#hoping this will still count for accent coverage

[meat-fr]

Taking a little art detour to get some work done on skin wips. Currently working on finishing up the frosted version of the cookie jar skin finally :'D

[ssa-montgomery]

In The Woods Somewhere

Word Count: 9069

Summary: When Y/N is found in the woods by Rick and Daryl she doesn't know what kind of life is waiting for her at Alexandria, but she certainly isn't expecting the complicated relationship she develops with Daryl. Can the pair work through their differences and become friends? And maybe even more than that?

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader, Dog, Rick Grimes, Carol Peletier (mentioned)

Warnings: Use of weapons, canon-level violence, hunting animals, smoking, use of alcohol, mentions of blood, scars, hints at pass abuse, swearing, dirty talk, smut, couch sex, slight breeding kink, oral fixation, oral sex

A/N: I have been wanting to write for The Walking Dead for a very long time and my friend has been requesting a Daryl fic of me for easily over a year so I hope these over 9000 words make up for how long you had to wait! I absolutely loved exploring Daryl's character with this so please do leave me some more requests here or over on Tumblr and I hope you enjoy! You can expect to see more TWD fics around here in the future :)

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

Masterlist

When you'd been out here alone in these woods, learning how to survive day to day as long as you had it was easy to lose track of time. It could have been weeks, months maybe since you lost your camp, you couldn't remember anymore. One day you were safe, in a secure camp with people you could trust and the next a horde ran it into the ground, destroying everything you had. Your group was scattered who knows where during the attack, left to fend for themselves and you found yourself alone once again. Somehow you always ended up back here.

After the attack, you ran until you found a quiet, secluded area with enough coverage to set up a hidden makeshift camp. It was enough to survive but not for long. The natural resources in the area were running low and there was only so far you could travel before it became dangerous. That was how you found yourself here, walking along the side of a long-since-abandoned highway hoping there would be any kind of house or gas station that would give you the resources you needed.

You didn't dare walk on the road, keeping to the side instead with your head down and your hood up. You knew there was a slim chance of running into anyone out here anymore but you didn't want to risk drawing attention to yourself. It was an unfortunate truth that most of the people left now would do anything to survive and you couldn't waste your time on another person that was just going to steal your resources and leave you for dead.

Something caught your attention, a noise in the distance that you couldn't quite place at first. It wasn't until the sound grew closer that you realised it was the low rumble of a car approaching on the highway. You had seconds to react before the car turned the corner onto the stretch of road you were walking along. You slipped into the treeline, hiding behind the closest cover you could find until the car hopefully passed by. Your plan seemed to prove unsuccessful, the car slowed until it rolled to a complete stop where you had just disappeared from the view of the road.

There was low talk muffled by the car doors but you could make out the voices of two men before one of the doors opened and someone stepped out onto the road. You slowly moved your hand under your jacket and pulled your gun from the holster on your hip, sliding off the safety. You tried to control your breathing, staying as still as possible in the hopes that they would simply leave if they thought you had already slipped away or were just some random walker.

"We're not here to hurt you." The man called out, he had a deep southern accent and his voice was calm and steady as he spoke, almost gentle. It was clear this wasn't his first time talking down a situation like this. "We're here to help. My friend and I are from a community a few miles back, we have houses, solar power, runnin' water, and farms. It's safe. We just wanna help more people."

You stayed silent, you weren't stupid enough to trust a single word he was saying based solely on the promise of an impossible-sounding community. Even when you had encountered communities that were this advanced before there was always a price, a price you weren't willing to pay. Not again.

"I understand you don't wanna trust us, trust is a rare resource now. I didn't wanna trust it either when we were the ones with nothin' that were invited in, but it worked out. Our community is safe I can promise you that much and there isn't no price to pay. All we ask is that you can help provide to keep the town runnin'"

"What makes you think I'll go anywhere with you? I have no idea who you are. No proof of your community." You said finally breaking your silence when you realised he wasn't going anywhere without an answer. Even considering trusting this mand was a stupid idea and you knew it, but at the rate you were going with rations if you didn't find more supplies you'd starve on your own, and you weren't that stupid.

"My name's Rick, the man in the car is Daryl. You don't gotta trust us, trust is earned and I respect that we ain't done anything to earn that yet but let us ask you a few questions and maybe you can come back and join our community. We got women and children back home, my own children too if you'd be more comfortable talkin' with them."

It was quiet for a moment while you thought over your options. You could stay out here and possibly never find the supplies you needed or you could trust for once, go with them and maybe just maybe, have a better chance of surviving. 

"I'll ride with you, let you ask your questions." You agreed against every instinct in your body, but you weren't going anywhere with them without setting your own terms first. "But I keep my weapons, and if at any point I don't like this or I feel like it's a trap, I leave."

"That's alright by me." Rick sounded almost relieved as he spoke and for a second you believed that maybe he genuinely did want to help. 

You stepped out from behind the tree you'd been using for coverage and made a show of good faith, slowly lowering your gun as you turned back on the safety. You lowered your hood and met Rick's gaze for the first time. You could tell now he wasn't lying about how well-developed this community was, his beard was trimmed, his clothes cleaned and he looked freshly washed. Clean clothes were something you hadn't had the privilege of in a long time and a warm shower sounded like heaven right about now.

You recognised something in Rick, the way he negotiated with you, you had been right, this wasn't his first time. You could see it in the way he carried himself, how naturally his hand rested by the gun holstered on his belt, ready to draw at any second.

"You're a cop?" You asked as you finally holstered your gun, feeling comfortable enough with the situation that you wouldn't have to fight. Not right now.

"Yes ma'am." He nodded with a sense of pride that was clear on his face. "Sheriff Rick Grimes with Atlanta P.D."

"Okay, I'll come with you. For now." Rick stepped back letting you take the lead as you walked towards the car. You reached for the closest door handle but Rick directed you towards the other side of the car, making you take the backseat behind the other man - Daryl - you assumed most likely so he could keep a closer eye on you himself.

Daryl unlike Rick was less than welcoming to you. He seemed unsure about all of this, about you and he didn't try to hide it in the look he shot you in the rearview mirror. The look spelt trouble if you tried to make a move and you knew it, shrinking back from his stare. Rick tapped at Daryl's legs, signalling for him to take them down off the dash as he started the car again. 

You rode in silence for a while, never once taking your eyes off the men sitting in the front of the car as everyone seemingly tried to get a reading on the situation. This was an opportunity to show you could be trusted, but you didn't make the mistake of believing this was trust yet. Rick leaned across and said something in a hushed tone to Daryl that you couldn't quite make out. Daryl just grunted in response and dropped the end of his cigarette out of the car window clearly not too happy with whatever Rick had just asked him.

"We got three questions we asked new people," Daryl stated dryly, almost catching you off guard as you realised it was the first time you'd heard his voice since you'd gotten into the car. "First, how many walkers you killed?"

"I've been out here by myself a while, lost count a long time ago." You admitted honestly. At first, each walker you killed had affected you, it felt wrong and you were haunted by the lives you felt you were taking but now, it was the way the world was.

"How many people you killed?" Daryl's second question made you stop for a second. You could tell this was the more important question as he actually tore his gaze away from the road to look back at you in the mirror. It wasn't a question you liked to think about. You didn't like your answer, not anymore.

"Enough." Your answer was blunt but it was the truth and all they needed to know.

"Why?" It was Rick that asked the question this time. His words weren't quite the accusing ones you'd expected, instead, they really did sound curious about your answer.

"It's survival now, ain't it?" You didn't meet either of their gazes in the mirror, instead staring down at your hands. Your skin was stained and your nails caked with dirt and blood. Whether the blood was yours or a walker's you weren't sure anymore and part of you didn't want to know the answer. There was a lot you had done to survive that you weren't proud of. "You got all the answers you need now?"

