truthfully, because it’s late and you don’t feel like hiding things anymore. 

“Oh,” Namjoon says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he thinks that none of the things he has to say will go down very well. You know the feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, even though it’s not. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Namjoon asks solemnly. 

You frown. “Do you really think we should both be having this conversation?” Namjoon has his own secrets, his dreams of a short boy with colored hair by his side. “You aren’t much better.”

“No, I’m not,” he muses to himself. “But it is a big deal, Y/N. Please don’t act like it isn’t. You love him, don’t you? Even if he doesn’t love you back.”

You love him. 

It’s not a secret anymore. 

You love him like the stars love the moon, surrounding her in their light, making sure she never gets lonely. You love him like an old Hollywood movie, film faded and worn, getting played once in a while to make sure you never forget where you started. You love him like a flower, carnations, daffodils, chrysanthemums, perking up when you’re around him and wilting when you’re not. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a sigh. Certainly, there are more important things to dwell on. You’re looking for a new job because being an office temp isn’t exactly what you were envisioning for your life. You want to start fixing up the bathroom, because the grout by the shower is starting to disintegrate. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip is a fire hazard. “I’m okay with just being friends.”

Namjoon smiles, and it’s so sad, but not with pity. It’s sad with I know, and sad with feeling, because he gets it, and that must be why you’re here, standing on the sidewalk at ten on a Friday night, underneath the street lamps as the city begins to open its eyes. “But when you have him the way you do, how can you be okay with any of it?”

Taehyung comes home late that night, and you only know because you’re running to the bathroom at the same time he fumbles with the door. He takes longer than usual, which means he’s drunk, and you can only hope and pray that he’s alone. You watch as he finally manages to unlock the door, stumbling inside, managing to turn on the main overhead lights in your apartment as he does. From where you’re peering at him from the darkness of the hallway, you can make out dark red, purple spots all along his skin. 

You pull the bathroom door almost shut, leaving it a little ajar so you can gaze out at him, watch as he pours himself a glass of water and downs the entire thing before he makes his way to the hallway, heading for his bedroom. From here, you see the way his hair is mussed, all fucked up from someone’s hands in it, see the marks up close, the way they line his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. He finds his way to his bedroom and shuts the door behind him as you stand, trapped in the bathroom, mad at him for not knowing but furious at yourself for being so ridiculous.

Love was never supposed to hurt like this. 

The next time that you attend one of Taehyung’s opening nights, you don’t stick around long afterwards. 

You were planning on it, of course, like you always do, because ever since college you’ve made a point to see him after a show, tell him all of the things you wish you could say to him all of the time, you were amazing, you were brilliant, you were perfect in every way. You even have a small bouquet of flowers in your hands, arranged by none other than Namjoon—a pity bouquet, an I hope that you two can still be friends bouquet—ready to give to him, ready to see them sitting on your kitchen table as a reminder. 

And then, you see the way he kisses her, overcome with joy, running on that post-show high. You see the way he pulls her into him and plants one on her, arms wrapped around each other as they celebrate, in their own special way. 

Suddenly, the flowers feel like dead weight in your hands. 

You manage to catch one of the few co-stars of Taehyung’s that you recognize, one who was in Our Lives with him. His name is Seokjin, and he’s gorgeous. Broadway material. Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony material. He stops to say hello to you, and you ask if he could give the bouquet to Taehyung, tell him it was from you. 

Seokjin’s nice. He doesn’t ask why, he just nods. It saves you the trouble of telling him. Nobody wants to listen to your sob story. He says goodbye to you, and that he hopes to see you again soon. You hope so too. 

You spend the night curled up in your room pretending that everything is fine. You don’t see Taehyung when he comes home, and you don’t see him the next day, either. 

It’s not as if you’ve started to avoid Taehyung entirely. You live together—it would be downright impressive if you didn’t see each other for a whole day. It’s just, sometimes he still—

“Y/N? Wanna order Pad Thai?”

“Hey, Y/N, they’re playing The Devil Wears Prada on Freeform, do you want to come watch with me?”

“Central Park is having a Dog Festival, do you wanna go together?”

And sometimes, you just can’t. The thought of spending time with him makes your heart ache, whether it be from not wanting to be too close, or from missing him terribly. Either way, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to muster up the same courage you once had. 

Turning to look at the pressed carnation in the vase atop your dresser, you laugh to yourself. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago you thought that you would finally be able to tell him, to open up your heart and let him look into it like a kaleidoscope. Hard to believe that there was once a time when you thought that maybe, just maybe, he loved you back. It feels like it was eons ago. Like it was another universe entirely. 

You know that it’s not right for you to do this to Taehyung. He’s still your best friend. He always will be. He has no idea. He’ll never know. 

But sometimes—

Sometimes he comes home love drunk, wasted on kisses, splotches of pink lip gloss decorating his skin. 

Sometimes he spends dinner telling you all about the date he went on, the amazing vodka shrimp linguine he had, as the two of you eat Kirkland spaghetti in your dinky apartment. 

Sometimes he tells you that you’re his best friend, and that he misses you. 

Being in love with Taehyung had always been easy. It was being best friends, and making sure to keep the feelings a secret, that was hard. 

Taehyung isn’t home tonight. You hadn’t asked him where he’d be. You didn’t think that it mattered. 

And you tell yourself, over and over again, that it doesn’t matter. That you don’t need to know where he is every second of every day. He’s got a life outside of what exists in your stuffy apartment, a whole world of people craning to see him. He has reviews written about him in  The New York Times and people lining up outside the theater for his autograph on their Playbill. There’s so much more to his life than what he has with you. 

It’s better this way, you tell yourself, even if it’s not. Even if every time you step into your apartment, glance over at the vase on the kitchen table, you are reminded that it’s worse. Every time you see a damn carnation, daffodil, chrysanthemum, you can’t help but wish that things were different. You’re even starting to avoid Namjoon. 

That night finds you at a small Italian restaurant in a tiny alley off of Ninth Street. You’ve never been, but it had good reviews on Yelp and you could do with spending some time alone, wallowing in your feelings somewhere other than your bedroom. You’re starting to feel suffocated just being there. It would be good for you to get out. 

It would be good for you to get out, because the apartment reeks of what ifs, of what could have beens, and you can’t spend more than five minutes inside without throwing yourself your own personal pity party. You hardly see Taehyung nowadays because you can’t bear looking into his eyes anymore. Everything is awful, and you wish that it wasn’t, but you don’t know what to do to fix it. 

But Fate seems to love doing that thing where it’s out to get you. From the moment you met Kim Taehyung, Fate decided that you would be her next target. That no moment with him would leave you unscathed. And tonight is no exception. 

It’s just your luck that, ten minutes after you’re seated, the bell above the door rings to signal another customer, and you look up to see Taehyung and his girlfriend strolling in, glowing under the warm yellow light. You’ve never been more thankful, in that moment, to be seated right beside the bathroom, just out of sight of the booth that the hostess leads them to. It’s terrible, and it’s terrible, and it’s terrible. You watch as they order two glasses of a fancy rosé and giggle as they cheers to their show, to their lives, and to themselves. They spend the evening in the light of a single exposed bulb above their head, laughing and smiling and talking. 

The craziest part is that once upon a time, that would have been you. You and Taehyung would have decided that the night was a restaurant day and not a stay-at-home-and-cook-meal day. You would have found a quaint little place on Yelp and gotten the cheapest food on the menu. Once upon a time, you looked like that. 

[April 17th, 7:34PM]

Taehyung: [image sent] Taehyung: MMMMM look at this yummy yummy fish that I had tonight!! Taehyung: We should go here sometime!! I think you’d like it hehe

You look down at your plate. The food in front of you tastes like ash. 

“Congrats,” you say when you hear Taehyung leaving his bedroom, feet padding against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“Huh?” Taehyung asks, eyes wide. It’s almost as if he’s surprised to see you out here, sitting on the couch, answering emails. Like he can’t believe you’re in your own home. You can’t blame him. “What are you talking about?”

“The review on The New York Times,” you tell him distantly, switching over to the tab on your computer where you read it. There’s a picture at the top of Taehyung and his co-star, front and center, holding hands as they look off into the distance, staring into an unknown future. “It’s your first five star review, isn’t it? They even listed it as the Critic’s Pick.”

“Oh, I… uh,” he begins, “I haven’t seen it yet. Been too busy.”

Bitterly, you wonder why. Even when you two are further apart than you have ever been, even when he spends all day out of the apartment and you spend all day inside, even when you barely fucking see each other, you can’t help but click on the articles that mention him, scroll through every review that mentions his name. 

Things might be different now, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be proud of him. Of what he does. Of who he is. 

“Well, they said great things,” you tell him, sparing him the trouble of looking. “You deserve it.”

“You’re coming tonight, right? You have to, if the play is getting such good reviews,” Taehyung asks, an olive branch. You’ve spent so much time doing everything you can to keep your relationship as distant as possible, hiding in your bedroom and eating dinner at odd hours. But this is the one thing that you both can still hold onto. Taehyung’s shows, his performances, and you, in the audience, always finding his eyes. If everything else is in shambles, at least you will always have this. “I think you’d like it.”

“It sounds very Matrix-y.”

“Well,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “It sort of is. But it’s also about love. You’d like that, right?”

You suppose you’d like it a little more in another timeline.

Taehyung continues, barely giving himself time to catch his breath. “Basically, these two kids are playing this life-simulation game where every move they make directly corresponds with the actions of the characters they’re playing as. Cue me and Lancaster. And we meet, and slowly fall in love, over a series of chance encounters. You know, a coffee shop, the bank, a restaurant.”

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowed. 

“Why?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in concern, smile downturned ever so slightly as he takes in your expression. 

“I don’t know—” you begin. There’s just something about the storyline that rubs you the wrong way. “Maybe I’m just being cynical. But is it really possible for two people to find love like that? Through chance? Luck?”

Perhaps, Namjoon would say. You can hear his voice echoing in your head now. After all, wasn’t it luck that brought the two of you together?

You shake his thoughts away. Namjoon’s got his own set of problems—he’s in no position to be the wise one in this scenario.

Taehyung shrugs, as if he’d never given that a thought to begin with. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think that love can blossom anywhere. Just so long as you nurture it, water it and give it lots of sunlight. I just—I think that if you look hard enough, you can find love anywhere.”

You turn to face him, blinking up at him as you stare at each other, sitting on this damn couch in the middle of your apartment. Taehyung waxes poetic in front of you, tells you that if you just fucking look for love, you’ll find it. But he doesn’t know—and he never will. You’ve been looking for love for the past four years, you’ve been searching in all of the nooks and crannies of your body, and the only place you’ve ever found it has been in the deep pit of your heart, dusty and quiet and forgotten. Even now, staring into his eyes, scanning every bit of his irises for even a sliver of it, a spark, you come up empty. 

How could he say something like that, when he lives with you? When he looks at you while you’re eating takeout or sitting and watching a movie together. Does he just not see it? Or worse—does he know, and just refuse to say anything?

Suddenly, your body turns cold. It’s hard to believe that someone as hopelessly romantic can’t see what’s right in front of him. 

“I wish that was how it worked,” you say sourly, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You snatch your laptop from the table and head into your room, leaving Taehyung alone on the couch, speechless.

He may be the one with flowers blooming in his heart, but you have been drowning for the past four years, and never have you felt further from the surface than right now. 

You don’t go to Taehyung’s opening show that night. 

Taehyung leaves to get ready at the theater at three in the afternoon, and you bid him goodbye before holing yourself up in your bedroom and keeping yourself busy. You start watching the newest season of Stranger Things and tidy up the knick knacks you have scattered all over the place. Anything to keep your mind occupied. 

Taehyung texts you during intermission.

[June 3rd, 8:55PM]

Taehyung: Hey are you here?

You don’t respond. 

By ten at night, you end up with the cleanest room you’ve had in years and half of the season left to watch. It’s not a great kind of busy. The red carnation atop your dresser stares into your soul and you nearly throw it out three different times. But it’s an okay kind of busy, because you don’t know if you could have beared to see Taehyung on stage tonight. See him dancing around with a beautiful girl on his arm, confessing his love for her and pulling her in for a kiss. 

Over the years, you have seen Taehyung kiss so many people. From the shy freshman boy cast next to him in a student-written play in college to the model-esque women on stage in an off-Broadway play with him. And it never used to hurt—not like this. You saw him lock lips with another and you supposed that that was just show business. 

But it’s not show business anymore. It stopped being show business that night, when he came home to an apartment lit up with candles, the sweet scent of macarons wafting through the air, and told you he had found someone. It hasn’t been show business since, not when Taehyung is looking for love and finds it everywhere except where you wish he would look most. 

Maybe you’re just being selfish. Taehyung doesn’t have to love you for you to love him. You knew that. You lived with that. He’s your best friend. He always will be. You can’t do anything to force him to love you back. You had always been fine with just being friends. 

But just—knowing that he doesn’t feel the same. Having that certainty rooted deep within you. That’s the part that hurts the most. 

Taehyung comes home earlier than he normally would on a day like this, catching you in the kitchen as you brew some chamomile tea, hoping that it will calm the waves that crash against the pier inside you. You turn to meet his eyes, and suddenly, you feel like you can’t see anything in them at all. 

“Why didn’t you come tonight?” He demands. “I looked for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“Here,” you tell him. “I was thinking maybe I would go tomorrow.”

“But you’re always at my opening show,” Taehyung says, like you don’t know that already. “Why didn’t you come? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” you tell him. You don’t think you’re drunk or tired enough for this conversation. At ten at night, you’re still cognizant, aware of what consequences this conversation might have when you wake up in the morning. 

“Then why weren’t you there? You know I need you there,” Taehyung pleads, coming up to you as you stand in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“No, I didn’t know that,” you tell him firmly. You went to his opening shows because it was tradition. Not because it was necessary. 

“You’re my good luck charm, for god’s sake, Y/N,” Taehyung says, fists curled up at his sides. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to burst at the seams, like there are so many things he’s holding at the tip of his tongue. “I did such a shit job tonight without you there. I spent the entire first half of the show looking out into the crowd so much that Lancaster asked me if I had taken anything before we started.”

“That’s not my fault,” you tell him. “I didn’t know that you thought I was your good luck charm, or whatever.” And, because you’re bitter and petty and heartbroken, you add, “I would have thought that would be something your girlfriend is.”

Taehyung loses it. “What’s been going on with you, Y/N? Why are you being like this? Ever since my first show, I feel like we’re drifting further and further apart. You never want to spend time with me, you never want to come to my afterparties, you barely spare a glance at my girlfriends when I introduce them to you, and now, you’ve stopped coming to my shows. All of these things that I thought that we shared, ever since college. Tell me, Y/N, am I doing something wrong? Is there something that I’ve missed? Because it feels like we’re fucking strangers.”

The water finishes boiling, the kettle whistling on the stovetop as steam billows from the spout. “I’m not obligated to do any of those things, Taehyung,” you tell him harshly. “Just because we did them in college doesn’t mean I have to keep doing them now. What, did you think we’d still be doing that sort of stuff when we’re thirty? Forty, fifty? They were just college traditions.”

“‘College traditions’?” Taehyung asks, astounded. “Were all of those nights that we spent together just college traditions, too? Are we not allowed to do those things anymore? I miss you, Y/N. I hate not having you around and tonight was the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know what to do or say, I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t even fucking know what’s broken.”

“I just need space, Taehyung,” you tell him, hands gripping the edge of the countertop as you stare at the laminate, eyes tracing the lines to keep you from meeting his own. “I just need some time to myself, that’s all.”

“But why, Y/N?” Taehyung pleads, He reaches over to grab your hand, holds it in between the two of you like a lifeline. 

“‘Why?’” You echo angrily. “You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?” You tug your hand from his grasp. It’s clear you’re beating a dead horse. You wonder why you even tried in the first place. How naive you were, standing in the kitchen surrounded by scented candles and flowers and macarons, dreaming of a life with him by your side. Foolish. 

“Realized what?” 

“That I’m in love with you!” You shout, and the world goes silent. The kettle stops whistling, the water having evaporated into nothing, the packet of chamomile tea left, forgotten on the countertop. You stand there, breaths heavy, chest heaving, as you look at Taehyung, angry and mad and in love, all at once. 

“You’re what?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” you hiss. “I already know that you don’t feel the same.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” You turn on your heels, storming into your bedroom and collapsing against the door. Finally, finally, finally, you let the tears wrack your body, sending shivers down your spine. There’s salt on your tongue and smudged liner beneath your eyes. 

You thought pressing flowers makes them last forever. But even the red carnation is starting to shrivel. 

Subject Title: New Project????

