#because his last self FINALLY let so eone fucking take care of him

[nat-20s]

Prayer circle for more Donna and Fifteen interactions in the upcoming seasons🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

[illuminatedquill]

Nevertheless, Episode 9

More Thoughts/Analysis

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”

- E.A. Bucchianeri

Jae Eon’s Self Sabotage

Chekov’s Gun is the dramatic principle that details within a story will contribute to the overall narrative. You might have heard of this before in its simplest form: if there is a gun shown in Act 1, it absolutely must go off in Act 2 or 3. In episode 9 of Nevertheless, we have this scene right at the beginning:

Yes, that scene. Park Jae Eon sees Yang Do Hyeok standing off to the side as he waits outside Na Bi’s apartment to retrieve his stuff. Na Bi doesn’t know Do Hyeok is nearby. Jae Eon makes the calculation in his head and manipulates his way inside Na Bi’s apartment, knowing exactly what it looks like to Do Hyeok. It’s petty revenge for seeing Na Bi and Do Hyeok together on campus from earlier.

This is the gun. And it backfires on Jae Eon big time. Throughout the entire episode, his acts of sincerity towards Na Bi seem genuine and heartfelt, yet his action in that one scene undermines anything he attempts. It doesn’t work; to his mounting frustration, Na Bi and Do Hyeok continue to talk and meet as if nothing happened.

(We know that’s not the case as seen from Do Hyeok’s alone time but I’ll talk about that later in this post.)

It’s a ticking time bomb and it goes off at last in the rain scene. Nothing is working for him. He is desperate not to lose Na Bi. And he goes off in a drunken rage on Na Bi after she returns home on that fateful rainy night.

And he loses her. The gun goes off. Everything sincere he did turns rotten in Na Bi’s eyes after he reveals his actions. Actions have consequences, always rippling forward and affecting change in moments not yet experienced. He ruined his chances because of his petty cruelty towards Do Hyeok in the beginning. His sincerity only extended towards Na Bi and it was only to get her attention once more.

Jae Eon lost. Not so much to Do Hyeok, as he lost to Na Bi, who cares about him deeply. He underestimated her feelings towards Do Hyeok, assuming, like so many other viewers, that he was an an irritating distraction that refused to go away.

He can’t fathom why Do Hyeok still seems to like Na Bi after seeing them enter her apartment together. Is he really that incredible a person? What makes him so special?

Well, let’s talk about it.

Do Hyeok’s Crisis Playbook

We see from Do Hyeok’s time alone after his initial visit to Seoul that he is taking it pretty hard; I can’t really blame him, considering what he saw that night. His struggle is open, honest, and raw; like Na Bi, it affects him to the point that he can’t focus on his work (anyone seem to notice that Jae Eon’s work never seems to be affected by his feelings?).

It’s jealousy and insecurity eating away at him. Just like Jae Eon. He’s also desperate not to lose Na Bi but doesn’t want to do anything untoward or overboard because he’s afraid of ruining their friendship. Once again, his consideration is for Na Bi and how she feels, but he cannot ignore what he saw and how he feels about it.

So, what is our favorite Potato Boy to do? Park Jae Eon already made his move by staging that whole scene of him and Na Bi going into her apartment together. How does Do Hyeok fight back? What’s his playbook in this time of crisis?

He doesn’t fight back. And that’s how he stays in the game. Do Hyeok is not a player like Jae Eon; there isn’t a manipulative or deceptive bone in his body. Do Hyeok does what he always does and doubles down on his sincerity, on the strength of his feelings, and his faith in Na Bi.

Do Hyeok doesn’t play the game Jae Eon tries to involve him in. He always lays it all out on the table with Na Bi so there is no room for misunderstandings. That’s one of the reasons why their relationship works so well; they talk more. Not just about feelings or romance but about school or their day to day life. What they’re building now is something that can last a lifetime.

So he talks to her about it. And admits his jealousy. She wasn’t even aware that he had seen them and yet it sounds like he’s the one who is apologizing (even though he never let his hurt feelings show in his conversations with Na Bi, DO HYEOK YOU ARE TOO GOOD). He lays himself bare to her once more. We don’t see Na Bi’s response other than her shocked and guilty expression, which is annoying because it would definitely be interesting to see how she reciprocated his frankness.

(Underrated super cute scene between them in this episode; when they meet up at night and bring drinks for each other. It’s even the exact same drink. I was grinning like a maniac.)

But Na Bi is familiar with Jae Eon’s game. And when she finds out how badly Do Hyeok was hurt by Jae Eon’s actions (and how he involved her in it) Na Bi finally is snapped to her senses and severs the thread still binding her and Jae Eon together.

Na Bi’s choice isn’t shown as a redemptive or heroic moment. It never was supposed to be. Although I’m sure a lot of us were cheering in that moment, her moments of unrestrained grief alone afterwards are the sobering reality that love, as always, comes with a price.

Nabi’s Choice (The Review)

This is a follow up to my earlier post before episode 9 came out. So, now we see what Na Bi decides and, maybe, how it will all play out in the next episode (barring any last minute twists).

First, let’s address the still ongoing criticism I see regarding Na Bi and Do Hyeok’s relationship: lack of passion, no romantic vibes, blah blah blah. I wrote at length in a previous post why that isn’t true - at least on Do Hyeok’s part (one of the reasons why we don’t get internal monologue from Do Hyeok is because what else is he thinking about other than Na Bi?).

Na Bi, on the other hand, is still ambivalent about her feelings towards Do Hyeok. Episode 9 provided more clarity for her stance towards Jae Eon - he’s the dog shit she stepped on and was promptly wiped away in the grass - but Do Hyeok is still a mystery. Yes, she’s friendly, she cares, and genuinely enjoys being with him but the spice, the passion is missing. And that is kinda important for a romantic relationship.

Well. Look no more. Na Bi has spice for Do a Hyeok and it shows not once, but twice this episode. Where’s the passion? Jae Eon fucked around and found out. Very kind of him. Turns out Na Bi, like all of us who like Do Hyeok, will not tolerate any Do Hyeok slander and I am 100 PERCENT here for it.

There’s a scene shortly before the climatic rain fight where Na Bi is having another meeting with her assistants: the junior (does he have a name? Jin-su?) and Jae Eon. The junior talks to Na Bi about her and Park Jae Eon: the usual tired gossip of whether or not they’re dating. Na Bi waves it away like dandelion fluff.

And then the junior mentions Do Hyeok. “What about the noodle shop guy? Ever since the camp meeting, people have been saying there’s a higher chance you’re dating him.”

And Na Bi just . . . we’ve never seen this from her before, even when she broke up with Jae Eon in episode 5. Her whole demeanor turns ice cold and her voice is wicked sharp as she proceeds to shut down that avenue of questioning. The junior physically leans back from the force of her anger and wonders aloud why she’s so upset (you’re talking about her love life as gossip, idiot, why do you think she’s so upset). Jae Eon walks in and doesn’t see the foreshadowing; he just hears Do Hyeok and it feeds his jealousy.

There it is, everybody. Evidence of Na Bi’s feelings for Do Hyeok and what he means to her. Her protectiveness over him and her refusal to let him be involved in the drama surrounding herself and Jae Eon. Her desire to be the better around him; not because he asks (and he would never) but because his feelings for her make her think she might be worthy of such a love.

And then there’s the rain scene. Na Bi and Jae Eon, vulnerable in the rain. Na Bi admits to her faults in the relationship, how she brought this upon herself. No, she hasn’t been nice or good this whole time; in fact, she’s been kind of terrible. But Jae Eon revealing what he did and how it was to hurt Do Hyeok wakes her up and convinces that the time has come to end this “game”. It got Do Hyeok hurt because of her inability to end it with Jae Eon and good people don’t let that happen to people they care about.

So Na Bi ends it with Jae Eon and chooses herself. At last. And to do so, she has to cut out this malignant tumor of a relationship and, God, does it hurt so much to end it, but she gets it done and takes the first step to being a better person for herself.

The cinematography in this drama is top tier and we see her situation presented so viscerally. She’s alone, in the light, but it’s not a warm, redemptive light; it has a sickly, yellow tint and is surrounded by darkness.

But she’s still there. She still made it.

One Last Observation, I Promise

Last thing I noticed from this episode that I want to talk about: the professor’s critique of Na Bi. She specifically mentions that a good artist can inspire others and Na Bi, whether she realizes it or not, actually does do that.

Na Bi helps Do Hyeok with his videos, giving advice that helps boost their popularity and making them better.

Jae Eon is inspired to make the butterfly bracelet for Na Bi and gifts it to her.

The difference between the two? Do Hyeok actually thanks Na Bi for her help and points out that it was her influence that made his videos better.

Jae Eon obviously means his gesture to be romantic and sincere but he again fails to talk about why he’s doing it. The implication is there but Na Bi needs more than some vague nonsense.

Communication is at the heart of this episode and how, without it, relationships stagnate and fail. Bit Na + Gyu Hyun and Soljiwan couple - their relationships only progress because the couples voice their concerns and fears to one another. And instead of being rejected or being hurt, it allows their partners to reassure them and move forward with their relationship.

Why do Na Bi and Jae Eon fail? They. Don’t. Talk. Na Bi is stuck inside her head and Jae Eon relies on vague gestures and sexual chemistry to express himself.

Why do Na Bi and Do Hyeok succeed? Because they talk. About everything. Their dialogue is clear and honest and sincere without any hidden meanings or motives. And you see why Na Bi is rapidly moving more and more towards Do Hyeok and not Jae Eon.

(The preview does raise some questions about how it will all end but I don’t think the show is going to pull a bait and switch and have Na Bi end up with Jae Eon. I also don’t think it’s likely they’ll have an open ending, either. I’ll talk about that in another post.)

My next post will be what I envision to be the best version of a Na Bi and Do Hyeok endgame and what I mean by that since Na Bi shouldn’t be dating anyone right now. So, look forward to that.

Until next time, everybody. Thanks for reading this long ass post. Hope you enjoyed it.

[carolmaximoffs]

crisp trepidation

summary: spreading you open is the only way of knowing you. 

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: oral (f receiving), angst, unprotected sex, potentially crude language but i just have mixed feelings about the c word, cussing, bucky barnes has a high heel kink, no proofreading

a/n: it’s 4 am, i’m sad and have fine line (the song) on repeat. sue me.

You don’t remember when it started. After a mission, maybe. Both of you worn and world-weary, collapsing into a motel bed by accident, or maybe by fate. Though fate is, by nature, cruel and unfair. It’s maybe once a month, twice, thrice if the pair of you are particularly lonely. Nothing more. Never spoken about. If you fall asleep, you wake up alone. Usually, somebody’s slipping out as soon as the lights come back on.

It’s been a century but Bucky still knows his way around a woman, better than anybody else you’ve been with. Somewhere between his tongue in your mouth and deep in your cunt, you find euphoria. It’s a small price to pay for the loneliness; after that first night, following a bitter take down in Madrid when he wraps your bloody knuckles and kissed your wrists, no one compares. And you’ve tried. Lord knows you’ve tried. 

Michael, from Paris, who was bored with the idea of kissing your thighs. You reentered you and Bucky’s shared hotel room an hour after you’d left for the club. Leo, from El Salvador, who didn’t make it beyond a back alley make-out session, by no fault of his own. Wesley, from Brooklyn, and God if that drawl didn’t almost make you forget. But you couldn’t. He was like muscle memory, or one of those tattoos you can only see under UV light. Always in the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to will him away.

It’s after a particularly exhausting mission - Sam and Wanda hole up in one room, you and Bucky the other. You’d been posing as couples, after all, it was only fitting. Your hair is falling from its’ elaborate up-do as you slouch onto the bed, Bucky closing the door softly. You unstrap your thigh holster, first and foremost, ditching the folding knives tucked into either side of your dress. You’re about to take off your heels - Ancient Grecian, you’d joked, strappy and winding up your calf. He stops you with a hand on your arm, cool fingers wrapping around your bicep and tugging your hand away. He kneels, and that’ll never fail to steal the air from your lungs; James Buchanan, American hero, man out of time, trained assassin, on his knees - for you. 

“Bucky,” You breathe when he’s pushing one hand beneath your dress and the other brushes up to the top of the thigh slit. He must mistake it for a gasp of pleasure as his lips connect over and over with every inch of skin expose. “James.”

He doesn’t pull away, only raises his brows expectantly. You gulp as he grows nearer to where you love need him most, threading your fingers to his newly-cropped hair. “Shouldn’t we-ah-we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” He grunts, hooking his fingers in your panties. He draws them down your legs tantalizingly slow, careful to avoid your shoes. You frown, finally pushing him away, against the throbbing of your expectant core.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Barnes.” Your frown deepens as he stands, shedding his suit jacket and shrugging as he slips his fingers into his bow tie.

“Not playin’ stupid, darlin’,” Bucky drawls, obviously growing impatient. He slinks up the bed to where you’ve slid back against the pillows, caging you in. He noses at your neck, teasing tongue darting out to lick at the pearls lacing your throat. “Really don’t see why we’ve gotta discuss it...’specially now.”

“Because,” You groan, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t budge. His sly hands are back beneath your dress again; you don’t have the energy to fight it. It’s not like you don’t want it.  “What the hell are we doing, Buck?”

“Playing text-message Darts,” He deadpans in your ear, fingers dipping dangerously close to your clit. “Fuck do you mean, what’re we doin’, doll?”

“I just...what’s it mean, Buck?” You manage to get a grip on the back of his head, shove his face away from your neck so you can search his eyes. Bucky’s unreadable, like always, poker face impeccable with his fingers still prodding at your already-weeping hole. “Does it...does what we do mean anything to you?”

“Well,” He says, like he’s thinking, or maybe like he’s mocking you. He’s sliding two thick, flesh fingers into you; admittedly, you’re struggling to focus. “Not sleepin’ with anybody else, am I?”

You don’t know how to answer - don’t know if you can answer, to be fair. He scissors and twists his fingers expertly - only a couple weeks apart, but maybe he knows you’ve not been with anybody, either, knows to stretch you out. Not because he’s egotistic; just self aware. Considerate. He hooks his fingers, then, and you whine, hips jerking. Bucky braces his vibranium arm over your waist, dark metal evident through his white dress shirt. 

“I...I wouldn’t know,” You whimper eventually. He straightens, withdrawing what’s become three fingers to straighten up on his knees. Bucky gives you a ‘c’mon, seriously?’ look as he quickly but carefully unbuttons his shirt. A sharp exhale has his nostrils flaring, like he’s holding back a laugh, 

“You know me better than that, sweetheart,” He grits out as he palms himself before popping the button on his dark slacks. “Gotta know me better than that by now.”

He lines himself up, spitting into his hand in that filthy, old fashioned way of his to slick himself up. Bucky settles a forearm on either side of your head, gaze trained on where your bodies are millimetres from becoming one, but he looks up suddenly. It’s his turn to search your eyes, a little desperate. “Have...have you been with anybody else?”

“No,” You sigh, and no sooner has it left your lips is he unceremoniously shoving himself deep within you. Your breath catches in your throat, back arching as he rolls his hips and connects with that spongy little spot that reads ‘heaven’ deep within you. The slow drag of his cock is taunting as he pulls out til just the tip is pressing you open. He nips at your ear.

“Good,” He all but snarls. Bucky slams his hips back  against yours. One arm disappears behind him to grip tightly at your thigh, dragging your leg up. Instinctively you make to hook it about his waist, but he has other plans. His hand trails up to your calf, placing it over his shoulder. You yelp. The angle is new, with him, though not unwelcome. Your other leg mirrors it’s twin quickly as he hastens his hips, relentless in this little follow up mission: bringing you pleasure. “So fuckin’ good.”

He leaves wet kisses on your jawline as he grips both of your legs, just below the knee. You thank your job for making you flexible as he shoves your thighs up against your torso. He makes his way back up to your ear once more, licking along the shell and causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. “Think it’s ‘bout time I made you mine for real, huh?”

“Been yours,” You mumble as you feel the coil in your stomach twist as tight as it can get. Your fucked out brain is way behind your mouth, but you suppose it isn’t a total lie. Bucky chuckles in your ear. It’s strained, though - his hips stutter a little as well, and you know he’s close, too. 

“If you’re mine, then cum for me, honey,” He practically purrs. “Know you’re close. C’mon, baby, let me have it.”

Another deep thrust and you’re crying out. Bucky’s not far behind, his warmth lighting you up from the inside out. He releases your legs at long last, slumping against you. The pair of you laugh at the little ‘oomf’ you emit at his dead weight. You bite back a whine as he shifts just slightly, his cock still nestled within you. 

“You’re mine?” He ponders aloud after what feels like eons of silence. You push at his shoulders and he takes the hint, eyes never leaving you as he rolls off of you and onto his back. You sigh contentedly, plucking up the courage to roll into his side and lay your head on his chest, despite all the uncertainty still shrouding the two of you. ‘Cuz I’m yours, doll. Have been for longer than I’d like to admit.” 

You bury your smile beside his dog tags, poking him playfully in the stomach.

“Yeah, you geezer. I’m yours.” 

[ashes-and-ashes]

So blame @jilylicious for getting me into Jegulus!! This is my first time writing this ship so I hope it’s okay ❤️❤️

~

The sun has nearly set by the time James makes it up to the roof. The sight of him is like a balm to Regulus’ frayed nerves, the faint stars arranged around his head like a halo. He kicks his feet idly, the ground hundreds of miles away and wondered what would happen if he fell.

The cigarette lies next to him, the tip a glowing red in the shadows. Regulus didn’t smoke but the acrid burn reminded him of Sirius, both warm and bitter as it poured down his throat. He flicks it aside as James joins him, the familiar heat of his body as he flung his arm around Regulus.

“Sorry,” he says, and God even his voice is comforting, like the first beams of sunlight on a cold day. Regulus finds himself sinking into it, bit by bit, the taste of honey on his lips, desperately trying to remember each precious moment they had together. “McGonagall kept us all behind after dinner. Wanted to talk about - “

“Your horrible idea for a prank?” Regulus says drily, and James throws back his head and laughs. “Really though. A live lion at the finals?”

James snorts. “Oh that’s rich. Don’t give me that bullshit. If there was any feasible way that Slytherin could bring a live snake to the Quidditch finals then you lot absolutely would. Horrible idea my ass.”

Regulus smiles. He watches the sun slowly dip into the lake, all streaks of rose gold and turquoise, the ripples of the lake capped in bronze. For a moment he thinks he could live like this; up on the roof with the wind in his face and James at his side, the taste of smoke and the memory of his brother.

It was too easy to forget, sometimes. A year, a gorgeous year wrapped up in bits of silk and ragged satin and all Regulus could do was burn. The war was coming closer now - everyone knew it. He was bound to it, like a sailor on a sinking ship watching the waves crashing down.

Regulus shivers and James looks down at him in concern. He wraps his arms tighter around Regulus’ shoulders; Regulus closes his eyes against the press of fingers into his skin.

“How’s my brother?” he asks. James’ face darkens.

“He’s okay,” he says tightly. “But you need to talk to him. He’s...he’s - “

“Killing himself?” Regulus asks quietly. The look on James’ face confirms it. Regulus knows his brother all too well, the self loathing and the hatred and the casual self-destructiveness. Sirius would be killing himself for leaving.

“Yes.” The words are clipped - it’s the closest Regulus has seen to James losing control. “Yes. He is killing himself. It’s been 5 months and he’s still broken.”

Regulus bites his lip, as if that brief stab of pain could compare to the pain Sirius felt. “It’ll take time. He never could let things go.”

“No,” James agrees. “If you would just talk to him - “

“I told you.” Regulus shakes his head, suddenly feeling very tired. “Not until he promises to never come back.”

“You know he‘ll never do that. He loves you too much.”

Regulus scoffs. “If the cost of my brother’s safety is to never speak to him again then it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

James swallows, hard. Regulus tracks the movement, the soft flexing of his throat, the small pinpricks of light high up in the sky, reflected against the lenses of James’ glasses and against the pupil of his eye.

“Besides,” he says, softly. “He has a new family now. You and Peter. And Remus. He loves Remus, doesn’t he? Who cares if I’m dying if he’s happy?”

“That’s why you’re stronger than me,” James says, so softly that Regulus can barely hear him. “I could never.”

Regulus allows himself a bitter smile, even as his heart clenches. “I saw you with Lily today.”

“Oh.” James says. Regulus doesn’t think he imagined the blush that spread across his face. “Yeah. Lils.”

He thinks his heart is breaking. Regulus looks down, suddenly grateful for the cover of darkness, the way it hid the cracks in his expression. James’ face pales, his hand shooting out to grab Regulus’.

“No,” he says, squeezing tight. “Reg. I wouldn’t - I would never cheat - “

“I know,” Regulus whispers. “Believe me, I know.”

The skin on his forearm throbs slightly, a brutal reminder of the Mark that would appear there one day. James ghosts over it with his fingertips, a familiar motion, something he’s done countless of times before.

“What’s wrong?” he breathes, and God it makes Regulus want to cry, the softness and gentleness in his expression. Never again, he thinks, and it hurts. I’ll never find someone like this again.

“James,” Regulus whispers and he cups James’ cheek, the paleness of his skin so vivid against the coffee tones of James’s face.

He wishes he could freeze it, this precious moment before the world came spinning down in broken shards and shattered glass, before the fire and the brimstone and the ash. Regulus takes a deep breath, holds it, the taste of smoke on his tongue, in his hair and against his skin.

“The year’s almost up,” he whispers.

James flinches back, his eyes widening. “Not yet,” he breathes. “We still have a week.”

Regulus smiles softly. He remembers that day - on the Hogwarts Express, pressed up against the wall, James’ lips against his neck. One year. Just give us one year.

God it felt like an eon ago. Regulus stares at the sky and wishes he could be back there, the feeling of the wall against his back, James’ hands in his hair, the odd sense of time stopping as he nodded. One year.

“James,” he says, and drops his hands. “Let go.”