"We do." Rick nodded his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. You felt your breath hitch as you watched him look over at Daryl, a knowing look passing between them. You really did need this, community was survival, you couldn't make it in this world anymore without people and you were aware of that. Perhaps being with people again would mean you could finally let down your guard and the sharp cage you'd built around your heart. "We'd like for you to come back to Alexandria with us." 

~~~

You would be the first to admit it was a hard adjustment at first, remembering how to live in a proper community again, with families living in their own homes, jobs and a proper sense of security like you'd never had before. Learning to trust again had been the hardest part as the people of Alexandria tried to get you to warm up to them with conversations and kind gifts. It was over three weeks now since you'd first arrived at Alexandria and you were finally making friends. 

With Rick being the one to make the decision to bring you back that first day he took responsibility for you and helped you settle in while he introduced you to everyone. You found quickly enough that you and Maggie were similar in more ways than one and became quick friends along with Glenn. You'd also developed a bond with Michonne as she taught you to use more weapons in place of just your guns.

It seemed everyone was accepting you into the community but there was just one person that it seemed you couldn't win over. Daryl Dixon. No matter what you tried he seemed to keep up that cold front with you. Any conversation you tried to start with him was treated to nothing more than grunts and short answers in response to your questions. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered quite so much if you weren't assigned to share a house with him at Alexandria which made your tense relationship that much more tricky. 

You didn't think you'd done anything to offend him and he barely put in enough effort to know anything about you that could have made him dislike you. Rick had assured you it was nothing. that Daryl was simply like this with everyone until he warmed up to them but it seemed to be taking him one hell of a long time to warm up to you.

Perhaps things with your living arrangement weren't all bad because there was at least one person in the house that did actually like you which made things more bearable. That "person" was currently spread out asleep at your feet on the porch. You leaned forward in your old rocking chair and lazily scratched behind Dog's ear which earned you a content huff from the big dog. 

You were so occupied with showering attention on Dog that you almost missed the sound of the old wooden steps of the porch creaking under heavy footsteps. You looked up to see Daryl making his way towards the front door with his crossbow still slung across his back. He looked exhausted, his clothes covered with dirt and a splattered of dried blood across his face. No matter what seemed to be going on between the two of you, you were always worried about him when he went out there. The only acknowledgement you got was a quick nod in your direction before he reached for the door handle.

"Rough hunt?" You asked stopping him in his tracks, trying to at least make an effort to start a conversation. You cringed at yourself as it fell silent, thinking he wasn't going to answer. Sometimes you wondered why it bothered you so much what he thought of you.

"Yeah." His answer was short, almost dismissive as always and you could feel your heart sink a little.

"Take a shower, Daryl. Don't get blood on the floor." You sighed deciding to just go back to your book rather than trying to push a conversation any further.

"Whatever." He grumbled as he unlocked the front door and then hesitated for a second, turning back to face you. You looked up at him at first expecting him to say something to you, almost hoping he would but instead, he let out a sharp whistle and patted his chest. In a second Dog had jumped up and bounced towards him, almost knocking him over with the force he jumped at his chest with. "That's a good boy." 

With that he disappeared inside, closely followed by a Dog who was happily wagging his tail at seeing Daryl back home leaving you alone to finish your cup of coffee on the porch. The fading sounds of his praising and affectionate words towards Dog, and the lightness in his tone were one of the few signs he let show of his softer side. Maybe someday you'd actually get a full conversation out of the hardened redneck.

~~~

"You comin'?" You jumped at the sound of Daryl's rough voice behind you almost spilling the mug of hot coffee in your hand as you grabbed at the counter to steady yourself. You thought he'd already left the house that morning to go scavenging with Rick, suddenly caught off guard at his question when you thought you were alone.

"Comin' where?" You asked turning around to face him with a look of confusion. It was rare for Daryl to even spend much time in the same room as you let alone ask you to go somewhere with him. You didn't want to let yourself get hopeful that maybe things were finally changing.

"I mean, you said you was willin' to help keep Alexandria runnin' ain't ya?" There was that usual cutting, argumentative edge to Daryl's voice as he spoke but he looked away from you, shifting on his feet. If you didn't know any better you would say he almost seemed nervous about asking. "Gotta earn your keep 'round here, I'm goin' huntin' you can help."

"Right. Sure yeah, okay." You nodded pouring the last of your coffee down the drain before dropping your mug into the sink. You looked down at yourself, taking in your outfit and decided perhaps your morning casual sweatpants wouldn't be the best for the job. "I'll uh, I'll change and grab my stuff. I'll meet you at the gate?" 

Daryl huffed out his response and nodded, it was about as close as you were going to get to an actual agreement from him. He grabbed his crossbow from its place on the wall and swung it over his shoulder before heading out the front door.

It wasn't like this was your first run, you'd scavenged for yourself long before you found Alexandria and since you'd arrived Rick had taken you out and taught you the best spots. Even Tara and Rosita had taken you with them on a few of their runs but this was your first time properly hunting and tracking with Daryl. He was at the top of the game when it came to tracking and you knew it, part of you was worried you wouldn't be able to keep up.

You changed your clothes into something more fitting the harder terrain of the woods, running over your mental checklist as you made sure you had everything. Securing your knives to your belt you did up the buckle and kneeled down to lace up your combat boots. Lastly, you grabbed your backpack, putting it on before placing your bow over your shoulder. With one final glance around the room, you headed out to meet up with Daryl at the gate.

In the distance, you could see Daryl already waiting by the gate, his bike propped up on its stand as he leaned one foot against it casually. He was playing with the lighter in his hand, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he talked to Rick. It seemed you were walking in on a private conversation as it was quickly cut off the closer you got to them. Rick offered you a warm smile while Daryl's gaze fell to the ground.

 "Right well, you two take care out there. Come back in one piece." Rick nodded, patting Daryl on the back before leaving the two of you alone. 

"What were you talkin' 'bout just there?" You asked noticing the way Daryl stared after Rick still obviously distracted by something he had said.

"Nuthin'." He shrugged, shaking himself out of his trance. He dropped the last of his cigarette to the ground before snuffing it out with the tip of his boot. He gave the bike a once over, making sure everything was secured and then threw his leg over the bike. He steadied the bike, balancing it upright with his own body weight before kicking out the stand. "Get on." 

"You- you want me to ride with you? On your bike?" You stuttered over your words more than you had intended, not wanting to sound nervous as you stared down at the empty space at the back of the bike.

"You plannin' on walkin'? Come on. You afraid or sumthin'?" He cocked an eyebrow at you, the slight grin on his face almost teasing as he waited for your answer.

It wasn't so much that you were afraid, nothing about the idea of motorbikes scared you but it was the idea of sitting so close to Daryl with your arms wrapped around him for support that sent a chill up your spine. Or perhaps spark was more the correct word with the way your heart skipped a beat in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. It was easier to blame it on fear than admit you were scared of what you might find if you looked into that feeling any further.

"No. Nevermind. It's nothin'." You shook your head trying to swallow down your feelings as you followed his lead and climbed onto the back of the bike. You tried to leave as much space between you as you could, resting your hands behind you so you could grab onto the seat hoping the grip your legs had on the bike would be enough to balance you. Before you could react Daryl reached back without even looking and grasped your wrists, pulling them towards him until your arms were wrapped around his waist. The gasped at the sudden movement, the force of it pushing you even further into his back.

"Yer gonna fall off back there. We gotta be back before dark so imma go fast, you gotta hold on tight." He explained letting go of your wrists as you got the message and tightened your grip on him. Once he was sure you were ready he revved the engine, the sign for the gate in front of you to be opened. He didn't even bother to wait for it to open fully, kicking off the bike as soon as there was a wide enough gap for you to finally be speeding down the open road outside of Alexandria.

You steadied your breathing as your eyes fell closed, taking a moment to adjust to the feeling of the bike underneath you. It rumbled over the rough roads, the feeling vibrating up into your legs as the wind whipped your hair into your face. You could understand the appeal of this, why Daryl enjoyed it so much. There was an almost freeing feeling to watching the world pass by so quickly, your focus on nothing but the road in front of you. You finally let yourself relax, trying to enjoy the moment as you leaned more into the hard frame of Daryl's back. There was a cold bite to the wind as it rushed past but the warmth seeping from his body kept you safe from it.

You cursed yourself for even noticing that. You shouldn't be thinking about how warm Daryl felt in any situation, let alone about how the muscles in his stomach flexed under your hands every time he used his weight to guide the bike around a sharp corner. Or how comforting it felt to have your arms around him. You shouldn't be thinking about him like this, you didn't want to be. It made you feel defensive against your own thoughts, fighting with your mind that he meant nothing to you.

You were grateful for the distraction when the bike finally rolled to a stop, letting you sit back as the air fell quiet again when Daryl killed the engine. The spot you'd arrived in was a secluded clearing in the woods and as you listened carefully you heard the gentle flow of a stream just beyond the tree line. It was the perfect place for animals and therefore, a perfect place for hunting them.

You learned quickly that hunting properly was a slow and tedious process, relying on every instinct and sense you had to track the faintest of movements. You spent what felt like hours following Daryl's lead as you tracked deer tracks through the trees, finding nothing more than hoof prints. It was getting late and you were drawing close to giving up if you wanted to make it back to Alexandria in time when you heard a twig snap to your left. You slipped away from Daryl following the noise and then you spotted it, a stag among the trees.

In one quiet, fluid movement you ducked behind a tree, hiding so as to not frighten it. You slipped your bow from your shoulder and carefully lined up your shot, taking the time to focus. You couldn't mess this up. Before you could move your fingers to release your arrow another flew past you. 

You spun around as the arrow landed to see Daryl standing behind you, crossbow still raised as he looked down at the kill. You could feel the start of anger bubbling up in your chest, your hands balling into fists by your side. You were a damn good shot and you'd come all the way out here to prove you could provide for Alexandria just as good as the rest of them only for Daryl to take the kill from you. There was no reason for him to step in.

"What the hell! I had that!" You snapped slinging your bow back over your shoulder with one sharp movement. You weren't going to let this slide.

"You were takin' too long," Daryl said matter of factly, his casual tone serving to piss you off even more. You couldn't stand how dismissive he was being of the whole situation as he moved to walk past you. "Thing woulda just run off."

"Fuck you." You scoffed, your words dripping with weeks of pent-up anger now. "I mean seriously you tell me I gotta earn my keep and then I try just for you to take the chance from me! You won't let me! This is clearly personal what the hell do you have 'gainst me Daryl huh? What did I ever do to you?"

"I don't got nuthin' against you. Lower your damn voice. Now." Daryl barked back but he kept his voice low, never raising in volume. It only worsened your anger as he tried to shut down your words of protest.

"No! It's not fair Daryl! I've tried everything and still-"

"Shut up." This time his words came across as more threatening, it was a warning but you ignored it. You had opened that bottled-up anger and there was no stopping it now. His eyes seemed to be watching something behind you as you ranted, never quite focusing on you as he searched for something.