From Park, Seojoon, to me

Hi Taehyung,

You did a great job last night in Chance Card! Really proud of you for accomplishing so much. Pretty soon you’ll be on Broadway and be too big for a small manager like me. You’ll need an agent, and a publicist, and a stylist, and a dog-walker…

Anyway, just emailing to let you know that Hugo Cleveland reached out to me to see if you were interested in auditioning for his next play. He personally wanted to see if you liked the part, and would give you preference if you did want to audition. It’s called Cupid, and it’s another one of those modern-day retellings of an old tale. I thought you might like it. Attached is the script and a short description of the play. Let me know if you’d like to give it a shot! I think this might be the project that gets you onto Broadway!!

As always, contact me if you need anything at all.

Park

Taehyung, still in bed despite it being nearly noon, taps around on his phone, pulling up the description of the play. He hates reading PDFs on his phone, so he’ll check out the script on his laptop later. 

Cupid by Hugo Cleveland

Cupid chronicles the tale of the world’s most well known hopeless romantic—Cupid himself. Set in a world of magical realism, Cupid has the power to make two people fall in love with a single shot of his arrow, and spends his life walking around the city of New York, bow and arrow by his side. 

The only problem is that Cupid has no way to make people fall in love with him, because his magic operates under the assumption of soulmates—a single person meant for another. And as the years have gone by, he has searched and searched and searched over millennia, desperate to find love, but it’s almost as if everyone has soulmates except for him. 

Little does he know, he need look no further to find the person he shall spend the rest of his life with—not when his best friend has always been by his side. 

Taehyung glares at the description like it’s personally offended him. He knows that it’s just a coincidence that he happens to receive this email the morning after his fight with you, but he can’t help but feel like God is playing the world’s worst practical joke on him. 

Cursed with the memory of an actor, he replays last night in his head over and over and over again, looping the feed back and forth as your words echo in his mind. 

You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?

He never knew what he was supposed to be looking for. You were just friends, you had always been just friends. But then he looked out in the crowd and couldn’t see you anywhere, couldn’t make out your eyes even in a sea of hundreds like he always does, and it felt like there was more than just another audience member missing. He spent the rest of the evening getting his hopes up, thinking that maybe you’re just sitting somewhere else, maybe you put in colored contacts, maybe you’re hidden by some really buff guy in front of you. 

He missed you, last night. He’s been missing you a lot recently, missing the way the days you spent together would bleed into nights. Missing the way you wrap your arms around him and smother him in cuddles, missing the way you always remember his takeout order for the fifteen different restaurants you frequent. Missing the way he once thought that you could spend your whole lives together. 

Realized what?

He supposes that he has always been a bit foolish. All of his ex-girlfriends broke up with him, never the other way around. And while they all ended on good terms, they all said the same thing to him: it always seemed like his heart belonged to someone else. But he misread that, too. He just thought that he hadn’t found the right person, yet. He would keep searching until he did. 

That I’m in love with you!

The craziest thing about it all is that your confession didn’t even shock him that much. After the initial surprise wore off, it was almost as if the dust settled around you, the storm finally calming. Like finding the last puzzle piece after thinking it had been lost for days. Like feeling everything click into place.

Taehyung has been thinking a lot about last night, but his least favorite part is always this:

I already know that you don’t feel the same.

He wishes that he could have told you. He wishes that he could have been strong enough, could have realized what he had before it slipped through his fingertips. Wishes that he could have reached out and grabbed onto you and never let go. There’s nothing more that he wants to do than see you again. You live in the same tiny New York apartment, and you’ve never felt further away from him. 

Taehyung wills himself out of bed and washes his face, clearing away the leftover makeup and the sleep in his eyes. It’s a fresh start. It’s a new day. 

He sees you standing in the kitchen, making that tea that you had left forgotten last night. He catches your eyes for just a second before he loses them again, watches as you turn your back to him in a desperate attempt to avoid contact. 

“I got a new potential show to audition for,” he says loudly, breaking the silence. 

“That’s cool,” you say, emotionless. 

“Do you want to know what it’s about?”

You don’t respond. Taehyung takes this as a cue to continue. 

“It’s about a boy on a search for love,” Taehyung begins, rallying himself despite only being able to see your back. “And he goes out and sees all of these people falling in love and wants that for himself. And he wonders why nothing is sticking, why he can’t seem to fall in love with anybody. And then he realizes that the reason he can’t seem to fall in love with anyone else is because he’s already found his person.” A pause. He’s just summarizing a story, but this feels like a confession. “His best friend.”

You turn around sharply, tea sloshing in the cup in your hand. Taehyung inhales, then exhales. It’s now or never. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“Don’t you think I’d play this part well?” He asks. 

You shrug, closing your eyes and breathing heavy. He can tell that you’re holding something back, trying not to burst at the seams. “I’m not sure, Tae.”

“I think I would,” Taehyung tells you confidently. He takes a step closer to you, reaches over to take the cup of tea from your hands, placing it on the counter. “Because I’ve been doing it for so long, already.”

You gasp when he kisses you, a gust of air escaping your lips and immediately mixing with his, seize up at the feeling of his lips on yours. Immediately, Taehyung wonders if he’s overstepped a boundary, or two, or five, but then he feels you relax under his touch, feels you reach your hands up to cup his cheeks as you press against him insistently, drunk on the taste of his lips on your own. 

Taehyung’s kissed a lot of people in his day, but this one is different. He’s felt sparks, seen fireworks, but with you, it’s as if he’s sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. As if he’s returning to an apartment filled with the things he loves after a long day out. As if he’s coming home. 

All of these emotions, all of the little things tucked away in the corners of his soul, in the dark attic of his heart, come bubbling up to the surface, and all he can do is hope that you can feel them, swallow them up like wine, as you press your lips against his, grinning. 

Finally, you pull yourself away, almost as if you think you’ll get drunk if you keep going. 

“How long?” You ask. 

Taehyung shrugs. “I don’t know. A while now, definitely.”

“Really?”

“I think so,” Taehyung says. “I guess that I was wrong, what I said before about looking for love. I looked everywhere, I wanted to see it in every spark that was set my way, but I forgot the most important place. I should have known.” You curl into his touch, resting your head against his chest as his arms wrap around your waist. “How about you?”

“Forever,” you breathe out. “It started and it never stopped.”

Taehyung beams. The flowerbud in his heart had been shuttered for so long, hardly watered and never in the sun. And then suddenly, the curtains opened up and the clouds began to cry, and everything blossomed. You make him feel like he’s always home. You make him feel safe. 

You make him feel like a red carnation in bloom.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[gaylittleinnkeepers]

julerose & chlolix in b99/police au

first b99/police au here

let’s do this

- starting with julerose, soft babies

- juleka is very badass™️ but literally,,,she’s so precious with rose,,,

- their desks face each other, like jake and amy’s, and their little plaque things that say their name both have matching stickers and things bc of rose

- juleka and rose can both sing really well, not many know about juleka but everyone knows rose sings awesome

- sometimes, while everyone is working in the precinct, the two duet on a lot of songs (their favourites are ‘lucky’ by jason mraz and ‘cover me in sunshine’ by p!nk) everyone secretly loves listening to them

- rose always doodles on juleka’s paperwork, so much that sabrina just leaves it and doesn’t acknowledge it at all

- juleka’s been in the precinct a while longer than rose, but when rose came over she just went :O cute girl???

- but they both have been best friends and had mutual feelings for each other literally ever since they’ve met

- yh and they’ve only been completely dating for three years, before that it was sort of ‘dancing around each other like a failed mating dance’

- they always go out on undercover missions because they’re so awesome at it

- ,,,juleka and rose always wear matching dresses and skirts and stuff like that when they’re undercover, everyone always thinks they’re so cute

- they do ‘things’ in the basement. nobody has ever caught them, nobody has ever managed to find proof of it happening

- well except for that one time nino found juleka handcuffed to one of the filing cabinets

- (he swore to secrecy after she glared at him)

- julerose are the main advice givers of the precinct tho, like anytime anyone needs help with anything (mostly love advice), they’ll go to the girls

- juleka usually says ‘bone’ while rose tells them something,,,not as bad

- one time, at christmas, rose hid herself in a big box and mailed herself to the precinct with juleka’s name on the box

- (she was…surprised, but not unappreciative)

- and once they got so fucking drunk at the pub that they start making out on the counter and it gets so heated that luka literally has to carry both of them into one of the bedrooms,,,juleka showed up with a few bruises on her neck after that

- rose ships chlolix with all her being (which is not much being, but eh)

- alix has been trying to seduce chloé for…like…years

- alix and juleka have been best friends since they started training, so naturally juleka picks up on it first

- and since she’s in love with- best friends with rose, the little pink girl knows too and has been trying so hard to get them together

- rose: oh! chloé! alix needs some help wi-

chloé: tell max to help her

- alix has done nearly everything- singing (she can’t sing), getting someone else to sing for her (juleka refused despite having the voice of an angel and rose wanted alix to do it herself), being super nice to chloe, serenading her with music, endless flirting- but chloé won’t fucking respond to her

- she’s just sticking with endless flirting and dirty teasing

- alix: would you ;)) like to accompany ;) me ;))) home? ;))

chloé: no go by yourself

- she’s mostly given up at this point but still has a shred of hope because of rose’s little “you can do it! love never gives up!”

- chloé, however, does actually have a massive fucking crush on alix

- everyone is convinced they’re dating-but-not, sort of like julerose for the first few years of their friendship

- chloé is very happy with tormenting poor alix by pretending to be completely oblivious and uninterested

- except there was one time where chloe yelled “I LOVE YOU ALIX” and alix yelled “I LOVE YOU TOO CHLOÉ” back when they were shitfaced drunk one time (same day as the julerose hooking up thing) and nobody will ever let either of them live it down

- juleka and alix actually agreed to be each others’ wingwomen when they were younger, in case either of them ever found people they liked

- so alix had a hand in julerose actually getting together

- in return, juleka bribed max into hacking chloé’s phone to get her number and send it to alix

- chloé woke up to find a text message reading “i wish you were jesus and i was the cross so we could me nailed together forever ;))”

- she didn’t block alix fortunately

SEND ME SOME OTHER STUFF IN MY INBOX PLS?

[brophigenia]

prompt: k/ronan, mafia!au, exes, “you had no idea, did you?”

“You had no idea, did you?” Detective Lynch murmured, leaning across the stainless steel table, all big shoulders and big hands and big fucking badge.

K had gone entirely still when he came into the room, moving like a jungle cat, hulking and soundless. Next to him, Jiang was as cool and collected as ever, even though K could practically hear him thinking, hear the gears turning in his head. The plans being laid. A hundred ways to get out of this, and all of them including either a loss of life, money, or reputation.

K had to do something, had to think of something, except he couldn’t. Not with Ronan goddamn Lynch sitting across from him, looking at him the same way he used to over a glass of whiskey and a bed of messed-up sheets, before he’d fucking died. Before he’d been running smack for K and gotten intercepted by the fucking feds, before he’d exploded like a firework in the New Jersey night, months ago now.

K had buried a handful of ash and the remnants of a silver crucifix, fished out from the burnt-out husk of Ronan’s car after it ran off that goddamn cliff.

“If you’ll direct all your questions to me instead of my client, I would appreciate it.” Jiang said smoothly, covering K’s stunned silence. His tongue ring was clicking on his teeth as he spoke; he’d come straight from a club, and it was only sheer dumb luck that he wasn’t drunk or high. He’d have come anyway, because none of his pack, none of his men would leave K hanging, but this was better. Not even Ronan could win a staring match with Jiang Hu.

“Okay, Mr. Hu.” Ronan said, and glanced down at the file in front of him with a sardonic sort of tilt to his eyebrows, like he was amused. Like he was the one in charge here, like he had K right where he wanted him. Once, K would’ve put him on his knees for that kind of look. Would’ve turned him into a mess, desperate for anything, for everything. Would’ve reveled in the miracle of that big body beneath him, under his control.

He’s a cop. He’s a cop. He’s a cop.

The words just kept repeating themselves in K’s mind. Over and over. Ronan was a cop. He wasn’t the fucked-up orphaned Irish mutt that K thought he was. Wasn’t the man with all that Catholic stoicism and repression, which meant he didn’t break easy, but when he did, it was something particularly spectacular. K had never seen the appeal of fucking the tortured, guilty types before he met Ronan. Hadn’t known how satisfying it would be. How enamored he’d become of the revulsion hiding just beneath the surface of Ronan’s frozen eyes.

He’d thought it electrifying, once. Now, he just felt like he was two steps away from being electrified, himself. From the goddamn chair.

K came forward suddenly, planting his elbows on the tabletop, come alive all of a sudden like a jack in the box, eyes on fire, teeth bared in the most vicious grin he could manage. Ronan did not flinch, but it was a near thing.

“So, was any of it real?” He purred, loud enough that he knew it would be picked up on the interrogation room’s sound system. Loud enough that it would go on the transcripts of this interview. “Or were you just pretending to rail lines of coke off my cock?” K licked his lips, practically foaming at the mouth. Nobody made a fucking fool out of Joseph Kavinsky.

“And what about all the other shit?” He shot out a hand and caught Ronan by the tie, gripping it tight. “You gonna tell them how you cried like a bitch for it when I made you call me Da-” the door to the interrogation room slammed open, people shouting even as Ronan twisted his arm around his back, cracking his cheekbone against the tabletop as he was pinned to it, positioned perfectly to hear the words Ronan spoke, right in his ear.

“I got you, you piece of fucking shit-” Ronan whispered hotly, before he was dragged off by some other detective in the same fucking suit, leaving K laughing, cackling, Jiang helping him up while simultaneously threatening seven different lawsuits against the department, the city, and Detective Lynch himself.

K didn’t speak until they were in the back of the car, outside, released without charges, for now, the partition up and Jiang satisfied that there were no bugs planted anywhere. “Lynch is fucking dead.” He bit out, flexing his fingers on his own thighs. Remembering the scalding heat of Ronan’s skin, the way he’d taken to wetwork like he’d done it all his goddamn life, except that was no doubt a fabrication, too, all of K’s assumed-dead enemies probably waiting in WITSEC to testify against him at trial.

Jiang didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t look up from his laptop, nor from the two phones he was texting furiously upon.

K leaned his head back, watching the city lights streak past through slitted eyes, simmering in his gut.

He’s a cop. 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Time After Time (The Eighties Blasts Collection, Part 1.)

Description: Jim Hopper died as a hero. But with that, one certain problem rises up - who will now lead the cops of Hawkins? Hopper thought of that - he decided to write a letter, naming his niece, nineteen-year-old student of Indianapolis police academy, Y/N Hopper as a sheriff deputy in a letter. But anybody in the town doesn't have a clue that being a cop in Hawkins is way more dangerous than it might seem.

NOTICE: This is an AU where Hopper had a brother which he doesn’t talk to, but still has a great relationship with his niece (more like father-daughter relationship). Nothing else would be changed.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader (eventually) - the story is more driven by the relationships in the gang.

A/N: Every chapter will probably be named after one ICONIC 80s song because I am trash for them. Also, I will call Johnathan John bcs I am sick of writing such a long name over and over again.

Warnings: Grief, losing a loved one, bad family background for the reader, Will, Johnathan and Joyce leaving Hawkins.

Word count: 3.7 K (Sorry guys, I had fun)

Tagging: x

Master list: The Eighties Blast Collection

Try to ask your parents about living in the '80s. Or no, you don't have to ask them at all - they would definitely tell you that it was way easier, better and safer back then. Maybe they would be right if you don't remind them about Doug Clark and Carol Bundy for example. Serial killers aren't such things in our age.

But there was one particular town in Indiana where it wasn't exactly a pleasure to live during the '80s. There was like... Everything from novels and movies had happened there - strange disappearances of children, mutates crawling from another dimension, possessed shirtless white boy with a mullet running around, kidnapping people and basically killing the; even murders bated by U.S. government and experiments on people.

It was a true science-fiction to say at least. 

What was the town’s name? Hawkins. Hawkins, Indiana with a population of thirty thousand people - may be more or less, nobody exactly knew since such a crazy shit was happening out there.

Your beloved uncle Jim, to which you went every holiday for the whole two months, has lived there since forever, except for his rather short time in New York - and you found your way to love the city as well. The people there were always the same - same shopkeepers, same employees in the restaurants, same stores and groceries. You dreamt about working alongside Jim since you were just a little kid. While other girls wanted to be princesses and astronauts, you just wanted to be a cop.

So it hit you when you were in your room at the police academy, listening to George Michael and read a magazine, laying down on the bed. At your nineteen, you were one of the best cadets that ever got into the police academy before reaching the age of 21. Jim was so proud that he cried when you called him.

But when the sergeant who led your training called your name through the silent halls, you knew that something had to happen. And when you sat down behind the desk, looking her in the face, you knew it isn't anything nice. 

And when she told you, oh boy, you couldn't but chuckle unbelievably. No, you weren't happy or amused with what sergeant Brown told you - but you couldn't believe it. 