“No,” James breathes, his voice cracking. “No. This can’t - we can’t just - “

Regulus takes a deep breath. “Jamie,” he says, and this time his voice breaks, breaks like he swore it wouldn’t, cracks in half until it sounds raw and painful like the beating of his heart. “Jamie we promised. We promised. It never could have lasted anyway - we’re just not meant to be. There’s a war - “

“Fuck the war,” James replies viciously, his voice sounding as raw as Regulus’. “Fuck the war and fuck the Mark and fuck your parents. Reg, please, I don’t - I don’t want to - “

“You think I want to either?” Regulus smiles through his tears. “You think - “ He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “James, this isn’t - this wasn’t supposed to last forever. You’re deserve better. This wasn’t - it’s not real, Jamie. It’s a hallucination - a pipe dream. We weren’t meant to be forever.”

“And what if I want it to?” James asks fiercely. He lunges forward, gripping Regulus’ hand in his own and it’s one of the things he always loved about James, why he fell in love with him in the first place. “Reg, I love you. God, I love you. We could - I already told you. You could run. Like Sirius - my mother would take you in, I know she would.”

“I know,” Regulus says softly. “But you know I can’t.”

James stares up at him, the green in his eyes like bits of emerald, still so bright even as the shadows lengthened. “So that’s it then,” he says, his voice more bitter than Regulus has ever heard it. “That’s it. One year and we’re done. See you on the battlefield?”

Regulus flinches back and James goes pale. “Fuck. No, Reg, I didn’t mean it - “

“I know,” he breathes. “I know.” He coughs, the smoke suddenly filling his lungs, the grip of James’ hand against his own like an anchor against the tearing waves. “James. I...I had everything planned out. Since I was 12. Get Sirius out. Take the Mark. Fight until I was killed, or until someone caught me or...I don’t know. I never...planned past then.” He takes a shaking breath. “But then I met you. And God, it was like I was falling. I met you and I loved you and I still do. I still love you.”

“Then stay,” James hisses. “Stay. This isn’t your war - it never really was. Stay and run and don’t look back.”

“Do you think you could be happy?” Regulus asks, and James closes his eyes. “Because I think you can. I’ll leave and it’ll hurt and you’ll be broken but only for a little bit. She loves you, you know. Lily. And I think you love her too.”

“It’s not the same,” James breathes. “It’s not - it’s different - “

Regulus smiles. “I know. God, I know. But you’ll find someone else. Someone better.”

James shakes his head, his eyes full of tears. “Reg, don’t do this. You don’t have to - “

“You know I do,” Regulus says softly, and then he’s kissing James, like that first time so long ago, underneath the stars like he’s always wanted. It’s something he’s always taken for granted; the heat of James’ body, the mess of curls under his fingertips and the gentleness, so soft compared to the pain he was used to back at home.

But where all of there kisses before had been a hello this kiss felt like a goodbye. They could both taste it, bitter on their lips and Regulus blinks away the tears and tastes salt.

He finally breaks away. They’re both crying, the tears on James’ face like streaks of starlight and Regulus wonders why someone never looked as beautiful as they did when they were leaving.

“Be happy James,” he says softly, even as his heart broke. “For both of us.”

“Regulus,” James says, but Regulus has already turned away.

He doesn’t let himself look back.

[anjuschiffer]

To Find Home [Jasonette BROTP]

More self-indulging writing! :D Mainly because I see some fics where Jason isn’t desperately searching for Mari... ENJOY!

Edit: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT HOW THE POST WAS MESSED UP?!

@-@-@-@-@

AO3

@-@-@-@-@

Jason rose to the water’s surface in desperation, clawing at the water, his body on fire. His lungs were adjusting to the chilling air and his senses attempted to calibrate to his new surroundings for a second time. 

Get back to her.

For some reason that phrase rang stronger than before through his head, motivating him to get out of the water and run. He dressed himself with clothing he found along the way of his escape, faces barely registering as he ran past people, their voices muted as they tried to grab him back.

He didn’t dare let him lay a finger on him, fighting through the burning soreness in his calves.

He had to get back to her no matter what.

-----

Ignoring the groaning man by the door, Jason huddled next to the fire, warming himself up after running in the snow for who-knows how long. He found a cabin and quickly seeked refuge, not caring if he had to hurt a man in the process.

After all, it was all to find her… her? Who was her, or rather she? 

What was her name? 

Ma. Mari. Mari. It was Mari. 

That’s right! He had to get back to Mari… but how?

XXX-XXX-XX-XX-XX-XX 

A number! A phone number! 

What was the number? Her number?

Would it still work?

Jason ran his hand through his hair, stopping as he reached the tips of them. While they weren’t to his shoulder, they were definitely too long to be considered short. 

He froze.

How much time has passed? And… Where was he?

How was he going to get back to Mari?

Jason looked out the snowy window, knowing there was no time to waste if he wanted to find Mari as soon as possible.

Taking a few things from the cabin, Jason headed out the door, thanking the injured man as he closed the door behind him.

-----

Jason waited for his coffee as he went over what he was able to gather from just walking to the closest town. 

(Where he had grabbed the money? Old habits die hard he guessed...)

First off, the place he managed to escape from was on a mountain.

There was fucking snow on that mountain. 

He barely understands the languages that were spoken here. 

German was widely spoken here, in which he barely understood. 

He thought he was in Germany for that matter, but quickly replaced it with Switzerland. 

Germany only had German as its official language, but the official languages here also included Italian, Romansh and French. 

And French… Jason understood better than German.

He had a feeling Mari had something to do with him knowing the basics of French, conversational French for that matter.

He was able to confirm that this was indeed in Switzerland through a French speaking resident, finding out he was hours away from France. Which led him to his next dilemma. 

Money. 

Jason chuckled into his coffee at this setback, wondering why he thought it was a problem. He was going to find a way to get to France, to manage to snag a ride there. 

Surprisingly he did, at least, for half the way he was able to. 

Catching the train wasn’t hard, even pretending to have a ticket for that train wasn’t hard. The problem with Jason was that he had a hard time staying out of trouble.

He was quickly found in the kitchen of the train he stowed away on, stuffing his mouth and bag with food before being chased out of the train, Jason having to resort to jumping out of the train to avoid being shot. 

He badly wanted to shoot back, but didn’t when he realized that there were children around the same age as Mari in the cabins, Jason quickly dismissing that idea as soon as it came.

That led him to being stranded again, having to walk to the nearest town in search of information once more. Of course, he would have to go to the center of the town. More information was gathered standing there than sitting at a pub in the outskirts.

Luckily, Jason found one in record time.

However, a waft of something made him detour towards reaching the center of the town. This waft was familiar, almost nostalgic. 

Jason didn’t realize he was following the aroma until he got to the source of familiarity, cradling his head as snippets of his memories came back to him. 

Alfred… recipes… Mari… bread… home… family…

Staggering, Jason opened the bakery doors and made his way to the baskets of bread, his mind already placing names onto the breads he swore he didn't know the names of. 

Ficelle, Fougasse, Pain de campagne and… Brioche…

Mari liked brioche. Something about it being the first recipe she learned. 

The man asked if he needed any help with the baked goods, Jason shaking his head, picking up the brioche. 

“1.65” Jason muttered to himself as he looked at the price tag of the brioche; 165. !65!

Quickly placing the bread at the counter and paying for it, Jason also asked to use their phone, getting a look from the bakery owner.

Okay, let’s try that again. Nearest phone?

The man gave him an address and directions to where Jason could use a public phone, Jason thanking him and promptly leaving the tiny bakery. 

-----

“‘011’ because I’m from America, ‘33’ because you’re from France, 165 because it’s the number that won us the toy, 619 because I hate that wrestler and 623 because it’s the day we met.” Jason said to himself as he dialed the number, waiting for someone to pick up, only for the operator to tell him that the number was invalid. 

Jason hung the phone before picking it up again to only once more hang the phone. 

Invalid? Invalid. Invalid!

Jason picked up the phone once more, knowing what he had to do.

01 6561 96 23. 

America, he was no longer in. In France, it was the place he was in. 01 because he was in France. The rest was his way to her. 

The phone rang, Jason tapping the tiny shelf like counter in the booth, when he heard a click. 

He eagerly greeted the person in English, started to talk to Mari about how he was in France now and-

“Désolé monsieur, mais vous avez le mauvais numéro.” And with that, the person hung up, leaving Jason back to square one. 

Slamming the phone back into its place, Jason left the phone booth, wondering if he really had to search for Mari from scratch.

A month passed as Jason finally made his way to Paris, using whatever little leads he got from where Mari could possibly be. After tracking down certain names he remembered writing to her about and different landmarks she would mention, it directed him to Paris. Aside from these pieces of information, he also let his memories guide him. Using the bakery he first went to as a guide, he would enter every bakery -whether a family runned one or a professional one- to taste the pastries. 

None of them tasted the way Mari told him her father made them. 

None of them used rice in their bread, causing some of them to scoff or even laugh at the concept. 

However, one person did tell him where he was able to find such a marvelous technique: Paris. 

So there was Jason, about to start his search for his little sister when a black car pulled up to him, the tinted window rolling down. 

Jason’s eyes narrowed. While his memories have returned for the majority, Jason would’ve never forgotten the name of the man in front of him.

“Bruce.”

-----

Another month was wasted thanks to Bruce dragging Jason back to Gotham, Jason escaping him various times along the way. The only escape Jason would even look at as a success was when he jumped out of the plane while they were over the Atlantic Ocean. It took Bruce a whole week to catch Jason on the shores of some remote island.

The game of cat and mouse ended once Bruce placed a tracking device on all of Jason’s things, essentially placing him under house arrest. 

Jason managed to find where all the tracking devices were at after a few days, but even then, he was caught by Bruce, being thrown off his motorbike and taken back to the Cave. That led to him sitting in front of the supercomputer, watching minor crimes happen in Gotham.

He huffed, watching the old man take down one crime after another. He watched as Bruce-

The supercomputer! Jason laughed, his laughs bouncing throughout the Cave, giving a scare to the other residents. 

He had all the information he needed right here! Why didn’t- 

Realizing his stupidity, Jason banged his head on the table.

“You alright Jason?”

“Timmy, right?” Ignoring the ‘It’s Tim’ correction, “Want to help me locate someone?” The twinkle that appeared in Tim’s eyes reminded him of a certain someone.

“Who are we looking for?” Tim asked, Jason wondering if this was the right person to ask, especially when he wanted to know where Tim got a hold of that coffee machine that wasn’t there moments ago.

“Not we, me.” Jason clarified, noting to never ask Tim again to help him out. Nor to ever meet Mari… ever.

-----

After a few days of using the resources at the tips of his fingers (and help from Tim), Jason had finally done it. 

He felt the ends of his lip curve upwards, a surge of happiness swell inside of him when he finished composing the file he needed. 

A pair of bluebell eyes stared back at him, her midnight hair tied into low pigtails, the red ribbons added a nice contrast to her hair. 

Jason stuffed the file into his bag and grabbed his leather jacket and made his way to the deep portion of the cave. 

However, a hand on his shoulder prevented him from advancing. 

“Where are you going?” Bruce asked, his hand gripping on Jason’s shoulder. Hitting the hand away, Jason stared at Bruce. 

“To find my sister. So move.” 

Jason was glad to not be asked more questions, even if the murmurs behind his back sent a shiver down his spine. 

-----

Jason took one last breath as he saw Marinette walk down the stairs of the school with her head hung low. 

He wanted to run over and hug her to cheer her up, but decided against it as it would ruin his surprise visit, although the bigger question was if she still remembered him. Did she?

She’s grown since the last time he had seen her, which was eons ago. Her skin looked tanner than before, but her eyes seemed much older than what they should be. They shrouded in tiredness and longing, in determination and misery. 

But he was about to change that, whether the two were prepared for the future or not. 

It was now or never, hoping this didn’t end in complete failure. 

Taking a deep breath and cupping his hands around his mouth, “PIXIE!”

The way she perked up at the name and began to look around to who had called her brought tears to his eyes. She still remembered! “PIXIE!” He yelled again, watching as her eyes landed on him, her hands quickly covering her lips as tears formed in her eyes. The corners of his lip wobbled as they curved upwards. 

Jason ran up to the girl, scooping her into a squishing embrace. “Pixie Pop! We meet again.”

“Jason.” Marinette softly said, trying her best to suppress her quaking voice. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” 

Stepping away, placing his hands on her shoulders, he gave her a smile. 

“Of course it is Marinette.” He wiped away her tears with his thumb. “I told you I would come to Paris one day.” He grinned. “I always keep my promises.” 

Marinette let out a wail before throwing herself at him, causing him to step back. Despite being smaller than him, she showed she was stronger than she looked like. 

She cried into his shirt, Jason having to awkwardly lead her to the side as other students watched the two in complete befuddlement. 

They were finally together, finally able to see each other after several years, almost a decade since they last saw each other in the flesh. 

After what seems\ed like minutes, Marinette sniffled one last time before giving Jason a smile. 

“Ever since you stopped mailing me letters and stopped calling me every Friday night, I thought you had gotten annoyed with me.”

“What!” Jason was hurt. “Why would I ever get bored of you Nettie?” He hugged her. “You’re my sister, whom I love dearly.” At that, Marinette smiled, but something made Jason shiver. 

“Then why haven’t you kept in touch?” Marinette said in a growl. Jason gulped. “Why haven’t I received something from you for the past four years?!” 

“H-has it really been that long?” Jason inquired, just realizing that he never questioned the quick passage of time.

“You see, about that-“

“Well if it isn’t Marinette.” A voice interrupts their sweet reunion, Jason watching as Marinette tensed up before her body laced into defense. “See you got a new boy toy.” Marinette scowled. 

“First off, how dare you assume that!” Marinette looked at Jason. “Jason, this is Lila- my new bully since last semester.” She then turned to Lila with a smirk. “Lila, this is Jason… my older brother.” Marinette watched as blood in Lila’s face drained from her face before returning. 

“Sure, whatever you say Marinette.” Lila got nose to nose with Marinette. “We both know what you're really up to. And for the record, this won’t give you brownie points in trying to get Adrien to look your way.” 

“For the record Lila, I’m already over Adrien, ever since I found out he already had someone he likes.”

“Oh?” She flipped her hair, thinking she had finally won. “Do tell.”

“Sure thing.” Placing a hand in her hip, Marinette smiled. “Her name is Ladybug and he’s head over heels for her, every inch of his desk covered in her. From photos to merch. If I were you, I’d give up. After all, you could never light a candle to her.”

Seething, Lila raises her hand to slap Marinette, only to be overpowered by Jason. 

Grabbing hold of her wrist, he jerks her forward, using that momentum to pin her arm behind her, holding her in an armlock. While it seemed like he was hugging her from behind, only the trio knew what was actually going on. 

All of Lila’s spunk and superiority fled from her being, Lila now whimpering as she felt something dig into her back. It was cold and round, fear instilling into Lila when she heard the cocking of a trigger. 

“Listen here bitch. If I ever hear or see you raising even a finger against my sister, I’ll make sure your life becomes a living hell.” Lila let out a wobbly scoff. 

“L-Listen here! My mother is a diplomat for the Italian Embassy and when she hears that you’re threatening her little girl, a mere child, she’ll-.” Lila felt her heart stop when Jason pressed the gun further into her back. She felt him loom over her ear. 

“You think you’re above the law just because you’re some diplomat’s daughter? Bitch please, I am the Law.” Jason let out a chuckle. “The world wouldn’t care if one mere child went missing, nonetheless be better off with one less diplomat.”

Jason let go of Lila, watching as she stumbled to recompose herself, watching as she trembled like a newborn fawn. “So do me a favor and play nice because Big Brother is always watching.” 

With that, Lila scampered away, leaving a shocked Marinette. 

Jason smirked only for it to drop when he saw Marinette look at him with anger in her eyes. 

“Jason Todd.” He gulped. Shit. “Why the hell do you have a gun in your possession?!”

Good thing Bruce wasn’t here or else he would have something new to bother him with. 

Little did he know Bruce heard everything. That one bug he couldn’t find? 

It was in the holster of his favorite gun. 

-----

“Maman, Papa! I’m back!” Marinette yelled from the door, guiding Jason into the bakery, a rush of nostalgia hitting him. 

The waft of different breads welcomed him back, as if they’d been expecting him for a while, the scolding Marinette gave him at the school long forgotten. 

This was what he was looking for. 

Jason looked around the bakery, noticing the brioche. He took one with caution before he swallowed it whole, resisting the urge to cry. 

It was just like he remembered it. Warm and filled with love and kindness. 

“Jason!” He jumped, almost choking on the piece he technically stole. “This is my Maman and Papa.” Marinette introduced, motioning to the people beside her. 

A small stature woman and a tall plump man stood by Marinette, Jason now seeing where Marinette got her features and personality from. 

“Um… hello.” Jason awkwardly said, not knowing if he should stretch out his hand or not. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Jason Todd. I-“

Jason felt as he was lifted off the ground, his entire body enveloped in warmth. It was… nice. 

“So you’re the Jason that’s been writing Marinette all these years!” Tom exclaimed, putting Jason down. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“We were worried when your mail stopped arriving and when you no longer called.” Sabine spoke up, giving Jason an embrace of her own. “And we got even more worried when we had to move. Since we had no other form of contacting you, we couldn’t give you our new phone numbers nor address! We were worried you’d never reach out to us again.”

“Don’t blame yourselves!” Jason averted his eyes. “A lot of things were happening back in Gotham. If anyone was to blame, it was me for abruptly cutting off any type of communication.” Even if it wasn’t in my control Jason wanted to add, but chose not to.

“Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it?” Jason looked up to see Tom and Sabine smiling at him. “You’re here now and that’s all we can ask for.” 

Oh how badly Jason wanted to cry. Guess Marinette noticed because she quickly proposed to have him join for lunch, her parents agreeing. 

The family invited him past the counter and into their apartment, closing the bakery for the day. 

Before he entered the apartment, he took one look at the family rushing around to prepare lunch, Marinette flashing a smile before her mother reminding her to take the bread out. 

Jason placed a hand over his heart, the other quickly wiping away a stray tear. 

He had done it. 

He came back to her, to Mari, to Marinette. 

He was finally home. 

------

Perma-tag: @theatreandcomicfreak

[feel199x]

TO PROTECT OUR DISTRICT - CH. XV

SALT WATER WOUNDS & QUESTIONS GOD CAN’T ANSWER

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI

MASTERLIST

ceo!hwang hyunjin, mafia!au, mafia boss!hwang hyunjin

summary: take a shot of water every time you read kiss 

warnings: nightmares, gun use, general mafia shenanigans

 The air had grown humid. Your hair, still damp, stuck to your skin. The taste of sea salt burned your lungs, and sat deep on your tongue. The cement did not grow warm, or softer the longer you laid on it, staring at the sky. You were aware of how awkward and strange you must’ve looked, but you couldn’t make yourself care. The sky above was a sad, sagging shade of gray. What could be done? What could be said? You watched lightning tear the clouds in light, enveloping your vision, like you had swallowed it. Lightning always made you feel like anything was possible, another state of matter all on it’s own. Not solid, not liquid, not gas, not quite. You would forget to breathe, suddenly gasping for breath as the rain continued to drop.

 You sat up, staring at the cracks in the cement, where sprouts sat. You toyed with the small leaves, bent due to the large drops of water. You wonder if the earth ever knew of indulgence, ever understood what too much was. 

 You stood finally, everything seeming to stick to you. Your clothes, your hair, impossibly clinging to you. Another flash of lightning swallowed you up. You looked at Yugyeom, who was looking at you. 

 You think you love him.

 And you pray, you pray that you cannot love too much, as the earth never seems to overwater herself. 

 And wouldn’t you ruin it all by saying it out loud?

 He looked so pretty- so, so pretty. You were beginning to see him in a different light, that much you were aware of. You looked at him, looking at you. There was no way in the world he felt as strongly for you as you did for him. But here he was. He had rescued you. 

 It didn’t make sense.

 Maybe he was working for Sir Hwang.

 A pang of paranoia hit you, sobered you almost, or drunked you. He was good to you. Yugyeom wouldn’t- no he couldn’t hurt you. He would never, right?

 Right?

 He kept looking intently at you. His gaze soft, and kind. He would never. He could never. Yugyeom was different. And sure, you don’t know that many boys, haven’t had that many relationships with boys, but he’s different. You feel it. 

 “Yugyeom,” your voice trailed off, “Would you-,” your voice cracked like glass, “would you turn me into him?”

 Yugyeom looked like he was going to burst into tears at the mere implication and suggestion. “God,” he cried, “god, no. No, _____. You mean so much to me- so, so much. I-,” he stopped himself, “you’re just so important. So important to me. You have no idea. I will meet you in every single lifetime. I will find you. We will find each other. You’ve changed my life. I will follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“I,” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You hadn’t known him for long. Could you say something like that, could you say it now? Better yet- would you? “Yugyeom. You will fill my heart for eons.”

 Yugyeom stood, and embraced you again. Smelling like salt. Like water. Like lightning. Like everything you loved and ignored, every delicate part of yourself that you repress. He didn’t care that you just took a swim in the middle of the storm and smelled like raging waters, he kissed your temple, and your cheek, and trailed down your jaw and pulled you into a fiery kiss. 

 And then he let you sit in the warmth of his chest. And he felt like a comfort you hadn’t known in a really long time. 

 But was it long enough? Since Hyunjin?

 You didn’t want to think about it.

 You looked over. Shifting your weight on either foot, and then, you noticed something. A car. A dingy car, a worn and aging car. But there was something. The tinted windows, the grips on the wheels. How shiny and fresh the rims looked. Before you could think, your fist was through the window, on his hair and pulling his head out the window. 

 “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 Jisung gasped, wiping the dripping blood off his chin. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, and he shouted, “Shit, give me a chance to explain, okay?”

 You let go, using the last of your self control to muster up some restraint. “Be my fucking guest.”

 “Sir Hwang, he- shit,” he wiped his nose again, “god, you punch hard.”

 “Get to the point Han, he what? Ordered you to watch me?”

 “Yes, but, I’m on your side.”

 You gave him a breathless laugh. “You honest to god expect me to believe that? Do you think that I’m that stupid? If you’ve told hat son of a bitch anything, fuck, Jisung, I swear I’ll kill you. And I won’t even think-.”

 “I know that you tried to kill yourself. And that Yugyeom stopped you. But Sir Hwang, he doesn’t. I just told him you’ve been losing your mind over killing someone. Some of it’s true.”