"I'm not done! You can't just treat me like shit and tell me to shut up and then expect-" Before you could finish your sentence Daryl moved quicker than you could process and your back collided with the solid trunk of a tree. Daryl cornered you, pushing you both into the narrow gap between two trees, his hand clamping over your mouth to silence any further protest from you. You pushed at his chest trying to fight back, not knowing what the hell he thought he was doing.

"Jesus Christ woman, you ever shut the fuck up? Listen." Daryl hissed, leaning in until he talking directly next to your ear. You finally stopped fighting when you felt his hot breath fanning across your skin, the smell of his last cigarette still lingering. You focused, listening to everything around you like he told you to and that's when you finally heard it. The low groans and growls of walkers as they stumbled their way up from deeper in the woods. Judging by the sounds they were closer than you'd realised. "Your damn hissy fit screamin' and shoutin' probably drew more of 'em too." 

It was too late to try and run for it now, the walkers nearly on top of where you were hiding. You both stayed still while they passed by, even the slightest movement risking drawing their attention. Daryl didn't let go of you during the time that passed, his calloused hand still pressed over your mouth, his fingertips grazing your skin. You were pressed so tight together in the gap that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath and you wondered if he could feel yours too. You didn't dare meet his eyes, not when you were this close.

Once the noise grew distant again and you knew they had moved on enough that you were safe you shoved at Dary, squeezing your way out of your hiding space. You tried to ignore the fact that your heart was now beating in your throat as Daryl stayed still, not moving from where you'd just been as he processed what happened.

"Get off me, Dixon. Let's just grab what we can and go home."

~~~

It was late when you made your way into the kitchen, the only source of light coming from the lamp you'd switched on as you entered the room. Dog let out a whine from where he lay asleep next to the front door at the sudden activity in the room. He was waiting for Daryl to come home and if you were being honest, so were you. He'd left to spend most of the night at Carol's for dinner and you were finding it hard to sleep in an empty house. Even if you were in separate rooms for most of the day there was something comforting about knowing Daryl was still in the house.

You walked over to the sink and poured yourself a glass of water, staring out the window at the night sky. You were pulled from your thoughts - late-night thoughts that you admittedly shouldn't have been having - by the dull thud of something dropping onto the countertop behind you. When you turned around Daryl was standing on the other side of the kitchen island with something wrapped up in parchment paper in front of him. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at you like he was waiting for a response to something.

"What's that?" You asked furrowing your eyebrows as you stared down at whatever he had brought home, trying to guess what it was based solely on the shape of the package. It was clearly Carols wrapping work as you looked at the neat bow that held it all together in the middle.

"Dunno. Some kind of dessert? Carol made it. Said you'd like it since you didn't get dinner. Guess it's kinda peace offering from me?" He shrugged clearly trying to ignore his own attempt at an apology at the end as he pushed the package towards you. You caught the end of the string and slowly pulled open the paper to reveal what was inside. It was a decorative tin covered in floral designs but then the smell hit you as you cracked open the tin. Inside was a batch of Carol's signature cookies you'd grown to love since you'd arrived here.

"Oh, I love that woman. Peace offering accepted." You let out a dreamy sigh as you leaned forward in your seat and picked up one of the cookies, taking a bite. In that moment you genuinely forgot about every argument you'd had with Daryl as you slowly closed your eyes and chewed the cookie. You let out a satisfied moan at the incredible flavour, at the end of the world it was rare to get something that both tasted good and was home cooked so you savoured everything you did get. 

When you opened your eyes again Daryl was staring at you, there was something different in his eyes as he looked at you now but as soon as you caught him looking he cleared his throat and turned his attention to the piece of string that he now found so fascinating. 

"Try one." You insisted, holding the tin out towards him. He stared at you for a second before cautiously taking one from the tin seemingly examining the ingredients. You leaned your elbows on the counter watching closely as he bit into it and chewed before smiling at his nod of approval.

"It's good." He agreed around the mouthful of cookie. You chuckled as he reached into the tin for another, messily shoving the rest of the one he already had into his mouth, the crumbles falling onto the counter. "Carol sure knows how to bake."

The two of you sat in silence around the tin of cookies for a while, simply enjoying the good food and quiet company before Daryl finally spoke again.

"I meant it the other day ya know, I ain't got nuthin' against you I just- I ain't good at this whole trustin' people thing and I got a shitty way of showin' it. It's been uh, it's been good havin' you here." You smiled warmly at him as he stumbled over his words, clearly struggling to find the right words to say to you. You could see how hard it was for him to even open up this much and you appreciated it more than you could put into words.

"Thank you, Daryl, really. It's been good bein' here too." You said as you reached your hand out and ever so gently and let your pinky finger brush against his hand, not daring anything more than that. He seemed surprised by the contact but he didn't pull away as you'd first expected. Instead, he patted the back of your hand before disappearing off towards his room.

This time you couldn't deny the feelings in the back of your mind or the race in your heartbeat as you watched him leave.

~~~

"Mind if I join ya?" You felt a light tap on your shoulder as Daryl made his way into the room and stopped behind where you were sitting on the couch. A slight smile that you were glad was becoming more common on his face.

"Sure." You agreed with a warm smile, patting the spot next to you on the couch. You chuckled as he made his way around the couch and flopped down next to you with a heavy sigh. You held out the bottle of beer you were sipping on, offering him a drink. You'd found a six-pack of them on your last run and decided to bring them home with you to finally allow yourself to unwind a little at night. Daryl happily accepted the bottle and took a large swig out of it before letting out a hum of approval, a content look on his face. You gestured towards the box of them on the coffee table, still cold from the fridge. "Help yourself."  

Daryl leaned forward and grabbed a bottle, using the corner of the table to pop off the cap despite you having left a bottle opener sitting on the table next to the box. There was something about that precise movement, how swiftly he popped it open that you found incredibly attractive. 

"What's the occasion? Long day?" He asked, looking over at you as he savoured the taste of the beer on his lips. You figured it had probably been just as long for him since he'd found a quiet moment for a drink like this.

"No occasion." You shrugged placing your half-empty bottle down on the table. "We just deserve a break sometimes, don't we? Thought a quiet night in would be nice.

"Now that's my idea of a fun time." Daryl laughed kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. You'd grown to enjoy Daryl's company more than you ever expected. The two of you had come a long way since you first arrived at Alexandria and the cold shoulder he gave you back then. It was moments like these, simply enjoying some quiet time together that made you feel safer than you had since before the world went to shit. Although you'd never admit it out loud, maybe you had begun to develop deeper feelings towards him that were more than platonic.  

Daryl reached forward and placed his bottle down on the coffee table next to yours, the back of his hand brushing against the outside of your thigh as he settled back into his seat. You jumped, your leg flinching away at the feeling, not having expected the sudden contact or the shiver it sent through your body. You tried to play it off, moving your leg back and hoping he hadn't noticed the reaction but judging by the look on his face it was obviously too late. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to - uh sorry." He mumbled turning his face away from you so you couldn't see the embarrassment from his own awkwardness. You hadn't meant to upset him or make him think he'd done something wrong, you simply hadn't expected your own body to react in the way it did.

"It's okay Daryl." You quickly assured him, your voice soft as you spoke. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat as you tried to find the right words to explain it to him. "It's just- it's been a long time since- never mind."

"Since what?" He urged you on, giving you a curious look.

"I've been alone a lot since this all started, it's been a long time since I've had anyone... touch me like that. Or in any way really." This time it was your turn to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks as you realised what you'd just admitted out loud to Daryl of all people. It felt silly saying those words, you weren't exactly the only one who'd gone through this experience but it seemed to affect you more in moments like these.

He nodded slowly, not saying anything for a moment as he seemed to take in everything you said. His hand shifted across the couch cushion, back towards your leg but this time it was intentional. He hesitated for a second, clearly unsure what your reaction would be, wondering if your confession was an invitation before gently placing his hand on your thigh. He let out a sigh of relief when you didn't immediately pull away from him.

"I get that." His fingertips traced absentminded shapes across your thigh while he spoke, trying to gather the confidence to make his next move. His touch was softer than you'd expected from his usual attitude or the way he'd handled you in the woods. He looked up and met your glassy-eyed gaze, your mind already clouded just by the simplest of touches. You couldn't deny the heat that was spreading out from where Daryl touched you, your breath speeding up with each movement.

Seeing your reaction he pushed forward, letting his hand slide down to the inside of your thigh, tightening his grip and groping at your skin. You let a slight gasp fall from your lips at the feeling and he had to hold back a groan of his own at the noise you made, it was the sweetest damn sound he'd ever heard. And he wanted to spend the rest of the night trying to hear it again. "I want you. I wanna have you like that." 

"Then have me." You breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper as your mind already raced with the possibilities of what was about to happen. Every thought, every feeling you had pushed down over the past few weeks rose to the surface with such a force it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

That was all the permission he needed to surge forward, the hand that wasn't kneading at your thigh grasping your jaw as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. You had never expected to share a kiss like this with Daryl but it was passionate, almost completely overwhelming as you both released weeks of pent of longing. You struggled to catch your breath as his mouth moved against yours turning you on in ways you didn't know were possible. You lost count of how long you stayed like that, neither of you willing to separate for a second as you made out like horny teenagers on the couch.