“Jim Hopper is dead? Is it... For sure? That must be a mistake. You're shitting me right now.” - You told her, not even caring about the rule not to curse around your authorities. And Mrs. Brown fully understood what you're going through at the moment, so she didn't say a word about that. Your breath stuck in your throat as you got up to walk around the room. 

“Miss Hopper, I can tell you for certain that I am not joking.” - The woman on the opposite side of the table looked you in the eyes. - “I am sorry for your loss, yet Mrs. Byers sent us an official document where Jim Hopper named you his deputy sheriff, signed and stamped two weeks ago.” - She took the document out of the envelope and looked you in the eyes, putting it in front of himself so she could read from it.

“But I’m too young to be a deputy.” - You mumbled and took the document seriously naming you to the function into your fingers, reading it word after word. Jim was looking forward to having you by his side as a cop - so when he learned about the Russians in a facility below Star Court, he wrote two letters and one document - one for Eleven, a girl who he adopted and you liked, one letter addressed to you and a document naming you the deputy, so he was sure that the Hawkins city is in good hands when he's gone. You never saw the letter though. 

Only the official document made it. 

“And we do acknowledge that. You're too young, you haven't even finished your studies, Miss Hopper, this is a rather unpleasant and special situation. And for that, we will transfer you to an academy nearby Hawkins, so you can finish your training there while you will be helping at the police department.” - Mrs. Brown smiled at you a bit. - “We also acknowledge that you loved your uncle and to continue with his legacy means everything to you. Hawkins department is out of policemen anyway.” 

---

So it was done. Your grief over Jim was deep and it took too long for you to acknowledge that he won’t come to his cabin hidden in the woods a small while from the big oak next to the road to Denfield, just fifteen minutes away from Hawkins. 

When you told the locals about the cabin, it was in a horrendous state - the windows were missing, there were holes in the ceiling, the door were broken apart and... It was a hellhole. It needed a lot of repairing and almost everything was broken inside, including almost all of the furniture, but you managed somehow. 

Especially the broken windows and broken ceiling would cost a fortune if there wasn't for the good people of Hawkins who collected money and old, non-used things from their homes. They started one month before you came so it was almost done when you were about to roll into the town - but you could do the rest by yourself.

You let Hopper's old armchair just in the place where it always was, in his trail, and you left El’s room untouched as well, you only cleaned it up. People from the town were helping you with the renovations by all kinds of small gifts, ranging from canned and normal food to shampoo, helping you paint and paper it from the inside, giving you their old equipment like the TV or a refrigerator, even a VHS player. 

On the day when you came back to Hawkins in an old Chevy from the 70s’, with all your things packed in boxes stored in your car’s trunk, you immediately went to Joyce’s house. Joyce was something like your auntie - you, Nancy Wheeler, her son Jonathan and Steve Herrington always played by the woods she had behind their house. She always made you the best cupcakes, played with you, talked to you and when you were too caught up in playing, she called you to have lemonade or some snacks - but that was too long ago for you to even properly remember.

You remembered only small bits from your evenings at the Byers' house, but the feeling of Joyce is a nice, calm and sweet person always remained inside your head.

Once, all of you were only kids and you were in Hawkins only for two to three weeks every summer - so, naturally, your friendships with the old party didn't exactly last in the form it was ten years ago. All of you got into puberty and since you were studying the police academy, getting there after the senior year of your high school, you didn't really hear much about any of them. 

Plus, after you left Hawkins, you found yourself new friends in New York, so... It was no wonder, really. Everyone was just living their life the best way they could.

Although, when you heard that Joyce and her boys are you about to leave Hawkins for Maine, you tried to speed everything up only to tell her your goodbye before she actually goes away. When you got out of the car, 99 Luftballons by Nena practically screaming from Chevy's radio, you could only see a half-full moving truck and a load of kids out there. 

At least, you weren't that late, were you?

You could recall some of them - like Eleven, a girl living with Jim who you got to know the spring of 84’ when you got released for a weekend lasting holiday to celebrate Jim’s birthday. She was cool as fuck, having some kind of psionic abilities. Jim almost killed both of you when he found out that she had shown you some tricks, but you found that extremely cool. You two had built a pretty good and strong connection over the course of your visits at Hopper's.

You were able to recall Mike Wheeler and Will Byers as well since you knew their siblings - and these boys just couldn't be more similar to Jon and Nance. But there were a few kids you didn't have a single idea who they might be.

“I’m here to help. But I’m late, I guess.” - You leaned into the doorframe and smiled a bit at Joyce’s back. She was running around the whole house cluelessly and tried to pack while the others were doing the actual job. She looked at you standing there in an old flannel shirt and cool jeans which can be bought only in cities or big malls. You looked... Certainly not happy, tired, your eyes red from crying, but good and fine as hell. - “Guess you can say that I am a Hopper, right?” - You smiled as she walked to you to give you a tight, motherly hug, humming into your ear. 

“You are so big now. I remember you barely reaching my waist, darling.” - She cracked up a bit and you were almost sure that she is about to cry - and if she would, you would be a crying mess as well. You cried almost the whole way to Indiana. You just stopped yourself to cry again? Oh, boy. 

“That happens over time. Guess Jonathan isn't the smallest nor youngest now as well, huh?” - You joked, walking to one of the boxed in the hallway. Just with that, Jon accompanied by Nancy walked into the doorframe, holding another two boxes.

“Someone left a started truck outside and is playing pop blasts... Y/N?” - Jonathan asked unbelievably when you turned around to face him. He looked tired as hell just by the looks, but he still sorta got his rebellious expression, just as you were used to. And Nancy? She was breathtaking now. You almost jumped at both of them to hug them firmly with a giggle. 

The old party was getting back together. 

“I can't believe you're here!” - Nancy laughed to your ear. Both of them had the best childhood memories from the times you were there - like jamming to literally every ABBA or the Rolling Stones song, riding bikes through the neighborhood and just the best fourth of July festivals. - “Also, I'm so sorry about...” 

“I know, I know. It would be nice if you stop reminding me.” - You answered a bit louder than you plan to, so Nancy just shuts up. You were immediately apologizing, but she shook her head with her typical Wheeler smile. She totally got what you’re feeling at the moment, it wasn't even your fault really.

“Wow. I haven’t seen you since... Forever.” - Jonathan took your shoulder to his palm and smiled at you. - “I wish we could just sit down, have a cup of tea and talk about what is going on now.” - Nance agreed with him, leaving you in the hall with panicking Joyce; until another person came by.

“Is that... Is that you?” - A fourteen-year-old girl came there in an old shirt which you knew that belonged to Jim. You immediately softened when you saw the teenager, kneeling down and opening your arms for her. You closed your eyes as El leaned to you and hugged you tightly. 

“Yeah. I know.” - You mumbled into the crook of her neck quietly, letting her put her head on your shoulder as both your palms smoothed her back and her ponytail. She was such a baby girl since the day uncle Jim introduced the two of you. - “Listen up, baby. Let's get moving with the packing. You can introduce me to your friends and your boyfriend, sounds good?” - You got up, drying off her tears as you tried not to cry as well. You needed to make you both occupied.

“I would appreciate if you'd help the boys with Will’s room.” - Joyce looked at the both of you with her hands on her hips. - “Not that I don’t believe them, but I am afraid that Will’s and the other children’s packaging skills aren't exactly on point, if you know what I mean.” 

99 Luftballons subtly changed to Take On Me by A-Ha as it continued to blast through the quiet neighborhood. You and Eleven walked to Will’s room just as Joyce asked you to, leaving Nancy and Jonathan as they were.

And oh boy, there was a kind of war between four boys and a redhead girl going on, tees of every color were flying everywhere as they laughed and ran throughout the back of that house. It made you smile, wishing you could just join along. They were so young and careless and you loved it.

But as soon as they noticed you, an adult standing in the doorframe alongside El, they hid the tees and pants behind their backs and only whispers and giggling could be heard. 

“Joyce was right.” - You stepped in, picking up the clothes from the ground while looking at Will. His haircut wasn't the best and he looking alike Jon when he was a small boy. - “You guys can't pack clothes for shit.” - You mumbled as you watched every one of them.

The redhead watched you without a clue who you could be, but the others knew your face. Not too well, but they had definitely seen you around a few times before. 

“This is Y/N, Hop’s niece.” - El pointed at you and the redhead nodded. Any of the teenagers couldn't understand how could you be related to Hopper in any way - he was the old douche, probably ugly, fat and a really unpleasant person most of the time. But you were young, pretty and seemed to be a really chill person. 

“These are my friends.” - She pointed at the redhead and a boy alongside her. - ”Max and Lucas.” - She pointed at Will and Mike who you knew. - “Mike and Will.” - And then she pointed at a boy with curly hair who was smiling at you and to be honest, scaring you like shit. - “And this is Dustin.” 

“So, who’s the lucky one?” - You smirked at El and the way Mike’s cheeks reddened, you knew that he’s the one. She smiled at you without giving you a proper answer. 

You somehow managed to make the kids pack the things before dismantling the furniture in Will’s room with Jonathan’s help. You two were left alone as the others started to move all the boxes into the truck, having quite the space to talk. 

“So you and Nancy, eh?” - You smiled at him wickedly when you started to dismantle the bed. - “Or was I dreaming?” 

“Yeah. You haven't been in the town for a while. A lot of things have changed.” - Johnathan chuckled in response and handled you the wrench you needed. You rose your eyebrows. 

“You could at least call me. Would that be such a problem, mister Byers?” - You teased back and finally took the head of the bed out. 

“We thought you’re too busy living your best city life and forgot about the villagers. Hopper was updating us about your wellbeing pretty well. Heard you got to ILEA? He was proud as hell.” - Jonathan smiled. 

Yeah. Uncle Jim was the most supportive person on the whole planet when it came to you or El. You were both his little baby girls - and if someone tried to fuck your dreams up, he would be a literal pain in their ass. So, naturally, he spread the news about you studying on ILEA to everyone he actually listened to him. Joyce and Karen Wheeler were throwing with pride, lemme tell you. 

“Yeah. I got to Indianapolis, but they transferred me to the midwest since I have my new job here.” - You sighed and helped him with the wood from the side of the bed. - “Gonna study in a program of correspondence course while having my practicum here. Hawkins is apparently in need of fresh cops.”

“No way you're going to be the sheriff. That would make Hop so proud.” - Jonathan smiled at you softly and you smiled back at him. 

“He actually planned on me being the deputy. You really don't have many cops here, eh? Taking in a person who had barely finished their studies? Joke's on you.” - You started to dismantle the wooden legs off the sides. You and Jonathan were actually a good team when it came to manual work.

“We do have cops. But Hopper was the only one who wasn't bribed and actually done his damn job.” - Jon looked at you for a small while. You will be a good cop. He could feel it.

“It will be quite a change from Indianapolis.” - You sighed with a shy smile.

“I was wondering what you’re doing in the evening?” - Jonathan asked all of a sudden, his question followed by your furrowed face. - “We’ll be gone, but I don't want Nancy to be alone. If you want to... Accompany her, I will be glad.” 

“Oh, sure. If she would like to, no problem. We can borrow some VHS tapes to watch movies in the evening or whatever. Mrs. Wheeler gave me their old player.” - You nodded. There was one question which was making you furrow, so you leaned over to Jonathan, making him stop the work, quietly touching his shoulder. 

“I need to ask you something. It’s pretty... Personal to me.” - You exhaled loudly and your body shook completely on its own. 

You were all emotional about Jim passing away and even if it was more than a month since you got the news, you still fought the urge to cry. You tried to shake it off as Jonathan caught your palm in his as well. - “How did uncle Jim die? Nobody wants to tell me, they only told me that he had passed away. Was he shot? Or...” - You curled into a ball and closed your eyes. Jonathan looked around the room and gulped.

You didn't have to know this. You didn't need to know any of this. He wasn't feeling good at that moment and you could feel it. He didn't want to give you an answer, because he somehow felt that it would only hurt you even more.

“All I will tell you is that Hopper died like a real hero. That man might be a pain in everyone's ass, but he sacrificed everything to save the others. He saved all of us and I think that he saved everyone in this town. But if I would tell you, you would think that I’m crazy.” - Jon said quietly, interrupted by Joyce standing in the door. She clearly didn't hear much, since she didn't have any idea you even asked about Hopper. She was smiling, as usual, and she was really glad that the bed was dismantled.

“Oh, honey.” - She kneeled down to you and Jonathan, nuzzling you to her side, ruffling your hair, kissing the temple of your head gently. She was a true mom to everyone - even for a girl that spent only two months in Hawkins during the summer holiday. Even to a girl she hadn't seen in years.

She was something you never had, so you leaned into the touch of her small, warm palms, calming words and slow, caressing movements. Then you sat back up, smiling at her, drying your tears off.

“Can you get it to the truck?” - Joyce looked at Jonathan as he stood up. He nodded without any further thinking. 

“I need to give Y/N something. I talked to El and we agreed on it.” - She smoothed your cheek and kissed the other one tenderly. So, you followed her thought the empty house, thinking about your memories.

You could name the exact spot where Steve almost killed himself when he jumped off Jonathan’s bed onto the heating, hitting his forehead into the heater. You could exactly see their old sofa where you braided Nancy’s hair and you could say where the dinner table always stood. Hopper always sat there while he drank coffee with Joyce and her man. Lonnie was really fine... At times, before he left. He was a douchebag overall, though. 

The sweet memories made you smile again until you approached the gang consisting of children only standing there in a circle with Eleven in the middle, holding a box named ’HOPPER’ in big, dark green letters. It was almost like a cult initiation. You were sure it was one.

“I want you to have it.” - El said quietly and put the box on the ground, opening it. It was an old police uniform; the one which belonged to Hopper. It was dirty and smelled pretty bad, still having his sheriff’s badge on it. You took the shirt into your palms, caressing it between your fingers as other tears rolled down your cheeks. Then you looked at El. 

“Are you sure, baby girl?” - You asked and tried to contain your emotions as everyone was watching you with a sad face. El slowly gulped, getting on her knees as well, but then she nodded. She looked happy at that moment, contained with happy memories at Hopper.

“She wanted to keep it, but wouldn’t be for too much on use since it would only lay in the cabinet. You can wear it for work. Maybe it is too big for you and you will definitely need to wash it, but it has your name on it already, see?” - Joyce pointed at the small golden badge with Hopper on it in black letters. You leaned your head into her shoulder. A true legacy. - “I know he would want you to keep it. It will look good on you after you wash it.” 

“If you say so, Joyce.” - You smiled a bit, taking the box from El’s hands, fetching it into the trunk of your car. You stayed there until the very end, looking at the kids saying their last goodbyes. It made you cry as well, it was so sweet. 

Even Joyce hide behind the truck to have a little moment to herself. She hated when she saw her boys or their friends sad and crying. Joyce Byers was just the most amazing woman and mom you had ever met.

Even if you didn't expect it at all, you got hugs as well. The one from Will was a shy, quick one with that shy boy’s smile painted on his lips. Jonathan couldn't be as much different from his brother as he was - this boy held you firmly for a few seconds, he actually hugged you so tight you couldn't breathe for a second and screamed loudly with laughter. 

“Better watch it here or I will come back and kick your ass.” - He said jokingly, patting your shoulder. You opened your mouth and laughed too, hitting him gently as well. - “Sure. Keep on dreaming, Byers, because that's not going to happen.” - You patted his shoulder as well, bringing him in for one last quick hug - then you left him, so he could say goodbye to Nancy.

Eleven came to you after she kissed the soul out of Mike’s tall and slim body - she hugged you tightly. You maybe weren't exactly the closest, but you were something like sisters from one point of view. 

That was the magic Jim Hopper could do when he wanted to. He was bringing people together. He brought El and Mike so close he couldn't stand him anymore. But your bond would make him happy.

“If something, you can always call me.” - You looked her in the eyes as she continued crying. She was such a lovely girl. - “I know you would rather talk to Max, but I’m here too. I’ll be waiting for a call at Hop’s old number, okay?” - You asked and she nodded, unable to speak in words. But her tears were giving you an idea of what the was feeling. 

“And we repaired your old room. You will be always welcomed in that house.” - You kissed her forehead, snuggling her closer again. 

When they were leaving, you stood there with Nancy and the remaining kids, watching the cars leave, not even waving. Most of you were still crying your eyes out, so you were too dazzled to actually say goodbye. Just minutes after the cars disappeared, you looked at Nancy. 

“Need a ride home? The kids are taking the bikes apparently.” - You asked and took the keys to your car out of your pocket. Nancy nodded, smiling at you with the typical Wheeler smile. - “Also, if you want to, you can stay the night at my place. You would feel less alone and the cabin would feel less scary.” - You smiled at her when you both were sitting in the car. 

“I guess so. It would be fine to talk to you after such a long time. I miss our summer adventures.” -  Nancy said shyly and you stopped yourself from starting the car, looking her in the eyes, holding the steering wheel in your palms. 

“I do too. So, off to the supermarket and VHS store it is, I guess.” - You looked into the mirror showing you the space behind the car and started the old Chevy’s motor. 