 The anger bubbled inside of you, the blood inside of your veins hot and burning. You started to breathe hard, your vision getting dizzy. It was too much. You didn’t want to talk about it. And you hated, you absolutely despised the idea that someone else, someone you didn’t choose, knew about what you were going through.

 “______, listen,” Jisung’s voice softened, “you’ve been going through a hard time. This, this is my way of helping you.”

 “What else do you know?”

“Nothing. I was assigned shortly after your assassination mission.”

 “I don’t believe you.”

 “I know. But you’re gonna have to trust me, we’re family.”

  Yugyeom had made his way to the behind of the car, hand on his hip, looking at you. You shook your head slightly, not moving your gaze from Jisung. You hadn’t even noticed him. 

 “You have all the reason to turn me in. Get a shiny golden star from Sir Hwang. Earn trust.”

 “You’re right. But, you and I, ____, we’re different. I want a life outside of here. I don’t,” his voice cracked, “I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”

 “I don’t want to see you ever again. This never happened, Jisung. Never.”

  “Listen to me, ____, listen,” Jisung got up, and opened the car door, and instinctively your hands flew to your hip, and you watched Yugyeom point the gun at him, “I am on your side. I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you.”

 “Just leave, Jisung. Leave. Forget about me, forget about this. Stop following me.”

 “I can’t.”

 “Because he won’t let you.”

  Jisung gave you a bitter smile. “I know my limits.”

 “Limits only exist if you give them to yourself.”

 “That is exactly where we differ. But that’s why I need you.” Jisung sighed, sitting back in the driver’s seat, “But, I’ll do you one better. I’ll do anything you ask me to do,” he paused and gave you a pointed look, “within reason, of course.” 

 “I’ll think about it.” you paused, breathing in, “But for right now, I want you to leave. ” 

 The car drove off, and you watched. Yugyeom got up from his squatting position. He put his hand on your shoulder and rubbed the tension out. He turned to you, moving his hand to the nape of your neck, “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

 “Yeah, we have work to do.”

 “Or,” Yugyeom dragged his r’s, “we could get some take out and watch a movie?”

 You smiled at him, and put your hand on his chest. “You’re hot, but not that hot.”

  Yugyeom scoffed, “Please, I’m temptation incarnate.”

  You snorted. “You’re so stupid.

 “Well, you kissed me, so what does that say about you?”

 “Hm,” you sighed, “I guess we’re both pretty dumb.”

 “Nah, you’re pretty dumb. I’m here with you. I tricked you somehow, and that’s my life’s work.”

 You didn’t think twice- you’re not sure you even thought about it. Just watching him talk, staring at his lips, all you could do was lean in to kiss him. Yugyeom slid his hands to your waist, pulling you closer against him. He felt warm against you, stilling the slight tremble you had from the cold. He eased into the kiss, almost like he had initiated it. You backed up suddenly, feeling insecure. 

 “I’m sorry,” you blurted, “I’m sorry for that, for everything.” 

  Yugyeom didn’t move, but instead pressed his forehead against yours, wrapped his arms tighter around your waist. “Don’t. I like, I love, kissing you. Being around you. I’m glad we met, despite the circumstances.”

 You wrapped your arms around his neck, and then buried your head in his chest. “I want to go home,” you murmured, “I want to leave, run, go away.”

 He held tightly to you, putting his head on top of yours, “We could, but I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

 You sighed, “I don’t know.”

 The sky remained dark, the clouds and angry shade of gray. The downpour began to lessen, but drizzled here and there, increasing in intensity every once in a while. You and Yugyeom sat in the backseat of the car for a while, listening to the soft sound of the rain. Despite the small space, you laid on top of Yugyeom, resting your head on his shoulders as he hummed quietly. 

 There was a quiet conversation, about simple, little things. Childhood stories. Yugyeom told more stories about his friends.

 “There was one time,” Yugyeom retold, “I wanted to see how many pizzas I could eat before I got sick. So, when I was closing one night, and everyone left, I ate as many as I could. I ate six full pizzas in one go. Took me three hours. I felt so sick. My dad found me the next day on the floor, clutching my stomach.”

 “Did you throw up?”

 “Yes. So much. You have no idea. I felt like pizza grease.”

 “You terrify me, ‘gyeom. That’s absolutely beastly.”

 “I am indeed a force to be reckoned with.”

 You laughed, “You’re as soft as a marshmallow, ‘gyeom, don’t lie.”

 He tilted your face up, holding your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, pressing soft kisses onto you, deepening exponentially. 

 “What if,” you murmured, “you went in and saw your dad? Would that…,” your voice trailed, “would it be selfish?”

 You would give anything to see your parents again. And you hoped, in the most fantastical of fantasies, if they could give you one last hug, that they would. 

 “God,” Yugyeom’s voice cracked, “I would. But it’s too dangerous. And it would only put me in danger. It would put you- put us- in danger.”

 You looked up at him with teary eyes, “We can come back. When things are okay. And you’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

 “Yeah. We’ll be okay.” He kissed you again, a sort of sad, nostalgia sitting as a taste on his tongue.

  You pulled away and Yugyeom pouted, leaning in for another kiss, “One more,” you stated, “and we need to get going.”

 “Or,” Yugyeom held down your waist, “we could wait the storm out. Kiss a little more…”

 “You have an obsession, ‘gyeom.”

 “More like an addiction,” he pressed your lips against yours, “but I am also so obsessed.”

 You shook your head, giving him one last kiss, “Ten minutes.”

 “Two hours.”

 “Thirty minutes.”

 “Two hours and forty minutes.”

 You raised your eyebrows, “An hour.”

 “Two and a half hours.”

 “Fine!”

 Yugyeom smiled, “I win,” his grip tightened around your waist as he sat himself up against the car door. He stared at you wordlessly, watching you with a quiet smile on his face. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are? How smart? How bad ass?”

 “Only every second of your existence, ‘gyeom.”

 “Well, you’re pretty. And smart. And so badass. I just thought I’d remind you.”

  Yugyeom drove later that night. It was so serene, a peace different than you were used to. It was lovely, watching as he drove over a bridge and you could see all the stars reflecting on the lake. The drive was pleasant. Your mind was kept busy by Yugyeom’s rambling, and you were thankful for it. Otherwise, you would’ve lost your mind.

 Or what’s left of it.

 Work the next morning was spent with wistful gazes from Hyunjin, and little notes of encouragement that he would send you. Whenever you would leave your desk, for one reason or another, he would leave sticky notes with doodles or a daisy. He was just trying to make you smile, but guilt was stirring inside of you.

 But you had things to do. Things that were bigger than this. Than him. Than Yugyeom. Than you. At least that’s what you were going to tell yourself until you were forced to make a decision. 

 But what was exciting was the detour you took after work. 

“Yeji Hwang,” you said loudly, smiling at her as you stopped her in the middle of the sidewalk, “Could you spare a moment of your time?

Yeji scrunched her eyebrows. “Do I know you?”

 “No, not at all.”

 Yeji scoffed, “Weird ass,” she turned and started to walk away.

 “But I take it you know Sir Hwang? And perhaps his son, Hyunjin?”

 Yeji turned on her heels, clutching her bag and you watched as she walked back, her high ponytail swinging and bouncing as she made her steps forward. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

 You smiled, “You didn’t give me the chance to speak.”

 She tapped her foot impatiently, holding on to her clutch bag, “You’re not the guy they usually send.”

 “Change of plans. Coffee?”

 She eyed you carefully, and you knew exactly the look. She was trying to figure you out. You kept your face slightly blank, a polite smile and crinkled eyes. Not finding anything that seemed awry, she nodded.

 “Coffee sounds good.”

 You opened the cafe’s door, letting Yeji step inside first. Yeji set her bag on the chair, the premium leather and pearl strings shining in the cafe light. Resting your chin on the bridge of your hands, you tilted your head and looked at Yeji.

 “You’re a cop. But you cover for us. Isn’t that slightly immoral?”

 “What’s that supposed to mean? Look, if you’re from internal affairs-,”

 You shook your head, lifting your hair, and showing her the nape of your neck. “I’m not from internal affairs. Just making small talk is all.”

 She glared at you, but smiled sweetly at the waiter who came to take the order. “I’d like an americano and your most expensive piece of cake.”

 You looked up at the waiter, “A latte please, and I’ll have the same cake.” 

 Yeji raised her eyebrows, and crossed her legs, “What’re you here for?” 

 “To make a deal.”

 “Care to elaborate?”

 You laughed, “See, you’re a cop, but a dirty one. I need you to assist me with something, I need you,” you paused, “to turn against Sir Hwang.”

She got up, the chair scraping against the floor. “Fuck you.”

You got up, poised, with your hands folded, “You could become a scandal real quick. All of the nation knowing that you cleared up the tracks of a gang- you know it would never get out that the Hwangs are a mafia? And that you did it for money? Better yet, do you think I don’t know about your father?”

 Yeji poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She pursed her lips and sat back down, the bag slamming down on the floor. A few moments of silence was shared by the both of you. You wanted it to sink in, to make it uncomfortable. You stared at her, blinking slowly, letting her know that you were watching her. 

 “I could leave. Tell Sir Hwang about some bitch trying to get me to go rogue.”

 You slid out your phone, letting the audio of your conversation play. “And I could go to the press with this. And the police. You think Sir Hwang is gonna associate with you after that? You think that any of the police, the press could come close to him?” you paused, “Hero cop, Hwang Yeji, turns out to be dirty. Accepting money from local gangs. You would never win.”

 You smiled at the waiter as he came and dropped off the cakes and coffee. 

 “You started out so noble, wanting money for your father, help him recover from cancer. And then Sir Hwang comes in with the offer of a lifetime, save your father and live comfortably? Who wouldn’t take that deal? But you think the press is gonna understand that? The nation will vilify you, Yeji. You’ll rot in prison, and your dad will die, and you will have no one.”

 You took a sip from your latte, and smiled, “Absolutely no one. Maybe the loneliness will get to you and you’ll hang yourself with your bedsheet.”

 “I’ll do it. Just,” her voice cracked, “stop talking, please.”

 “Pleasure doing business with you.”

 You got up, and pushed your cake towards her. “I’ll keep in touch. See you soon.”

 And she let you, didn’t even look up to watch you stride away, just stared into the coffee mug and listened to the sound of your heels clicking against the floor all the way ‘til the door. She continued staring into her cup, as you glanced at her through the cafe’s window.

 You never said you wouldn’t play dirty.

 But that didn’t mean you felt awful.

 Absolutely awful. You stared at yourself in the mirror, pulling your hair back, inching forward then backward. You were a bad person. You were turning into Sir Hwang, you were just the same. You looked at the fading scar you had, remembering his fingers, the coldness of the water. You could hear the heavy quietness, the stillness of the water. Breathing hard, you clutched your head, and dropped to the floor. It was becoming more of a routine. You, on the floor, crying, and Yugyeom comes in, picking you up and humming a song for you to calm down. 

 You don’t know why he put up with you. Good must outweigh the bad, you suppose, but you weren’t even sure about that.

 Does he pity you?

 Does he feel bad for you?

 Is he working for Sir Hwang?

 Sleep. That’s what you needed. You would get some sleep and it would be okay. You smiled- because you were good at pretending, you were the best at pretending. 

 Things were gonna be okay.

 You snuggled into Yugyeom’s warmth- closing your eyes. His heartbeat was like the background instrumentals, the chorus, and the melodies of your favorite song. It was like choir singing. Powerful and soft, warm but loud. He was comfort. 

  Another nightmare. Your mother, a necklace of rope dangling down her body and pooling at her feet. She held dried roses, and a pungent smell enveloped you. Rot, over ripe and dry. A riot of rot. You started to fall through the earth suddenly, in cold ocean water, the salt flooding and burning up your nose. You looked down, the green of earth staring back up at you. Your mind spun, the world upside down, the sky bleeding blue, water surrounding the earth. You clawed at your throat, staring into the blinding light that swallowed you up, you were drowning, drowning and no one was around to help you. And as soon as you embraced the idea of death, the ocean sky spat you down, back to reality, back to earth, in the midst of a field. Yeji stood at the end of the field, and you ran, the grass scratching your feet, the salt water dew browning the green. Almost, you were almost there, until you slammed against a mirror, shattering, the glass cutting you up as you screamed, the sound of crackling glass so much louder than you could ever be. A gun sat in your lap, as you sat in the shards of glass, and you then you were watching yourself. You watched, as your doppelganger watched too. Both of you raised your deep sea, black shaded guns, and then all you saw was red. And then nothing.

 You screamed as you were awake, kept screaming, even as Yugyeom held you and rocked you. You thrashed, crying and crying until you couldn’t, falling limp like a ragdoll. 

  It had been hours. 

 Yugyeom was asleep, clinging to you. He fell asleep long ago. You stared at the ceiling, a faint haunting echo in your ears. You felt like you were spiraling out of control. You slipped out of Yugyeom’s hold, against your better judgement, against your judgement in general. The floor was cold to your bare foot, sending a wave of shock up your body. You froze, suddenly underwater, feeling Sir Hwang’s hand pushing you underwater. Breaking through the water, the memory, you came to again.

 You were bigger than all of this.

 What you were doing was bigger than any of this.

 Suddenly you could breathe, taking a big breath of air, filling up your lungs like you never had. Electrified, sparks hitting ocean currents. 

 Things were gonna be okay.

 You dreaded going to work. It was particularly distressing. It wasn’t like the feelings you had for Hyunjin had completely gone away. It felt wrong. Hyujin was clearly trying so hard to get back on your good side. And you still loved him. But you loved Yugyeom too. 

 What was really the kicker is that this shouldn’t even have been on your mind. Absolutely not. What should’ve taken all your brain space is what else you could do to dismantle and abolish the system that Sir Hwang and his predecessors created. And you have been planning, really- you have. But guilt was eating you up inside. 

 But you were only human, right?

 You were allowed to feel these things right?

 You weren’t so sure.

 Yugyeom could tell something was up. He looked at you with a softer, more questioning gaze. “I’m okay,” you told him, “don’t worry about me. Things are gonna be okay.”

 It was more for you than for him, but it convinced him anyway. You tucked your blouse into your pencil skirt and buttoned the very last button. 

  “You look very pretty, ____.”

 “Ah,” you were spun out of your thoughts, “thank you. You look very pretty too.” 

 He came up and wrapped his arms around your waist and sat his head in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along the nape.

 “I’m gonna be late!” you squealed, refusing him as he came up for a kiss.

 “Just one?” he asked, “One good kiss and I’ll let you go.”

 “No, sir,” you replied, turning your face towards him, “I know how you are. One turns into ten and next thing you know, you’ve convinced me to stay in and cuddle, and then-”

 Taking advantage of your complaining and rambling, Yugyeom stole a kiss from you. He was always able to catch you off guard somehow. You had to be the one to pull away and upon pulling away, you were met with a very smug ‘gyeom who was about to lean in again.

 “Nope!”

 You unraveled yourself from the rope of his arms, shaking your head, “You have no limits.”

 “And! We have to get going.” you went to collect your purse, “Or we’re going to be late, and I hate being late.”

 Succumbing to your desires, Yugyeom trailed after you, following you to the car. The ride was nothing different. You bid goodbye to him and went on your usual route to work. Thankfully, due to some speeding, you would still be slightly early. Despite your wariness to see Hyunjin, you still had morals.

 Or, what was left of them anyways. 

 You pushed the button for the floor on the elevator and tried to ease the anxiety that was building up inside of you. The doors opened and you hesitated before stepping out. And there he was, waiting at your desk, fixing a vase of flowers next to your computer. 

 “______!”

 “Hey.”

 “I, uh,” he stammered, “I got these for you.”

 You didn’t recognize the flowers, but they were a vibrant array of flowers. “They’re pretty,” you murmured, delicately touching the petals.

 Hyunjin tapped his fingers against his thigh and you relaxed. Looking up at him, you moved closer.

 “What’s gotten into you?”

 “I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

 “Why now?”

 “Because I realized I’m not a little kid anymore. And because I love you, _____.” Hyunjin sighed, “And I know that’s not fair to say. You deserve to be angry at me. You deserve space. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if or when you’re ready.”

 “Okay.”

 “And,” he shifted on his feet, his fingers reaching for yours, but stopping mid air- he’d never been this shy to touch you, so you reached out and grabbed his hand, earning a smile, “if you wanted to join me for lunch.”

 You nodded, and he let go of your hands.

 Can you drown in guilt?

 The day passed quickly. A note from Jisung gave you some revolutionary information, and a note you dropped off at Changbin’s desk along with some useless photocopies organized set things into stone. 

 And you couldn’t wait.

 But first? You had to tackle lunch with Hyunjin. 

 The time rolled around, and the time on your computer glared back at you. You loved Hyunjin, that much you knew. But you didn’t love the complicated gestures of love and the delicate intricacies of it. You just wanted things to work out. You wanted things to be okay. You wanted the option to fall into your lap so you weren’t forced to make that decision.

 “_____?”

 “I’ll be right there, just give me a moment.”

 You got up and smoothed your skirt. Hyunjin was watching you move towards his office with a huge puppy smile on his face. Deciding that you were taking too long, he pulled you into his office. “I got pan fried dumplings,” he said happily, “I know how much you love them.”

 “I would give anything in the world to eat as many dumplings as humanly possible.”

 “You could do it. I believe in you.”

 “Physically, I am capable,” you laughed, “but emotionally? It would ruin me.”

 It was pleasant. Hyunjin respected your space, sitting at a distance from you as you shared food. He made jokes, and you laughed. But he was only human. He stared at your lips often, tapping his fingers. You were no mind reader, but you knew he missed you.

 You missed him.

 And the guilt was killing you.

 “_____?”

“Yes, Hyunjin?”

“Can we,” he asked softly, “can we start over? Can you give me another chance?” His voice wavered, “Can I kiss you?”

 “Kiss me?”

 He nodded, “Just on the cheek, if you want. I just- I just miss touching you.”

 “On the cheek.” you approved. You’d be lying if some part of you didn’t miss it too. “But I need time. And space to figure it- this- out.” 

 Hyunjin leaned towards you, closing the space and encompassing the air that separated the two of you. He pressed his lips against your cheek and lingered there for a moment. And then you caved, turning your face towards him- and kissing him for real this time. Like you once did, and god, you’d be lying if you didn’t like it. That you didn’t love him. That it was just like the last kiss you remembered, just as good- if not better.

But you pulled away, and he looked so happy. 

 “We better eat,” you murmured.”

And eat you did. So much for figuring things out.

 You picked up Yugyeom, and he looked so excited to see you. “Tonight,” he clapped, “tonight is the big night and the start of our mission.”

 “You’re gonna meet a lot of new people, Yugyeom. And I’m scared that they’re not as trustworthy as they make themselves seem. But I need your hands.”

 “Hey,” his voice grew soft, “we’ve been over this. It’s gonna be okay.”

 It was late at night when you and Yugyeom climbed into the van. No one spoke. No one said anything. The van drove off, then stopped at where you needed to be. Your heart was still. You knew that you were trained for extreme situations, situations like this one. But it still surprised you. Does everyone else feel this way? Entirely calm? Not the slightest bit of anxiety?

 You were the first to climb out of the van, the gun not even heavy on your back. It was just an extension of yourself. The gun wasn’t the weapon.

 You were.

  It was like a switch had been flicked. You moved quickly and quietly. Blending into the darkness, you forgot that you were a human and not some machine of terror. It was like walking on air, walking on water, even. The AR that sat on your hip wasn’t heavy, almost like it was included in your own weight. You led the way, making your way to the center of the maze. You were sure it was intentional. It was exciting in a morbid way,  

  It shouldn’t have been so easy, the way you disarmed those men, the way you could make them crumple onto the floor like rag dolls. And in retrospect, it was scariest the way you didn;’t even think about it. It was something more, something less than instinct. You didn’t think twice, you didn’t even think about it. They became nothing more than a target, nothing more than something to get past. Taking the lead came natural, guiding the others through the maze. And then, after countless obstacles, there was the safe, the motherfucking jackpot. 

 Yugyeom and Jisung took out the several men standing in front of the gate, while you and Changbin worked on the locks. It took a few minutes, which was frustrating, but it could’ve been worse. Each lock only had one try before everything confined was dropped through the floors and sent away. To where, you only had a vague idea. Each one of the locks was a long series of random numbers, increasing in length each time. 

   Jeongin stood over your hunched figure, watching Jisung and Changbin carefully. His expression was dark and the gun was pointed ever so slightly. You’d never seen him like this. 

 Finally, a latch opened, and without thinking, you jumped down. You rolled onto your feet, and froze once you heard a loud click. The long corridor before you was lighting up with fluorescent lights. Something felt off. You looked over at Jeongin and watched as Changbin dropped down, and raised your eyebrows at them. Changbin starts to cross towards you but Jeongin separates the two of you with his gun. You let Jeongin and Changbin work it out and trek forward. Your steps are light, but you run anyhow. It wasn’t a trap. Not exactly. 

 Your breath caught in your throat. It was good. Almost too good. You breathed deeply, and your heartbeat slowed. You got this. 

 You got this.

 You got this. 

  And there it was. The last door. The plan you were given was slightly off, but considering that none of them had ever been here, the mistake was forgivable. You crouched down, staring at the metal door. It was just a latch. It seemed deceitful in a sense. But there was nothing wrong. Nothing entirely. You extended your hand, and in it, Yeji placed down a disposable camera. Holding in a breath, you unclasped it, and opened the door.

 And there it was.

  Cocaine fucking heaven. 

   But, of course, there were at least a dozen security enforcers just in your sight. Armed and dangerous, and hoping to get to blow someone’s head off on their shift to make the time go by.

And boy, they weren’t happy to see you.

 You let go of the breath you were holding, and moved quickly. The gunfire was almost serenading you. There was something festering in you- the adrenaline maybe. The hot blood coursing through your veins, your heart beat seeming to slow down, thumping in your ears like white noise. You lead the way, your gun aimed and shooting only to disarm.

 No deaths, you repeated in your head, I can not make that decision. 

 No deaths.

 No deaths.

 No deaths.

 You heard a cry, and started walking backward, letting who you assumed to be Chan take the lead. And all you could think of as you retreat is, please don’t be dead. You found Jeongin slightly limping, and he shook his head, nodding his head towards the front of the group. You signaled for Jisung to stay and guard the back, as you made the way back to the front, letting bullets rain as you moved. You turn to check on Yeji, taking pictures of all the packs of cocaine and such. She seemed fine, even giving you a thumbs up to confirm. Bodies dropped like flies, and you didn’t even think about it. 