You could tell it truly had been a long time for both of you as you savoured every moment, your hands roaming across each other's bodies, learning every curve you could reach. Your hands found purchase on the collar of his leather vest, pulling his chest closer to yours while his hands found your waist grabbing at your hips. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, prying your mouth open as he took complete control of the kiss, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. You could taste the beer on his tongue as he explored your mouth. 

"More, Daryl I need more." You let out a broken gasp as you pulled away from the kiss, tugging him impossibly closer by his vest. You were too far gone now to care how needy you sounded from just a heavy make-out session, all you knew was you needed Daryl unlike you'd needed anyone before. "I need you to touch me please." 

"I gotcha." Daryl nodded, his forehead pressed against yours as his hands slid up from your waist and under the hem of your shirt. His fingers danced across your ribs, lighting your nerves on fire as he started to press kisses all along your jawline. He focused his attention on the corner of your jaw before starting to slowly move down the front of your throat. "Whatever you need I gotcha, just tell me." 

His hands continued to push up your sides, dragging perfectly across your skin before he pulled away from kissing you just long enough to pull your shirt over your head and drop it to the floor next to the couch. He took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, his eyes running across your chest and then he leaned in starting exactly where he'd left off. His lips moved downward from your throat to your collarbones until he reached your chest, leaving red marks in his wake as he sucked at your skin.

His hands fell to your waist again and this time pulled you down, manhandling you into an easier position on your back as he kneeled over you. His body caged you in, pressing you into the couch as he towered over you. In any other situation, the concentrated look in his eyes might have intimidated you in this position but it was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. He slid his hands behind your back, making quick work of your bra before it joined the now-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

"Fuck Daryl!" You moaned out, your nails digging into his skin as you grasped at his arms. His hands were on your chest, groping at your breasts while his palms rolled over your sensitive nipples. Your moans urged him on as he pinched your nipples between his fingers before dropping his mouth to your chest, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across the now-exposed skin of your breasts. You were pretty sure you could get off just like this with the way his tongue dragged across your nipple, his lips closing around it as he sucked hard the feeling pooling between your legs. 

"You trust me?" He asked, his voice even rougher than usual as it grew heavy with lust. You moaned out your agreement your head nodding frantically and he placed a kiss on your stomach, moving lower this time. On instinct, your legs spread wider as you released what was about to happen. "Good 'cus I've been dyin' to eat your pussy."

 Any other time and you might have had the decency to blush at how vulgar Daryl's words were but now, you were turned on beyond belief and all you could think about was how close you were to coming just from hearing them. Daryl took his time, enjoying every moment as his lips ghosted across your stomach leaving dark hickeys on your hip bones but you on the other hand were more desperate. Your hands flew to your pants trying to help things along as you quickly undid the button and zipper moving to push them down.

Daryl grasped your hands and moved them above your head, shifting them to just one hand so he could pin them down to the couch leaving his other hand free to do whatever he wanted. You found the display of his size over you incredibly hot.

Apparently having decided you had waited long enough Daryl made quick work of your jeans and panties, pulling them down in one smooth movement, once they reached your ankles you helped him kick them off not caring where they landed. He settled himself down on the couch lying between your legs as he spread them further apart, taking his time as he slowly dragged his tongue across your skin but never quite where you needed him.

He focused his attention on your thighs again, sucking on the sensitive skin there as he inched forward at a painfully slow pace. Your whimpers were almost turning to begs when he finally had enough and surged forward, his tongue lapping across you. You were soaked between your legs and the second it hit his tongue it was like Daryl was drunk on your taste. His arms came up to wrap around your thighs, spreading your legs even further part so he could reach every inch of you while also pulling you down against his mouth.

There wasn't a single part of you left ignored as Daryl damn near devoured you with his tongue like a starved man. His rough stubble grazed the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs but you couldn't bring yourself to care about the mark you were sure it would leave in the morning as the slight burn added to the pleasure building in your body.

"Oh god don't stop." You cried out, your wrecked voice barely recognisable to your own ears as you dropped your hand down to bury it in Daryl's hair. He moaned out at the feeling of your nails scratching against his scalp, pulling at the hair at the back of his neck and the low vibration of the noise hit directly on your clit. Daryl was getting off on this just as much as you were, rutting his hips against the couch as he tried desperately to feel you even closer. He dragged his tongue downwards until it dipped inside you, lapping up how wet you were for him. "Fuck I'm- I'm gonna-" 

Your brain switched off, too overtaken with the feeling of your orgasm building to be able to speak as your words trailed off into a high-pitched whine. Daryl doubled down his focus, just wanting to make you feel good as his nose bumped your clit with every movement at this new angle. It didn't take much longer of that pace to make the tension building in the pit of your stomach finally snap. You arched up into his mouth as your head snapped back in a silent scream, your body barely even able to make a noise with the force of it. His hands pinned your hips down again as he slowed his pace but didn't take his mouth off you, coaxing you through your orgasm as he licked up everything he could.

"Holy shit that was incredible." You laughed breathlessly, your heart still hammering in your chest. Your hand moved down from his hair to caress the side of Daryl's face, your thumb rubbing across his cheekbone as he slowly pulled away and looked up at you. His eyes were heavy and hazed over, still basking in the feeling of you coming on his tongue and the taste that still lingered. You had to bite back a whimper at the sight of his beard still glistening with your wetness.

"You taste like heaven Darlin'." Daryl grinned pushing himself up on his elbows as he leaned in to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he licked at your bottom lip. There was something about the way that pet name sounded in his southern accent that had you desperate for him again already. As you ran your hands down his chest you started to grow increasingly frustrated at the fact that he still had all of his clothes on while you were lying naked on the couch. You tugged at his leather vest before starting to push it back over his shoulders.

"Take it off. Please?" You mumbled, your mind already running wild with the thought of what he was hiding underneath those clothes. You'd already found yourself on multiple occasions staring at how muscular his arms were in those short-sleeved shirts and you could only imagine his chest would be just as incredible.

He sat back and let the vest fall the rest of the way down his arms before reaching to undo the buttons of his black shirt. His hands seemed to slow as he reached the bottom buttons, almost hesitantly and when his shirt finally fell open you understood why. What you could already see of his chest and shoulders was littered with scars and you were sure his back would be different. There were years worth of stories written across his skin, some faded enough that you guessed they predated the fall of the world. Some scars you recognised as the circular marks of a bullet wound but others were longer, thinner, more precise, purposeful. When you looked back up at him there was something different in his gaze, he looked almost ashamed of his scars.

"You're perfect Daryl." You whispered wanting him to know you meant every word of it as you pressed your lips to the scar that ran along his collarbone. Slowly you slid your hands under his shirt pushing it the rest of the way off. Your hands ran down over his back, feeling the raised skin of each scar under your fingertips as you went. You took your time, pressing kisses to each scar across his chest as you worshipped his body. His arms wrapped around your waist as you did, his face buried in your hair. Eventually, your hands worked their way down to the waistband of his pants, reaching the belt buckle. "Do you want this?"

"'Course I do." Daryl nodded pulling away from you again to capture your mouth in a heated kiss, it was messy as you tried to keep up with him, your hands working on his belt and zipper. You were so lost in the way his kiss made your head spin as you gasped for air that you barely noticed as he sat up and kicked his pants to the side. He helped moved you onto your back again and leaned over you, his erection pressing against your leg as he moved closer. "You feel what you're doin' to me now?"

"Yes, please, Daryl fuck me please." You cried out your nails scratching down his back as you looked between your bodies and saw how big he was, painfully hard just for you. Your hands trailed around his waist and down his stomach, moving over his happy trail until you lightly grazed the base of his cock. He groaned at the feeling and touched your wrist, stopping you before you could make him come before he even got to feel you. He sat back and settled between your legs, pumping himself before he lined up and pushed into you.

You whimpered at the feeling of him stretching you out and he wasn't even all the way in, he was bigger than you were used to and it had been a long time since you'd had anything inside you. The end of the world didn't exactly leave much room for self-pleasure and even before it, it had been a long time. He waited for a minute, gently hushing you as he let you adjust to him before he moved your leg over his hip. He pushed forward again, this new angle letting him slide all the way in.

"Fuck yer tight." He growled, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in. You couldn't form a coherent thought anymore, not with the way he hit the perfect spot inside of you. His name was the only thing you could manage among the slurred swears and moans that fell from your lips as he thrust into you.

His own voice was becoming strained, moaning in your ear as he held you as close as he could, his hips rutting against you. You could tell it wouldn't take long for you to come again with the increasingly rough pace he was setting but you tried to hold out, not wanting the feeling to end. Your body was already on edge from your earlier orgasm and your muscles burned as you tried to move your hips to meet Daryl thrust for thrust.

Instead, he pinned your hips against the couch once again and left you at his mercy, unable to move to change the pace. His thrusts were getting harder, his hips snapping against you as he lost himself in the feeling. He was just as desperate as you were, needing every second of this but knowing he was drawing close to his orgasm, not far behind you. He was determined to make you come again before he did. 

He brought one hand down between your bodies and pressed his thumb against your clit, brushing over it with every thrust. You let out a guttural moan at the feeling, your eyes rolling back as you tried to grab onto anything you could to ground yourself. Knowing even the slightest touch would send you over the edge like this Daryl dropped his mouth to your chest again and the sudden feeling of his teeth grazing across your nipple had you coming in seconds. 

"Daryl! Oh- fuck- ah-" You whined out not able to form a whole sentence as your whole body tensed, your hands grabbing at the back of his neck as you clung to him. You rode out your orgasm barely able to tell where it ended as you spasmed around Daryl who kept thrusting into you through it all.