[doubletriplepowerbomb]

Caveman

Roman Reigns x OC: highschool! AU

Request for anon

A/N: Oh lord hello. Okay I know I’ve been dead but I’m back and this is only chapter one! I promise it gets better after this. I tried a thing so bear with me please. Anyway. Enjoy chapter one of Caveman :)

Word count: 5050+

Warnings: angst and swears

Tags: @jenn0755 @zappyzoodle @disturbthepearls @lost-in-the-stories @lithesxx @racingandreigns @rocketgirl2410 @vebner37 @therianfurry46 @littlelunaticfringe @finnbalorlover21 @winged-time-criminal @mrsnegan25 @xfirespritex @wefunloveruniverse @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Everyone had the same answer if you asked them to describe Roman Reigns. Athletic, but stupid. Popular, but alone. Girls thought he was hot, but they were scared of him. He’s a giant. A 6’3”, 200-something pound monster who plays football and lacrosse and is known to be extremely violent. They say he has no concept of other people’s pain. He’s dumb as a brick wall and doesn’t know his own strength. A mindless soldier, who’s getting into college on a sports scholarship.

But that’s what everyone said. I just had a really hard time believing it. Sure, I’ve seen him play football and lacrosse. I go to all the games, I take the pictures for the yearbook. But even if I didn’t have to go to all the games, I’d still go. I watch Roman play. He racks up a lot of penalties per game, but it’s because his coach only tells him to hit whoever gets in the way. And he hits hard. I just had a feeling that there was no way Roman could only be what everyone says he is.

I kept my distance from him though. I smiled in the hall and sent him the pictures of him that I took. I kept to myself though, I didn’t want to ever give up how madly in love with him I was. He didn't seem to be distracted by girls though. I would hear his father screaming at him from the sidelines, he would never allow Roman to have a girlfriend while he was in season. I wasn’t trying to be his girlfriend, I was just crushing on him. Hard. I had been since middle school.

And I was very good at keeping my distance these past few years. Until the first day of our senior year, he approached me in the hall. It was the first time I had seen real emotion in his grey eyes. I saw fear.

“Lindsey.” He began as I paused my music and pulled my headphones out. “I need your help.” I nodded for him to continue. I didn’t talk much, to anyone. “I need a tutor, bad. You have straight A’s right?” His voice was desperate.

“You want me to tutor you?” He nodded his head and put on a hopeful grin. It melted me right away and I said yes. I knew it was a bad idea, but he intrigued me. I’d learn more about him this way I guess.  

He explained to me that his low math grades would keep him out of his senior year football season. I nodded along but I didn’t really believe him. Mr. Ruiz was the athletic director at Lakeside High School and all he cared about was football and boys lacrosse. Both sports Roman played and had varsity spots in as a freshman. I didn’t believe that with such a biased program, anyone would ever tell Roman Reigns he couldn’t play. But I didn’t question him. I simply told him that I could tutor him during lunch or after school. He asked me this on a Wednesday and we worked out that we’d start next week.

I went into my study hall that day bubblier than I should’ve been on the first day of school. My best friend Baron was sitting at a desk in the back and I skipped over to him. Baron had been one of my best friends since we were little. He was my first friend in elementary school and we’ve stayed close through high school. We’re even going to prom together. Not because we like each other, but because we made a pact. We mutually hate almost everyone else in our grade so we’re gonna go together, as friends. But prom is in June and it’s September so that didn’t matter too much.

“You’re kidding right?” Baron said. His voice lacked the enthusiasm I thought he’d have for me. “You’re gonna tutor that caveman?”

I kinda just stared at him for a little. His words shocked me. Baron has always made fun of me for having a crush on Roman. He always found it funny that I would like someone so dumb. But despite the teasing, Baron was my best friend. And he knew that ever since 6th grade I’ve had a crush on Roman. After a long silence on my part, I spoke up. “Are you not happy for me?”

“Happy for you? Lindsey, I’m gonna start planning your funeral.” I didn’t respond. I just scrunched my nose. “He’s gonna get mad about math or something else he can’t understand and take it out on you. To him, everyone is just someone he can hit. Look I know you can hold your own, but you can’t against him.”

What the hell is he talking about? Is he really scared for my well being? I’m tutoring someone, not going into boxing. I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t want to get into a fight with my best friend over a boy I’m tutoring. So I agreed with him. I told him he was right and I told him that I’d tell Roman to find another tutor.

Except, I didn’t agree. And I didn’t tell Roman.

The rest of the week went by normally; ice breakers, class syllabuses, and basic assignments to get you into the swing of things. I blatantly lied to Baron though. He thinks I’m not tutoring Roman. Luckily, Baron doesn't have lunch when Roman and I do and I’ll just have to keep my composure in study hall.

Friday night came quickly and Lakeside had its first football game. Roman played but rumors went around the bleachers that he wasn’t supposed to. There were also rumors that he had a tutor so he’ll be able to play. Nobody knew that tutor was me, so everything was fine.

The weekend flew by quickly and I got a text from Roman after 3rd period on Monday. Can we study in the library today at lunch? I texted back yes and watched the clock as I got closer and closer to 6th period.

The bell signalling the end of 5th period finally rang and I practically jumped out of my seat. I get to spend a whole period alone… with Roman Reigns, the most gorgeous boy in school. Despite me wanting to sprint, I walked as slowly as I could to the library. I wanted him to get there first.

When I got there he was sitting at a back table in the corner, devouring a sandwich. I smiled and walked over to him. He looked up from his sandwich and smiled with a closed mouth. He waved me over and finished chewing before I sat down. “Hey, sorry about the library. I won’t be able to focus in the cafeteria. All the football guys are kinda on my ass about the whole tutor thing.” I think that was the most I’ve ever heard him speak. His voice was extremely quiet, despite screaming on the football field. I guess he was just shy in school because he wasn’t comfortable.

“It’s no problem, so, what are we doing?” I asked with a smile. I got the feeling that everyone who had spread and believed those rumors about him had never actually spoken to him.

“Uh, we’re graphing functions… I think.” I knew that’s what he was doing. I took pre-calculus last year when I was a junior. I saved all my notes and everything from that class. Roman pulled out his folder and opened to the notes he took. They were probably the worst notes I had ever seen. I didn’t want to change his whole system though so I got my notes out from last year and opened to the first section: graphing functions.

The 45 minute lunch period went by quickly, but Roman was able to semi-understand what happened in class today and get his homework done.

A week went by and nothing changed. During 6th period we’d sit alone together and I’d help him and that was the only interaction we ever had. I’d see him in the hallway and make eye contact with him but I never got anything from him. No smile, no nod, no acknowledgement. I didn’t really mind too much though. It's not like I was expecting a high school rom-com.

Okay… maybe I wanted that… but I knew it wasn’t gonna happen.

Roman had a quiz on Friday and if he failed it, he wouldn’t play in his game that night. That was the system Roman’s math teacher worked out with Mr. Ruiz. If he fails a test, he can’t play in the game that comes after it. It was an odd system but I didn’t want to put my nose where it didn’t belong, so I didn’t ask.

I waited with Roman in the hallway after his first math quiz, his teacher handed him his test with a frown. Originally, I thought the frown meant that Roman failed but when I looked at his grade I saw a 78. A 78 was a C, he passed. Why was the teacher frowning? And why did he look so pissed off when he handed Roman his test?

I quickly forgot about his teacher’s face when I felt Roman’s warm hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for helping me pass. I’ll see you at the game. We’re playing Shoreview. It’s gonna be a good game, you’ll get some good pictures.” His hand fell from my shoulder and his fingers brushed my arms, leaving goosebumps in their path. And with that, we went our separate ways.   

This week, the rumors about Roman and his tutor still swirled, except this time, I was included.

“I heard Lindsey is his tutor…”

“Nuh uh, she isn’t just his tutor…”

“He definitely fucks her…”     

“I’d fuck him…”

“I don't understand how she isn’t afraid of him…”

“I think he’s terrifying…”

“Everyone thinks he’s terrifying…”

“Lindsey doesn't…”

“I see them at the library every day during lunch…”

“I’ve seen them make out under the stairs…”

I rolled my eyes, everyone was so stupid. It was almost like they wanted me to hear them. But thank god Baron wasn’t at this game. He would’ve been pissed. And okay, I knew Baron was gonna find out eventually, but I just didn't want to tell him yet. I knew he’d get mad and I didn't feel like dealing with that.

This Friday’s game was great too. Roman played incredibly and it was pretty apparent that he was needed on the team. I was starting to see why he wanted a tutor so badly. I was also starting to see how much I was letting my “little crush” affect me. As I was going back through the pictures I took of that game all I could see was number 96. 80% of my pictures were of Roman. I felt so stupid. I was so caught up with watching him play I only took pictures of him. Obviously, other players were in them, but in most of them, he was centered.

I sent the photos out anyway, but I didn't send Roman every single one of the photos I took. I couldn't, there were too many.

The weekend flew by like usual and I was back in school. Monday morning was boring but after school got exciting. I heard the buzz in 4th period, apparently there was a fight in the hallway. One kid got his ass kicked and other got suspended. Roman was the kid who got suspended. I heard that the other kid was talking shit about him and he kicked his ass before getting pulled off of him by a gym teacher. Roman went straight to the principal’s office and got suspended for 3 days.

Almost exactly as the bell to end fourth period rang, I got a text from Roman. Hey Lindsey can we study at your house tonight? I got suspended. I wasn’t surprised, I had already heard the rumors. Yeah I heard, what happened? And yeah no problem. You can come at 6. My phone buzzed again with Roman’s explanation. This dumbass junior was talking shit. Kinda lost my temper I guess. I scoffed, yeah kinda.

I was walking to study hall and I saw Baron smiling to himself while going through his phone. “What are you all smiley about?” I asked once finally reaching his desk.

Baron looked up from his phone and smirked at me. “Your caveman got suspended today. He got into a fight with an underclassmen.” I rolled my eyes, why was he so happy that Roman got suspended? “Aren’t you glad you don’t tutor him? He could have beaten the shit out of you.” I didn’t argue, I just nodded my head. Telling Baron that I knew Roman would never hit me probably wouldn’t do anything positive for the situation, so I kept my mouth shut.

As the day dragged on, the rumors about Roman got worse. First, he beat up a junior for talking shit. Then it was a sophomore for being an asshole. But as people got increasingly more bored, the rumor made Roman look worse and worse. By the end of the day Roman had apparently beaten a freshman that got lost to a pulp. They said that the freshman got beaten so bad that the staff couldn't even recognize who he was. I rolled my eyes upon hearing all of these. Roman told me what happened, but I couldn’t argue anyone so I didn’t.

At 6:03, my doorbell rang. Something about this made my heart race. I don’t know why I cared so much about this. Roman Reigns is a complete dipshit. I had no idea why should I care about him but I did. Roman didn’t seem to be as eager as I was about this. I had a smile on my face when I opened the door, but seeing his stoic expression made my face straighten.

“Hey Roman.” My voice was light and happy. Roman’s voice was deep and monotonous. He did not sound happy to be here. “So what are we doing tonight?” I asked, leading him to the kitchen.

“I don’t know. pre-calc?” He sounded incredibly pissed off. Almost like if someone broke is pencil he’d flip his shit.

“Pre-calculus? Like everything we’ve done so far?” My voice dropped out when I saw his face. He was serious. He didn’t really understand pre-calculus.

“Yes. Lindsey.” I couldn’t help but stare at him, I couldn't believe how anyone could be so dumb, I’ve been tutoring him for two weeks now and he hasn’t retained anything. “What. You think it’s funny? I’ve had a tutor for weeks now and I’m still failing!”

“Well, Roman you have to try. You can’t expect to magically get good grades just because you have a tutor now.” I said sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Well that’s what happens with all the other guys.” Roman was mumbling. I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Huh?”

Roman rolled his eyes at me. How does she not know? “Every other guy on the team who needed a tutor picked someone who would do the work for them.” I creased my eyebrows. “C'mon you’re smart. How do you not know this?” His tone of voice was snappy.

“Well I figured you cared about your grades.” I was starting to see why he chose me. Did he think I would do it because I like him?

“I don’t give a shit about my grades, Lindsey. I wanna play football. And I can’t. I still can’t. Cause you haven’t helped.” Roman still hasn’t sat down.

“What is your definition of helping?” I asked, my voice raised.

“Do the work for me. Help me cheat. C’mon you got a crush on me don't you?” He seemed unphased. Like the words spilling from his mouth weren’t wrong.

“You’re kidding.” I said. I stood up and walked around the kitchen table. “You really think that I’m one of those spineless girls who will do favors for you because you’re an attractive football player? I could be doing anything else but I’m here trying to help you, not because I have a crush on you, but because I thought you needed help.” I was moving towards him as I spoke. He still didn’t seem phased. At all.

“This isn’t a favor for a friend. We aren’t friends, Roman. We’ve barely spoken before this year and you’re still a dick. You ask me for my help and I genuinely wanted to help you. Now you come to me saying ‘oh I’m too stupid to do this so can you?’ You have a person who understands the topic and is good at teaching it and you still can’t do jack shit.” I was now standing face-to-face (more like face-to-chest) with Roman. I tried my best to be assertive, but it was difficult. He stood 8 inches above me and he was a hell of a lot bigger. Roman’s broad shoulders, his dark hair and features paired with his size made him look intimidating. I tried to stay strong though.

Roman looked down at me with a smirk. “What are you gonna do? Not tutor me? There goes your extra credit.”

I laughed, I didn’t mean to laugh, but I did. “You seriously didn’t just say that. You really just threatened me? Try to use that brain of yours and tell me, do you really think I need that extra credit? Take your time now, I wouldn’t want you blowing a fuse up there.”

“You wouldn’t not tutor me.” He said smugly. He was so stupid.

“You’re sure?” I smiled sweetly. I could feel my blood boiling.

“Certain.” His smirk made me want to punch him in the face. Idiot. I pushed myself away from him and walked towards the door. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not tutoring you. You’re a fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve my time.” I undid the top lock on the front door, not breaking eye contact with Roman.

“Without me, the school will barely have a team.” He was threatening me. Seriously.

“You think I give a shit about our school’s football team?” I opened the bottom lock. “You think I’ll be sad to see you fail? It’ll be great to see reality punch you in the face” I turned the doorknob. “You’re an egotistical douchebag and you don’t deserve me or my time at all!”

“You’re attracted to me.” He paced towards me. The smirk on his face was so hot and so fucking annoying at the same time. I hoped he couldn't tell how overwhelmed I was. 

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself, caveman. You ain’t shit.” God I prayed I wasn’t blushing. I would die if he knew. He’s a complete douchebag and the single most vain, egotistical, stubborn... muscular, gorgeous, convincing, hypnotizing, perfect… what the fuck? Where am I? He noticed I was trailing off, he got closer, he smelled wonderful. “Ugh Roman get out!” I pressed my hands to his chest and shoved as I yelled. Holy shit he was muscular. Ugh, Lindsey, pull yourself together!

I slammed the door on him and pressed my back against the closed door. I felt something sinking in my gut. I was feeling disappointment. I don’t know maybe I just hoped- I hoped. I’m just as much of an idiot as he is.

A week passed. I haven’t spoken to or even seen Roman since that night. He failed his math quiz on Wednesday and he sat the bench during that Friday night’s football game. The rumors swirled around the bleachers.

“I heard he cheated on her…”

“I heard she flipped on him for no reason…”

“That’s what I heard…”

“I heard he hit her...”

“I heard she got a restraining order…”

I didn’t answer to anyone’s whispers. I was too busy looking at Roman on the bench. I saw his face, he looked miserable. I felt guilty but I quickly shook it off. He chose me because he thought I was a stupid girl with a crush who would do his work for him. He deserves to be on the bench. Unsurprisingly, Lakeside didn’t win that game. Our QB got sacked multiple times and we just didn't have the intensity and strength that we needed. It probably would've been different if Roman was playing. He knew it. The team knew it. Everyone knew it.

We made eye contact after the game. He looked sorry but I didn’t care. I looked at him with a smirk and shrugged my shoulders. I saw his face get angry. He walked away from the bench and walked quickly towards me.

He shoved through the remaining cheerleaders and stood at the fence.

I spoke before he could. “How was the bench, caveman?” I asked raising my eyebrows.

“Fuck you.” He said. His voice was loud, not many people were left. Most of the students left before the game ended.

I had an evil smirk on my face. “Geez, I was just asking a question.” I put my hands up in defense. I turned away from him and began walking to the parking lot. I didn’t have any car to go to, I just wanted to walk away.

“Lindsey!” His voice was even louder than before. I turned around to see him jogging towards me, he was fuming.

“What’s up, Roman? Was the wording of my question too hard for you to understand?” My voice dripping with sarcasm and fake concern.