 You were scaring yourself. 

 But even so, you couldn’t stop. Not now, not with how close you were. Above the drugs, there sitting high on the wall, was a number nine. You pulled out your disposable, and snapped a couple pictures. Now, you had to get out, and get out quick. Yugyeom and Chan had retreated to the maze. Since you hadn’t heard from Changbin, you assume the coast was clear, but there was an increasingly large fear in the back of your mind. 

 Then, it happened before you could process. A flurry of gunshots rang out, and you felt the floor before you knew what it was. You could feel the bullet in your leg.

 If it doesn’t get out of you soon- and by soon, you mean right the fuck now- you were gonna die. You crawled, somehow, behind the stacked pounds of paraphernalia. You could feel it expanding. You could only be grateful that it wasn’t a main artery. Resting your head against the paraphernalia you pulled up your black leggings, and felt around your calf. Just scathing. 

 You’re okay, it was just a scathe.

 Hollow Point. It was a Hollow Point. And if you don’t move- if you don’t move right the fuck now-

 You scrambled on your feet, moving fast as you could. Yeji had left. 

 They had left you behind. 

[agreatperhaps12]

There are a lot of misconceptions about Warren Peace. Five times Layla Williams saw through the bullshit, and one time Warren returned the favor.

happy holidays, @katiewont :) 

Misconception No. 1: Warren Peace loves a good fight.

Warren Peace does not go looking for fights. Fights find him.

See: Stronghold chucking a lunch tray at him the first week of class. Dumb and Dumber challenging them to Save the Citizen. Stronghold’s date going full supervillain at homecoming and nearly dropping a school-size anvil on an unsuspecting suburb.

That’s just the highlight reel for September.

When another villain interrupts Warren’s History of Heroism midterm with another school invasion, Warren’s first thought is: Could everyone around here chill for five fucking seconds.

No. Literally, not ever. See: three weeks later, when Warren is standing in line for lunch with the entourage of freshmen he’s long since given up trying to shake off. It has not even been five minutes since Warren and Stronghold defeated their latest challenger at Save the Citizen, and Zach is already doing a clumsy live-action replay.

To Stronghold, “Did you see his face when you were like?” Zach swings his arm with the spectacular confidence of someone not standing in a very crowded cafeteria. To Warren, “And then you were like—” Zach mimes shooting fireballs from his fists, complete with sound effects. “Totally brutal. You looked scary, bro.”

“He always looks scary,” Ethan says, smiling at Warren like that’s a compliment.

Warren glares down at his tray. He and Stronghold have been defending champions of Save the Citizen for over two months, Hero Team every time. He doesn’t get how people are still managing to make him feel like the bad guy about it.

“How was play-pretend battle?”

Layla has emerged from the crowd to stand beside Warren, with a smirk that makes a stupid something flutter behind his sternum. Layla stopped coming to their Save the Citizen matches after their dozenth victory, because “violence should be the last resort in any hostage situation” and “Save the Citizen completely undermines a valuable opportunity for Sky High students to learn strategic negotiation skills.” Warren doesn’t know what she does with the free period. 

Take me with you, he thinks.

“The match was epic,” Zach says. “Will got to throw a car.”

A bashful smile overtakes Stronghold’s dumb, Labrador face.

“And Warren almost barbequed Evans,” Ethan says.

Jesus, could they shut up about it already.

“Really,” Layla says, eyes on Warren while he pays for his food.

“Yeah,” Warren says, in a deadpan to rival Magenta. “It was epic.”

Layla frowns, but instead of launching into the pacifist manifesto that Warren is expecting, she holds up her bagged lunch says, “Want to eat outside?”

Before Warren can answer, Stronghold says, “Outside?” like he’s never heard of such a place. “It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s almost forty degrees,” Layla says, “and I had to come in early to finish a project, so it’s been over—” She checks the clock. “—five hours since I’ve felt roots under my feet. I’m eating outside.”

“Okay, but like.” Stronghold glances at Warren. “Do… you want me to come?”

“No, you’ll just be a baby about it,” Layla says gently. “Warren doesn’t get cold, do you?”

She looks to Warren for confirmation of a fact that Warren is one hundred percent sure he’s never told her. He shrugs to hide his wrong-footedness.

“Great.” Layla claps a hand on Stronghold’s shoulder and uses it to steer him toward the others, who are already sitting at what used to be Warren’s personal lunch table, once upon a time. She shrugs on her jacket, flips her hair out, and looks to Warren. “Shall we?”

Warren follows her outside warily. Sitting down across from her at the picnic table closest to the edge of school grounds, he says, “So, what is this, exactly?”

Layla pauses in uncurling her lunch bag. “What do you mean?”

Warren shrugs. “We don’t really hang out. Alone.”

They did, a little. Back when Layla was using Warren to make Stronghold jealous. But that pretty much ended with the homecoming debacle—after which Layla and Stronghold spent a few weeks trying to get their romantic relationship off the ground, decided they worked better as friends, and went back to normal.

“What are you talking about?” Layla says. “We hang out at the Paper Lantern all the time.”

It’s true that Layla eats at Warren’s workplace a few nights a week, when her mom is too busy with day-saving to make family dinners at home. But Layla is always doing homework, and Warren is always doing Work work, so, “I don’t think that counts.”

“It does,” Layla says confidently. It’s the kind of confidence that only Layla can pull off, because rather than coming across as arrogant, she gives the air of a mysterious woodland nymph, whose secret knowledge mere mortals wouldn’t understand.

“Okay,” Warren says, because he has precious little personal experience to back up any assertions about how friendship is supposed to work. “But this isn’t the Lantern.”

Layla raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“No,” Warren says. He doesn’t want Layla to leave, either. There’s a sureness about her that Warren finds comforting. She’s never been afraid of him—probably because she could kick his ass. Warren likes that about her. But he also likes to know where he stands with people.

By way of explanation, Layla says, “Did you know that when you get stressed out, literal steam comes out of your ears?”

“What?”

“Mm-hmm.” Layla pulls an apple out of her lunch bag. “A little. It’s easier to see when your hair is pulled back.”

Warren brings a self-conscious hand to the rubber band he used to tie his hair up during Mad Science Lab.

“It happens a lot when Zach is doing his Save the Citizen play-by-plays,” Layla observes. “Thought I might spare you an entire lunch of that.”

“Oh.” Warren’s hand drops into his lap, blind-sided by the unexpected kindness. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Layla maintains eye contact while taking a bit of apple. Warren shifts in his seat and drops his eyes to his pizza. “You could tell Coach Boomer to assign Will a different partner,” she says after a moment. “Save the Citizen isn’t mandatory.”

Yeah, except it kind of is. No one’s ever voluntarily stepped back from a winning streak like Warren and Stronghold’s. Benching himself would never be worth all the extra side-eye in the halls. Not to mention the explanation he’d have to give Boomer. What kind of superhero-in-training refuses to fight?

Except for the one Warren is currently sitting across from, of course. Who’s looking at Warren with such doe-eyed earnestness that it almost squeezes a “Yeah, maybe” out of him. But Layla is a difficult person to lie to, so he says, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about Save the Citizen.”

Layla sits up a little straighter. “Right,” she says. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

Not that Warren doesn’t trust Layla, but she is the kind of person to press points she thinks are important. Before her mind can cycle back to Save the Citizen from some other angle, Warren says, “Sorry I dragged you outside in the middle of November.”

Layla tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t drag me. I dragged you.”

“Yeah, but for me,” Warren says, and there’s that stupid fluttering feeling again.

“And for me,” Layla says. “I wasn’t lying about needing to get out for a bit. Being inside all day, with the linoleum and cinderblock.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s creepy quiet, when you’re used to feeling everything alive around you.”

He’s never actually thought about it, before. How Layla has her finger on the pulse of something so vast and intricate, even when she’s not bending it to her will.

“Even in November?” Warren says. “Isn’t everything, like… dead?”

Layla laughs. “No. Just taking a long nap.”

“Huh.” Warren looks around the grey-brown landscape of the schoolyard, with its bare branches and faded grass, with new eyes. It’s a nice idea, that all these lifeless-looking things are just waiting to wake up.

Misconception No. 2: Warren Peace doesn’t give a damn about his bad reputation.

Anyone who dyes a single streak of hair, wears fingerless gloves, and walks around like he’s got nothing to prove has something big to prove.

For Warren Peace, that is: I do not give a fuck about my family legacy.

Before starting high school, Warren figured a couple kids might recognize him, by name or by strong family resemblance. But Warren’s dad had already been locked up for a long time. It wasn’t like he made the news anymore. Worse came to worst, Warren thought he might have to field a few awkward questions about it.

Homeschooling did not prepare Warren for how big a household name Barron Battle was.

The first week of school was all open seats around Warren in class and at lunch, cold and curious looks over shoulders on the bus, “Check it out, that’s Barron Battle’s devil spawn” and “I can’t believe they even let supervillain kids in.”

It was treat or be treated like dirt, and Warren chose the former.

Fast-forward to junior year, and Sky High students know Warren Peace for the asshole he is, rather than the asshole his father was. Warren is comfortably back to pretending like his dad doesn’t exist. It mostly works.

Except during a History of Heroism unit on the most notorious villains of the twentieth century, when Warren’s class is staring at a PowerPoint slide that depicts the leveled Brooklyn neighborhood where Barron Battle and the Commander had their final showdown.

Warren ignores his classmates’ not-so-covert glances as Mr. Magnificent rattles of statistics like ‘seven dead and dozens injured’ and ‘nearly one billion dollars in damages.’ Magnificent has to pause his lecture to silence the white noise of whispers that has swelled up, and Warren wants to sink through the floor.

It’s like the first week of freshman year all over again. Warren is projecting I don’t care vibes so hard, there’s a good chance he’ll spontaneously combust.

What feels like an eon later, the classroom lights come up. Warren shoves everything into his backpack and heads for the door before anyone can try to talk to him. As usual, Layla is out of Hero Support early and waiting in the hall to meet Warren for lunch. Her patent sun-bright smile slips as Warren escapes the classroom.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she says.

“What?” Warren stops up short. “Nowhere. There’s no fire.”

“I was kidding,” Layla says, and winces at herself. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Warren rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t come to lunch today. I have to—work on something.”

Normally, when Warren is feeling like shit, there’s nothing he’d rather do than sit with Layla in their little oasis of calm at the schoolyard picnic table. But right now, Warren needs at least thirty minutes to pace around the empty auto shop classroom, literally and figuratively cooling off, before he subjects himself to more human company.

“Okay,” Layla says, hugging her notebook to her chest and looking at him critically. “Are you—”

“Yeah. It’s—whatever. I’ll see you later.” Warren shoulders his way through the crowded hall toward the shop room, head down.

Smooth, he thinks at himself. Very smooth.

Shut up.

Warren assumes the first chance he’ll have to apologize to Layla is the next day at lunch. But when Warren shows up for his shift at the Paper Lantern at five, Layla is already sitting at her usual table. Weird, because Layla usually doesn’t come to the Lantern on Thursdays. Weirder, because when she does come, she typically arrives sometime after eight, when the dinner rush has mostly cleared out.

“What can I get you?” Warren says, drawing his pencil out from behind his ear as he approaches Layla’s table. They do try to maintain some appearances of an employee-customer relationship, to appease Mrs. Zhou.

“Hmm.” Layla examines the menu. “I’d like one kung pao tofu, one green tea, and—” She looks up at him. “—for you to explain why you fled your History of Heroism class today.”

“I didn’t flee,” Warren says. “I stormed out.”

“All right,” Layla agrees easily. “Why did you storm out of History of Heroism?”

Warren crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Okay.” Layla holds out her menu.

Warren blinks. “What?”

“You’re right, it’s not my business,” she says. “I just thought you might want to talk about whatever it was.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Warren squints. “Okay…”

“Okay,” Layla says again, and flaps the menu in her hand.

Warren takes it slowly, waiting for the catch. But Layla just pulls a binder and notebook out of her backpack. “Honey with the tea, please,” she says, and clicks open a pen.

“I know,” Warren says, and leaves Layla to her homework. He spends most of the next half-hour trying to untangle why he feels disappointed rather than relieved.

The thing is, Warren sometimes gets a “What was that about?” or “Dude, what the hell happened back there?” from classmates after he goes nuclear. Like after his cafeteria fight with Stronghold in September. Those questions always feel voyeuristic. Prickly and probing.

With Layla, though, the question feels less invasive and more inviting. For the first time, Warren wants to explain himself. He wants Layla to understand. He doesn’t want her to see him as some moody, unapproachable asshole. But he also doesn’t know how to approach her, or the subject, now that he’s already shut it down.

He’s been talking himself in and out of going back over to Layla’s table for ten minutes when Mrs. Zhou sidles up to the pass-through window where Warren is brooding.

“If you’re going to stand around making eyes at your girlfriend, take your fifteen and go over before the dinner crowd arrives,” she says.

Warren’s face heats, and he looks around to see whether anyone is in earshot, even though he’s pretty sure none of Mrs. Zhou’s whitebread suburban customers understand Mandarin. “She’s not my—never mind.”

Deciding he’d rather be having any other conversation besides this one with Mrs. Zhou, Warren forces himself to walk over to Layla’s table and sit down.

“We learned about the Barron in class today,” he says, abandoning any attempt at preamble, “for a lesson on notable supervillain takedowns.”

If Layla is surprised by Warren’s sudden attempt at conversation, she doesn’t show it. She hooks her pen through the spiral of her notebook, closes it, and waits for him to continue.

“Magnificent was showing pictures from the last time Dad and the Commander fought in New York,” Warren says, “and people were looking at me like I was involved somehow, even though all that shit went down when I was still in diapers, and those people have been in my classes for three years, like—I know, we all know Barron Battle is my dad, why can’t everyone fucking get over it already—”

Layla lays a hand on his forearm, cutting Warren off and drawing his attention to the fact that his clenched fist is smouldering like a hot coal. “Shit. Sorry.” Warren shakes out his hand, and Layla pulls back. He wishes she wouldn’t.

Layla waits for the red glow of Warren’s knuckles to dim and then says, “Mr. Magnificent is an idiot. It was totally inappropriate to include your dad in a presentation, especially without asking you first.”

Warren shrugs. “A lot of people’s parents end up in his presentations,” he says. “They’re just usually on the right side.”

“He still should have asked you,” Layla says. “Also, you helped save the entire school in September. If people still think you’re anything like your dad after that, they’re idiots and you shouldn’t care what they think.”

Warren wants to say “I don’t.” What comes out is, “This is high school. Everyone cares what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t,” Layla says.

Warren wants to contradict her, but from what he can tell, Layla genuinely doesn’t. “You have to care a little,” he says.

Layla raises her eyebrows like oh, yeah? and points to her characteristically Whoville-style twist of braids and glittery clips. “You think these hairdos made me a lot of friends in middle school?”

“I didn’t go to middle school.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Layla says.

“Then why do you wear your hair like that?”

“Because I like it.” Layla twirls a stray piece of hair around her forefinger. “And I don’t need to be one of the pretty girls to feel good about myself.”

“You are pretty,” Warren blurts, and immediately has to suppress the urge to set himself on fire.

Layla’s eyes go wide. The last time Warren saw her blush this deep, he’d just called her out for crushing on Stronghold. But instead of straight-up embarrassed, this time Layla’s blush is weirdly, shyly pleased. “You think so?” Her chin is tilted down so that she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, which is not fair.

“Me?” Warren points at himself, like an idiot. “I don’t—I mean, I do, but it’s not just—you are pretty. People know that. It’s an objective fact.”

“Really.” Layla’s cheeks are still pink, but her smile has a playful slant now.

“Yeah,” Warren says, more defensively than he intends. Christ, he was so much better at this when they were fake-dating, when none of Warren’s smirks or swagger could mean anything. Now, without the protection of pretense, everything feels altogether too personal. Warren is not good at personal.

“Thank you,” Layla says, and bites her lip in hesitation before tacking on, “you’re pretty, too.”

Whatever that comment is—reflex, or politeness, or something else—it is officially too much. “I have to get back to work,” Warren says, overloud in the quiet restaurant, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to stand up.

“Okay,” Layla says, trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Before he can turn away, she adds, “Warren,” and points to either side of her head.

Warren stares at her blankly for a second before he catches her drift, yanks his hair down from his ponytail to hide his surely steaming ears, and practically runs back to the kitchen.

Misconception No. 3: Warren Peace thinks he’s got the best power.

“I feel like I should warn you,” Layla says as she turns the key in her front lock, “my house is kind of crowded.”

Warren frowns. “I thought you were an only child.”

“No siblings,” Layla says. “A lot of roommates. You’ll see.”

What Warren sees is a menagerie that would do Ace Ventura proud.

“Watch out for the—everything,” Layla says, leading him through a flock of peacocks, a few dogs and several cats that slink by too quickly to count.

“Why… is this?” is the only semi-coherent question that Warren can formulate as he shoos a parrot from his shoulder and shakes his pant leg free of a fox’s jaws.

“You’re not the only one who has to live with your parent’s superpower,” Layla says.

Layla’s mom, apparently, is a zoolinguist. The only place in the entire house not overrun by furry or feathered residents is Layla’s room.

“Wow,” Warren says as he crosses the threshold.

Layla’s bedroom is situated on the back corner of the house, and the two external walls and ceiling are all paneled glass. Presumably to usher in maximum sunlight for the greenery that crowds almost every inch of space besides Layla’s bed and desk. Warren has to shed his winter coat immediately to avoid overheating in the humidity.

“Yeah,” Layla says. “Sometimes I forget how weird it is. Will’s the only friend I’ve ever had up here.”

Layla is the only friend Warren has ever had in his room—which she immediately declared “entirely predictable,” on account of the punk rock posters plastered across his walls. Layla’s room is way more predictable, if you ask Warren. Or at least, Warren would have predicted this, if he’d known literal greenhouse was a legitimate option.

“It’s nice,” he says. “Peaceful.”

“Isn’t it?” Layla takes Warren’s coat and hangs it on a hook behind the leaves of an elephant ear plant. “Mom had the place renovated before we moved in. I think she figured, if she was going to let every animal in the neighborhood have the run of our house, it wasn’t fair to exile my plants to the backyard.”

“Do they all live here all the time?” Warren says, pointing at the floor to indicate the veritable petting zoo downstairs.

“Some of them,” Layla says. “Mom is good at finding homes for most. I think donations from her fans are single-handedly keeping every shelter in the city afloat.”

It’s rude to ask about superheroes’ secret identities, but context clues give Warren a pretty good idea who Ms. Williams might be. Charismatic Megafauna is basically a one-woman PETA operation, liberating animals from factory farms and delivering them to free-range pastures as often as she commands her elite squadron of apex predators to take down baddies. She’s a more controversial figure than the Commander and Jetstream, but she does have an extremely dedicated cult following.  

“Her power sounds amazing,” Warren says.

“Most of the time,” Layla says. She collects a watering can from beside her bed and begins to fill it with a knee-high spigot beside the door. “But there’s a lot of animal suffering in the world. It can get exhausting for her to be tapped into it all the time, you know?”

Warren pauses to consider. “Yeah, I guess that would be overwhelming.”

Layla turns off the tap and carries her watering can to the closest table laden with potted plants. “Everyone’s superpower looks spectacular on the news,” she says, with a very un-Layla-like smile. “No one’s around to see it when your power makes you so sad you can’t get out of bed.”

“Except you,” Warren guesses.

Layla drops her not-really-smile. “Except me.”

Warren shuffles along the row of plants beside Layla while she waters them. He waits until she finishes refilling the can and starts a new row before asking, “Does that ever happen to you? Your powers getting you down.”

Layla studiously waters a flower with orange starburst petals. “Plants have more…auras and vibes than thoughts and feelings,” she says, and tickles the flower under one leaf. The plant visibly perks up under her ministrations, and Layla smiles. For real, this time. “Their pain doesn’t feel as sharp to me as animals’ pain does to my mom.”

“But,” Warren prompts.

“But sometimes, yeah,” Layla says, and moves on to the next plant.

Warren casts around for something comforting to say, but comes up with nothing better than, “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Layla says, “but it’s the exception to the rule. Most of the time, I wouldn’t give up feeling this—” She rubs her fingertips over a browning leaf to paint it green. “—for anything.”

Warren shouldn’t be jealous of Layla’s powers. Especially after she’s just admitted what a burden they can be. But Layla has also just confirmed what Warren has long suspected: Superabilities, even the ostensibly powerful ones, are not created equal. Warren’s pyrokinesis is, fundamentally, a weapon. A blunt tool to wield when the situation calls for violence. Layla’s power, on the other hand, seems more like a sixth sense. A trapdoor to another plane of reality.

How much of Layla Williams’s worldview draws on the alien insight of plants that no other human being, least of all Warren Peace, could ever possibly understand?

Layla interrupts Warren’s inferiority spiral with, “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but my mom.”

Warren watches Layla coax a stem into standing up straighter. “Not even Stronghold?”

He should not take as much pleasure as he does in Layla’s dismissive laugh. “Especially not Will.”

“Why not?”

“For a long time, he didn’t have any powers, and he was so jealous of mine, it seemed mean to complain about them to Will.”

“And now?”

“Now, he’s in the honeymoon phase with his new powers,” Layla says, “and it seems mean to bring him down.”

Not even Warren believes Stronghold can be that fragile. “I’m sure he’d get over it.”

“Maybe, but, you know. The things we do for our best friends,” Layla says, with a what can you do shrug, and returns to the faucet for another refill.

“So, why tell me?”

Layla chews the inside of her cheek. “I guess because you already have a complex about your own powers the size of Texas, thanks to your dad.”

“What?” Warren balks. “I do not.”

Layla squints. “Don’t you, though?”

“No. I—shut up.” Warren looks away, feeling hot all over.

Layla bends down to turn off the tap. A moment later, her hand on Warren’s shoulder startles him into looking back at her. Her big, brown eyes are wide with sympathy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Warren snaps.

“Okay.” Typical Layla, letting him feel whatever he’s going to feel and say whatever he’s going to say and refuse to throw hands about it.