It wasn't long until the force of your orgasm and your breathy moans in his ear became too and his movements stuttered, his thrusts slowly as he collapsed on top of you, coming deep inside of you. Your mind was too clouded from two of the best orgasms of your life to think about the consequences of him coming inside you right now.

You both stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other with Daryl buried inside you. You were panting, trying to regain your breath as he slowly pressed kisses to your collarbone, his face once again finding its way to the crook of your neck. Your skin was sticky with sweat but he didn't seem to care as his heavy breaths fanned across your neck. He slowly pulled out of you and collapsed down onto the couch next to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders so he could pull you onto his chest.

"That was so worth the wait." You giggled hiding your flushed face in his chest as you came down from your high.

"Definitely." He agreed pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he brushed your hair out of your face. "Maybe it doesn't have to be the last time?"

Taglist: @azanoni

[lorna-d-m]

Chapter Three: Emails

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!OC (Alice Greene)

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a workaholic. Between teaching university courses, running the Kreizler Institute, and minding Stevie -his ward-, he does not have time for relationships. That is until he meets Ms. Greene, Stevie's English teacher, at open house. Can he open his heart to the possibility of love?

Word Count: 2,831

W: Drinking, language.

A/N: Heyyyyyyyyyyy y'all. Good news, my semester is over! So hopefully I can make steady progress on this fic over the summer.

previous chapter

Alice sat at her desk scrolling through her emails. There were still a few minutes before students would stream through the halls, so she thought she would take advantage of the time while half-heartedly eating a granola bar. Alice skimmed through typical messages pertaining to district news, reminders about school policy, and pleas for club chaperone volunteers or coverage for another class. 

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw an email from Dr. Kreizler though she could not explain why. She ignored the subject line and clicked on the email. His tone was professional and polite, even wishing her a pleasant morning. She could hear his voice through the text, even imagining the soft accented lilt. He requested updates on unit tests and paper due dates so he would be aware of when Stevie should be studying or working. Dr. Kreizler mentioned, as he did at the open house, that Stevie was not a traditional student. This was his first time attending public school in two years, and prior to that, he was not known for his perfect attendance or grades. Stevie has potential, Dr. Kreizler urged her to remember, but he requires structure and support to succeed.

Alice took a sip of her coffee. She was almost out of creamer and rationed, so it did not taste as good. He must have sent a similar email to all of Stevie’s teachers, she thought, until she caught a note at the end clearly meant for her. 

I checked the reading list for this semester, and I am thrilled you chose Lord of the Flies. It was one of my favorites as a student. I remember writing a paper analyzing the novel from a psychological perspective; even then my interest in psychology was strong. Admittedly, I am tempted to re-read it alongside the class’s reading to see what piques my interest now.

A smile flickered across her face, quick and furtive. Alice did not know what to say, and thankfully she did not need to respond immediately. She wanted to talk with him about the book and pick his brain, but a little voice in her head told her not to. Instead, she should grant his request to know summative assignments and leave it at that. But then again, there was nothing wrong with discussing a book. 

Ugh, perhaps she should talk to Bitsy before emailing him back. But then she would ask questions and poke into why Alice felt so uncertain, and she did not want to open that can of worms.

The bell trilled, and Alice snapped out of it. She switched tabs, hit the button for the projector, and pushed the dreamy Dr. Kreizler from her mind. Alice enjoyed this part of the morning before classes began when people could chat and plan, and there was still hope for the day.

***

“Did you see admin’s email about coverage?” Bitsy popped her leftover pasta in the microwave. “I signed up for Smith’s class during my planning.” She leaned against the counter with her arms crossed while she waited.

“I did,” Alice sighed, “and I didn’t sign up for either of them. It’s not worth twenty bucks to me.” She took another bite of her sandwich and wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

Bitsy stirred her pasta, still cold in the center, and stuck it back in the microwave. “Fair, not when you need to lesson plan and prep,” she chided.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Alice punctuated her point with a long sip of her water. She was still sorting out her plans for the end of the week, and Bitsy knew it. 

“Anything else going on?” Bitsy finally sat down across from Alice with her Pasta. 

Well, to be fair, Stevie was also in Bitsy’s class, so she probably received an email as well. It could be a casual conversation regarding an email they both received. There was no reason for it to venture into the uncharted territory of how his comment made her smile and how he held her eyes when they spoke at open house and the soft lilt in his voice. 

“I got an email from Dr. Kreizler, and since you seem to know a bit more about him, I thought I would ask what you thought of it.” Bitsy nodded knowingly. “I can pull it up now-”

“-no bother, I know what you’re talking about. I got the same this morning.”

“Afternoon, ladies,” Coach Connor entered the break room with a small nod, wave, and his lunchbox. They acknowledged him with a polite response and returned to their conversation.

“Honestly, he can sound like a bit of dick over email,” Bitsy shrugged, “but remember that he has good intentions.” Alice was taken aback while Bitsy continued. “He spends all day helping other people, so he doesn’t have time to be polite in his emails.”

Coach Connor hovered on the edge of their conversation, and he took their pause to butt in. “Are you talking about that whack job Doctor Kreizler? Because I got his email this morning, and I don’t like his attitude.” 

“Well, I-”

“-I don’t believe in mollycoddling these students, and he has no right to go sticking his nose into the way I teach. He can have all these fancy ideas about how to teach, but I’ve been in that gym for over twenty years.”

Alice and Bitsy sat in uncomfortable silence while Coach Connor ranted. They didn’t want to interrupt him or defend Dr. Kreizler for fear of receiving Connor’s red faced yelling.  

“-And I talked to my buddy Byrnes the other night, retired from the police station you know, and he sure had a lot to say about that crackpot Kreizler and his delinquent.”

She wanted to tune him out, but she was curious about what he had to say. Clearly, she knew to take what Coach Connor said with a grain of salt — or a handful —, and she did not want to give him the satisfaction of her attention. Alice did her best to seem uninterested though her heart raced. 

“He told me all about “Steve-pipe”, and if it was up to me he wouldn’t be here,“ he gave them a knowing, condescending look. “Theft and assault, of an officer no less, I don’t know how that man weasled him into this school. It’s a disgrace,” he huffed. “I won’t let any of that fly, not in my gym. He’ll learn in my class,” Connor chuckled darkly. 

Alice’s stomach flipped, and she cleared her throat to speak. “From what I’ve seen in my class, he seems to be turning over a new leaf.” Bitsy smiled and nodded in support while Connor crossed his arms in disbelief. “I think we should respect that, and approach him with an open mind. Is that so much to ask for?”

“Well,” Connor scoffed, “if he ever tries to pull anything in your class, give me a call.” He wrote his number on a scrap piece of paper. “You know I’ll handle him,” Connor winked. He left soon after. 

“Ew,” Bitsy laughed, “Did he just hit on you?”

Too stunned to speak, Alice blinked slowly. “Yes, I believe he did. Now excuse me while I throw this away.” She crumpled the scrap paper.

Stretching his back and rolling his neck, Laszlo settled into the plush leather armchair. He thought he would have time to cook dinner for once, but a mild emergency at the Institute prevented him from leaving on time. Stevie said he understood on the phone and didn’t mind, but his tone dropped when Laszlo said he would have to pick something up. Guilt weighed in his chest for canceling, as Stevie would often assist him in the kitchen cutting and dicing whatever he needed, but he knew if he left he would have felt worse. 

And, if Stevie’s disappointment wasn’t enough, the responses from his teachers were less than positive. Some provided vague answers, while others outright dismissed and disrespected him. He scrolled through his inbox, deleting unimportant emails on instinct when he spotted something significant.

Ms. Greene responded to his email in the afternoon. He double-clicked on the email and leaned forward. Her answer was polite, helpful, and genuinely kind. Of course, that was his impression of her at the open house. She seemed the most receptive to him and Stevie as if she was genuinely excited to have him in her class. Laszlo remembered her enthusiasm. 

She said she would be “happy to help” since the parents and the teachers form a team to help the student succeed. Laszlo smiled at that. He remembered saying the same thing to parents at the Institute. It was nice to see someone agree with him. She went on to say she overheard unkind comments regarding Stevie’s background in the teacher’s lounge, and she is sorry if his teachers are holding his past against him. Ms. Greene wanted him to know she understands Stevie is in the process of turning over a new leaf, and he needs all the positive encouragement and support he can get. Laszlo felt relieved that at least one of Stevie’s teachers understood. He spent many late nights worrying about Stevie’s well-being and adapting to high school, and one sympathetic teacher could make all the difference. 

At the end, she left a note for him. 

If you find yourself so tempted to read alongside us, please let me know what you think. I would love to know your insights.

His heart skipped a beat, and if he thought about it for a moment he could rationalize why. But Laszlo did not want to think of that. He did not have time for feelings or doubt. Instead, he started drafting a response so he could call it a night. Laszlo was willing to bet who spoke in the teacher’s lounge, but he was not the gambling type. That was for John, or even Stevie when he didn’t think he would be caught. 

I am disheartened someone would speak of a child that way, but I confess I suspected something like this may occur. I hoped it would be later in the year when his teachers formed impressions and ideas of him without this knowledge, but it seems that is not to be. I can imagine the thoughts that may have run through your head, and I appreciate you for maintaining an open mind. Thank you for letting me know. I truly appreciate it. 