“You’re a pretentious cunt, you know that.” His tone was icy and his words seemed to bite me. “A fucking bitch with a stick so far up her ass-” his words cut off as my hand slapped him across the cheek.

What nerve he had saying that shit to me? He used me and I’m the cunt? Dickhead. I didn’t know what was going through my head other than that I hated him. My face was furious and I drew my hand backwards. I felt absolutely no control in my body and I slapped him. Hard. Everything happened so fast and I had no clue what I was doing until it was too late.

My eyes widened and I slapped my hand over my mouth. His head barely moved, he just stared into my soul with cold, grey eyes. I lost my angry demeanor and felt fear rise from my gut.

“Roman.” I didn’t even know what to say. Despite what everyone said, in the two weeks I tutored him I had never once thought he was going to hurt me. But in this moment, I was convinced he was gonna beat the shit out of me.

I saw him smile and lick his lips. I backed up until I felt my back hit a wall. Roman put his large hands on both sides of me. He leaned more of his weight on his arms, his eyes still looked dead and I was getting increasingly more scared.

I closed my eyes and braced myself against the wall. I wasn’t expecting a punch or kick or anything but I was expecting to get hurt. Except I didn’t feel anything, maybe I was already dead. I peaked out of a half closed eye after a few long seconds then opened both my eyes completely, Roman was gone. I saw him trudging across the turf.

Roman realized what he was doing before his hand made contact with me. I didn’t notice him sigh and drop his hands to his sides before turning and walking up to the locker room. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Dude, what the fuck? I almost hit her! She’s a girl and I almost hit her! She gives up her time for my sorry ass and I called her a cunt. I deserved that fucking slap. Fuck. He was also beginning to figure out that he was gonna need a tutor still, and that I was one of the few people willing to tutor him.

I turned to the parking lot and noticed Baron’s car in the lot. Oh shit. As I walked closer I noticed he was standing outside the door. “Lindsey what the fuck was that?” He was not happy.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“I wanted to make sure you had a ride home. Now answer me, what the hell was that. Why was Roman about to kill you?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” I said. My answer seemed to piss Baron off.

“What the hell does that mean?” He snapped. I wasn’t expecting him to snap at me.

“I don’t know. I literally thought he was gonna hit me, but he walked away.”

“No Lindsey I saw that. I saw everything. Why was he there. Why are you even talking to him?” He was asking but I had a feeling that he knew.

“Well, I might be tutoring him.” I said quickly and quietly. Baron stopped short and I smacked my nose on my knee. “Ow Baron, what the fuck.”

“You’re tutoring him?!” Baron yelled. “Even after what I said!” My mind raced and my heart was still pounding after being convinced I was gonna get beaten by Roman Reigns. It was definitely not pounding because he was so close. That's totally not it.

Okay… maybe that was a part of it. But just a part.

Baron didn’t talk to me the rest of the way home and he didn't come inside when he dropped me off. He told me he didn’t want to see me tonight then drove off.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock at the front door. I figured it was Baron but then I realized that Baron doesn’t knock anymore. I got up from my spot on the couch and opened the door.

Dude. Leave. This is so weird. She probably isn't even home. No. I can’t sit out of another game. This was the worst night of my life.

I felt my stomach flip when I saw him in the doorway. He was still wearing jersey but instead of his football pants he was wearing sweatpants. His long black hair was pulled to the back of his head into a bun. His hair wasn’t as perfect as usual, it seemed like he did it in a rush. God, Lindsey, shut up about his hair. 

“What the hell do you want?” I asked. A part of me was happy to see him. A part of me was always happy to see him.

“I wanted to say sorry.” Roman’s voice was quiet and he sounded sincere. But I couldn’t believe him. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.

“Funny.” I said before closing the door. Roman’s hand against the door thudded loudly and he was beyond strong enough to hold it open.

“Gimme a week.” Roman said quickly. “A week… you tutor me and I’ll try and if I don’t get above a C on my tests you don’t ever have to deal with me again. I’ll leave you alone forever.”

I pursed my lips. I knew I was going to agree to his terms. But I didn't want to.

“Please, Lindsey. I know I was an asshole but I didn't pick you because I thought you had a crush on me, I swear. I picked you because you’re nice. I’m an idiot, everyone knows it. People are scared of me, but you aren’t…” he noticed I was trying to close the door again. “Please.” his voice raised and his tone got increasingly more desperate. “I can’t sit out of anymore games. I know you don't care but I really need to play. I wont get into college if I don't. I’ll try to do work I promise.”

Honestly I was gonna let him in a few sentences into his apology, but I wanted to hear what he was gonna say. I groaned and stood aside, letting him walk inside. Relief overtook Roman’s face and his features softened as he walked inside. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t said yes yet. I know what you just said, but you expected me to do all your work. I’m not gonna do that. I’m not an idiot with a crush. I’m not gonna do all your shit. You’re gonna try. And you’re also gonna explain what kind of system you have going right now cause it doesn't make sense. What did you work out with your teacher and Mr. Ruiz about you playing?” I didn't care about being nosy anymore. He pissed me off and I was gonna do whatever I wanted.

“Oh. Well, last year I had the same teacher, Mr Barnes. He hated me last year too. I didn't do any work and I failed a lot of my tests. He was pissed because our school doesn't really enforce the whole “low gpa-no sports” rule, especially with Mr. Ruiz. So this year, on the first day of school, Mr Barnes held me after class and told me that if I don't start doing better in his class I won’t be able to play. I didn't believe him at first but then Mr. Ruiz came in. He looked at me like he was sorry for me, like he thought he disappointed me or something. He explained everything, he’d lose his job if he didn’t enforce the rule, so they compromised. I have to start passing my tests, and if I don’t, I don't play.”

I looked around my living room and I hated myself for thinking the way I was. Everything was normal except for the gorgeous boy on my couch and I felt bad for him. It was Roman’s senior year and football really was his only way into college. I also had the biggest crush on him. I know. I know. I said I wasn’t a “spineless girl who would do favors for an attractive football player” but I kinda was. I didn't want to be. But I couldn't help it. “Fine. I’ll help you. But I’m serious, if I notice you're not trying or I find out you cheated, I’m not tutoring you. I will not do your work and you will not take me for granted. Deal?”

I couldn’t describe Roman’s expression, other than it being the cutest thing I had ever seen. I tried not to melt as he nodded at me. He was staring at me attentively with a grin on his face. I hated myself for giving in so easily. I hated myself for being so pathetic.

He picked me to tutor him because he thought I had a crush on him and I would do his work for him. He called me a cunt. But he came to my house and apologized and I melted at his feet. Ugh. 

I hated Roman Reigns. That caveman is gonna be be the death of me. I swear it.

A/N: okay I know it seems one sided right now but in chapter 2 someone else catches some feelings ;)))

part 2

[agentsokka]

Davekat Fic Recs [P2]

Continuation of my Davekat fic rec list from ye old 2016. An absolute metric shit ton of Damn Good Fics™ have dropped since then, and it’s criminal I haven’t updated that original list in so long. 

As per usual with these things, you won’t find much luck here with smut content. Some stories feature scenes, but for the most part, the fics themselves aren’t exclusively about such.

Cheers!

[Oneshots]

English is Full of Really Shitty Metaphors: You knew you probably shouldn't stay on a planet mostly inhabited by trolls once you finished your adult pupation and your blood color became more apparent. You also knew that you should learn a couple of other languages so that your weren't floundering around like an idiot when you eventually did move. Talking to random aliens on the internet seemed like a really good way to practice.

Fatalistic Humor, or, Jokes to Make Post-Mortem: ‘Head over heels’ is an appropriate turn of phrase because falling in love is exactly like throwing yourself down an endless staircase of inconvenient emotion.

i’m at the combination dunkin donuts & urgent care: Karkat Vantas is convinced beyond a doubt that his neighbor is some variety of murderer, until they actually meet in person. Highlights include blood at the laundromat, Dave's weird obsession with candles, and a box of shitty swords.

In Which a Loser is Sick: IN WHICH A LOSER IS SICK AND TRIES TO DENY IT, A TROLL IS ALSO A LOSER AND TRIES TO DENY IT, PISSING PANTS IS DISCUSSED IN THE SAME LINE OF CONVERSATION AS CALMING DOWN, VRISKA IS MENTIONED BECAUSE OF COURSE SHE IS, SOUP IS MADE AND SUBSEQUENTLY IGNORED, AND AN ACT OF AFFECTION IS REPAID BY THE WEAKENING OF AN IMMUNE SYSTEM. Dave gets sick and Karkat takes care of him.

Pretty Friggin’ MATRIMONIAL: Karkat is planning the proposal to end all proposals, but a clueless Dave has plans of his own.

Rumination: Dave and Karkat do some thinking, talking, kissing, and cuddling. Not necessarily in that order.

Self Sabotage and Other Symptoms of a Damaged Soul: Ok so everyone knows Dave and Dirk had a long amazing talk that presumably ended with Dave asking him for advice on the Being Not Straight stuff. My problem is, Dave also spent three years with his gloriously gay twin sister on a fucking space rock while he was right in the middle of coming to terms with all this stuff. So I wrote this mostly to reconcile the gap I think exists there, with a bunch of other Dave centric stuff thrown in with it.

Shitty Punchlines are the Purest Form of Self-Deprecation: Laying somewhere solidly post-credits and wondering, when do we start feeling like winners? Or is that not part of the package? Where's our fucking GameFAQs guide to navigating these stupid first steps into an eternity processing whatever the FUCK just happened, here? Going through that door was supposed to fix everything. Wasn't it? What's it going to take to fix ourselves?

Sleepwalk: Dave has unfortunate nocturnal habits. Karkat handles them better than anyone might've expected.

Start at the Beginning: Don't stop until eternity. And even then. (Davekat, meteor to can land to earth c and on. Happy anniversary.)

Sweatertown - Population: Two: Dave's cape gets hijacked, but Karkat knows what to do about it.

Tested: Dave and Karkat want to escape Aperture Science Laboratories.

That Cultural Divide: “Dave,” says Karkat neutrally, “why are they beating him up?” And your mouth runs dry.

Valentine’s Day: Valentine's Day through the three years on the meteor.

What to do When Your Boyfriend is Too Hot: Moving to a new universe and a new paradigm brings a lot of changes. And Dave kind of likes the way things were before, back on the Meteor, when he had Karkat all to himself and didn't spend sleepless nights waiting for the shoe to fall.

[Multichap]

About a Time I Failed: A doomed timeline AU. Instead of trolling John, Karkat finds himself scrolling through Dave's entire timeline. He is horrified by what he finds, and ends up in a pseudo-friendship with somewhat reluctant Dave. The story spans the rest of this timeline- Dave and Karkat's budding internet romance, the beta kids becoming friends, the start of SBURB, and, eventually, all of them realizing that Dave and Karkat's diversion from the Alpha Timeline has doomed them all. [Incomplete]

And it’s a Downward Spiral from There: One day, the whole world is going to acknowledge you as that one guy who finally made contact with aliens, but if you had known that getting drunk was going to lead up to abduction, a potential probing, and becoming the worst cult sacrifice this side of the galaxy, you probably would have just stayed at home. [Ongoing]

Astronomy in Reverse: Dave and Karkat are intergalactic pen pals, originally paired together for an extra credit school outreach project. Now, three years of correspondence later, they're best friends... and Karkat is finally immigrating to Earth. [Ongoing]

Breathe: Your name is Dave Strider, and there's nothing good about John and Rose changing schools. Without your twin sister and best friend, you've been left socially crippled at school, and barely coping at home. You're nearly certain that your mental health has been slowly spiraling downhill. You have no clue how you'll last the year to high school graduation. In all this, there's just one single ray of light. Your name is Dave Strider, and there's nothing good about John and Rose changing schools. Except for meeting Karkat Vantas. [Ongoing]

**The Calm is Terrifying When the Storm is All You’ve Known**: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist. Slow burn, shifting perspectives; romance really isn't the focus here but it'll still play a significant part; extra content warnings will be posted with each relevant chapter. [Ongoing] [y’all I’m serious read it it’ll water your crops and clear your chakras it’s Good Shit]

cold desert: Curiosity killed the cat. It probably just wasn't as good at being nosy as Dave is. [Ongoing]

Demon Eyes: In which Dave goes in to kill a demon for his bro, and things...don't exactly go as planned. [Ongoing]

Doc Scratch’s School for Supernaturally Gifted Adolescents: One minute you get a mysterious message from a man who types all in white like a jackass, and then the next thing you know you're being whisked away to a mystical school for kids with superpowers. If you weren't Dave fucking Strider, this sort of thing might bother you. [Ongoing]

Fortuitous: Dave and Karkat build a pillow fort and an unexpected chain of events occurs. [Ongoing]

If I Lose Everything in the Fire: The Kaiju - or Horrorterrors, as the trolls call them - first invaded Earth through a transdimensional rift at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Serving the Condesce in her quest to add Earth to the Alternian Empire, these monsters have terrorized humanity for twelve years. With the help of rebel troll factions and the adaptation of Alternian mind integration technology - The Drift - the Interspecies Defense Program has fought back as the last line of defense between the Kaiju and Earth. Karkat Vantas was a Jaeger pilot, fought for freedom in the Assault on the Breach that brought trolls to Earth. The loss of his co-pilot left him bitter and full of rage, but desperate times have lead to him being recruited to join the fray once more. Dave Strider is the best and brightest the Interspec program has to offer. Jaeger Restoration Project Head, highest simulation score on record, and younger brother of the Deputy Marshal - except he's not allowed in a Jaeger. Nobody expects them to be Drift Compatible. [Ongoing]

i'm sick of the things i do when i'm nervous: Two idiots poke at recovery with a stick. [Complete]

IN WHICH TWO SETS OF HUMAN BROTHERLY BONDS ARE ESTABLISHED, SEVERAL CORRUPT INSTITUTIONS OF MORALITY ARE IDEOLOGICALY DEMOLISHED, A DOG WITCH USES GOD POWERS TO MESS WITH EXQUISTELY CAREFULLY PLANNED INFRASTRUCTURE PLANS FOR SOME TREES LIKE A JACKASS--: --APPROXIMATELY A BILLION FUCKING CONSORTS AND CHESS PEOPLE, ALONG WITH A LOT OF USELESS GOD MODED LAYABOUTS ARE LEAD TO SUCCESSFUL COLONIZATION AND ESTABLISHMENT BY A SUCCESSFUL AND COMPASSIONATE LEADER, AND LONG-SUNDERED SOULMATES TORN APART BY FEAR AND DEVASTATING, MIND-BOGGLING STUPIDITY ARE REUNITED AT LAST BY A WISE, COMPASSIONATE BOSS / GUIDANCE FIGURE AND HIS LOYAL, EFFICIENT RIGHT-HAND MAN. THERE ARE AT LEAST THREE CRYING SCENES, TWO KISSES, AND OVER TEN TOTAL MINUTES OF REAL-TIME DESCRIPTION OF LONGING GAZES AND TENDER HUGS. 2 RESOUNDING ENDORSEMENTS OF BELOVED MUNICIPAL OFFICIALS. PRIMERS ON HUMAN/TROLL INTERSPECIES ROMANCE. THIS TEXT IS SUGGESTED SCHOOLFEEDING MATERIAL FOR ALL REASONABLY GROWN HATCHLINGS GAZING OUT ON THE BLIGHTED WASTELAND OF THEIR PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS, WISHING THEY WERE DEAD, AND DESPERATELY YEARNING SOMEONE WOULD CLUE THEM IN ON JUST WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. RATED 8(17)+ AND UP. [Complete]

M.C. Escher that's My Favorite MC [It’s the End of the World as We Know It]: Dirk has a plan, when he's 18 he's going to take Dave and get him the fuck out of their terrible lives and start over. Until then being the barrier between Dave and Bro is his only job, his soulmate is just going to have to wait goddamnit. Dave has a plan, it involves getting internet famous and not going gay, easy right? Karkat also has a plan, to repeatedly track down his dumb as rocks soulmate and get him to actually talk to him for fuck's sake. [Ongoing]

Midnight’s Son: Dave Strider's father, a prominent detective, is tasked with infiltrating the Midnight Crew. Dave, worried about his father's safety, decides to do a little undercover work of his own and tries to befriend the boss's son, Karkat Vantas. [Complete]

Nothing Risked, Nothing Lost: Try as he might, Dave remembered nothing from the first four years of his life. There were three signs of imminent upheaval. First, the King of Derse disappeared without a trace. Second, the Queen of Prospit dropped dead. The third sign was the return of long-lost royalty. Not like any of this was Dave's concern. Not the war between Prospit and Derse, not the horrorterrors of the Furthest Ring, not the failings of some dumb monarchs. He was a nobody. Not like Rose, a bona fide Seer of Light. He wasn't sure why she wanted them to go to Derse, but he followed her, anyway. Like he always did. [Hiatus]