Warren’s spark of anger sputters and dies. He huffs out an exhale. “It’s not only about my dad,” he admits, quietly, mostly to the floor.

Layla’s hand remains on his shoulder while she waits for an elaboration. Warren very carefully does not acknowledge it in any way, for fear it might stop.

“Fire is...useful,” he says. “But it can only destroy things. I can’t create. Not like…” He waves a hand around Layla’s room. “All I’m good for is fighting, and sometimes I wish—” Warren shoves a hand through his hair. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”

Layla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “First of all, you are not your power,” she says. “No matter what Boomer or anyone else says. Second, fire is creative. It creates light and warmth.”

“If I’m ever transported back in time to an era before electricity, I’m sure that’ll be extremely handy,” Warren says, aiming for wry and not quite making it, because the tickly feeling that flitters to life in his chest whenever Layla says nice things about him is going wild.

Layla rolls her eyes. “Third of all, you do not need a superpower to create and nurture things.” Before Warren can stop her, Layla has pushed her watering can into his hand.

“What?” he says. “I don’t know anything about plants. I’d probably kill them all.” He holds the watering can out to Layla, who does not take it.

“Don’t act like you don’t have a book of Keats in your backpack right now,” she says. “If you know ‘To Autumn,’ you already know the most important things about plants. Everything else is technicalities.”

Warren gives her a doubtful look.

Layla sighs. “Trust me. Which you should, because I know literally everything about plants, and I’m a very good teacher, and I would not let you hurt any of my babies. Okay?”

Layla holds out her hand, and Warren has to channel all his concentration into keeping his cool enough that he doesn’t burn her when he takes it in his own. Layla grins, and Warren feels a little light-headed with the thrill of it.

“Come on,” she says, and pulls him toward the row of potted flowers where they left off. Warren follows, as helpless as any of the flora around them to resist the benevolent force of nature that is Layla Williams.

Misconception No. 4: Warren Peace doesn’t get scared.

This illusion is at least partly on purpose. Part of the do not fuck with me ethos Warren has been cultivating for the better part of three years.

In reality, plenty of things scare Warren. Like the idea that everyone is right about him after all, and he’ll end up on the Superheroes Guild’s Most Wanted List someday. Or that deep down, a kernel of grudge in his mother resents Warren for taking so closely after his father. But those are more midnight-existential-crisis concerns than acute fears.

Warren gets scared during battles, too. But the initial kick of adrenaline always seems to knock his consciousness clear of his body, such that he spends most of the fight controlling the firestorm of his fists from somewhere above the action. He usually doesn’t realize how freaked out he is until after the fact, when his brain plugs back into his body and he thinks, huh, my hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s rare that Warren feels, in real time, the bass-drum beat of his heart and a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But that’s exactly what happens every time he gets close to asking Layla out on a date.

He’s come close so many times. He’s had the tickets in his jacket pocket for weeks. But the prospect of actually asking Layla invites the prospect of Layla saying no, and Warren—can’t.

Sometimes, he can almost convince himself that she would say yes, despite the fact that Layla is kind, beautiful, mystical Layla, and Warren is social-pariah, problem-child Warren. Like last Tuesday, when Layla said “you’re such a disaster” with such heart-stopping fondness, while she pulled a rubber band from Warren’s hair to replace it with one of her own, more comfortable fabric hair ties. Or last Friday, while they were watching a movie at Layla’s place, and she tucked her socked toes under Warren’s thigh on the couch. Or yesterday, when she held her hands out over the picnic table for Warren to warm her pink fingertips between his palms.

And always, in the back of Warren’s mind: “You’re pretty, too.”

But whenever Warren opens his mouth to ask, his tongue goes dry and his palms go damp. It’s such a stupid thing to be afraid of, it makes Warren want to close his head in a locker. Worst case scenario, Layla turns him down. They’d still be friends. She wouldn’t be cruel. She’s Layla. But Warren isn’t used to having so much of himself caught up in another person. The idea that Layla isn’t equally caught up in him provokes a strangled, withering feeling in the pit of Warren’s stomach that he can only imagine would intensify tenfold after the actual rejection.

So, Warren’s been procrastinating.

But time is running out.

It does not help that Stronghold’s flock of freshmen is currently obsessing over Winter Formal like a bunch of… well, freshmen.

“You guys asking anyone?” Zach says at lunch, one day when freezing rain is lashing Sky High too hard for even Layla to sit outside. Zach hooks an arm over Magenta’s shoulder, as if to underline the fact that she’s already spoken for. Magenta rolls her eyes but doesn’t shrug him off.

“I would ask Larry,” Ethan says, pushing steamed vegetables around on his plate with his fork. “If I could stop going full-puddle every time he looks at me.”

Layla and Magenta make sympathetic noises.

“I think I’m gonna ask Abby,” Stronghold says, eyes cast over at a table where Warren assumes this Abby must sit. He hasn’t bothered to keep up with Stronghold’s latest romantic fixation. They’re already two—three?—full crush cycles past Layla. Warren can’t believe he ever felt threatened by a kid with the attention span of a housefly.

“She’d totally say yes,” Magenta says. “I overheard her about how hot you are during the Shapeshifting Students Association meeting.”

“Really?” Will says, at the same time Layla goes, “Magenta!”

“What?”

“Gossip.”

“Okay, Mother Williams,” Magenta says. To Will, “We’ll talk later.”

Layla looks intent on pressing the matter, but Ethan says, “Do you have a date, Layla?”

Everyone turns to Layla, except for Stronghold, whose eyes inexplicably flick over to Warren—who glares him into dropping eye contact.

“No,” Layla says, unconcerned.  

“Not yet,” Zach says. “Just a question of who asks first.”

Warren’s heart stutters, and he swallows back a “What?”

Luckily, Stronghold has less restraint. “What?” he says, like he wasn’t ogling another girl 0.2 seconds ago.

Zach looks at Stronghold like, Are you kidding? “Layla’s hot,” he says slowly. Magenta nods in agreement. “Chen, Robinson, and Feinstein are all thinking about asking.”

“And those are just the ones we’ve heard about,” Magenta says.

“Where are you guys getting this intel?” Ethan says. “We’re your only friends.”

“You can hear a lot from the inside of a locker,” Zach says.

“Or from the vents,” Magenta adds.

“Who’s still shoving you in a locker?” Layla says, frowning at Zach.

“Don’t deflect,” Magenta says. “Who are you going to take?”

“I don’t know,” Layla says, very pink and very determinedly acting like she’s not. “I didn’t know I had options until right now.”

Warren didn’t know he had competition until right now. In his defense, he deliberately pays as little attention as possible to rest of the Sky High student body, except for the five freshmen who invaded his space last fall and refused to leave. But of course other guys want to ask Layla.

Fuck.

“What about you, Bucky Barnes?” Zach says, throwing Warren an upward nod. “Got your eye on any hot junior goths we don’t know about?”

Warren scowls. “No.”

“Warren’s too cool for school dances,” Magenta says.

Stronghold frowns. “He took Layla to homecoming.”

“Only to make you jealous,” Layla is quick to correct.

Warren’s eyes snap over to her, but Layla isn’t looking at him. Just stabbing at her salad with her fork and letting her hair partially obscure her still pink cheeks.

An uncomfortable, sour feeling settles in Warren’s stomach. He makes himself look back at Zach. “I don’t do school dances. I have a thing anyway.”

“What thing?” Magenta says.

“A thing,” Warren says, with enough finality that even Zach knows better than to push it.

That is, until Stronghold corners Warren at his locker after final period to ask, “What thing do you have to do instead of Winter Formal?”

Warren continues loading books into his backpack. “A thing.”

Stronghold, in a bid for Warren’s full attention, shuts his locker door. As soon as Warren turns a glare on him, the kid goes bug-eyed.

“I am so sorry!” he says, reaching out to open the locker, only to remember that, duh, it’s Warren’s and he can’t. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Warren must be spending too much time with Layla, because instead of picking Stronghold up by his shirt collar, he merely swats Stronghold’s hand away and unlocks his locker.

“It was only—I know someone who was hoping you’d ask them to Winter Formal,” Stronghold says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Warren fixes Stronghold with a flat expression. “You’re not my type.”

For an aspiring superhero, Stronghold flusters extremely easily. “Wh—not me!” he says, and then leans in and lowers his voice. “You know.”

Warren, who is not in the business of getting his hopes up—no matter how many summersaults his stomach is doing—raises his eyebrows.

“Layla,” Stronghold murmurs, so low that Warren has to read his lips.

Summersaults, cartwheels, handsprings. Warren’s stomach is performing a full-on gymnastics routine. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Stronghold admits, and Warren’s stomach immediately flops. “But I am something of an expert on Layla Williams.”

Warren, who has an entire September’s worth of evidence to the contrary, makes a psh noise.

Stronghold squares his shoulders and ticks off on his fingers: “She hangs out at the Lantern all the time. She eats lunch with you, alone, every other day. The way she talks about you—”

“She talks about me?”

“Dude.” Stronghold lays a hand on Warren’s shoulder, looking so delighted with the irony that it takes everything in Warren not to ignite. “You’re so stupid. She’s totally into you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Right.” Stronghold’s hand immediately slides off. “Seriously, though. If you don’t ask Layla to the dance, someone else will.”

“Noted,” Warren says, like he isn’t already tying himself into knots over that exact possibility.

“You’re gonna ask her, then?”

Warren heaves a sigh. He can’t believe he’s about to confide in Will Stronghold, of all people, but at this juncture it seems like the path of least resistance. “I have tickets to something that night, and I want to ask Layla to go with me.”

Stronghold has the audacity to look innocently perplexed. “So, why haven’t you?”

“I’m, you know.” Warren pushes back his hair. “Waiting for the right time.”

Stronghold looks dubious. “It’s a date, not a prom-posal.”

“I know that,” Warren snaps.

Stronghold blinks, and something seems to click in his head. His expression goes slightly amused and, even worse, sympathetic. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not,” Warren says, but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“Okay, well.” Stronghold blows out a breath and puts his hands on his hips. “Any chance the right moment might be, like, today? Around now-ish?”

Warren narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because Magenta texted me five minutes ago that Andrew Chen is standing next to our bus, waiting for Layla.”

Warren’s heart lurches. “You should have led with that, Christ.” Guess he’s doing this now. Is he really doing this now? He has to, so he is. Warren slams his locker and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Where is Layla?”

“Magenta said she stayed after class to talk to Mr. Boy about—oh, okay, then. Bye! Good luck!” Stronghold calls after Warren’s retreating figure as he strides off down the hall.

Warren is so preoccupied with figuring out what he’s going to say to Layla when he finds her that he nearly runs into her as she exits Mr. Boy’s classroom.

“Warren,” she says, blinking up at him in surprise. “Hi.”

Warren, who suddenly feels like he’s stepped on stage with no lines prepared, takes a second to remember how to breathe before he gets out a “Hi.”

Layla stares up at him expectantly. Right. He’s supposed to say more words.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

A pucker forms between Layla’s eyebrows. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Warren clenches the tickets between sweat-damp fingers in his pocket. “Okay. Do you want to…” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the mostly empty hallway.

“Okay.”

Layla follows him out into the hall, and they stand in semi-awkward silence until Warren says, “You first.”

“All right.” Layla tucks her hair behind her ears. She already looks embarrassed. Not good. “So, I might be way off base here, but I get the feeling you’ve been working yourself up to asking me to Winter Formal?” Her voice lilts up like a question, but she must find all the confirmation she needs in Warren’s expression, because she immediately continues, “and I just wanted to make it clear that you don’t have to.”

When Warren opens his mouth, “Oh” is all that comes out.

“Yeah.” Layla hooks her thumbs through the straps of her backpack. “I know school dances aren’t really your thing—and they’re not exactly mine, either. So I didn’t want you to think homecoming set some sort of precedent, that you have to ask—”

“I wanted to ask you,” Warren says, finally unsticking his throat.

It’s Layla’s turn for surprised silence. It takes a full two seconds for her to get out, “You did?”

“Yeah, but—not to the dance. Here.” Warren pulls the tickets out of his pocket. His thumb has smudged the ink of the top ticket, so he hands the bottom one to Layla. “Town hall is holding a fundraiser gala next Saturday to raise money to build a park on an empty lot in my neighborhood.”  

Layla takes the ticket in both hands and stares down at it.

“There’s going to be food and music and dancing,” Warren says, heart rate accelerating. “I think they’re going to auction off dedications for benches and flower beds and stuff. There will probably be a couple boring speeches by some government officials, but.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I dunno. It sounded like it could be fun.”

Layla still hasn’t said anything, and Warren’s heart is throwing a fit in his ribcage, so he adds, “It’s the night of Winter Formal, though. So if you wanted to go to the dance with someone else and hang out with your friends, I totally—”

“No,” Layla says, looking up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Warren says, too overcome by the cold flood of relief pooling in his gut to say anything more substantive than, “Cool.”

Layla carefully slots her gala ticket into the front pocket of her backpack. “Took you long enough,” she says, angling a teasing smile at Warren. “I couldn’t take another week of you opening your mouth like you were going to ask me something and then not saying anything.”

“Thank Stronghold,” Warren says, wondering what his life has come to, that those words just came out of his mouth. Must be the generosity of giddy relief.

Layla’s nose scrunches up in tickled confusion. “Why?”

“He warned me that Chen was gonna ask you to the dance this afternoon,” Warren says. “Sort of lit a fire under my ass.”

“But Andrew—” Layla breaks off with a laugh and shakes her head. “Will.”

“What?”

Layla takes Warren’s hand and starts walking them down the hall. “Andrew Chen’s been sick with the flu all week,” she says. “He’s not even here today.”

Warren’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds. “Stronghold.”

Layla laughs again and swipes her thumb across the back of Warren’s hand, and a great, soft warmth blooms in Warren’s chest.

Well. If he has to be indebted to Will Stronghold for something, this is as good a favor as Warren could have asked for.

Misconception No. 5: Warren Peace is not a touchy-feely person.

Warren himself would have sworn by this one, until a month ago. He has never, in all his life, considered himself a cuddly person. By any stretch.

It turns out that in order to identify as a cuddly person, you need someone to cuddle. Or, more specifically, someone you have permission to cuddle.

Dating Layla Williams finally gives Warren that permission.

He expected it to be harder, weirder, more awkward to transition from being someone who looks at Layla and thinks I want to put my arm around you, to being a person who can actually reach behind her back and curl his fingers over her hip bone.

It’s not hard at all. The first time Layla kisses Warren, up on her toes with her hands fisted in the lapels of his suit, in the dark of her front porch after the fundraiser gala, there’s a shift. A gravitational kick that sends them into closer orbit around one another, so that now it’s routine for Warren to wrap Layla in his jacket and tuck her into his side as they walk. Steal her hand to press her knuckles to his lips. Knock his knee gently against hers under their picnic table.

“Who knew Warren Peace was such a cuddle bug,” Magenta says, tipped back in a papasan chair to peer at Warren upside-down.

Warren is sitting on the shag carpet of Stronghold’s basement with his back against the couch to let Layla play with his hair while they talk over a movie. She’s just tied off an elaborate braid, so now his cheek is resting against her knee while she twirls the fine hairs at the nape of his neck around her fingers.  

“Call me ‘cuddle bug’ ever again and I’ll roast you like a marshmallow,” Warren says, too sleepy and comfortable to put any real heat behind the threat.

Magenta, true to form, doesn’t so much as blink. “Hate to break it to you, but an elegant Dutch braid kind of undermines your whole tough-guy act.”

Warren simply shrugs. It’s an occupational hazard of dating Layla, spending a lot more time around her—their?—friends outside school. Warren resisted at first, but at this point, it’s more exhausting to continue holding them all at arm’s length than to let them have the run of his life.

“Layla, in general, kind of undermines his whole tough-guy act,” Zach says. “You know he wrote her a poem for Valentine’s day.”

“Read her a poem,” Warren says. What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well get Layla clipped flowers.

“That’s still sappy as hell, dude,” Ethan says.

“It was very sweet,” Layla says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Warren’s forehead.

Warren unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile.

“He’s preening so hard right now, oh my god,” Magenta says.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tease him, or he won’t come back,” Layla says, but Warren hears the smile in her voice.

“Please. He’d go anywhere you go,” Magenta says, and as Layla’s fingertip traces the shell of Warren’s ear gently, always gently, Warren doesn’t even attempt to contradict her.

+1 Misconception: Layla Williams is a just happy, go-lucky hippy chick.

Outside Layla’s bedroom window, everything green is tucked under snow and the weight of waiting for spring. On the other side of the world, everything is burning.

Record-setting wildfires have raked Australia for weeks. Neither Layla nor her mom can directly feel what’s happening to the outback. But Layla knows her mom must sense it like she does, every time a singed koala or graveyard of splinterlike tree trunks appears on the news: a gnawing sensation that something on the far edges of her mind is vanishing into smoke.

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing Layla can do. Even if she had the means to get to Australia, there’s no way to salvage the aftermath of a forest fire. Layla wields incredible power over living organisms. But it’s like conducting an orchestra. Not much to be done if the entire ensemble is already dead when she takes the stage.

Actually, the real worst part is knowing that the inferno currently eating up Australia isn’t an outlier. The warming world is parching landscapes and revving up hurricanes, and every weather-related threat to her beloved biosphere is only going to get much, much worse. It makes Layla feel horribly, inescapably small.

To avoid sitting around the house and chewing her nails down, Layla takes on more volunteer shifts at the animal shelter. Helps Magenta with outreach for the Shapeshifting Students Association. Spends a couple Saturdays with the local river cleanup volunteer crew. Cooks dinner on the nights her mom is actually home. Overstudies for an exam in Hero Support.

It’s all a good distraction, but at the price of exhaustion. Layla feels emotionally sore. Like she’s been doing the psychological equivalent of running springs.

Case in point: “Layla?”

Layla blinks herself out of her middle-space-stare at the picnic table. “Hmm?”

Warren frowns. “I said, are you coming to the Lantern tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Layla says, and winces her apology. “Will’s coming over to study for Hero Support.”

“Why? You’re gonna ace that thing.”

“I promised Will I’d help him review.”

Warren’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“You should take a break,” he says.

Layla hides a yawn behind one hand and waves the other dismissively. “I’m fine.”

Warren gives her a flat look. Most of his expressions are pretty flat, but Layla has gotten good at reading the subtleties. This one says, quit your bullshit.

“What?” she says.

“You—” Warren spends a couple seconds struggling to find the right words. “Your hair is in a ponytail.”

Layla replays that in her overtired mind, wondering whether she heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“No sparkly clip things. No scrunchies. You didn’t even do the thing where you wrap a little piece of hair around the elastic to hide it,” Warren says, as though that clarifies anything. When Layla’s expression makes clear that it does not, Warren sighs. “Babe. You’re exhausted.”

“Am not,” Layla says, and feels totally betrayed by her own body when the words are stretched out by a yawn. “Coincidence,” she says, in response to Warren’s unimpressed eyebrow-raise.

“Layla.”

“It’s fine,” she insists.

“Take a break,” Warren says, more insistently. “Stronghold can survive cramming for one exam on his own. Let baby bird learn to fly.”

“He’ll drop like a rock,” Layla says mournfully.

“Probably,” Warren says. “But you don’t have to be there for everyone all the time.”

Layla studies her bitten nails. “It makes me feel better.”

Warren’s ever-warm hands take hold of Layla’s, making her look up. But whatever he has in mind to say is interrupted by the bell. Warren gives her fingers a brief squeeze before releasing them, so that they can collect their things.

“Tell Stronghold to find himself another tutor so you can have a night off,” Warren says, hooking an arm over Layla’s shoulders as they head for the front doors. “Please.”

Layla does not. Which is why, when she says “come in” to the soft knock on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, she expects Will. Instead, she gets Warren, hovering on the threshold with his usual carefully concealed uncertainty, like he’s a vampire who has to wait to be invited in.

“What are you doing here?” Layla says, sliding off her bed. “I thought you had work.”

“Got someone to cover my shift,” Warren says. He’s holding what looks like a magazine. “This was more important.”

“What is… this?” Layla says. “You know Will’s going to be here any minute.”

“No, he’s not,” Warren says. “He’s at Magenta’s”

Layla narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Told him to go find another study partner,” Warren says. “Since you’re already prepared.”

Layla crosses her arms and sinks her weight into one hip. “I told you, I want to help.”

Warren adjusts his grip on the magazine. Layla hears the paper stick to the sweat on his fingertips, but his determined expression doesn’t change. “Then help me.”

Layla blinks. “With what?”

Warren holds up what turns out to be a gardening catalog. “I want to get my mom a couple of indoor plants for her birthday,” he says. “Something pretty but doesn’t require a lot of attention, because she’s gone so much. I thought maybe you could help.”

Layla stares at him. “I love shopping for potted plants,” she says slowly.

Warren exhales a short laugh. “Uh, yeah, I know. And you are a good teacher, so.”

He rolls the catalog up between his hands and looks at Layla with guarded hope that shoots a bolt of affection like heat lightning straight through her stomach. She needs to sit down.

“Come in, then,” she says, and ushers him through the door. While Warren is taking off his shoes, “Just so we’re clear, you are not going to make a habit of rearranging my schedule behind my back.”

Warren stands up straight, dead serious. “Got it.”

Layla indulges a smile and leans up to kiss him. “I’ll forgive you this time, though.”

They sit on Layla’s bed, flipping through Warren’s catalog, as well as a stack of magazines that Layla has pulled out from under her desk. Warren loops his arms around her waist and hooks his chin over her shoulder, listening intently while she explains the care and keeping of flowers. It’s comfortable and easy and requires just enough idle attention to avoid falling into a slump. Layla could do this forever, she thinks.

Not an hour later, Layla is lying with her chin propped on her hands, which are folded over Warren’s chest, struggling to keep up conversation through yawns of increasing frequency.

“You can go to bed, you know,” Warren says, dryly amused, and tucks a strand of hair that has fallen out of Layla’s loose ponytail behind her ear.

“I might fall asleep right here on top of you, if you keep talking about it,” Layla says, closing her eyes and pillowing her cheek on her hands.

She feels, rather than hears Warren’s hitched inhale, and suddenly feels more acutely awake than she has all week.

Three seconds pass before Warren murmurs, “You can. If you want.”