Laszlo stared at the email. Something did not feel right to him, but he did not have the energy to fix it either. Instead, he saved the message as a draft and told himself he would return to it in the morning. Laszlo shut down his laptop and turned out his desk light, leaving his office until tomorrow evening. 

He changed out of his slacks and button-up shirt, telling himself he would do laundry soon. Stevie offered to wash their clothes at the same time, but he did not pay enough attention to the water temperature and settings as Laszlo liked. It was well-intentioned but unpreferred. Perhaps he could make up for the dinner incident with Stevie on the weekend. He could pick something that would take time to cook, such as soup or braised meat, and Stevie could assist him with the prep work.

A cheesy cooking competition show played on the television, but neither woman sitting on the couch paid any attention to it. They scrolled on their phones, sending each other posts, and sipped their wine glasses.

“I’m thinking of doing a face mask,” Alice decided.

Bitsy didn’t bother to look up from her phone. The two friends were comfortable and familiar enough with each other that half their conversations passed without ever making eye contact. “Which one?”

“Maybe the lavender? It’s supposed to reduce stress, and we know I need that,” she laughed. “Plus I love the smell.”

“True true. If you’re getting one out, can you grab me one?” 

“Of course.”

While up, Alicce also refilled their wine glasses and the snack bowl of chips. She knew Bitsy’s apartment like the back of her hand. Alfred, Bitsy’s adorable gray cat, made his presence known, and Bitsy called to him. He was shyer than Georgie but warmed up to Alice after several years of friendship. 

She sat back down on the couch, and her fingers hesitated over her phone. One of the contestants was from Germany, and his accent reminded her of Dr. Kreizler. Alice glanced at Bitsy, and she was distracted by her own phone. Still feeling suspicious, she typed his name into the university staff directory search bar. 

There was a small, professional photo next to his name. Light blue to gray background, and he wore a black suit jacket. He did not smile, and his piercing eyes gave him a hawkish appearance. Alice did not realize how much a smile changed his mien until she noted its absence.

He completed a doctoral degree in psychology at Harvard. Laszlo published numerous academic papers regarding criminal psychology before shifting his focus to child psychology. He taught introductory psychology to undergraduates, and criminal psychology courses to graduate students. 

Bitsy glanced up from her phone to ask about changing the channel and found Alice engrossed in her phone. She was practically hunched over, not quite scrolling, with her thumb hovering over the bottom of her screen. 

“Whatcha doin?” 

Alice was so startled she dropped her phone in her lap. Her phone lay screen up showing Dr. Kreizler’s university picture. Bitsy looked from the phone, to Alice, and back to the phone. 

“Listen, I-” Alice blushed. 

“-I’m not here to judge,” Bitsy assured her. “I’m here to guide you, my padawan.” 

Alice giggled, embarrassed and relieved. She could always count on Bitsy.

Bitsy took another sip of her wine and petted Alfred as he sashayed by the couch. “If you’re going to internet stalk him, you need to do it right. First, if you’re looking at his university bio, then you should also check his Rate My Professor. Get the balance of his professional work and what his students think of him.”

“You’re a genius.” Alice picked up her phone and started typing in the website. “I never would’ve thought of that.”

“Read my ass off, came to all office hours, still barely got a D in his 100 level”

“Horrible with freshmen, amazing with grad students. If you can’t survive his intro, drop the course.”

“He psychoanalyzed me in front of the entire class on the first day. I dropped the course.”

“Helped me with my thesis, but horribly blunt and rude the entire time.”

“Fuck this guy.”

“Great depth of knowledge that he may use against you.”

“Oh.” Alice kept scrolling, but Bitsy held out her hand. Alice surrendered the phone and stretched against the armrest. 

“Ouch,” Bitsy grimaced. “A few positive, some neutral, and a whole lot of negative.”

“But I feel like most people who leave a review are people who had a bad experience.” Bitsy looked at her skeptically, one eyebrow raised in judgment. “Like if you have an okay or even a great time, you don’t think to say anything. At least I never did. But if you hate it, you’re going to shout it from the rooftops.”

Bitsy couldn’t resist teasing her. “Sounds like you’re defending your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she protested with a playful kick. “He probably doesn’t like me like that, and if he did, it’s got to be some kind of breach of ethics. I’m teaching his kid.”

“That could be a conflict of interest,” Bitsy admitted, “or it could be a happy coincidence to bring you together.” Alice snorted and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t he bring you coffee this week? What was it, Wednesday afternoon?”

“No, it was Tuesday. He came to pick up Stevie, and he wanted to have a quick conversation with each of Stevie’s teachers regarding his recent emails.”

“Uh huh, I remember. He spoke briefly with me, too, and I certainly didn’t receive coffe.”

“He’s just polite like that, I suppose.” Alice knew it was a feeble defense as soon as she said it. 

“Does this,” Bitsy pointed to his Rate My Professor score, “seem like the kind of guy who commits random acts of kindness?” She waited for Alice’s response with eyebrows raised in certainty. 

“Maybe?”Alice’s voice inflection revealed the truth.

“Yeah, he’s into you, babe. I think you should go for it, and get some of that German sausage while you’re at it.” 

Alice giggle snorted again, shocked but not surprised at Bitsy’s humor. As much as Bitsy insisted, Alice did not believe Dr. Kreizler was interested in her. There could be a dozen reasons for the coffee and smile, reserved for her. A dozen reasons not to get her hopes up. To wear her heart close to her chest. To keep her head screwed on her shoulders. A dozen reasons…

Next chapter

taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues.... 

Word Count: 15327 

Chapter Warnings:  Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips 

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice. 

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier. 

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.”  Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now. 

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?” 

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders. 

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario. 

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party. 

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.  

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security. 

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin. 

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves. 

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL. 

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job. 

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments. 

“Dex isn’t skimping though.” 

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party… 

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up. 

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her. 

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!” 

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true. 

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.” 

“Yet somehow you always do.” 

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off,  tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore.  Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all. 

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly. 

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” 

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.” 

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.” 

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!” 

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest. 

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.” 

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts. 

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later. 

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.” 

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens. 

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.” 

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly. 

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!” 

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner’s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal. 

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms. 

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel.  The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi. 

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “ 

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start. 

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.” 

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk. 

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot. 

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold. 

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner. 

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind. 

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over,  “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.” 

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk. 

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them.  And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same. 

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod. 

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream. 

“That, uh,  won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.” 

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.” 

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door. 

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~” 

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling. 

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps. 

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat. 

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him. 

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way. 

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words. 

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.” 

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.” 

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen. 

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes. 

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict. 

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!” 

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light. 

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?” 

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.” 

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that? 

“What?” 

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.” 

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it. 

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.” 

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin. 

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?” 

“Bourbon and cherry coke.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her. 

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops  at her floor. 

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him. 

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door. 

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch. 

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.” 

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened. 

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.” 

“Sounds simple enough…” 

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her. 

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.” 

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible. 

“Found it.” 

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue. 

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda.  Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?”  She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head. 

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.” 

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?” 

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera. 

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City. 

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room.  Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection, 

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room. 

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent. 

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.” 

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path. 

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu. 

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.” 

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft. 

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them. 

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away. 

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.” 

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.” 

“Go for it.” 

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him. 

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.” 

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.” 

“Got’cha” 

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.” 

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats. 

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.” 

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out. 

“Our friend’s inside.” 

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.” 

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all. 

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?” 

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.” 

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once. 

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.” 

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing. 

“Bug?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.” 

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.” 

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it. 

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?” 

“Lapis lazuli, why?” 

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.” 

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.” 

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?” 

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?” 

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.” 

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.” 

“That how it was with you and Misty?” 

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.” 

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.” 

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.” 

“So you say.” 

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.” 

“I’m gonna pay him.” 

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?” 

“I… gave him a hug…” 

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!” 

“I may have only used one arm.” 

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….” 

“Flathead wear you out that bad?” 

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help. 

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”  

“Yeah..maybe…” 

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in. 

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed.  Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious. 

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy. 

“Who?” 

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!” 

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again.  But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved. 

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.” 

“So then why’d he come back.” 

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark. 

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?” 

“Maybe…” 

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all… 

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!” 

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden. 

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence,  “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button. 

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?” 

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator. 

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.” 

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end. 

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead. 

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room. 

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka? 

“Hey, Jackie, look!” 

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.” 

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?” 

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?” 

“Maybe?”  She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth. 

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers. 

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it. 

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him. 

“What now, Bug?” 

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.” 

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues. 

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there. 

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop. 

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind. 

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…” 

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong. 

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked. 

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!” 

“Almost got it… Done!”  The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out. 

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”  

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it. 

“Relic intact?” 

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case. 

“Good,  let’s delta.” 

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch. 

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin. 

“That pillar- try that!” 

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway. 

“No! Inside it! Now!” 

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath. 

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?” 

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than  any part of V. 

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her,  Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there. 

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands  as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?” 

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.” 

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach. 

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her. 

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm. 

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud. 

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds. 

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity. 

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.” 

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka. 

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….” 

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit. 

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English. 

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them. 

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader. 

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp. 

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-” 

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet. 

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad. 

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.” 

“Yorinobu.” 

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room.  He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this. 

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit. 

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred. 

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.” 

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg. 

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.” 

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful. 

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.” 

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again. 

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.” 

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him. 

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse. 