Off Court: Your name is Dave Strider, and a hospital wasn’t the setting you had imagined when you thought of seeing your twin again. Your name is Karkat Vantas, and having Terezi drag you around her weird human legislacerator training probably wasn’t the worst way you could spend the rest of your sweeps. And then you meet him. [Ongoing]

Palisades, Palisades: In your memories, you see Dave Strider, fourteen-years-old and made up of lean muscle and awkward limbs that he would still need a few years to grow into fully. Crows surround him, all cawing impatiently, vying for the chicken sandwich in his backpack. He swears loudly as he swings a stick at them, trying to get them to leave him the fuck alone. “Stupid feathery assholes,” he’d always complain once he finally shooed them away. You tear yourself out of the memory. You miss him, and you hate yourself for it. [Complete]

The Red Thing: The first time you ever realised there was something wrong with you, you were two sweeps old. You still remember it like it was just yesterday. You were at the playground in your then-community, which you had long since moved from. You’d been playing ‘tag’ with some of the other young trolls, but had tripped and scraped your knees. One of the other troll’s custodial guardians had noticed what had happened, and wandered over to make sure you were alright. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the look on her face when she picked you up and saw the mutant-red seeping through the knees of your pants. Things spiraled downhill quickly after that. You’d never quite understood what was happening when you were young, but you’d known that you’d become an outcast. Other trolls around you started to avoid you. Sometimes they’d throw things at you – food, stones, anything that might hurt you. Other times, they’d call you names – mistake, mutant, freak. You preferred when they tried to hurt you. At least then you could fight back. [Ongoing]

space cowboy disaster zone: Your name is Karkat Vantas, and these nights you eke out a quiet living on Antoren-3, helping around the Caltira Inn or scavenging out in the rust plains. It’s a simple life, and the only excitement you get for the most part is from the stories of other scavengers, a handful of bar fights, and the occasional salvageable wreck. Fresh wrecks, you’ve only seen a handful of times, and when John spots the telltale streak of light from a distant crash in the middle of a rust storm, you’re eager to get first dibs on whatever it might contain, the elements be damned. You don’t expect a survivor. [Ongoing]

Stepping Stones: A series of vignettes concerning the evolution of the relationship between Karkat Vantas and Dave Strider. Or, the troll title: IN WHICH DAVE AND KARKAT DISCUSS THE VARIOUS DIFFERENCES BETWEEN HUMAN AND TROLL GENITALS, THERE IS AN AWKWARD CONFESSION OF EMOTIONS, DAVE AND DIRK FINISH THEIR CONVERSATION ON THE ROOFTOP, DAVE GETS SOME ADVICE FROM A FEW OF THE LADIES IN HIS LIFE, AND THERE IS A SMUTTY EPILOGUE. [Complete]

The Stories We Tell Ourselves: Dave was silent. YES. YOU. The voice answered him before he even had a chance to speak up and voice his confusion or curiosity with a lack of delicacy only a child was capable of. It had a harsh way of speaking, brash enough to be rude and so loud the sound of his voice practically echoed off his skull. In it he could feel the rich, crimson flow of blood, the drip, drip, of molten lava degrading stone so ancient not even the gods of old would have lived to see it form. A being so old, so vast, that even to speak his name would grant one with immeasurable power. It made him shudder, little hands clenching into fists against rough stone. HUMAN CHILD. In which Dave is alone and Dragons exist. Shenanigans ensue. [Ongoing]

Stow Away: Calm and collected, that's Dave Strider. The docking station around him is chaotic and loud but he is like ice, cool and clear. None of that is true of course, but nobody is looking closely enough to notice the way his hands shake and his eyes dart around underneath the opaque plastic of his vintage sunglasses. Dave Strider sneaks on board an Alternian ship in an attempt to flee his shitty situation on Earth. This is the first of many questionable decisions. [Complete]

Time Displacement: Side A: After the events of the game, Dave wakes up in a universe that is familiarly unfamiliar. Sburb didn't happen, all their guardians are alive, and Bro is...different. [Ongoing]

Transcend: Dave doesn't get troll romance, but that's okay because Karkat is bad at it anyway. A journey through all four quadrants and a bit more. [Complete]

[butterflyinthewell]

Palimpsest (autistic!12th Doctor fanfic)

TITLE: Palimpsest SUMMARY: Disability does not equal tragedy, and love is a promise that endures beyond missing memories. (Set after the episode ‘Oxygen’. Blind!autistic!12th Doctor, Whouffaldi) RATING: T GENRE: Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Humor PAIRING: Whouffaldi (Wait for it...trust me.) LOCATED: FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12493583/1/Palimpsest AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10938483 (Whouffaldi Forever) and also under the Tumblr cut TRIGGER WARNINGS: Unsanitary moments, food, graphic description of suffocation in a vacuum, eye scream, body horror.

I wanted to play around with blind!12 using a mobility device and being independent. The Doctor losing his sight doesn’t have to be tragic and I don’t think he would see it as such. 

This story is an acknowledgement of Face the Raven from the Doctor’s POV, and it’s meant to point towards Every Love Story. That makes it kinda-sorta an AU, yet I wrote it with a “could be canon if you squint” mindset. 

Bring tissues, you might need them. Allons-y! 

[Still image from the Doctor Who episode Hell Bent. Taken from inside an old-fashioned diner. There is a juke box and red booths on the left-hand side of the photo. On the right-hand side are red stools, the counter, a drink machine and other diner-type knick knacks. The 12th Doctor is outside the glass doors, poised to step inside. He’s carrying his electric guitar and wearing his sonic sunglasses.]

“Had to let you know just what would happen. Yes, I had to let you know the truth. I know I've got to do this. Would you hold my hand right through it? Would you...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

.o

People died because of his recklessness. But not Bill. Not today. Not if he could do something to prevent it.

The Doctor inhaled deeply and blew all the air out ten times in a row. Hyperventilating left him tingly, but it would buy him time. Chaos reigned around him, yet he remained calm. He removed his space helmet with a decisive snap-click.

Frigidness bit into his skin like fangs. Pain slammed through his ears as they popped in the negative pressure, and they rang so loud he hardly heard his own hearts pounding. The last breath he inhaled rushed out in a cloud of thick, white mist. It seemed to shape like a bird before evaporating.

Bill’s eyes fluttered and rolled; she had lost consciousness. Ice formed where she sweat from fear. Her brown skin looked ashen and the membranes inside her twitching mouth turned a terrifying blue-gray.

The Doctor’s chest burned. He shoved the helmet over Bill’s head, twisted it into position and grabbed her arm. Ringing continued inside his skull while he pulled Bill’s space suit panel open and rerouted its circuitry. His body gasped spasmodically for air, but the strength of his diaphragm couldn’t overcome a vacuum. What little breath he dragged in got violently sucked out before he fully inhaled it. He swore his internal organs were on the verge of bursting through his nostrils.

One more twist and Bill’s suit began to march in the same instant he felt the spit in his mouth become froth. He gestured at Nardole to get Bill outside. Ivan and Abby had already gone ahead to clear the way.

The Doctor hunched his shoulders, which pressed the rim of his space suit over his ears and mouth. Somehow, that helped the pain. He staggered outside. Now there was nothing to inhale, like having plastic wrap pressed over his nose and mouth. Flashes of light lit his visual field. Just cosmic rays, not too dangerous in small doses.

His eyes stung, then burned. So did his eyelids. The lack of oxygen triggered a brief myoclonic seizure-- his whole body jerked and flailed. Nobody saw that, thank the stars. 

Nardole kept stopping and looking back. The Doctor stumbled ahead of him when Bill’s suit took her off-course. Another seizure wracked his muscles. Darkness pricked the edges of his vision. Details began to disappear as if his retinas lost resolution. Everything swam around him. Who turned his vitreous and aqueous humor into carbonation? Oh, right, vacuum.

Bill came closer. She was still too out of it to correct her course. The Doctor caught her shoulder and redirected her towards Nardole. Their destination was ten steps away. Nardole didn’t look back when Ivan and Abby disappeared into the other open airlock with Bill. Maybe they thought he was right behind them.

Pain became unbearable agony. The Doctor’s skin went numb. Pressure built up in his muscles and a feeling of irrational anguish heated his bones. How ironic, he was going to have a meltdown in the vacuum of space and probably die right after.

But he saved Bill. That made the pain worth it.

The Doctor spread his arms, squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. It didn’t matter that his lungs had no air to produce sound. Screaming felt good. Screaming gave that energy somewhere safe to go. He curled his fists and thrashed his head backwards. There was nothing to bang it against, but his body did it anyway.

Reality turned dizzying as his eyes rolled. Now his entire visual field bubbled as he cried the tears that always followed the peak of a meltdown. Euphoria flooded through him. Reality became decidedly less real. He didn’t care about the pain anymore. Endorphins were kicking in. If dying felt like this, it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world.

Consciousness began to leave him as someone grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. Visions of a petite woman wearing a pale blue sweater danced through his head. Briefly, he glimpsed the edge of a smile on her lips. 

He noticed himself shouting something. It didn’t make any sound until the chamber pressurized.

“C-Cl-Clara! Clara? Clara!”

Mid-shout, he noticed something missing. Then he passed out. When he woke up later, he realized he was blind.

.o

.o

Palimpsest 

.o

.o

A search for solitude drove the Doctor into what he always did-- he ran. He needed to get away from Bill and Nardole for awhile. Bill wasn’t much of a bother. Nardole’s overabundant concern after the events aboard Chasm Forge wore on his last nerve. He tried to be helpful without it seeming obvious...and it got annoying!

The Doctor hated other people imposing limits on him. Rules were one thing. Rules needed to be followed, and he understood the utterly painful consequences of breaking them.

But limits? Limits were, well, limiting! How did anybody expect him to adapt as a blind man when they tried to do everything for him? Everyone bumped their head, banged their knees and tripped over things. Why did he hear sighs of pity if he did it a little more often than sighted folks? Blindness, shimdness!

So off the Doctor ran, and here he was, materializing the TARDIS in Nevada yet again. He liked Nevada. A huge, rocky nowhere similar to Mars. Somebody could wander the highway forever and never see another living person unless they sought them out on purpose.

He’d been coming here for a month now to practice independent blind travel. Being careful to park the TARDIS back in his office exactly zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one seconds after departing made his exits and re-entrances almost undetectable.

The Doctor tugged his coat lapel for a reassuring whiff of chalk. The electric guitar strapped to his shoulder shifted against his back. He saw the TARDIS so well in his mind’s eye that he forgot he wasn’t actually seeing until he opened the door. 

Hot, dry and dusty desert air stung his nostrils. Everything looked like what he saw if he pointed a flashlight at his eyelids while they were shut, except they weren’t really shut and the haze had more white than red in it. Light perception was all he had. Ironic, his eyeballs didn’t hate light until they couldn’t see properly anymore. They focused instinctively whenever they sensed bright illumination even though his brain knew they weren’t going to see anything useful. Old habits died hard. 

Cutting out vision reduced his chronic sensory overload and absolved him from worrying about bothersome social cues. Actually, going blind made his tendency to miss social cues a little more understandable. Only one dilemma remained: the anxiety of chronic sensory under-load. No problem-- his previous incarnation was prone to hyposensitivity. Doing something stimulating filled in the void.

And a long walk in the hot desert sun would do just fine. Nardole might tear out the hair he didn’t have if he found out about this. The Doctor chuckled at the mental image without regret. 

He whipped his sonic sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. A tap from his fingers turned the already-dark lenses nearly opaque. Dimming the perception of light forced his eyes to relax. Next, he reached into his side pocket for his white cane. The rigid cane fit in his pocket the same way he fit inside his TARDIS. Pocket dimensions were awesome like that. 

Folding canes didn’t work for him. They were nifty, however they didn’t transmit enough tactile information. Also, they weren’t sonic.

This cane was the coolest thing he ever asked the TARDIS to design, if he said so himself. The long white cane looked nearly identical to the typical white canes used by blind humans. Black golf club handle, white body and a reflective red strip near its mushroom tip. It nearly reached his nose when he let the tip touch the ground. People who walked fast needed longer canes.

The Doctor arranged the leather handle comfortably in his right hand. Leather, because rubber felt disgusting to his hands the same way unevenly lumpy foods felt disgusting on his tongue. He held it as if shaking hands with the handle, slid his index finger down until it rested on the smooth fiberglass length and positioned his hand in front of his navel. This pushed the cane tip forward at an angle outside the TARDIS door.

Faint blue light shone in the cane’s tip, the glow overpowered by the sun. The same blue light erupted off the top of the handle. Information traveled telepathically from his hand to his brain-- there were plants and rocks ten meters ahead. Fifteen meters beyond them, the highway. He grinned as he received input about the position of the sun and the direction he faced.

Not the first sonic cane I ever used, but definitely the best! 

“Nice work, Sexy,” The Doctor patted the TARDIS’ door frame.

After he emerged onto the dusty desert soil, he marveled at how everything sounded clearer without walls blocking the sound waves. He swung the cane to the left and tapped the tip against the ground as his right foot took a step. Then he swung it in a low rightward arc to tap the ground again when he brought his left foot forward. Clear a space, step into it, clear the next space, step into it. Each swing arced slightly wider than his shoulders. 

Wait, there were rocks around, weren’t there? He switched to sliding his cane instead of tapping it. Instantly, he found himself gathering more information about the hard-packed dirt that felt like cracked clay. The repetitiveness of exploring the ground wore itself familiar in his mind. He hardly had to think about using the cane just like he hardly thought about blinking, breathing or stimming.

Thinking about stimming prompted the Doctor to bring his left hand up to his face. Few people knew of the stim toy he kept literally up his sleeve. He chewed the stem of his black No Gloom ‘Shroom, which he wore on his wrist via a clear key ring coil. His sleeve concealed it perfectly when he wasn’t using it. He continued forward with the ‘Shroom poking out of his mouth. Gnawing the hard food-grade silicone felt similar to chewing the bottom of a well-worn tennis shoe. Biting that instead of his fingers redirected his urge to chew his fingernails until they bled.

Lots of toe-smashing rocks peppered the area. The cane warned him of each one. He stepped over them without breaking his stride. Hot tar scents wafted towards him. Loose, rough dirt gave way to hard smoothness. He put the No Gloom ‘Shroom away and slid his cane in a wide arc to seek obstacles. Asphalt had a much different rattle than the dirt. Ah, the highway. Newly re-paved since his last visit, judging by the feel and smell of it. He knelt and gave it a quick lick so he wouldn’t burn his tongue. It tasted strongly bitter and a tiny bit earthy. Yup, re-paved exactly one week ago.

“South,” said the Doctor. He knew which way was south, but he wanted to see if the cane did, too.

The cane shifted slightly left like metal trying to reach a magnet. Perfect. Excellent. He hopped onto the road, letting his cane lead him to the double yellow line in the center. The seemingly endless asphalt radiated the sun’s heat like a furnace. He welcomed the warmth.

Being able to go any direction he chose without being shouted at to watch out for something in his path felt like liberation. So what if he looked a little silly when he stumbled? Did sighted people really think he experienced the same discomfort they did about his blindness? 

Sure, things were hard and frustrating at first because losing a sense took getting used to. Honestly, he had more trouble shaving than he did walking, but he figured shaving out eventually. 

Regeneration was harder than going blind. Learning how to use a whole new body with all new sensory issues, differences in hand-eye coordination, being taller or shorter than before and learning to recognize a different face in the mirror definitely took more getting used to than being blind.

Maybe that was the tragedy to the sighted-- they thought of all the things a person never got to see before they went blind and they forgot that life experiences came from more than vision. The Doctor had already seen a great many things. In his mind, there wasn’t much to miss now.

Loud, fast rattling noises made him pause mid-stride. Its rhythm was snake-ese for back off, stranger.

“Oy, Hissy, I’m not going to step on you. You’ll get run over if you stay there.” He gestured to his right with his cane. “Go on, go find a rock to sun yourself on.”

The snake hissed in protest. She got here first, this was her spot. The Doctor stood his ground.

“You won’t attract a boyfriend if you’re road pizza.”

This stubborn snake didn’t relent until he sent her a weak telepathic nudge. Using barely-functional telepathy without touch required immense focus and effort. All he did was appeal to the snake’s instinct for safety. Finally, the reptile came to her senses and slithered off the highway.

The Doctor resumed his former stride and recalled the entertaining outing he yesterday. He popped into the early 1950′s for a visit with an old friend who happened to be blind. The moment he told her he lost his sight, she sprang into action and taught him a few tricks that made eating a much cleaner affair. His only issue was understanding some of what she said. She spoke with the unique pattern of a deaf person and read his lips by touching his mouth. They had a fascinating conversation about politics over dinner.

Then he accidentally left his Rubik’s cube behind, yet didn’t have the hearts to retrieve it when he went back and discovered her fiddling with it. He wondered if she ever figured it out. She probably did-- that cube had raised patterns as well as bright colors.

Nothing about her seemed tragic at all.