Layla very carefully keeps her body relaxed and does not open her eyes to avoid breaking the fragile moment. “Mmm-kay,” she says, and adjusts to find a slightly more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Warren says, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, his other thumb smoothing the hair back at her temple.

Layla is so keenly aware of every point of contact that she thinks she might stay awake after all. But within minutes, the soft touch pulls her down into sleep.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke modern AU: Lyrium

Chapter 4 of Damned Spot is up! Read on AO3, or read the previous chapters here on Tumblr: [1] [2] [3] 

Also, @schoute is making a gorgeous comic of the fic! See the first two pages on her Tumblr!

In which there are text messages, and also a party WITH FRIENDS. And also some angst. A longer chapter (~7700 words), but what the heck, I’ll post it all. 

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

Piper solicitously wrapped a blanket around Rynne’s shoulders. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “He saves you from a butthurt asshole in the alley. You patch him up. He walks you home. And not even a goodnight kiss?”

She jumped up from the couch and moved toward the kitchen, and Rynne let out a quick laugh. “Trust me, Pipes, it wasn’t… The mood was not right for a kiss.”

It was Monday afternoon, and Piper had gotten home late last night from her weekend getaway. Rynne had just finished an abridged telling of the Friday night debacle - leaving out all the information about Fenris’s past, of course.

Rynne wasn’t being entirely truthful when she said the mood hadn’t been right for a kiss. During the whole walk home, she’d been forced to suppress the urge to take shelter in the steady strength of Fenris’s arms. She was a big fan of physical comfort, hugs and hand-holding and the like, and Fenris’s timely rescue - combined with the fact that she was already infatuated with him - made her want to cling to him like a baby lemur.

But she was trying to respect his aversion to touch. Besides, the walk home had been… oddly intense. Fenris had seemed deep in thought, and Rynne had nervously blathered about all kinds of stupid things to make up for his silence, and by the time they reached the door of Isabela’s condo building, it had almost been a relief when he’d dropped her off with nothing more than a polite nod of the head and a wish for a good night.

Rynne knew she should probably be more freaked out about Fenris’s past. Being an enforcer for the Tevinter mob was not a minor revelation. But for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to be scared of him. Maybe she was in denial, or maybe she’d seen so many action movies that she was desensitized to the idea, but she just… didn’t mind.

Fenris’s past didn’t change anything. He was still the same quiet, broody, private, smooth-voiced, handsome and helpful elf he’d always been. The only difference was that Rynne now knew why he was so quiet and broody and private.

How basic was it that the reveal of his dark past just made her want to kiss him all the more?

Piper grunted and poured a cup of hot tea. “What about Saturday and Sunday night, then? He walked you home all weekend and no kiss?”

Rynne slumped on the couch as Piper flitted back to her side and placed the tea on the coffee table. “No, okay? No kiss. He’s probably not interested. He probably thinks I’m just some dumb girl who needs to be looked after.” She couldn’t help but kind of feel that way herself. What the hell was the point of self-defence training if it just melted out of her brain the second she was attacked? She’d tried to headbutt the guy in the face, but that had failed, and if Fenris hadn’t shown up -

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her knees. She could still remember the disgusting feeling of that asshole’s bulging crotch pressing against her back as he shoved her against the wall.

Fucking horrible, she thought. She reached out and grabbed the mug of tea on the coffee table, then took a gulp and scalded her tongue.

Piper watched her worriedly, then carefully tucked the blanket around her neck and her feet. “Should’ve let Fenris cut that guy’s dick off. That would have served him right.”

“Yeah,” Rynne sighed. “But we would have been there all night. His dick was probably microscopic and impossible to find.”

Piper snorted. “Probably. But once Fenris cut it off, we could stick it into the garnish tray with the cornichons. It would be right at home.”

Rynne grinned at the gross image, and they both burst into raucous laughter. Then Piper wrapped her arms around Rynne’s neck in a tight hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she said. “If I’d been there to watch out for you -”

Rynne hugged her back. “Oh balls, don’t be fucking stupid,” she said. “You were off having a sexy holiday! How was your weekend, by the way? You didn’t tell me. How’s Ostwick at this time of year?”

Piper pulled away and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Her tone of voice was exceedingly innocent. Rynne hid her smirk and played along. “Oh? What do you mean?” she asked.

Piper coyly tugged her silvery braid over one shoulder. “We spent the whole weekend in the hotel room. Except for meals. That is, when I wasn’t devouring Cullen’s-”

Rynne snickered and shoved Piper away. “Thank you, too much information. I don’t want to hear all the details of my best friend feasting on my lawyer’s cock, thanks very much.”

Piper cackled and shoved her in return. “Hey, you said it, not me. You’re the nasty one.”

“Ooh, who’s nasty? Do tell.” Isabela floated into the living room wearing nothing but a silken dressing gown and a grin. She flopped down on the couch beside Rynne, and one half of her gown fell open to reveal a pierced nipple.

As always, Piper and Rynne ignored her nudity. “Piper spent the whole weekend sucking Cullen’s cock,” Rynne reported.

“And Rynne spent the whole weekend wishing she was sucking Fenris’s cock,” Piper retaliated.

Rynne gasped in mock offense. “How dare you get so far into my brain? You pervert.”

Isabela straightened up. “That’s it. I need to meet this Fenris.” She pulled her phone out of her dressing gown pocket and tapped the screen, then held the phone to her ear.

Rynne raised an eyebrow. “Who are you calling?”

Isabela blew her a kiss, then rose gracefully from the couch. “Josie? It’s me. I’m throwing a party this Saturday. Let’s say… seventy-five people. A smaller little thing, yes. Can you-” She paused and listened, then threw her head back and laughed. “Thanks, sweets. You know me too well.” She listened for a moment longer, then grinned and ended the call.

She shifted her weight to one hip and planted a hand on her waist. “Bring your handsome bouncer, Hawke. I won’t take no for an answer.”

A flutter of anticipation lit Rynne’s belly, and she and Piper grinned at each other. Then another cheerful voice joined the conversation. “Oh, are we having a party? How nice! Can I make a cake?”

Rynne grinned as Merrill flitted through the kitchen into the living room. “Is it going to be a cake like last time? Because if so, then that’s a hard no.”

Merrill waved her hands. “No, no, that was just a mistake! Silly me, putting in a tablespoon of salt instead of a teaspoon-”

Isabela draped her arm around Merrill’s slender shoulders. “Of course you can make a cake, kitten. I’ll eat the first piece myself.”

Merrill happily clapped her hands. “Oh good! Mihris sent me a pin with a new recipe and I’ve been hoping for a good reason to try it. It’s kind of an odd one, mind you, it’s got dragonthorn in it, but most of the reviews say the aftertaste is supposed to be lovely…”

Piper, Merrill, and Isabela continued to chat about cakes and cocks and who to invite to the party, and Rynne pulled out her phone and flicked through to her contacts. Finally, at long last, she had a good reason to text him.

She bit her lip as she looked at Fenris’s number. Then, with a happy little flutter of nerves, she tapped his name and started a new message thread.

1:27pm  - hey! party at Isabela’s place this Saturday! 1:27pm  - you can come anytime after 8pm but the earlier the better 1:27pm - dont be fashionably late. i like punctuality in a man 1:28pm - i’ll dance with you if you’re very good ;)

She sent the messages rapid-fire, then listened to her friends’ conversation with half an ear while she waited.

She waited and tapped her toes impatiently for a minute or so, then rose to her feet and went to the kitchen to refresh her tea. Fenris’s phone was so archaic that Rynne probably wouldn’t get the little animated-ellipsis-thingy showing that he was typing, so she would just have to suffer the wait.

While the kettle was boiling, she heard the ding of a new text in her pocket. She hurriedly pulled out her phone.

1:35pm - Who is this 1:35pm - How did you get this number

She laughed. She could almost hear his suspicion through the letters on her screen. She started to type a response, but his next message appeared before she could finish.

1:36pm - Hawke?

She grinned giddily, feeling somehow flattered that he knew it was her. She quickly finished her replies.

1:36pm - 10 points to the broody elf! yes, it’s Hawke 1:36pm - keep your schedule clear for saturday night! 1:36pm - Isabela relaly wants to meet you 1:36pm - really**

She placed the phone on the counter and stared unseeingly at the kettle while she waited. Once the kettle had boiled, she poured her tea over the teabag in her mug and picked up her phone, despite not having heard the text tone.

Indeed, no new replies from Fenris. Rynne nibbled the inside of her cheek, then flicked around on Pinterest and saved a few fanart posts, but she was having trouble pretending to be interested in anything except the burning silence of her messaging app.

She eventually returned to the living room and forced herself to join in with the others’ conversation. An eon later, when her phone dinged again, she shamelessly whipped it out and looked at the screen.

1:52pm - It is not a good idea.

She frowned. She understood that he wanted to keep his head down, but he would just be one more face in the crowd at this party.

She swiftly tapped out her replies.

1:52pm - please come 1:52pm - i promise my friends are not as bad as me 1:52pm - well that might be a lie 1:53pm - but i promise youll have a good time 1:53pm - if you hate it, you can leave. i’ll pack you a doggie bag of snacks and everything

Did she sound desperate? Probably. Did she care? Apparently not. She really was willing to make an idiot of herself for him, it seemed.

“So?” Isabela asked. “What’s he saying?”

Rynne didn’t bother to ask how Isabela knew who she was texting. She gave Isabela a rueful smile. “It’s touch and go. He’s not really a ‘people person’.”

Isabela shrugged, and her silken gown slipped off of one shoulder. “Tell him we’ll all show him our tits if he comes.”

Merrill gasped and folded her arms across her chest, and Piper cackled. “Only if we all want Cullen’s face to burst into flame.”

Isabela laughed and Rynne grinned wickedly, but before she could reply, her phone dinged once more.

1:55pm - I will think about it.

Rynne breathed a small sigh of relief. An opening was all she needed.

1:55pm - yay! i’ll make sure Bels stocks up on the best red wine just for you

She had the entire week to bring him around. Surely she could convince him to come in the space of a week.

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

Fenris shouldn’t have come.

He stood stock-still outside of the entrance to Isabela’s condo. It was a mistake to come here. Parties involved being introduced to people, and having them stare at him and wanting to shake hands, and remembering his face and his name in order to tell other people about him later.

All of it boded poorly. Fenris was trying to stay incognito. He didn’t want to be looked at. He didn’t want to be remembered, so coming here was a mistake. The entire time he was walking here from Lowtown, he’d told himself that coming to this party was a mistake, and yet here he was.

He scowled at the big glass double doors for a long minute while he considered turning around and going home. Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He flipped it open to find a new message from Hawke.

9:42pm - i hope your on your way! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 9:42pm - you’re*** 9:43pm - for the first you’re i mean 9:43pm - fuck it you understand what i mena 9:43pm - fuck’s sake

Despite his buzzing discomfort, he couldn’t help but smile. Her texts were just like her: over the top, overly flirtatious, and impossible to ignore. And also oddly charming.

He traced his thumb across the texts, then flipped his phone shut. He pushed open the heavy glass doors and buzzed the intercom for Isabela’s condo.

A loud voice and an indistinct buzz of noise greeted him. “Welcome to the animal house. Who dares to enter this den of debauchery?”

Fenris frowned apprehensively. The voice on the line sultry and smooth, and definitely not Hawke’s. “Is Hawke there?” he asked.

The sultry voice chuckled. “I don’t know your voice, but I bet I know who you are. Come on in, handsome.” She disconnected the call, and Fenris heard the click of the inner doors unlocking.

He cast the intercom a suspicious look, then slunk through the lobby toward the elevators and hit the PH button. He held himself perfectly still as the elevator slid smoothly up to the penthouse floor, then stepped out of the elevator into a short corridor.

He immediately heard the faint thump of bass and the noise of conversation. He swallowed hard, then cautiously approached the door at the end of the hall and rang the doorbell. Moments later, a beautiful woman in a scandalously short white dress answered the door.

She grinned at him and slid a salacious look across his body. “Wow. You must be Fenris.”

He raised one eyebrow and hid his hands in his pockets. “And you must be Isabela.”

She laughed and raised her mostly-empty crystal tumbler. “Guilty as charged. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”

Fenris followed her into the apartment and immediately began assessing the situation. The condo was less crowded than he’d anticipated, but that was likely more because of how enormous it was rather than the number of people per se. Two storeys, two generous sitting areas, and an enormous open-plan kitchen were the first features he absorbed, as well as the exceedingly tasteful white-and chrome decor… or at least it would be exceedingly tasteful, but it was broken up by a multitude of personal touches - knick-knacks, cushions and blankets, and wall art and plants that were variably colourful, chaotic, and cozy, and all of which clearly indicated the tastes of a number of different residents.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Isabela said. “Red wine, right?”

Fenris turned his attention to her and narrowed his eyes. “What else have Piper and Hawke told you?” he drawled.

Isabela smirked. “Honestly? Nothing much. Which is why I was hoping you would come. I hate missing out. What’s the point of being a famous actress if your friends are flirting with handsome boys and having all the fun at home?”

“Hm,” Fenris said as Isabela ushered him further into the house and further into the cheerfully chattering crowd. “Is that why you have roommates? You certainly don’t seem to need them.”

“Exactly,” Isabela purred. “Why else would I own an extravagantly large penthouse if it’s not to fill it with beautiful women and party all the time?”

Fenris huffed in amusement, then followed Isabela into the kitchen. Myriad people were laughing and drinking therein, and as he waited for Isabela to pour his wine, he caught sight of a familiar face - or rather, a familiar silvery fall of hair.

He slowly drifted away from Isabela to join Piper, who was talking animatedly to an attractive blond man. “...and this asshole clips me on my bike. So naturally, I go after him.”

“Maker preserve me, Piper,” the man groaned. Piper chuckled, then glanced over in Fenris’s direction.

She straightened and smiled. “Fenris! You’re finally here! Hawke was - we weren’t sure if you were going to show!”

He tilted his head in a polite nod. “My apologies. I wasn’t sure if I would come, either.”

Piper’s blond companion gave him a half-smile. “Not a fan of parties, I take it?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Not particularly.”

The man folded his arms. “Neither am I. The, um, unwanted attention usually makes such events more annoying than they’re worth.”

“Oh, Cullen. Are you complaining again about being too handsome?” Isabela wafted over and handed Fenris a glass of wine. “It’s such a hard life, isn’t it?”

Cullen shot Isabela a chiding look. “We don’t all make careers off of our looks, Isabela.”

“More’s the pity,” she replied, then winked at him.

Fenris raised his eyebrows in recognition. “So you are Piper’s boyfriend,” he said to Cullen. “She and Hawke have spoken highly of you.”

Piper smacked herself in the forehead. “Right! You haven’t met! I’m so sorry - Fenris, this is Cullen. Cullen, Fenris.”   

Cullen smiled and held out his hand to shake. With a small internal sigh - and so the handshaking begins - Fenris briefly grasped Cullen’s proffered hand. “I hear your law practice is very successful. And very busy.”

“Too busy, at times,” Cullen said ruefully. “I haven’t had a chance to take a case like Hawke’s in a very long time.”

Fenris frowned. “...Hawke’s?”

“Oh,” Piper said brightly. “I forgot to tell you. Cullen sometimes takes pro bono cases for us little people who can’t afford a big fancy lawyer. He’s very generous with his time that way.” She looped her hand through Cullen’s elbow and gave him an adoring look.

Isabela made a mock-vomiting noise, and Piper snickered and punched her in the shoulder. Meanwhile, Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly. His cheeks were turning pink. “It is not - she exaggerates, it’s simply my duty to help -”

“Don’t dismiss yourself,” Fenris interjected. “That is a very noble undertaking. It sickens me that the trappings of power and wealth also ensnare the justice system. The world could use more lawyers such as yourself, who care more about righting wrongs than collecting wealth.”

Piper and Isabela stared at him, and Cullen lifted his eyebrows appreciatively. “Well. I… thank you, Fenris, that’s very kind of you to say.”

Fenris nodded and sipped his wine, feeling increasingly awkward. The dance beats and the sounds of conversation and laughter were loud, but the stunned silence from Isabela and Piper somehow felt louder.

He returned his gaze to Cullen. “So. You… you worked with Hawke?”

He nodded. “Yes, with the whole situation with her father and the lyrium. I was happy to help. It wasn’t -”

Fenris’s belly jolted. “Lyrium?” he said sharply.

Cullen frowned slightly. “Yes, in his final days. She… she didn’t tell you?”

Fenris stared at him with growing discomfiture. Then Piper cut in. “Shit. Maybe she didn’t tell him,” she said to Cullen. She grimaced at Fenris. “Sorry, Fenris, she’s an open book about it, I just assumed -”

“Fenris!” Hawke’s bright and cheerful voice cut through the noise. She bounced over and beamed at him. “You’re here, finally! Took you long enough. Did you take the scenic route through the docks to get here? If so, I hope you brought us some seafood. The shrimp cocktail leaves something to be desired.”

Isabela scoffed. “Ungrateful tart. I’ll make sure to let Josephine know.”

“Please do,” Hawke snickered. “I mean, you know I prefer my shrimp breaded and fried, but I’m also a pleb with simple tastes.” She tilted her head at Fenris. “Is the wine okay?”

How are you involved with lyrium? The question burned through his mind. Had she been on the receiving end of it? Had someone forced her to deal it? What had Cullen been talking about?

He tried to push his agitation aside as he scrambled for an appropriate response to her question. “I - yes, it’s fine,” he said.

“Only ‘fine’?” Isabela said indignantly. “That’s a shame. This was supposed to be the best stock from Nevarra.” She plucked the glass from his hand and sipped it, then pouted slightly. “You’re right. It’s not great. Let me get you another.”

“Oh. No, that’s not - that glass is fine-” he started to say, but Isabela had already turned away.

Hawke shrugged and smiled at him. “I’m sure she knew your wine was fine. She just needed an excuse to walk away so we could all stare at her fine ass.”

At her words, Fenris instinctively looked at Isabela’s departing backside. It was admittedly a very fine one.

He returned his gaze to Hawke, and she smiled more broadly. “Made you look,” she teased.

He studied her playful expression. Isabela’s curves were undeniably ripe, but if Fenris was completely honest, he was more interested in the slender physique of the cheeky, pixie-haired woman in front of him.

He stuck his hands into his pockets, wishing that he had a wine glass to hold onto. “Your dress is interesting,” he said to Hawke. Indeed, the fabric of her grey-and-white dress was the oddest print he had ever seen: a chaotic pattern of skulls and pineapples, of all the strange things.

She beamed at him. “Thank you! It is, isn’t it?” She snickered. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your wording, though. ‘Interesting’ is not exactly a compliment.”

“Then I misspoke,” Fenris replied. “I like it very much.” And he did. The pattern was odd, but the cut of the fitted dress was… extremely flattering.

Hawke’s smile softened, and Fenris felt an undeniable - and treacherous - jolt of satisfaction when her cheeks started to flush. “You smooth talker,” she said happily. “Keep up the compliments, and you’re definitely invited to the next party.”

“Hmm. A dubious honour at best,” he replied.

Hawke laughed brightly at his comment. Fenris smirked, then tore his eyes away from her lovely laughing face, incidentally making eye contact with Piper.

Piper, who was watching him with a very satisfied grin.

Fenris dropped his gaze and cleared his throat uncomfortably - why was Isabela taking so long with that wine? - and was very relieved when another familiar face joined their group.

“Well well, the broody elf has come out of his hole,” Varric said. He gave Fenris an appraising look. “Our girls finally managed to drag you out, did they?”

“You could say that,” Fenris said. “They’re very… persistent.” He shot Hawke a quick glance, and she winked at him.

Varric chuckled. “Good. The more the merrier at these things, I say.”

Cullen harrumphed. “I have to say, I’m glad Isabela kept this one small. I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time.” He shot Piper a resentful look.

Piper scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I left you alone for two minutes. It’s not my fault that your resting bitch face is just as cute as your happy face.”

“I - but - they started unbuttoning my shirt!” Cullen protested, and Piper giggled and kissed his cheek.

Fenris looked around at the crowded penthouse. “Wait. This is a small party?” The house wasn’t uncomfortably crowded, but it was getting there. There were so many people that Fenris wasn’t even worrying anymore about being recognized or remembered.

“Oh yeah,” Varric drawled. “You’ve got room to move? Then it’s a small party. This place can get worse than a nightclub on a good night.”

“Why are we even still standing in the kitchen?” Hawke demanded. “We should go upstairs. The upstairs living room is usually less busy.”

Then Isabela reappeared behind Varric. “Sorry for the hold-up,” she said as she handed Fenris his wine. “Now, whose cock size were you gossiping about? Don’t be shy. Fill me in. I mean, I’m fairly sure Varric’s is the biggest, but let’s just say -”

“We were discussing going upstairs,” Cullen interrupted loudly. “A fine idea, I think, if it means fewer people around.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “I thought Piper brought you along to loosen up, not so your asshole gets even tighter.”

Cullen pursed his lips in annoyance, and Piper laughed and pinched his bum. “Come on, babe, let’s go. Everyone upstairs. Last one there has to dance on the pole for us.”

Fenris frowned. “Pole?”

Hawke blurted a tiny laugh, and Fenris glanced over to find her cheeks turning pink. She shot him an oddly coy look, then jerked her head to the right. “This way,” she said. Then she waved to a couple of other people in the main foyer. “Anders! Merrill! Come join us!”

Feeling increasingly nonplussed, Fenris followed Hawke and her friends up the stairs to yet another seating area that was indeed centered around a pole that spanned from the ceiling to a circular platform on the floor.

His eyebrows jumped high on his forehead. “Why…?”

Hawke sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside her, and Fenris took a seat. “It’s good exercise,” she told him.

“And we look gorgeous doing it,” Isabela added. She leaned her elbows on the back of the couch and gave him a sly grin. “Maybe we’ll let you watch sometime.” She elbowed Hawke, and the two of them laughed dirtily, but Fenris noted that Hawke’s cheeks were still pink.

Isabela drifted away to join Varric, Cullen and Piper on the other couch, and Fenris met Hawke’s eyes. She was still smiling, but there was something else about her expression that made him feel oddly jittery. Something almost… deep, or weighted, but not in a bad way - in a nice, warm way, in fact.