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?” 

“Seems so.” 

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck. 

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.” 

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened? 

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out. 

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him. 

“What?” 

“His own fuckin’ pops.” 

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can’t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything. 

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…” 

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out. 

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong. 

“Bug!?” 

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “ 

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place. 

Bug is gone, just gone… 

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now… 

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay. 

And nothing. 

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!” 

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?” 

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder. 

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet. 

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them. 

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.” 

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them. 

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out. 

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them. 

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand. 

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up. 

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter. 

“Just a bit more, I can do this!” 

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t. 

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself. 

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again. 

“Violators found.” 

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world.  Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind. 

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work. 

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet. 

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained. 

“Jackie, you’re hurt!” 

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?” 

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts. 

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!” 

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger. 

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!” 

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?” 

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!” 

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain. 

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.” 

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears. 

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones. 

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out. 

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one. 

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next. 

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door. 

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but.. 

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.  

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse. 

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards. 

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath. 

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes. 

“One more fucker dead!” 

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired. 

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut. 

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble. 

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head. 

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol. 

“Fuck!” 

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger. 

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor. 

“Orale! Got to plough through them!” 

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again,  Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor,  and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie. 

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room. 

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator. 

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did. 

“Hah-��� agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be. 

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him. 

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.” 

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter.  Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard. 

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.  

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall. 

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp. 

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open. 

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night. 

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her.  The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!” 

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?” 

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right. 

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!” 

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car. 

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards. 

 “Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it. 

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear. 

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a  BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone. 

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him. 

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!” 

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no. 

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!” 

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body. 

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!” 

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…” 

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please.  She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.” 

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks. 

“Mija...  you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…” 

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.” 

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?” 

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her. 

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together. 

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart. 

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come. 

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right. 

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving. 

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her. 

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief. 

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words. 

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…  

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams… 

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then  another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka. 

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks. 

No response. 

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder. 

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away. 

“He waiting.” 

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips… 

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?” 

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port. 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!” 

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.” 

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it. 

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life… 

And how’d she repay him? 

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

If….if… if… 

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him… 

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s  fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter. 

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full. 

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him. 

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie. 

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen  from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here. 

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here. 

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here. 

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles. 

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood.  She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel. 

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.” 

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat. 

Then she’s gone. 

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 10: Epilogue

by @dracusfyre

"I feel like you're going to try to sell me a time share," Bucky said, studying the bland conference room Tony had reserved. It looked like probably every other conference room Bucky had ever been, as if they were all ordered out of the same catalogue; beige walls, carpeted floor that had the feeling of being beige while actually having flecks of red and blue in it, and the tables and chairs with wheels on them so they could be moved easily. Tony had even pulled down a screen and to all appearances, was setting up for a powerpoint presentation. 

"It's all about presentation, Mr. Barnes," Tony said. He picked up a clicker and a red dot appeared on Bucky's chest, then started moving around in what Bucky eventually recognized as a heart shape. "Gotta know your audience and what they'll respond to. Too fancy, and they'll be scared off. Not fancy enough, and they'll feel like they're being scammed. A hotel conference room fits neatly inside that middle ground."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," Bucky said. He glanced at the clock, saw that they had a few minute before people were supposed to arrive and dipped his head for a quick kiss. 

"Well, yeah," Tony started, but then there was a knock on the door. Tony opened it to see that part of the security detail started bringing in the refreshments for the meeting, coffee and donuts and croissants and other breakfast-style food that people would probably pick at and leave mostly untouched. "Natasha helped," he continued, poking at the refreshments table and rearranging everything slightly. "She's better at that side of things, the headology, as she calls it."

"I can see that." Bucky watched Tony putter. Looked like Tony was nervous, which was kind of adorable. "So you can't even give me a sneak peak at what you're talking about today?"

Tony shook his head. "For right now, you're a potential investor, not my lover."

"Ok, ok," Bucky said. He realized he was following Tony around as he puttered aimlessly and made himself stop. "So I got to see KT today. Brought him his laptop so he could start catching up on homework."

That made Tony stop rearranging the plates and napkins and turn to Bucky with a smile. "Good! So that mean's he is doing well?" 

"Yep. Should be out of there soon. Any update on Rumlow?"

Tony's smile turned evil. "From what I hear, he's had a run of bad luck lately, such a shame. He lost his service pistol, which, you know, big no no. And did you know someone stole his patrol car, spray painted it, and left something unmentionable smeared on the seats?  Then did the same with his personal car, which was found laying upside down in front of his apartment building?"

With a force of effort Bucky kept his face blank. "Strange."

"Very strange," Tony agreed. "Insurance didn't even pay out, mysteriously enough. Apparently they had dropped his coverage the day before and he hadn't gotten the notice yet."

"Crime in this city is getting really out of hand," Bucky said seriously. "He's lucky it wasn't something worse."

"Oh it will be, give it time."

There was that smug look again that Bucky loved, and he started to sneak another kiss when there was another knock. This time the security guard was escorting people inside, a middle-aged Black couple that looked around cautiously, like they were expecting the conference room to contain something nefarious. Bucky straightened immediately, trying to look professional, and smiled at them as Tony welcomed them inside, calling them by name and offering them a warm handshake. There was a steady stream after that, until the conference room was about half full. 

"Hello everyone, let's get started," Tony said, taking a head count and looking at the clock. "All of you are here because you either were recommended by a friend or a family, or I sent you a personal invitation. Thank you for being willing to join me today for this presentation, and please save your questions for the end. As you all know, my name is Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, and in this presentation I'm going to ask you for money." Tony grinned as almost everyone laughed. "Then I'm going to tell you what you're going to get for your money, and then I'm going to explain how you're not even going to notice that your money is gone." 

As interested as Bucky was in the presentation, he kept getting distracted by watching Tony effortlessly charm the room, making eye contact with each person and joking just enough to keep people interested without derailing his speech. It was a warmer, more authentic show than what Bucky had seen at the Policeman's Ball and it made Bucky's heart turn over with affection as he watched. KT had been right when he said that the buy-in speech could make you a believer; not just in the astonishing amount of benefits that Tony offered to people who agreed to the buy-in, but because Tony's enthusiasm for the project was contagious. 

"So why do you need our money?" One guy interrupted. "If you've got so much of it?"

"Good question," Tony said. He leaned against one of the tables, putting his hands in his pocket and crossing his legs at the ankle. "Yeah, the majority of the start-up money came from me. Since this organization is technically a nonprofit, I get to write it all off of my taxes, the way rich people often do. But I ask for your money because if I paid for all of it, then it would belong to me, wouldn't it? The whole point of this enterprise is to build ownership and equity in the community. You own the health clinic and the child care centers, the retirement homes and the apartment complexes. Not only does it mean you get to decide what to do with them, but it means that you start having a place at the same table that all of the billionaire developers and well-connected real estate moguls do."

"But the stuff about the taxes and stuff, where we just hand it all to you, that's tax fraud, isn't it? Which is illegal?"

"Well, yes, in a way," Tony said honestly. "You avoid paying taxes the same way rich people avoid paying taxes, by finding loopholes in the tax code and driving semi-trucks through them. But also, I'm the criminal, not you. If we get caught, I'm the big bad con artist that scammed honest folks like you out of your hard earned savings. There will be a class action lawsuit after the criminal proceedings, my lawyer will fight hard but not too hard to defend my assets, then they will eventually get divided up among all my victims in the kind of feel-good, good guys win story that is made for Hallmark TV. In the mean time, my job is to help the community fund the type of social welfare projects that the government should be doing but isn't, by taking from people who don't deserve it and giving it to the people that do. Which the government should also be doing but isn't."  

"So this is like, socialism," a young woman said in accented English. "Instead of paying the government taxes, we give that money to you, and you like, do all this stuff with it."

"Pretty much. Grassroots socialism with a capitalist veneer. I like to think of it as stone soup, from the kid's story."

"But why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Tony said, like it was obvious. Bucky hid his smile in his hand and hoped he didn't look too besotted; he'd sat all the way in the back for a reason. "I don't know else to say it. Why should I have so much when others have so little? I give a lot it away, because there really are so many problems that can be solved by throwing money at them, but some can't. Some need systemic change, which means empowering people, which is what I'm trying to do. That's why it's a buy-in, and not a handout." There was still some obvious reluctance among the group, and Tony's smile turned a little sad. "Look, I get it. You are used to people promising a lot and not delivering. And you think this sounds way too good to be true, right?" No one really answered, but the way they kind of avoided Tony's eyes said a lot. "Let me tell you a story.

"So I've been donating regularly to the free clinic on 17th for a while now. A few years ago, there was a kid volunteering there because he wanted to go to medical school. But he was in a shit position - his parents made too much money to qualify for the grants and needs-based scholarships, but not enough to actually afford tuition or even qualify for good student loans. So the doctor in charge of the clinic emailed me and told me to do something useful with all of the blood money I was getting from Stark Industries, and so I did. I paid for his entire education, and he came back and is currently the head physician at the rehab clinic. So if you want there to be a catch, if you need there to be a catch so that you can believe what I'm telling you, then that's the catch - you have to try to give back at least as much as you were given."

There was a long, thoughtful silence after that, and Tony wisely let it sit for a while instead of trying to fill it with words. "You don't have to answer now," he said after a few moments. "The forms that you would need to fill out for the buy-in are right here," he added, tapping a stack of papers next to him. "Take one with you, and think about it. Any last questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," the young woman said. "I heard you stole Jeff Bezos' car, is that true?"