And last week, a present-day pal gave a guest lecture on physics at the university. The Doctor held the elevator for the esteemed visitor while he and his entourage filed in. There was a lot of beeping and soft hissing while the elevator whirred.

As they emerged, the Doctor said, “Don’t get tired up there, Stephen.”

A long pause followed. The Doctor waited patiently. 

Stephen’s synthesized voice replied, "Dream on, Doctor.”

Nothing about him seemed tragic, either.

The Doctor surfaced from his thoughts and listened to his cane clacking. Colors and shapes swirled through his ‘visual’ field. On some occasions they resolved into elaborate multicolored grids on a solid gray background. Other times, they were swirling blue-white blobs much like what he experienced when he closed his eyes to sleep. More often than not, it resembled old analog TV static. 

Humans called it prisoner’s cinema, the hallucinogenic response of a brain amusing itself when its eyeballs couldn’t relay visual input for long periods. It got its name via the experiences of prisoners kept in dark solitary confinement cells. The Doctor learned to enjoy the 'visual’ stimulation whenever it happened.

Freedom like this had his feet itching to dance, so he did! He took a diagonal forward step with his left foot, crossed his right leg behind the left one so the toes of his right foot pointed to his left heel, bounced off his right foot and immediately opened up again by landing on his left foot. Another dance step followed, this one beginning on the right foot. A hop punctuated every step in perfect syncopation. His cane stayed centered in the road, almost acting as a pivot point while his skipping had him hopping from one side of the double yellow line to the other. 

He did an absolutely perfect imitation of Judy Garland following the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz. Being able to dance like a total goof without hearing someone chastise his carelessness greatly lifted his spirits. He skipped half a mile down the highway without a care in the world. 

Normal walking resumed once the Doctor worked the excess energy out of his system. Exerting himself caused sweat to bead on his forehead. His cane alerted him to a TARDIS a hundred meters ahead. Oh, that ridiculous thing, it still thought buildings were TARDISes?

The Doctor detoured off the highway. His cane gently tugged him towards the door. He shifted to hold his cane like an extremely long pencil and choked up on his grip to shorten his swing. The tip clanked against the metal on the bottom of the door. He extended his arm until the cane lay flat against the door and slid it side to side until it hit the handle.

Air-conditioned coolness wafted against his face as he stepped off grit and onto smooth laminate tiles. Outside the diner, he had zero idea of why he woke up in the middle of the night panting with desire or longing to kiss the lips on a face his mind refused to see.

Everything rushed back whenever he entered here, and it would leave him again when he exited. Very similar to dealing with Silents, except no suggestions got left behind. Neural blocks never liked the overabundance of neurons in autistic brains. Time and neuroplasticity would eventually restore everything the way nature overtook abandoned towns. Until then, he had to play mental peekaboo.

A sigh escaped him. This was the one place where his loss of sight wasn’t horribly tragic. His first stop-in brought a ton of questions. He explained that being exposed to the vacuum of space boiled his eyeballs like eggs and that was that.

Here it came, the memory flood. He let it wash over him. 

Her smile. Her laugh. Her face. Their adventures together. The trap street. Darkness. Feeling time fracture and snap back. A flash of light as the raven plunged into her chest. Hearing her shrill scream of agony. Watching black smoke emerge from her mouth. The way she fell to her knees, her arms still stubbornly outstretched. The way he nearly rushed forward to stop her head from hitting the cobblestones. Being held back only by his honoring her wish to face the raven alone. How helpless he felt at seeing her slump backwards. Her body convulsing in a death spasm. Approaching her and kneeling amid the leaves littering the cobblestones. Seeing her last agonal gasp. The shock, the silence, the utter pain. Finding pebbles from Gallifrey caught in the treads of her shoes. Feeling the end of his own timeline in those pebbles and realizing he could still save her. The hell within his confession dial. Those billions of years he gave up for her sake. His rage at the Time Lords. 

He plucked her out of time like he swore he wouldn’t. He broke every rule laid out for him and almost tore apart the universe because she meant more to him than his own existence. His duty of care nearly ended everything. 

Somehow, mere days afterward (relatively speaking), he found himself in the past, blabbing to a stranger named Erwin about the whole thing before his last memories of it faded away. After hearing the rant, all dear Erwin wanted to talk about was cats in boxes.

The Doctor mentally derailed his own spiraling thought patterns and refocused on the present moment. He came here on Wednesdays for...well some memories weren’t so clear. Habit, perhaps. 

Telling stories about his adventures over a snack or drink showed her he was wasn’t wandering the universe alone. He needed her to know that, but couldn’t tell her why without jeopardizing their future.

She sought desperately to see any sign that he remembered her. He worked desperately to convince her that he didn’t. Breaking the facade needed to be done carefully or not at all. No tidal waves allowed.

The diner door swung shut behind the Doctor. Ice cubes crackled into a glass cup, followed by the slush of liquid being poured over them. He smelled tater tots fresh out of the oven. His mouth watered. When did he last eat? He couldn’t remember.

“You’re early,” said a woman’s voice.

A brief, brilliant smile lit the Doctor’s face as he propped his cane up against his shoulder. “I beat my old record by--” he licked his lips, tasting the air, “exactly ten-point-two minutes.”

She snickered. “What did you do? Run the whole way?”

“Nope. I skipped.” He demonstrated for her upon approaching the counter.

“You’re daft.”

"Mmhmm.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “Tried to be normal once. Worst ten minutes of my life.”

His guitar and cane got propped up against the counter while he eased himself onto the stool. The sunglasses came off next. He placed them beside the radio. She liked to see his eyes, so he wouldn’t deny her that even though it meant being irritated by the daylight filtering through the windows. The colorful prisoner’s cinema show dissolved as the left side of his visual field turned uniformly gray. By contrast, the right side was hazy black.

Always the perceptive one, she closed the blinds on the windows framing the door. The bothersome brightness cut in half. He followed the sounds of her movements with his eyes. Just a reflex he allowed to “run” without interference-- the exact same reflex that prompted students to glance up whenever someone slunk into class late. People born blind lacked it because those pathways never formed in their brain. The same wasn’t always true for those who lost their sight.

Footsteps crossed behind the counter again. Water ran. A damp towel wiped down the counter top. A plate clunked and slid audibly closer. Near it, a glass.

“Lemonade is at twelve o’clock, napkins are at two and the tater tots are at three.”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor brought the warm plate to six o’clock, placed the napkins at three o’clock and shifted the cold, moist glass to two o’clock. The greasy tater tots were already arranged end to end in concentric circles with the ketchup in the middle. Just how he liked them.

He started on the outermost ring of tater tots first. “Your lady-friend mentioned you’ll be heading out soon the last time I came here. Are you flying back home?”

“No...I’m going to travel for a bit to clear my mind.” She sighed. Her shoes squeaked softly on the tile floor. "The man I told you about still has amnesia.”

“Oh. Nothing new? At all?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clara,” said the Doctor with sincerity. He offered her a tater tot. 

Clara’s small, soft fingertips brushed his when she accepted his offering. The brief touch rippled across his nerve endings like fireworks. He absentmindedly rocked back and forth a few times to avoid reaching for her hand. Instead, he pulled his lemonade glass closer and sipped generously. His eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise.

“Oh, this must be the pink lemonade. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah? A sour drink and tater tots don’t sound appetizing.” She smiled-- it was remarkable how easy it was to hear smiles in peoples’ voices-- and poured herself a glass. Then she cleared her throat and took a sip. “How are classes going?”

“Fantastic. Did I mention I’m the professor and not a student?”

“Huh. No, you didn’t.” Clara leaned on the counter. “I was a teacher once.”

The Doctor tilted his head to make eye contact with her. Not hard, he followed her voice and measured a few centimeters upward. His eyes instinctively focused. Sometimes it made Nardole forget briefly that he wasn’t actually seeing. He liked that it unnerved some people.

“You were a good one,” he said. Silently, he added, You taught me, so I teach the world.

Something dripped on the counter. She wasn’t holding the towel or anything drippy. He made her cry again. That wasn’t good. He pretended to reach for a napkin and knocked over his lemonade, causing it to spill everywhere.

“Oops!” The Doctor leaped to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to contain the spreading mess with his hands.

“I’ve got it.” Clara seized the wet towel that plopped on top of the sticky spill.

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching what I was doing.” The Doctor joked. He reached for the towel. “Did I ruin anything?”

A barely perceptible giggle entered her voice. “No, no, it’s fine. Eat your tater tots. I’ll clean this up and get you a fresh glass.”

Success, he steered her away from feeling bad for now. He let her clean while he finished off the delicious tater tots. She took the plate and set his new lemonade in its place.

“Ah, thanks. So...” The Doctor sipped generously, using it as an excuse for his sudden, awkward pause. His mind scrambled through a list of ‘small-talk’ phrases. Talking at people was easy. Talking to them proved challenging. “Where do you plan to travel to?”

Clara was at the counter again. Her gaze felt like a physical presence. One that wasn’t unpleasant.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “Maybe somewhere far away and not like here. Somewhere different.”

Faint crackles issued from the radio when the Doctor settled his guitar against his body and began absently strumming chords. Each note transmitted through his sonic sunglasses to emerge loud and clear despite the tiny speaker.

Lately, he’d been on an embarrassing Gloria Estefan kick. He caught himself strumming the vocal line of I See Your Smile. Then he decided that wasn’t so bad and kept playing.

Clara tried to move stealthily closer. She forgot how sensitive his ears were. Their sensitivity hadn’t changed since he went blind, but he paid more attention to the information they gathered. He feigned obliviousness as he ‘accidentally’ turned his eyes towards her. Only a blind man could look into the eyes of the woman he loved without her realizing it.

All at once he switched to the song she wrote across his hearts in the cloisters. That song was love, and love was a promise. It sounded slightly more elaborate than its first incarnation. He still hadn’t finished it yet. Maybe he never would. How did anyone finish a song still being sung for the first time?

The Doctor’s fingers stilled, letting the dissonant chord he just played fall silent without resolving. Somehow, in two swift movements, he set the guitar down, grasped Clara’s shoulder and stood up.

Rather than pull away, Clara clutched his coat lapels and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist. He returned her embrace. The crisp, stiff fabric of her waitress uniform almost burned his fingertips, yet he couldn’t make himself care. She felt so small in his arms. Was she always so tiny?

Time to drop the bomb.

“Clara,” said the Doctor, “I won’t remember much --or any --of this when I step outside.” 

Clara’s arms tightened. Not feeling her heart quicken became unsettling. Unsettling wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. 

“So you’re heading out?”

The Doctor nodded gravely. If he stayed any longer, he knew he wouldn’t want to leave.

"I may not recognize you if we cross paths outside this diner.” He turned his head and spoke against her hair, “I’ll always be around, Clara, but this is when we talked.”

“So that’s it? Goodbye forever?” She sounded slightly cross, and he didn’t blame her.

He snorted disdainfully at fate. “What’s ‘forever’ to an immortal?”

Clara slipped her hand past his coat’s collar to cup the back of his neck. Her warm, soft skin suffused a myriad of emotions through his body. Tears welled in his eyes when he tried unsuccessfully to see her face. He sensed her looking back. What irony-- he struggled to make proper eye contact with her when he had perfect eyesight. Now, he couldn’t stop doing it.

"Clara, there’s something I didn’t get to say to you.”

Clara’s other hand joined the first. She didn’t care that he couldn’t see her. “You said goodbye when the neural block kicked in.”

“I’m not saying goodbye again.” A teary-eyed half-smile appeared on the Doctor’s face. “I wanted to say hello. Hello, Clara Oswald, it’s so very nice to meet you.”

He cupped her cheeks in his palms. They were wet with tears. Another fell as he touched the corner of her mouth.

“There has to be something I can do.” She swallowed hard, struggling to maintain barely maintainable composure. “Something to help you remember.” 

The Doctor expected heartbreaking sadness. Instead, he felt the same warm joy he got after seeing Rose one more time. Hope worked miracles on broken hearts.

He wiped her tears away. “Smile for me, Clara. Go on. One last time.”

Clara gave him a little, impatient shake. Such an endearing human response.

“How could I smile?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because love is a promise,” the Doctor’s half-smile finished unfurling, a reflection of the joyful hope he felt inside, “and I promised you that I’ll remember your smile.”

Finally, Clara, by virtue of being Clara, picked up on why he asked. The Doctor noticed her tense facial muscles relaxing. Her cheekbones softened and rounded. Feeling her smile form was as glorious as seeing it happen. 

He slid his hands inward, his long fingers tracing all the details of her lips, cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. Time had no grasp on her skin. Like a photograph, the way she looked now was how she would look forever. Only death had the power to corrupt the smile beneath his fingertips, and plucking her out of time meant she decided when to meet her ultimate fate.

“I won’t forget,” whispered the Doctor.

Fresh tears dribbled onto his thumbs. Clara’s uniform rustled when she leaned closer to him. He bent towards her. They bumped foreheads once, nuzzled noses twice and exchanged three brief pecks on the lips. A perfect Wednesday kiss.

The Doctor drew back for a breath and returned to kiss her properly. Clara slid one hand up into his curly hair, keeping him close. No tongues, just the silken slide of soft lips and warmth.

When their mouths parted, she asked, “Will you be okay, Doctor?”

He brushed his lips against her brow. Her hair smelled like strawberries this time.

“Of course,” he said, “I’m the king of okay.”

A total lie. He was going to resume feeling empty and lost without knowing why. A grief different than he felt for River. He knew what became of River. He wasn’t going to know what became of the hole in his mind where someone very important to him used to be.

“The sun’s going down,” said Clara.

“Hm, describe it?”

She stepped out of his embrace to open the blinds. They creaked a lot. He squinted instinctively in the light.

“It’s bright yellow at the horizon, orange higher up and fading to dark blue. Kinda reminds me of an ocean.”

“Visit Europa in 9990. They have a great seafloor cafe if you like sushi.”

“Space sushi?”

“Clara, you can’t put ‘space’ in front of everything that isn’t on Earth. I thought we went over this.”

“Right, space-man.”

The Doctor had no comeback for that. He closed his mouth and put on his best grumpy old man frown. Rather than speak, Clara leaned against him with her arm around his waist. He relaxed and awkwardly slipped his arm around her shoulders.

People treated sunsets like endings. The Doctor hated endings, so he saw sunsets as sunrises somewhere else. Planets turned and life went on. Sometimes part of continuing onward included painful separations. He couldn’t sit around doing nothing for a thousand years. Stagnation ruined people. What good was he if he let his skills get rusty?

The Doctor watched his ‘gray’ world go dark as the sun sank below the horizon. He reached past Clara to gather his guitar and cane. She handed him his sunglasses. He put them on with flare.

Clara offered her elbow even though the distance to the door was less than ten steps. The Doctor accepted and let her guide him. 

“Let me be brave, let me be brave,” He heard her mutter to herself. She worked up the admirable courage she showed on the trap street. 

They paused just inside the closed door, hugged and exchanged another long, lingering kiss in the last moments of dusk.

Clara cupped his cheek in her palm, her soft hand like balm on his aching hearts. “Run, you clever boy, and remember your promise.”

Smiling-- a sad, hopeful smile-- the Doctor turned and said something he always wanted to say to her. 

“Run, you impossible girl, and remember me.”

She laughed. It was music that made his hearts dance. His throat ached at knowing he wouldn’t remember that sound five seconds from now, but he got her to laugh one more time. Her happiness became his hope.

The Doctor pushed the diner’s glass door open. Stinging pain screamed across his skull and faded. Everything that took place inside sloughed away. A small pang tightened his throat. He frowned and pursed his lips, trying to figure out why he remembered what he ate and drank, but not who he talked to. 

Who was that girl again?

“Hm.” The Doctor absentmindedly stepped without tapping his cane.

Lucky for him, the cane caught a rock long before his foot did. That reminded him to start tapping. Wait, wasn’t he testing this new cane?

“TARDIS,” he said. 

The cane’s mushroom tip and handle glowed brilliant blue in the darkness. And the damn thing tried to turn him around towards the building he just exited. 

“No, no, no, not the diner. TARDIS.”

But the cane insisted a TARDIS was present. Apparently, the programming still had some bugs. Pesky, annoying bugs. 

Suddenly, the diner emitted a groaning noise that rapidly faded. The Doctor gasped when air rushed in to fill the empty space. He walked across the vacant ground, reaching with both his hand and his cane. Nothing, like a diner never stood there at all.

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. He tugged on his coat lapel and breathed in the reassuring chalk scent.

“You’re going senile,” muttered the Doctor. To his cane, he said, “And you are, too, you silly thing! Take me to the TARDIS.”

Now it began leading him in the right direction. Arriving here required going south on the highway, so the return trip took him due north. 

The cane informed him of which prominent constellations were present in the sky. Remembering the stars caused grief to wash over him. He traveled among them with someone special, and he couldn’t remember what she looked like or how she sounded. 