He nervously gnawed the inside of his cheek as he cast around for something to say, but Hawke spoke first. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

Her tone was warm and serious. Fenris stared at her, feeling strangely at a loss for words. “I-”

Another handsome blond stranger suddenly swooped in and hugged her. “Hawke! There you are. I was just catching up with Merrill. She was going on about that blood lotus treatment of hers and the talk she gave at the Arlathvhen, it doesn’t sound like it went over too well -”

“Anders, I told you, it wasn’t the blood lotus part they didn’t like,” a small Dalish girl interjected. She folded her arms and frowned at the new blond man. “I just didn’t explain it well. Hawke, can I practice my presentation with you next time, you know I’m not a very good public speaker…”

The blond man shook his head. “There’s not enough evidence to support the use of blood lotus in medicine, Merrill.”

Fenris watched with growing puzzlement as the Dalish girl’s ears began turning red. “Healing isn’t all about Fereldan medicine!” she snapped. “Traditional elvhen healing isn’t worthless just because there’s insufficient research. But try telling that to your research funding bodies!”

“You two do know this is a party, right?” Hawke drawled. “It’s not a medical conference.”

Anders opened his mouth, then released a little chuckle and sat on the platform that the dancing pole was affixed to. “Right. Sorry, Hawke, sometimes I get overexcited -”

“This is Fenris, by the way,” Hawke interrupted. “He works with me and Pipes. Fenris, this is Anders and Merrill. Anders is a doctor. Merrill is a Dalish healer.”

Anders nodded politely, and Merrill smiled at Fenris. “Aneth ara. I’ve never seen vallaslin like yours before.” Her eyes fell on his hands, which were resting on his knees.

He frowned and tucked his hands back into his pockets. “It is not vallaslin. I am not Dalish.”

Merrill’s eyes widened. “Oh. I’m sorry, I thought -”

“Sorry, Hawke, I just have to tell you this one thing,” Anders interrupted excitedly. “I finally got that funding I was telling you about! We’ll be able to start the project in about a month, as soon as we’ve finalized the contract with the lyrium supplier.”

Fenris whipped around and narrowed his eyes at Anders. “You work with lyrium?”

“Yes, of course,” Anders said in surprise. “All physicians in Kirkwall do. It’s the only city in the Free Marches where the use of lyrium is legal across the board.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Fenris said brusquely.

Beside him, Hawke went still. Anders recoiled slightly. “You can’t be serious,” he said slowly. “Lyrium saves lives. It’s both a painkiller and a stimulant for the immune system if it’s used safely-”

“There is no safe way to use lyrium,” Fenris retorted. “It’s a dangerous psychoactive drug. There is an enormous market for it in Tevinter. Where I am from, lyrium sales are the backbone of at least seventy percent of organized crime activities.”

Anders relaxed. “Ah. Well, that’s the problem. The Imperium is a specific case. The distribution is much more regulated and controlled here-”

“There is no controlling it,” Fenris said firmly. “Lyrium might be a painkiller and an immune system stimulant, but it is also extremely addictive. It is a weapon used against the poor and unknowing. Tell me, Doctor, how much does a single lyrium capsule cost?”

Anders frowned, then pursed his lips. “It costs approximately $16 per capsule,” he admitted. “More, depending on the brand.”

Fenris leaned back and stretched his arms along the back of the couch. “And you think that your colleagues in this city aren’t taking advantage of that cost? I have read the local news. There have been multiple cases of physicians putting their most vulnerable patients on a higher dose than they require in order to keep them coming back for more.”

Anders glared at him. “The doctors that do that are the exception. They are not the rule.”

“When money is at play, no one is exempt from such corruption,” Fenris announced. “You are a fool if you think yourself immune.”

Anders shot him a filthy look. “And just who are you to lecture about these matters? You work at a pub. What do you know of it?”

“Hey,” Hawke interjected. “Nothing wrong with working at a pub.”

Fenris scowled at Anders’s dismissive tone. “I know more about the dangers of lyrium than you ever will,” he snapped. “You are protected by your physician’s licence and your research funding. You know nothing of how the illicit sale and misuse of lyrium can devastate a family or a town. Or an entire country, in the case of Tevinter.” His mother’s and Varania’s faces flashed across his mind - dead because of Danarius and his lyrium business.

Fenris had never even gotten to say goodbye. Danarius’s people had already dealt with their bodies by the time Fenris had woken up in the hospital. And then Fenris had sullied their memories by becoming addicted to the very substance that had indirectly claimed their lives.

He inhaled deeply through his nose. It is done, he thought. He couldn’t change his past. He wasn’t addicted to lyrium anymore, and that had to be good enough. “Lyrium is a filthy substance, and it is the lifeblood of Tevinter,” he announced. “The Imperium is a corrupt and foul place, and it would not be so if it was not for the lax attitudes toward lyrium.”

Hawke laughed nervously and tugged at one of her many earrings. “I don’t know, Fenris. I don’t think they’d make lyrium legal in Kirkwall if the doctors and policy-making people hadn’t done their due diligence and all that.”

Fenris shot her a hard look. “Don’t be naive. Just because something is legal does not mean it is right. The legalization of lyrium makes it that much easier to abuse.”

Anders leaned forward. “How can you talk about lyrium like this to Hawke?” he demanded.

Fenris frowned at him. “What are you talking about?” He turned his gaze back to Hawke, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “What is he talking about?”

Hawke slowly met his gaze, and Fenris’s stomach jolted uncomfortably at the apologetic look on her face. But Anders piped in before she could speak. “Her father died of a lyrium overdose,” he said. “And it was the best thing for him. He would have been in agony otherwise.”

Fenris stared at her. Bewilderment and anger were churning together in his chest. “What… why…?”

“Cancer,” Hawke said. She picked up her tumbler of brandy and idly swirled it. “It was everywhere. His bones, his brain, his organs, everywhere. We moved to Kirkwall specifically so he could be treated with lyrium. Palliative, of course, since the cancer was incurable.” She took a sip of her drink. “He killed himself with lyrium. But they thought I was the one who gave him the dose that killed him.”

Fenris’s eyes widened. “What?” he blurted. Then the pieces clicked into place. “This is how you know Cullen?”

She nodded. “He got the charges against me dropped. He’s pretty amazing, actually. There’s a good reason Pipes is head-over-heels for him.” She took another gulp of brandy and gave him a crooked little smile. “Anders didn’t even tell you the best part,” she said pleasantly. “Do you know who called the police on me?”

Fenris watched with a growing sense of dread as she finished off the last of her drink, then placed the tumbler on the table and looked at him once more. “My mother,” she said. “My mother called the police and told them I killed my dad.” Her smile widened, and then she started to laugh.

Fenris couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. He stared at her as she laughed, then rose to her feet. “I’m going to get another drink,” she said cheerfully. “Anyone else want one?”

Merrill and Anders quietly declined, and Fenris dumbly shook his head. Hawke winked and slipped past him, then headed down the stairs without looking back.

As soon as she was gone, Anders glared at him. “Nicely done. You really don’t know her at all, do you?”

Fenris returned his glare, but he couldn’t deny the discomfort roiling in his stomach. Most of the lyrium victims he’d encountered had been young and healthy people looking for an escape. Young elves, primarily, who thought they’d found that escape in Danarius’s dealers as they peddled lyrium as a party drug. The only physicians he’d known were the corrupt ones that Danarius worked with, who misused their prescription privileges and kept their patients addicted to lyrium for years on end. Patients like Fenris himself.

He hadn’t encountered anyone like Hawke’s father: riddled with disease and looking to lyrium for relief.  

He rose from the couch, and Anders grabbed his arm. “Leave her alone-”

Fenris wrenched his arm away and pinned Anders with a glare. “Touch me again, and it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Merrill’s eyes grew impossibly large, and Anders glared back at him in silence, and Fenris made his way to the stairs to find Hawke.

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

Rynne leaned her elbows on the balcony railing and took another deep breath, then another gulp of her drink. When she’d imagined getting to know Fenris a little better, this was not really what she’d had in mind.

He hates lyrium. The unpleasant truth raced through her mind. Not only that, but he really seemed to hate the people who thought using it was okay. Fenris wasn’t exactly the warm and cuddly type, but she’d never seen him react so negatively toward anyone as he had toward Anders.

But there was nothing Rynne could do about it. She couldn’t change what had happened with her father. Furthermore, she wouldn’t change it even if she had a choice. He’d been suffering, suffering for months and months with no respite even with the strongest doses of lyrium that the doctor was willing to prescribe, and with the fucking law in this city, there had been no choice. The overdose had been a mercy.

She’d had no choice.

Rynne took another gulp of her brandy, and her phone buzzed against her thigh.

She surreptitiously looked around, then reached between her legs and pulled her phone out of the clever little thigh strap that Piper had found during an idle afternoon of browsing around on Amazon.

Her heart did a funny little jump as she checked the screen. The message was from Fenris.

10:17pm - Where are you?

She nibbled her lip, then put her tumbler down and slowly typed out a response.

10:17pm - why? miss me already? ^^

His reply came quickly.

10:18pm - I want to talk to you.

She tugged nervously at her earrings. Why did he want to talk? Was he mad at her? Maybe he just wanted to compliment her dress again? A girl could hope.

She hesitated for a moment, then scoffed at herself. Oh, who am I kidding, she thought. Of course she was going to tell him where she was.

10:18pm - i’m on the balcony. first floor, the door is close to the piano. 10:18pm - and no, before you ask, none of us can play the piano 10:18pm - it’s just there for Isabela to lounge on and look sexy LOL

He didn’t reply, and Rynne eventually tucked her phone back into her thigh sheath and waited with increasing nerves to see if he would show up.

A minute later, the noise of the party spilled out onto the balcony, and Rynne turned to see Fenris stepping outside to join her. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the noise, and then it was just the two of them in the peaceful night air.

Rynne warily watched his face as he slowly approached. He looked… the same as usual. Inscrutable and serious as ever.

She swallowed and rested her elbows on the railing again. “Come to check out the view?” she said breezily. “Kirkwall looks way better at night. It all just looks like fireflies. The darkness really hides the rampant graffiti well.”

He leaned back against the balcony railing and continued to study her in silence, and Rynne turned her gaze back to the city lights, unable to tolerate the intensity of his gaze.

A long, awkward moment later, Fenris finally spoke. “Why did your mother accuse you of killing your father?”

Rynne nervously licked her lips. “Did you know that physician-assisted suicide is illegal in Kirkwall?” she asked.

He didn’t reply, and Rynne finally shot him a very quick glance. He was frowning slightly, but he didn’t look outright angry, so she continued. “My family is from Lothering. They have physician-assisted suicide there, but lyrium is illegal. Here in Kirkwall, lyrium is legal, but physician-assisted suicide isn’t. It’s a stupid catch-22.” She sighed and leaned more heavily on her elbows. “We came here for the pain control. Lyrium is very good for that, especially for terminal cancer patients. But… Maker’s balls, Fenris, my dad’s cancer was everywhere. Even the lyrium wasn’t taking the edge off. And he was too weak for us to take him back to Lothering for physician-assisted suicide. Not that my mother would have agreed to it anyway, she… well, whatever.” Rynne shrugged dismissively. “So one day, when I was alone at home with him, he asked me to help him end it.”

“He asked you...?” Fenris said quietly.

“Not to actually kill him,” she said hurriedly. “But to help him get enough lyrium to… to finish himself off.” She swallowed hard, then shot him a tiny smile. “Did you know you can take lyrium in a bunch of different ways? Pills, shots, ointments, under the tongue, all kinds of ways. My dad was getting it in a number of different ways. So for about a month, he just… cut back on how much he was taking and pretended he wasn’t in agonizing pain. And I helped him keep track of the extra stock.”

She took a deep breath and ruffled her hair. “My mother didn’t know what we were up to. I couldn’t tell her, she… she and Carver were in denial about his prognosis. They thought… Andraste’s tits, I don’t know what they thought. That he wasn’t dying, I suppose. But they didn’t know he was planning this, or they would have tried to stop him. So once he’d stored up enough lyrium to end it all, we chose a day when they were both out running errands, and he just… started taking all of it. The pills, the sublingual tabs, everything.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “By the time Mother and Carver came back, he was gone.”

“So they thought you had done it,” Fenris said quietly.

Rynne nodded. “I was there. The empty blister packs and everything were there. My mother…” She laughed and shook her head. Maker’s balls, her mother had completely lost her shit. Screaming that Rynne had murdered Malcolm, that she would never forgive her, that she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye…

It didn’t bear thinking about. Rynne shoved the memory away. “She called the police. Carver was too upset to stop her. I mean, I don’t know if he would have stopped her anyway. He’s still pretty mad at me.” She shrugged. “Cullen eventually got wind of the situation and offered to help me out like the obnoxiously good person he is. And that’s my tragic little backstory.” She chuckled weakly.

Fenris was silent for a long time, and Rynne twisted her fingers together as she waited for him to respond. There was one last piece to the story, one that gnawed at the inside of her stomach to this day - not because of the truth of it, but because nobody else knew, not even Piper. No one else knew except for Cullen, who had counselled her not to tell anyone.

Finally Fenris sighed. “Hawke, I… don’t know what to say.”

She shrugged and gave him a wry little half-smile. “It’s all right. It’s pretty heavy shit to share at a party.”

He frowned slightly at her. “No,” he said. “It’s not all right. It… it is as you said. It sucks.”

Rynne smiled more broadly, then laughed. “Are you reusing my words?”

He ran a hand through his snowy hair. “I… Yes, I am. I’m sorry. I am ill-equipped for this kind of… comforting.”

He did look rather discomfited, and for some reason, it made Rynne feel more comfortable. She relaxed against the balcony railing and gently bumped his shoulder with hers. “Don’t worry about it. It sucks, sure, but it was years ago. And Anders had it right - it was the best way for him to go without suffering.”

Fenris nodded and didn’t reply, and they stood in silence for a while.

Then Rynne spoke, very quietly. “Your former gang in Tevinter dealt in lyrium, didn’t they?”

Fenris nodded again. “Yes,” he said. “From mining to street dealing. We - they were involved in every part of it.” He clenched his jaw, and Rynne waited with bated breath until he spoke again.

“They tried to bring my sister into the business,” he said. “She - the others on Danarius’s staff - our house was used sometimes. My sister was naive, and they acted kind to her…” He trailed off and scrubbed an agitated hand through his hair.

“It’s okay,” Rynne said quickly. “You don’t have to talk about it.” He looked so angry and so sad, and her heart felt like it was swelling inside her rib cage, and this was not how she’d expected this party to go.

He shook his head roughly. “It was my fault,” he snapped. “I exposed her and my mother to the lyrium trade. It came into the house because of me. I was meant to protect them, and they’re both dead.”

Rynne’s eyes widened. His mother and his sister were dead? “Oh fuck,” she said. Without thinking about it, she grabbed his hand. “Fenris, I’m so fucking sorry.”

He squeezed her fingers hard. “Lyrium is a sickness,” he told her. His voice was rough and deep and strained. “It’s a sickness, and I brought it into the house.”

She stared into his eyes. His deep, brilliant, angry, self-recriminating green eyes.

She desperately wanted to comfort him. To convince him that he wasn't a bad person. She opened her mouth. “I administered the last shot of lyrium to my dad,” she blurted. “He was too weak to do it himself, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch him suffer. So I did it. I… I killed him.”

Fenris’s eyes widened. She smiled weakly. “Cullen is the only one who knows,” she whispered. “All the evidence was circumstantial, so he got me off the hook. But… I know the truth, you know? There was no choice. If I hadn’t, my dad would have lingered on for months longer. I had no choice.”  

Fenris was still tightly holding her hand. His eyes were fixed on her face. She squeezed his fingers. “Do you think I’m a monster?” she asked.

He frowned. He released her fingers, then slowly lifted his hand toward her face.

Rynne held her breath as he hesitated. Then, carefully, so very carefully, he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“You are not a monster,” he said. He lowered his hand. “You don’t know what a true monster looks like.”

Rynne swallowed hard. Her cheek was tingling from the warmth of his thumb. “You’re not a monster, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him. “You’re perfect.”

Fenris’s eyebrows leapt high on his forehead, and Rynne flushed. Damn it, she thought. The word had slipped out before she could stop it. She dropped her eyes and laughed nervously, but before she could speak, Fenris chuckled as well.

“If that is what you think, then you must be quite drunk,” he said.

She glanced up at him. He still looked rather serious, but the corner of his lips was lifted in a hint of a smirk.

A wash of relief loosened her shoulders, and she laughed more genuinely. “Not nearly drunk enough for this conversation,” she joked. She jerked her head at the thumping party inside. “Want to head back in?”

He studied her for a moment, but his gaze was warmer somehow, warmer and more intense than before, and now Rynne found that she couldn’t look away.

Her heart was pounding in her throat. His fucking forest-green eyes were so beautiful. Finally he nodded. “Yes. Let’s go,” he said.

Rynne smiled and followed Fenris back towards the door. Perhaps this party wasn’t a total loss after all.

[mortaljin]

BTS Fanfiction Recommendations!

These are some of my very, very favorite fics (like the ones I go and message the authors about). I follow hundreds of blogs so it’s hard to keep up with which fics I’ve read (I stopped tagging them at some point?) so there are probably dozens more. All I will say is that if a writer is tagged here, the rest of their writing is well worth looking at too.

Thank you, Writers, for everything you do. 

SERIES

Seokjin

Stigma; @eris0330 [COMPLETED]

(Seokjin x reader, text au)

As part of Jin’s lifestyle, he is meant to be walking in his father’s footsteps. Even before being born, the LV CEO had big plans. Jin will do everything to please his father’s wishes of finding a partner, and take over the company. But it’s not for the company’s sake, it’s for the secrets that lies within the family business. 

Eros; @kpopfanfictrash

(Seokjin x Reader)

In the futuristic world of Europa, Queen Venetia rules her land an iron fist. None are more feared than the Akeran, an alien race Earth fought eons ago, who bear a remarkable similarity to the angels of lore. When you find yourself at odds with the Queen, it seems there’s no safe place on Earth for you to hide. Nowhere but with your mysterious rescuer, and even he may be more trouble than he’s worth.

Yoongi

A Wish Out of Water; @jimlingss [COMPLETED]

(Yoongi x Reader)

A genie could solve all your problems. Though you wouldn’t even know exactly what to ask for - money, a warmer house, a better job, a better life? But Min Yoongi is no ordinary genie. He’s here to make your life a living hell. Too bad it was hell to begin with.

Suga Daddy; @drquinzelharleen

(Yoongi x Reader)

Yoongi gives you an offer you can’t refuse.

Inheritance; @rbuns [COMPLETED]

(Yoongi x Reader)

After your grandmother passed she left everything to you. Her house, her fortune, and apparently… her cat? The grumpy male hybrid you encounter at her house is anything but the tame housecat you’d expected to find. Fulfilling your grandmother’s last request to look after him becomes a lot harder when he seems to be avoiding you, and your dissatisfied relatives start stirring up trouble.

Di Piano e Forte; @justoneday-namjoonii

(Yoongi x Reader)

Piano; A keyboard of cypress, played with soft and loud. Was it the ivory and onyx keys that let you escape from your reality…Or was it the man with sable hair and ivory skin.

Hoseok

Heartbeat; @joonbird

(Hoseok x reader)

You’ve always stayed far away from the Kingsnakes, the coldblooded gang that runs the dark heart of your city. That is until your life collides with the intriguing and dangerous Jung Hoseok.

Transference; @jeonjagiya [COMPLETED]

(Hoseok x Reader)

During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing business card and figure, what the hell.

Written On Our Veins; @army-author

(Hoseok x Reader)

You and Hoseok are sick of spending the holidays soulmate-less while your friends enjoy Christmas as couples… tired of waiting for fate to make a move, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Namjoon

Amor Fati; @sugaroons

(Namjoon x Reader)

you’re still settling into your life back at university when you meet kim namjoon. he’s so perfect—sweet, awkward, and exactly your type, especially in bed—that you know there has to be a catch.

Jimin

I’ll Never Be Her; @anon-luv

(Jimin x Reader)

You loved him with all your heart, but he could only give you half of his.

Little Bear; @b-angst-tan

(Jimin x Reader)

You’ve always wanted a hybrid. Not truly being able to afford one makes it seem impossible that you’d have one anytime soon. Until the opportunity presents itself as if by miracle. 

Taehyung

Crimson; @idolxreader

(Taehyung x Reader)

Kim Taehyung disrupts your day-to-day life to make a deal with you.

Sugar daddy au.

Jungkook

Wanted; @rbuns [COMPLETED]

(Jungkook x Reader)

You were a deserter, a renegade, a wanted “criminal”. It was never in your plans to crash land on that planet, and it most certainly wasn’t in your plans to fall in love with it’s handsome ruler.  

Blackjack; @kpopfanfictrash

(Jungkook x Reader)

Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

OT7

Tales of Greyria; @cutaepatootie [COMPLETED]

(Jungkook/Taehyung/Jimin/Hoseok/Yoongi x reader pairings)

Five stories that took place during the great times of a kingdom named Greyria, telling us about its glory and its downfall.  How it all started with a red rose, and ended with a burning fire. 

I just finished this and guys. Just go read it.

The Lonely Hearts Club; @cinnaminsvga [COMPLETED]

(?? x Reader)

social media au where y/n and yoongi are mutuals but they’re constantly at each other’s throats for reasons unknown (aka emotional constipation)

Call Me Mistress; @jeonjagiya

(ot7 x OC, not a poly au.)

A collection of stories recounting the titillating work of the dome known only as the Mistress.

Note: This was originally written as a reader insert and recently changed to an OC. It is still so worth reading, and I can guarantee you guys will have seen the Mistress as an OC anyways!

Working Man Bangtan; @jeonjagiya (I love all her stuff too)

(OT7 x Reader, not a poly au.)

A collection of stories where the leading man has a working class occupation.

Golden Goddess; @angel-ofcolordeactivated20180104

(?? x Reader)

You were stolen, swept away in the depths of the night by Park Jimin, the cruel king of the fairies. He’s always seen you as a prize– as something to play with rather than a person, and now he’s finally got his hands on you. He’s captured you, taken you off to a different world and stripped away any inch of your former self. Will you ever manage to escape his grip?

Tales From The Land of Fae; @fireheart-namjoon

(OT7 x Reader, not a poly au.)

A compilation of tales from the four courts of fae: Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring.

Note: This is the masterlist of all the related aus. The Winter Court is the main series of this story line.

Sweeter than sweet; @gimmesumsuga

(Jimin x Reader primarily, smut involving multiple other members)

You would have never expected someone like Park Jimin to notice you;  he's handsome, seductive, and totally out of your league.  Oh, and a vampire.  You're enthralled by him from the moment you meet, addicted to his kiss and his bite, willing to do anything to be by his side - even if it costs you your freedom... and your life. 

The 7 Society; multiple authors

(OT7 x Reader, not a poly au.)

Inside the grounds of the University, rumor has it there exists a secret society. One which thrives underground, comprised of seven individuals; each of whom is only to be revealed upon the hour of their death. The Society is enigmatic, seductive and wealthy beyond belief. There is only one rule, which must by strictly adhered to.

Don’t tell.

Soul Meiteu; @bang-tan-bitch

(OT7 x Reader, literally just fluff?? <3)

Your night at a concert turns into a dream come true experience. All you have to do, is take his hand.

Trust Nobody; @softjeon

(Taehyung x Reader, OT7 x Reader)

The first thing someone should know about you is that you’re an escort. Yes, you have fucked for money. One day your boss made you an offer you couldn’t say no to. One year - seven boys. One rule: never fall in love.

Endgame; @oppamansae

(?? x Reader)

In chess, winning is everything – unfortunately, it is never easy. Y/N knew that as soon as she was ordered to assassinate the ruler of Seoul’s wealthiest mob empire, Park Jimin. The real question was: would she be able to survive this twisted game, all while keeping her identity a secret?

Bound; multiple authors [COMPLETED]

(OT7 x Reader, not a poly au.)

In a world where marriage isn’t by choice and love isn’t an option – will you ever find happiness? Or just continue to search? 

Too Sweet; @justoneday-namjoonii

(OT7 x Reader, not a poly au (?),)

-Vampire!au BTS

ONE SHOTS

Seokjin

Long Live The King; @remembeo

(Seokjin x Reader)

Long live the King, and may he reign forever more. 

Currents; @bread-jinie

(Seokjin x Reader)

Jin thinks he’s loved you since the moment he saw you, back when you were teenagers; Jin knows he’s been in love with you, the soul burning kind of love, since he saw you on your wedding day. He doesn’t mind that you don’t reciprocate on his level, he’s just happy to show you he cares. Until one day, he simply can’t anymore. Until one day, you realize you need to show him you care, too. 

Golden Boy; @kpopfanfictrash

(Seokjin x Reader)

The golden boy of the porn industry, prettier than half his female co-stars. Will sue if you pull his hair. Always bothering his neighbors with pizza delivery.

Note: This is multi-author series. Masterlist here.

Yoongi

Lost Stars; @taegih

(Yoongi x Reader)

-Enemies to lovers au

Smoke; @army-author

(Yoongi x Reader)

You have full moon eyes, and Yoongi wants to cheat the system.

Petrichor; @donewithjeon

(Yoongi x Reader)

You weren’t exactly sure when Min Yoongi had come into town.

Blackthorn Manor; @kpopfanfictrash

(Yoongi x Reader)

After becoming the assistant of professional recluse Min Yoongi, you begin to notice strange things. Noises which shouldn’t take place, shadows which shouldn’t move like they do. You’re almost convinced that you’re crazy - until something happens, something unbelievable to make you realize you’re not.

Hoseok

The First Eclipse; @rbuns

(Hoseok x Reader)

Hoseok reminisces on your earlier times together.

Namjoon

I’m so sorry omg I rarely read any Namjoon stuff omg.

Jimin

20 Things (and counting) I Hades About You; @readyplayerhobi

(Jimin x Reader)

Park Jimin, also known as DJ Plouton, one of the hottest DJ’s on the planet. Arrogant, sarcastic and incredibly attractive; you’d appreciate him more if you weren’t convinced he’d be the death of you on a daily basis. But apparently that wouldn’t matter either, because what’s a bit of death to the God of the Underworld?

Note: I think this author is doing a greek god au oneshot for each boy!

Taehyung

Fireflies; @sugaxjpg

(Taehyung x Reader)

“There’s no hope for people like us, sweetheart. We’re destined to fall in love a thousand times, and have our hearts broken in each one of them. We might as well be miserable together.”

Danse Macabre; @sugaxjpg

(Taehyung x Reader)

-Vampire au

Shelter; @btssmutgalore

(Taehyung x Reader)

Taehyung’s always been a best friend, which is why you think he’s the right person to ask for help when it comes to relationships.

Sacrilege; @writingseoul

(Taehyung x Reader)

You're a sacrifice to Taehyung, the Sun God

Jungkook

Back Home To You; @kthartics

(Jungkook x Reader)

Four years after graduating from med school, and ten after a mutual break up with your high school sweetheart, he comes knocking on your window battered and bruised only for you to find out he’s quit the military and in exchange for the title of Korea’s top mercenary but to you, he’s just a boyfriend you got together with again.

Lust and Love; @bbfairy

(Jungkook x Reader)

Your family forces you to marry a man named Park Jimin in order to gain a profit from their affluence. While preparing for the Park’s arrival, your father hires a butler in the estate. Gradually, you fall for him. You become infatuated with his presence, unwilling to accept the marriage and Park Jimin.

Plans for Wedding Bands; @guksheart

(Jungkook x Reader)

I’ve been meaning to propose to you for ages and i have set up the perfect plan but as we’re driving to the restaurant this tiny little cat on the side of the road that you’re determind to save shows up and now everything is ruined oh god what am i gonna do❜

The Wedding Planners; @gukyi

(Jungkook x Reader + some side yoonseok)

jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding. and then, as if your life couldn’t get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.

A/N: I really hope I linked these properly lol. Let me know if there are any problems!

[artificialqueens]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Colder (Shalaska) - Wednesday Angeline

A/N: Hey, Wednesday here! It’s been eons! I’ve been drenched in misery so I’m trying to produce a few more angsty things but for now I hope you enjoy this. Would love feedback here or over on my blog ( @wednesdayangeline ), and any comments you may have x

Summary: Sharon quits her job. Alaska, her girlfriend, tries to hold things together. Angst one-shot. Tw for depression.

I. Do You Love Me Too

“Sharon? Babe, I’m home!”

“Sharon?”

The door slams behind her. Alaska curses under her breath as her hip bumps into a chair in her eagerness to find her girlfriend.

She must be having a bad day.

There’s been a lot of those lately.

She walks in the bedroom to find Sharon still in the t-shirt and shorts she wore to sleep last night, half asleep. Alaska tries to keep the frown out of her expression. “Hey. Been sleeping in all day?”

Sharon shrugs, blearily rubbing at her eyes. “Not really. I had lunch.” She combs limp blonde hair out of her face, glancing for the first time at Alaska.

“That’s good,” Alaska replies, letting her hair down from its ponytail. “How was today?”

Sharon shrugs again, eyes staring vacantly at her girlfriend. “You tell me.” She turns to the other side of the bed, her hair covering her face again.

Alaska sighs. Sharon hasn’t showered in…was it four, five days now? I guess I gotta get used to this. She gently leans over and combs her girlfriend’s hair with her fingers, trying to untangle the greasy strands. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day went?” she prods.

Sharon doesn’t bother looking at her. “How did your day go?” she asks, a hint of irritation in her tone.

“Two of your students recognized me today at the café, they said they’re from your junior class. A girl called Farrah and a guy, I think his name was Daniel?” Alaska wrinkles her brow as she tries to remember.

“Danny,” Sharon corrects. She resigned from working at Riverpine High as an English teacher two months ago after having a mental breakdown in front of that very same junior class. It wasn’t her first one either – she’s been spotted by students and colleagues with puffy cheeks and red eyes after crying in the staff washroom, but that was the last straw. The principal strongly encouraged her to resign voluntarily, and that she did.

“Yeah, Danny. They asked if I was Miss Needles’ girlfriend, and I said yeah,” Alaska continues, grinning as she recounts the situation.

Sharon groans internally. Farrah was the most attentive in her class, and Danny the most passionate. Fuck, now I feel like shit for resigning mid-year. Are they here to hunt me down?

“Farrah said to let you know that the whole class misses you and hopes you’re okay, she said she’s texted you but maybe it didn’t send through. Oh, and Danny says he’s sorry if you left because he winded you up too much. I told him I’m sure he didn’t.” Alaska pauses. “It wasn’t him, right?” She herself wasn’t really quite sure why Sharon quit, since the other woman constantly avoided the topic when she tried bringing it up.

Sharon shakes her head. “Not at all. He’s a good kid. Tell them thanks if you see them.” God, I wish I could apologize to them myself. They’re such sweet kids, they don’t deserve a selfish, irresponsible teacher like me.

Alaska hesitates- wanting to ask more, but also knowing that she won’t be able to force an answer out of her hard-headed girlfriend. “Uh, well- did you get the girl’s texts? Maybe you can let them know that you’re, uh…fine.”

Is she?

Sharon nods. “Go shower, you’ve had a long day.”

“I love you.”

“…okay.”

II. Hello, How Are You

Sharon checks her messages a week after Farrah and Danny talked to Alaska, tired of seeing the accumulating notifications.

From: Farrah Moan

Hello Miss Needles!Sorry if I’m bothering you, hope you’re doing well, our class misses you very much. Miss Malanaphy is teaching us now but she’s just not the same! :(

From: Naomi Smalls

Hey Miss N, sending best wishes to you, get well soon!!!!!

From: Max Malanaphy

Hello Sharon, this is Max Malanaphy. I’m writing to let you know that I will be taking over your junior and senior classes, please let me know if there is anything I should be concerned about. Alyssa will be teaching your sophomores.

From: Laila Mcqueen

Hi Miss Needles, take care and get tons of rest. Miss Edwards says you’re sick or something. Everything here’s cool we’re working hard I promise

Sharon switches her phone off. Why did I think that would make me feel better?

She used to be so passionate about teaching, about passing on knowledge to the younger generation. Ever since she left, any reminder of the school just leaves her more depressed.

I’ve failed them, their futures dependent on these grades and I abandoned them right before the final stretch. What kind of teacher am I? Does teaching mean anything to me? Because if it did, then I would’ve been able to control myself, right?

Great, Sharon Needles, so you’ve always been this selfish and self-centered, you just haven’t realized it until now. So, teaching is just a job for you, there isn’t any passion or care. It’s all fake, all for reputation and promotions isn’t it?

It’s been a thought that’s circled her mind all too much lately. It is quite odd, having taught at the same school for five years and devoting so much of her time to helping these kids get the best education they can have in today’s crumbling society, and only questioning this after she’s left the school. Sharon knows it’s just her mind making things up, but the stupid hypothetical thoughts keep knocking at her.

I have wasted so much of my life. And at the end of it, I’m twenty-nine, depressed, and unemployed. I spend each day trying to lure myself into dreamless sleep to avoid facing the messes I’ve created, and the remainder of the time crying into my pillow. What the fuck.

Sharon wishes she didn’t have the meltdown in front of her class. Then everything would’ve been fine. But she couldn’t control it, because she was stupid and emotional and not the calm, smart role model she should’ve been for her students. And she didn’t even hate her job the least bit- she loved it- when I had my job, that is. But that doesn’t ease the constant stress that drove her to tears again and again.

She glances at Alaska, sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed, and her heart floods with guilt.

No, I’m an ungrateful little shit. I have a loving girlfriend who’s given me more than enough space and is still handling my moods better than I am, given that half our income is fucking gone and I’m moping around all day like a teenager. I should do something…but I don’t have the motivation and any energy I have is spent on imagining horrible hypothetical situations about the future.

Story of my life.

Sharon knows she has to pull herself together someday, that she can’t go on too long like this when she’s already pushing her luck. They can’t rely on what Alaska earns from the café and she’s not even sure how long she’ll last with Alaska if she continues acting like this.

I have too much time to think, and not enough energy to do much else.

III. Forget-Me-Not

Alaska wipes away a tear as she closed the bathroom door. She misses Sharon. She misses talking to her girlfriend who would crack up over the stupidest puns, who would always beg to dress her up in gothy scarves and tell her stories about silly things that happened in class.

I miss when she cared, when we felt like a functioning relationship.

“Okay, enough, I’m fucking sick and tired of your bullshit. First you expect me to supply enough income for both of us- fine. Then you ignore me and shut me out, you pretend that I’m not here when I greet you, you won’t let me care for you! I want to care, Sharon Needles, I really do. Even though I know you don’t care about yourself or about me.” Alaska can still hear her own words echoing, the very same sentences she hurled at Sharon just a few minutes ago. She shudders as her girlfriend’s expression appeared in her mind – a mixture of shock, hurt and anger.

What reason did she have to be angry? Everything I fucking said was right.

I wish she gave more of a shit about me. Is that selfish, is that so much to ask for? She’s not the only one with issues, and troubling thoughts, and obstacles. I just want it to be my turn to be taken care of.

IV. Home Visit

From: Jinkx Monsoon

See you in 5 minutes!

This is the first person I’ve seen besides Alaska after I quit.

But how could Sharon have said no when Jinkx, her best friend and fellow colleague, insisted? For old times’ sake, she had said. She felt too awkward to say otherwise. Always the pushover, you really are.

Sharon, for the first time in three weeks, showered. She feels surprisingly refreshed, but already slightly drained, not having moved much recently, let alone stood up for a period of time. She moves her head around, trying to shake off the grogginess that still plagues her.

Looking in the mirror, she tries to make herself presentable, tying her hair in a ponytail and changing into a button-up shirt and skirt – not that Jinkx wouldn’t outdo her, the other teacher having a more dramatic wardrobe taste.

The doorbell rings, and Sharon’s heartbeat speeds up as she heads to the front door.

What if I’m not ready?

Here goes nothing.

“Sharon!” Jinkx greets her with a grin, which briefly drops in dismay as she takes in the other woman’s changed appearance. Recomposing herself, she pulls Sharon in for a hug. “We’ve all missed you at school!”

“Hey, Jinkxy. I’ve missed you too,” Sharon replies. “Have a seat at the sofa, I’ll go make some coffee and we can catch up.”

Jinkx looks out the window as she thinks. What’s happened to Sharon? The Sharon she knew had brighter eyes, rounder cheeks, and more energy than a seven-year-old. She’s comforted Sharon once or twice during breakdowns, but Sharon always regained composure quickly, bouncing back to her goofy enthusiastic self.

Sharon sat down on the other end of the sofa as she set two cups of coffee down. “How is everyone?”

Jinkx shrugs. “The usual. A few kids asked about you, most of us just tell them that you needed a break. Max and Alyssa both manage okay with your classes I think.” She sips the coffee. “How are you, Sharon? You look…different.”

“I look like shit, you mean,” Sharon says, laughing bitterly. “It’s okay, you can say that, I don’t mind.”

Jinkx nods. “How have things been?” she repeats.

“There’s not much to talk about. I sleep a lot…and I’m tired and sad all the time. I guess it shows.” Sharon plays with her fingers, avoiding eye contact with Jinkx. “And I’ve kind of ignored everything else.”

She’s going to leave now. She’s going to stop being my friend because I’m weird and an irresponsible adult. She’s going to tell me how much I fucked up.

Jinkx lets the silence hang in the air for a while, struggling to come up with a reply. “I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time, sweet pea. Would talking about it help, or do you feel uncomfortable? We can change the subject, we’re meant to be having a nice chat after all.”

Sharon takes a deep breath. “I guess I can talk about it. I’ve just been feeling really down. Like I’m not doing anything useful and sometimes I’m just sad and my head pounds a lot, but I have no idea why, because my life went so well and I didn’t even have any issues with my family and I just feel like a really sad ungrateful twat all the time.” She buries her face in her hands.

Jinkx shuffles over and pats Sharon’s back.  “I don’t know how you feel, but I can try and sympathize. It’s okay to be sad sweetheart, no matter how your life is or your background, sometimes emotions just fuck with us when we least expect it. You’ll always have your friends and Alaska there for you,” she comforts.

Sharon’s red-rimmed eyes looks at Jinkx’s. “Alaska won’t be there for me. She’s tired of me, and I don’t blame her- she told me she doesn’t care anymore if I was mad at her or not,” Sharon choked back tears. “But I care. I’m not mad at her. But it’s okay if she’s mad at me. Because she should be, I’ve been such a burden to her.”

“Oh, Sharon,” Jinkx murmurs. “You know- if she isn’t helping, a change of environment might help?”

Sharon shook her head. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You’re welcome to stay at mine. The thing is, Sharon, if Alaska isn’t being supportive of your situation, then maybe you should- I’m not suggesting that it’s permanent, but maybe a break would help? For both of you to clear your minds.”

V. Ladies Who Lunch

“I just want her to care,” Alaska whines, “I miss when she did.”

Katya pats Alaska’s shoulder, shooting her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I am, too. I hate complaining about her because I really do love her, but it’s just…wearing me out, you know? Like, she just doesn’t give a shit and lies there, and I’m not even asking her to find a job or anything, just to live like an adult with basic fucking hygiene. She barely ever showers unless there’s guests, Kat.” Alaska exhales loudly, leaning back in her chair.

Katya winces. “It has to suck living with her, Lasky. I get that it’s tiring for you.”

“Yeah.”

“But maybe Sharon herself isn’t in the right place right now? Maybe she does need someone responsible to care for her- I don’t know, Lask. I’ve met Sharon and she wasn’t like this, like what you describe her to be, and she seems to be needing help.” Katya drums her fingers on the table, observing Alaska’s reaction. She thinks of Sharon, the few times she’s seen her, Alaska’s girlfriend was always sweet, quite loud, and shared perfect chemistry with Alaska. Not this stranger Alaska speaks of.

Alaska resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “So you are telling me that I should put up with this then? God, I should have kn–”

“No, let me finish. I’m just saying that it would be good for her to have some help. It doesn’t have to be with you, this is not affecting you in a good way either, but maybe having her stay with someone else, a friend or relative maybe, would alleviate your stress and also help her with whatever she’s struggling with. When you face a problem, Alaska, you have to find a solution, not complain about it and wait for it to solve itself.”

Alaska nods. “Thanks, Katya. You always know what to do.”

That night, Alaska mulls over the possibility of a break-up. Maybe it is for the best.

VI. I Lost All Hope Today

“Sharon!”

Sharon rubs her eyes, woken by the racket at the door. What the fuck?

“Shaaaaaaaaron! Come on! Open the fucking dooooor!” Alaska��s unmistakable drawl, slurred, could wake the neighbors. Sharon sighs and drags herself to the door.

“What the fuck Alaska,” she mumbles weakly. Alaska stumbles in, makeup runny and a bottle in hand, wrapping an arm around Sharon.

Alaska slams the bottle onto their coffee table. “I think I’m gonna puke…”

Sharon follows Alaska down the corridor to the toilet, helping her keep her hair up as Alaska vomits into the toilet bowl, now completely awake from the turn of events. She can’t help but feel irritated- that Alaska was so irresponsible to get drunk when it was a work day tomorrow. Expecting Sharon to clean up after her, when they were in the middle of a fight that Alaska picked.

Sharon pours a glass of water for Alaska as she cleans up the last of the vomit. “Gargle it, don’t swallow,” she instructs.

Alaska did so, and then begins to ramble again. “You know, I really miss when you would be this caring, I don’t know what the fuck’s gotten into you the last few months but I wish you would be my Sharon again…”

Sharon sighs. “You’re drunk, get to bed.” She guides Alaska, her arm still wrapped around the other woman’s torso as she leads them back to the bedroom.

Sharon turns herself so that her back is to Alaska, who was still mumbling about “the old days where everything was happy”. She knew relationships were never perfect, that each had their good and bad days- but surely they’ve used up their bad day quota already. Surely, this isn’t how it’s always going to be?

Maybe it is truly over between them. With Sharon’s own problems, she doesn’t have time to mind the ones between her and Alaska.

VII. White Noise

Fuck. I was really fucked up last night.

Alaska didn’t remember anything after her fourth drink at the bar. She knows she wasn’t drugged, it was just too much alcohol for her system. She woke up groggy, but with clean clothes, in her bed.

Sharon. Fuck. What happened?

She tries her best to remember. She wants to guess that Sharon had helped her when she came home, but she can’t imagine it. She just can’t. Sharon doesn’t care enough to do that, does she?

Alaska ponders the question throughout the day at work, being scolded gently by Shea, her manager, for “constantly daydreaming on the job”. She doesn’t even notice when Danny said hi to her, as he did now every time he saw her at the café, asking her how Sharon is doing.

How is Sharon doing?

“I- I’m not quite sure,” Alaska tells the teenager apologetically. “But I’ll tell her you said hi.” But I never do, because she won’t care anyway, because I don’t want to know if she might care about this random student more than she cares about me, so I won’t risk it.

Danny nods, shrugging it off. “You don’t look so good yourself, Miss. Take good care of yourselves.”

“Yeah.” Alaska thinks she might burst into tears. This relationship stuck in limbo is driving her nuts. I might just tell her we need a break. Nothing permanent, just a break, I need to clear my head. Alcohol won’t help.

She comes home to find a letter.

VIII. Talk to You Later

Hi Lasky,

I’m writing this down as my thoughts come along, please forgive me if it isn’t the most concise.

This relationship isn’t working anymore. I understand that it is, on the most part, because of me. I’ve been in a very bad place the past months and I wasn’t trusting enough to tell you about it, and I was too depressed to have any energy to just…do anything. And I’m sorry, because I didn’t try harder- or at all. I know.

And there isn’t any big story behind why I became like this. It’s just a lot of things going on in my mind that overwhelm me you know? Thinking about whether there’s any meaning to existence and all that. Because we all die in the end anyway. But I guess I should snap out of it sometime.

I really do want to care. I’m sorry. I’m too tired to, and I was a bad girlfriend.

I’ll be off staying with Jinkx for a bit, and maybe pick up a job somewhere near hers. I’ll come back and clear my junk up, I’ll make sure there aren’t any awkward meetings, okay? I’m sorry this is so abrupt, but please, take care of yourself, and know that this is the best for both of us.

Maybe we can be friends again one day. I don’t know.

Talk to you later,

Sharon N.