No, Doctor, get away from the hole in your brain. It hurts to poke. Just leave it.

Making his brain think of something else often helped. He thought about his cane. The sonic cane proved a rousing success. A success to be proud of, bugs notwithstanding. He gripped it properly, grinned at the night sky and ‘Dorothy-skipped’ his entire return trip to the TARDIS. In fact, he got so into skipping that he would’ve overshot his destination if the cane didn’t alert him.

The Doctor pocketed his cane and removed his sunglasses once inside. He twirled around the console room, shifting dials and pulling levers. The TARDIS wheezed around him as he sang under his breath.

“I get a little tongue twisted every time I talk to you...”

Ding went the cloister bell. A perfect landing less than a second after he took off. He cracked the door, waited for signs of Nardole and stepped out when there weren’t any. For effect, he brought along a broom. Brooms provided great excuses for being in strange places.

The Doctor hurriedly swept his shoes clean, then swept the floor around the TARDIS until he didn’t feel any grit under his feet.

Satisfied, he left the broom leaning on the TARDIS and crossed the room to his desk. Daylight poured through the windows, so he put his sunglasses back on to block it out. Then he sat, spun his chair around once and laid his hands on the heavy book atop his desk. Still open the way he left it. Of course it was, he hadn’t been gone a full second!

Raised dots peppered the page like tiny bubbles. Grade two Braille was way more efficient and quick than grade one. Grade one Braille spelled out entire words. Braille cells were six dots high and two wide. And whole words filled a lot of page-space. Books written in it were enormous. 

Now, grade two Braille? It took long words and shortened or abbreviated them. Syllables and even whole words got condensed into fewer cells. It had a lot of similarities with text-speak, but grade two Braille abbreviations made more sense.

The Doctor’s Braille reading speed wasn’t as fast as he read while sighted. He annoyed himself by continually trying to look down at the book, so he closed his eyes. Wiggling the toes on his right foot as his fingertips glided across the page helped him process the dot patterns. Funny, his brain didn’t fully absorb the information unless he did something with his right foot. 

He considered himself a quick study, though, so he fully expected to be an expert by tomorrow morning. Besides, knowing Braille would let him read in the dark if he got his eyesight back. Why wasn’t it required curriculum in every school on Earth? Braille was cool.

“A-hem!” Nardole announced his presence. He didn’t sound pleased.

The Doctor did his best to appear distracted by Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. He turned the page when he realized he was reading The Raven. That poem upset him for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint.

Nardole cleared his throat again, louder. “Doctor, you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Traveled.”

Oh, great. Did Nardole find out about his trek on the highway? The Doctor removed his sunglasses and squinted at him.

“I didn’t go anywhere.” 

“Liar.” Nardole stomped forward and plopped something paper on the desk, “That’s a photograph of Helen Keller.”

“Yes, and it’s a very nice photograph. But I can’t judge a photo as much as I judge thoughtless potato-heads who wave photos in a blind man’s face.”

“That’s not the point!” Nardole’s voice rose in pitch. “It’s a photograph of Helen Keller solving your textured Rubik’s cube! This is...Doctor, this-this-- this is an epic fail!”

“It didn’t change history, did it?”

“Again, that’s not the point!” Oh, the poor bald bloke’s face had to be redder than his clothing by now. “Stephen Hawking just sent me an urgent email. He wants an explanation for the monster truck tire delivered to his house yesterday afternoon.”

The Doctor slammed his Braille book shut and burst out laughing. 

.o

Groaning-wheezes issued from the TARDIS engines. Such a comforting, hopeful sound.

“...so wait, you’re like, I dunno-- Rain Man?” asked Bill.

The Doctor had just spilled a secret to Bill, a test to see what she knew about the information he gave her about himself.

“Actually, the character of Raymond was based off a man named Kim Peek. Kim Peek wasn’t autistic. He had FG syndrome, a condition that results in learning disabilities due to partial or complete agenesis of the corpus callosum.”

“Oh! I saw a documentary about him in high school. I don’t remember much about it-- I kinda, uh, fell asleep in that class.”

The Doctor smiled and shook his head. “Kim’s memory was exceptional because his brain tried to work around its own unusual structure. Not everyone with FG syndrome has abilities like he did. Nice fellow, by the way, much smarter than people gave him credit for.”

“What makes autistic brains different, then?” 

“Autistic brains have an excess amount of connections that don’t get trimmed away over time. Some areas have stronger connections than others.” He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head. “Simply put, my ‘socializing’ and ‘recognizing social cues’ connections are dialup, but my mystery-solving connections are fiber optic. Splinter skills, basically.”

“Really?” She was asking questions. He liked that. It meant she didn’t pretend to know things when she didn’t. “Doesn’t life get hard, though? I thought autistic people were sensitive to noise and stuff. Are you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I have more trouble with touch than hearing.” He followed her pacing with his eyes out of habit. 

“Let me put it another way: Autistic brains constantly search for symmetry and asymmetry. Then they try to avoid asymmetry as much as possible because they prefer symmetry. Symmetry makes sense. Symmetry is safe. Sometimes, if symmetry isn’t present, I create it myself-- that's the repetitive behavior known as stimming.” 

“Stimming, that’s what you’re doing with your hands.” Bill smiled-- she absorbed what he said like a sponge. What a great student.

“Yes, actually, I am. I do it a lot.” The Doctor twisted his clasped hands against each other to put pressure on the joints. “Every autistic person's inner balance is unique to them. Some people don’t prioritize socializing because their brains are too analytical to chin-wag about somebody’s new baby. Sometimes sensory issues make focusing on conversation a chore if the lights are too bright or flicker too much. It’s like you trying to have a conversation with someone constantly taking your photo.”

“Ugh, that happened to me at a party once. It was annoying. I finally shouted at him to clear off before I broke his camera.”

“See? Autistic people can have a similar reaction to things that seem totally innocuous to you.” The Doctor waved his hand in a ‘there you go’ gesture. 

“And all those ‘difficult’ behaviors you see so-called ‘martyr autism mums’ complain about? They’re what happens when somebody mucks up the mental symmetry an autistic person creates for themselves. Maybe it’s a routine, maybe it’s a form of stimming, maybe it’s an interest-- and these mums wreck it all the time because they think it looks too abnormal. Then they blame the child for being difficult or misbehaving. 

“Guess what? A teetering tightrope walker flails to keep their balance, and so do autistic brains. If either loses their balance, they fall. For autistic people, falling means meltdowns or shutdowns.”

“But what about people who are...um, I dunno, really severe?” Her jacket’s zipper clanked against the console. “You know, the ones who wear diapers and can’t communicate at all?”

Amusement crinkled the corners of the Doctor’s eyes. “That form of autism doesn’t exist.”

“Why?”

“High functioning, low functioning. Mild, severe.” He opened his hands in a sweeping gesture, “All arbitrary observations from the outside. Autism is autism. Nonverbal autistic people communicate in their own way. They’re not locked up in another dimension-- they’re right here, waiting to be treated like real people instead of problems. Someone who can’t talk or feed themselves can still be smart. Just because you can’t see what’s going on in their head doesn’t mean nothing’s going on.” 

“Like Stephen Hawking,” Bill said, smiling, “He isn’t autistic-- he has ALS-- but I went to his lecture a few weeks ago. What an amazing man. He has eyes like yours.”

“Blue?”

“Wise.”

“Ah. There! Wait! There you go! Stephen Hawking is a fine example of what I’m talking about. Take his computer and fame away, and all of a sudden people will start treating him like he’s an infant incapable of complex thought and lamenting how tragic his disability is. The same thing happens to autistic people. I was one of those, as you put it, ‘really severe’ ones when I was a kid. Not everyone ‘grows out’ of being nonverbal or needing help with basic tasks. But I know first hand what that’s like to be talked to as if I’m stupid. It’s offensive.”

Rustling noises from Bill’s coat. The puffy yellow one. He could tell by how it sounded. She was scratching the back of her head in thought.

“But you talk. How did you learn that?”

“Painfully,” he answered, “It isn’t something I like to talk about. Let’s just say damage was done.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Bah,” He shrugged, “it’s not your fault.”

“How can I help if you need it?”

“For me, personally? No light touches. It hurts. Firm is better.” His eyes crinkled at the corners even though his mouth didn’t smile. “And in general? Listen to autistic people about autism. They know what it’s like.” 

He blinked, “Oh, and avoid Autism Speaks and anything ‘light it up blue’ in April. That ‘charity’ doesn’t represent what autistic people want. They operate like Chasm Forge, so barely any of your money goes to autistic people who need it right now. Donations fund marketing, advertising, fundraisers and research that may lead to eugenics later. Autistic people may end up like a lot of Down’s syndrome babies.”

Bill stayed quiet for a long moment, taking it in. A rail creaked when she leaned on it. 

“Blimey, I had no idea about any of that. I just did a walk for-- oh, wow. Never again. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.”

That time, he smiled. “You wanted to help. That’s a good thing. Sometimes good intentions go bad. That doesn’t mean you’re bad. You know better now, so do better. Wear red next year and you’ll be fine.”

“Red instead of blue. Gotcha.”

And that was that for the conversation.

A light flashed on the console. The Doctor sensed it and instinctively looked down towards the source as he eased the locking mechanism into the upright position. Deeper wheeze-groans sounded while the TARDIS rematerialized.

They were in Nevada again. The Doctor crossed the console room and stepped outside. It wasn’t as hot out this time. The air smelled wet.

Bill hesitated in the doorway. Good, she was learning to be cautious and curious. Her rich, low voice almost blended into the wind when she asked, “We aren’t going to run into robots that speak Emoji, are we?”

“Nope. Not in that timezone. We’re still in the present.” The Doctor snapped his fingers to close the TARDIS doors. “All we’re doing is taking a walk.”

“Ah, like a Sunday stroll?”

“More of a ‘Wednesday wander’ if you want to get literal.” 

The Doctor pulled his cane out of his coat pocket and held it in the pencil grip. Bill joined him, her shoes crackling on the dry soil.

“Good thing I brought my umbrella.” She jiggled her umbrella. It squeaked. Ah, one of those huge clear ones that four people could fit underneath. “The sky looks dark.”

“Over there?” He pointed south.

“Good guess.”

“Tch, no. My cane told me.”

Bill chuckled and zipped her coat up all the way. Dirt crackled when she scuffed her shoes over it. “Does it make coffee, too?”

“Har-har. It’s not a Starbucks, but it can find the nearest Starbucks.” He beckoned her closer, a gesture of trust. “C’mon, elbow.”

More coat rustling. The Doctor felt Bill’s elbow brush his knuckles and lightly held onto the back of it. His fingertips rested just above the joint in a manner that wouldn’t obstruct its free movement.

“I’ll assume you already know about the rocks.”

“Mmhmm. Let’s get on the highway. It’s straight ahead.”

Bill stepped cautiously over the rocks. The Doctor’s cane bounced off a few. They hopped onto the highway and walked south. Their footsteps nearly got lost in the desert’s vast openness. Bill stayed close to the highway’s edge rather than venture down the center. The Doctor edged her inward.

“Don’t worry about vehicles, Bill. It’s flat for miles, you’ll see one coming long before it gets here.”

“It’s a two lane road.”

The Doctor released Bill’s elbow and dodged ahead of her. He spun around to face her while walking backwards, clasped his hands behind his back and tapped his cane just as he would if he were moving forward. A big, silly grin lit his angular features.

“We’re fortunate, then. I have great hearing.”

Oh, he could almost sense her momentary alarm at seeing him walk backwards like that.

“You’re weird,” she muttered under her breath.

He stopped squarely in front of her and curtsied elegantly. She laughed and whacked his arm in passing. Chuckling, he pivoted on his heel to grasp her elbow again. 

“There’s a truck coming towards us,” said Bill, her voice still light with a smile. She edged over to the opposite side of the highway despite it being a long way off yet.

The Doctor heard its engine. Typical knock-knock noises. It was a semi.

“Oh? Big truck, little truck? What’s it look like?”

Engine noises rumbled closer. Now the truck would be close enough to see details.

“Big truck. Not sure of the make. The nose curves sort of downward and there’s three pipes on each side of the cab. There’s a silver grill and bumper.” Bill slowed her stride as the truck noises approached. “It has a really cool custom paint job. The background color is blue, but there’s stencil work that looks like red flames on the front and sides.”

“Ah, an old friend.”

“You know the driver?”

“Yeah.”

He raised his hand in a wave when the semi was less than a hundred meters away. The truck honked its horn as it rumbled by, its huge tires vibrating the asphalt.

Bill stopped and twisted to look at the departing truck. “Um...”

“Problem?”

“I didn’t see a driver.” She faced forward again. “Probably too much glare from the sky. Anyway, speaking of tires-- did you really get a tire delivered to Stephen Hawking’s house?”

“Yup.” The Doctor grinned at his own impish wit. “You could say I ‘tired’ him out.”

Bill wiggled the elbow he held back and forth. “Doctor, you’re impossible. Absolutely, ridiculously impossible.”

That word. Impossible.

An impulse in the back of his mind had him releasing his grip on Bill’s elbow before he realized he’d moved. He turned abruptly right. His cane slid off smooth asphalt to rattle over hard-packed dirt as he ventured into a large, empty space beside the highway.

Something important happened here. But what? Why? How?

“Doctor?” Bill hedged.

Mysteries. The Doctor loved mysteries. He grinned as he rubbed his chin in thought.

And froze.

Here. Here, on this spot, he touched and kissed another smile. The owner of that smile didn’t materialize in his mind. He propped his cane against his shoulder and extended his hands to trace an invisible face. 

A tsunami of grief slammed through him. In its wake, an incredible, comforting love stretching beyond time or space. A love that eclipsed his sadness and shone around the hole in his memory like an ethereal solar corona.

Tears trickled out from beneath his sunglasses. They weren’t sad. Sad tears meant endings, and this didn’t feel like an ending. 

Bill, sensing his concentration, came closer without talking. Her unobtrusive presence subtly shifted the air flow on his right. He could hear her breathing.

“Brains forget people, but hearts remember the feelings those people gave us,” said the Doctor. He remained poised, his fingertips mapping the air. “It’s why you never doubt that your mum loved you, isn’t it?”

“I was too young to remember her,” she said back, her voice soft.

“Your heart beat inside your mum’s belly for nine months. It knows things your brain doesn’t. Sometimes, I think people would be better at listening to each other if hearts had ears.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

A cool drop hit his face. Not a tear. Another landed in his hair. Splat-splat noises began around him. Within seconds the sky opened up with a full-on downpour that drenched everything it touched.

“Oh!” Bill’s umbrella squeaked, then snapped open. Rain pattered noisily on the plastic. “Doctor, you’re getting soaked.”

The Doctor pocketed his sunglasses to keep them clean. He pushed Bill’s umbrella aside. She got the picture. Her umbrella plopped on the wet ground as she opened her arms to let the downpour swish over her coat.

“See? It’s just water falling from the sky.” He grinned, invigorated by the hope rising inside him. “The best parts of life are experienced, Bill. So be still. Close your eyes. Experience the rain with me.” 

“Wow.” She was smiling, too.

“Yeah. Wow.”

The impact of each chilly raindrop twinkled like stars against his skin. He ran both hands through his wet hair, tilted his head back and spread his arms. The hope in his hearts spiraled upward into the rain pouring down. 

Once, he told Missy that love was a promise. And Clara’s smile-- the tactile memory of its wrinkles and curves-- had embedded itself in his fingerprints where the neural block couldn’t wholly wipe it away. The rest of her face escaped him, but not the smile. He must have promised to remember it because he loved her.

And love always found a way to continue, regardless of time and space.

“Doctor...are you crying?”

The Doctor totally forgot Bill was still there. Rain pattered off her umbrella-- she picked it up when he wasn’t paying attention. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were wet. It wasn’t rain. 

“Yeah, I am, but it’s not sad.” He sniffled, “I was having an experience.”

“I can tell. I didn’t want to interrupt. Aren’t you cold?”

Light wind blew against his face. The downpour began to let up. They were both soaked to the bone.

“Me? Cold? Nah.” The Doctor said, feigning offense. “I have a lower body temperature than humans. Now come along, Potts. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

She automatically stepped ahead of him. He sped up and walked beside her, opting to tap his cane rather than hold onto her elbow.

“Have you seen The Wizard of Oz, Bill?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t? Why?”

“Oh, no reason...just this.”

The Doctor showed Bill his Dorothy-skip. She was greatly amused. Then he taught her how to do it. They skipped back to the TARDIS together.

.o

“...‘Cause when I close my eyes, I still can see your smile. It’s bright enough to light my life, out of my darkest hour...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTd1r_6lfrE

A palimpsest is a piece of paper that has been written on, erased and written on again. The old writing that gets erased to make room for new writing is still faintly visible and may be legible. An old grade school spelling test with erase marks that were later written over is a fine example of a palimpsest.