-------------

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, come find me over at @marveltrumpshate​ where I will be participating in auctioning off TWO fanfics! One auction is a fic with art (with @massivespacewren) as WrenFyre and the other is a solo fic as Dracusfyre. All the money goes to a good cause of your choosing, so I hope to see you there!

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 8: Regret

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3500

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Thirty one hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Shall we even pretend there is a posting schedule at this point? Oh well, another chapter has arrived. This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake popped his headphones in, trying not to wake up Bridget as he pulled open a video on his new phone. He was also supposed to be sleeping, at least theoretically. It’s why Riley had gone into the bathroom a couple of hours ago - so that he could turn off the lights and it would be relatively quiet. If he slept now, after all, he would be able to drive through the night. But he’d been wide awake for the past three hours, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure if attempting to sleep was worth it. So he just laid in the dark, his daughter sleeping peacefully next to him. Thank god she wasn’t doing that whole sleep reversal thing she’d been doing last month, where she’d been waking up maybe a dozen times over night. Her being a good sleeper was maybe the one saving grace here.

Today had just been stomach churning since he’d left to go track down a car and supplies. He hadn’t known whether to be grateful or freaked out when he’d returned to the hotel this afternoon, and Riley had a list of things they needed to do typed up on her phone. While he was glad she no longer seemed like she was about to sink into a pit of panic, seeing her planning with this much intensity was just… strange. He couldn’t think of a time she had ever made such a detailed list. She always just adapted to the situation at hand. She never tried to shape the situation herself.

But between what she’d found in her “fugitive research,” and what Hana had told them when she called after the hearing, they were starting to come up with a plan. Hana had told them that Rashad was going to be sworn in as regent tomorrow and that Olivia was technically “investigating” their location at the moment. That as soon as Rashad took on the powers of king-regent, Olivia was going to disclose that Bertrand and Maxwell hadn’t “found” them at Lythikos, so she’d sent Hana to “check” that they hadn’t returned to Valtoria, but that she hadn’t found them there either. They were all repeatedly calling their old phone numbers as well, hoping to make the story believable when Rashad undoubtedly opened an investigation into their disappearance with Bridget.

But all this meant that arrest warrants could be issued as soon as tomorrow morning. The hearing wouldn’t take long, and no one was sure if Rashad would see things as a sign of an attack on all three of them, or if he would correctly deduce that they had made a run for it and willingly left the country with Bridget. Either way, their financial and phone records were likely to be subject to review. And that meant they needed to not be anywhere near Ioannina by the time of the hearing.

The issue was, they wanted to withdraw more cash before the investigation froze their accounts. This meant using the same ATM they’d been using one more time, at 12:01 am when it was a new day and they could withdraw their daily max again without giving anyone a new location to investigate. Then, it would be time to get in the newly-purchased hatchback and drive on to Xanthi, the city they’d chosen as their next stop. Small enough that no one would predict it as their destination, big enough that Riley, a woman of East Asian heritage who only spoke English with a still-persistent New York accent wouldn’t be immediately noticeable. Drake liked that it was past Thessaloniki as well. No one would guess they drove hours further into Greece than a city with an American consulate.

So, in preparation for that drive, Drake needed to be sleeping. Even after several years out of Manhattan, Riley still hated driving, and in all honesty, the thought of her behind the wheel in a country where she couldn’t read the road signs was not reassuring to Drake in the slightest. He wanted to be the one solely responsible for the driving. But that meant he should be napping now. But how was he supposed to sleep at a time like this?

In the past day or so, he’d gone from a very stable existence to literally plotting how to hide out from law enforcement. He’d embezzled money and bribed a used car salesman to look the other way and not require him to register the car for official Greek or Cordonian papers. He’d left the only home he’d ever known, not knowing if he’d ever get to go back. How could anyone sleep after a day like that?

So instead of sleeping, he was watching news coverage of Liam’s speech that he’d given only a few hours earlier. Speculation was rampant as to both why the vote of no confidence was called and as to who the acting regent would be. Who his daughter’s regent would be. Because for the past few hours, the 10 month old sleeping on the mattress next to him had technically been the Queen-Regent of Cordonia.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that going forward, Bridget would be listed as Queen-Regent Bridget in history books, her rule starting today. Liam’s request had kind of always seemed like simple bookkeeping before. Although Liam told the press that Bridget would remain next in line for the throne even if he had children of his own, Drake had always kind of assumed they would readdress the whole situation when Liam actually got married. It had seemed highly likely to him that Bridget would end up just being a temporary placeholder, someone needed to convey stability of the Crown until Liam had a kid or two of his own. And even if she had remained next in line for the throne, Drake never really thought he’d see her take on the title. She was only supposed to rise to that position after Liam’s death.

It was probably something he should have put more thought into, to be honest. But he hadn’t, at least not anywhere near enough. And now there was no great way to undo it. She was the queen-regent now. Abdication for her, as a minor with the title, would be a nightmare at this point. Even if her title was just through the Conclave, the steps that they would have to take to change things now, the support they would need from the assholes who just voted against them and Liam, well… Drake wasn’t counting on that happening any time soon.

He opened up the CBC app to watch another site’s coverage of Liam’s speech, but his phone started buzzing in his hand. The number flashing across the screen had a Cordonian country code, but it wasn’t Olivia or Hana’s burner numbers, which they’d already added to their contact list. This had to be either Liam or Maxwell on a new number. Taking a deep breath, he popped out the headphones and swiped to accept the call.

“Hello?”

There was a brief pause before Liam’s voice came through the speaker. “Hello, Drake.”

Drake didn’t know what to say. It was his turn to speak, but what do you say to someone you’ve known almost your entire life when they lost everything? When you’d let them down? After too many seconds, he finally managed, “So, you… uh, got our new numbers?”

“Yes. Hana and Olivia provided me with them.”

“Right. Well… good. You, uh… you should have our numbers.” Drake ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t be more awkward about this if he tried.

“Indeed,” said Liam, after a beat, “So, how are you all doing?”

“We’re okay, I guess. How are you?”

The pause was longer this time. “It’s been a long couple of days, Drake.”

The weight of that sentence settled over Drake, the guilt he already carried multiplying in that moment. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”

All Liam gave in response was a little hum of acknowledgement, so Drake kept speaking, trying to find some words that would make this better, that would make Liam see how sorry he was.

“We just couldn’t wait around, you know? We didn’t know how things were going to go down, and when Barthelemy started talking about taking Bridget, we couldn’t just risk that, and so we had to do something, right? And I know this leaves you in a tricky spot, but you’ve gotta know, I wish… I don’t know, that we weren’t doing this to you, I guess? But… it’s just fucked up all around, isn’t it?” Drake knew he was rambling, that he'd basically spewed out a whole bunch of garbage, but he just didn’t know what else to do.

“What do you want me to say, Drake? You’re right; the decisions you and Riley made have made things much more complicated for me. Are you looking for me to say that I don’t blame you? That I support this course of action?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Drake asked. He could hear his voice raising slightly, and he glanced down, checking that he hadn’t woken Bridget, but she was still passed out.

“I told you back when you were trying to have a child that if it ever became too much, to inform me, and we would reserve the proclamation.”

“Are you really trying to tell me that in the middle of everything that was happening yesterday, it would have been a good time to pull you aside and ask to undo all that shit?”

Liam let out a sigh before he answered, “It seems like that would have been preferable to you deciding to commit treason.”

Drake slammed his eyes shut, trying to keep his temper in check. Liam was already dealing with a lot, and he didn’t want to make things worse, but his words were so frustrating right now. “We didn’t even know if you would have the power to undo any of it after that vote.”

“You could have at least waited until we knew the results of that initial hearing. At that point-”

“What if the justice had decided you had no power last night instead of today?” Drake interrupted. He saw Riley coming out of the bathroom and back into their room. She obviously must have heard him on the phone. He just shook his head, trying to reassure her as he kept talking to Liam. “That’s a big fucking gamble to ask of us, Liam.”

“Fine, then some middle-ground or compromise still would have probably been better. You have to know how ill-conceived this scheme you’ve agreed to is, Drake.”

“What would you suggest, then? Sitting around, just waiting to see if we got to keep our kid?”

“Of course not. But if you get arrested and extradited back here, you will absolutely lose custody of your daughter. I would urge you to consider that fact. Additionally, Rashad is not going to be interested in becoming some sort of surrogate parent to Bridget over the next few months.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That the man you have lined up as my kid’s regent has no interest in caring for her?” Riley mouthed “What?” at him from across the room, but Drake just waved his hand and shook his head again. He’d have to fill her in later.

“My point, Drake, is that Rashad would likely be very amenable to you and Riley staying with Bridget in the role as her caretakers and-”

“Stop. I’m not going to listen to that shit, okay? You know that’s not the same. You fucking know it, Liam.”

There was a rough sigh before Liam spoke again. “Fair enough. But you have to understand that you have put me in an awful position. And I’m just trying to find a way to minimize the damage caused by your selfishness here.”

“How is looking out for my wife and kid selfish?” Bridget squirmed slightly next to him as his voice climbed louder yet again. Riley must have noticed, because she scurried over and tucked her against her chest, muttering soothing words against the top of her head, trying to keep her from waking up.

“Did you think about how fleeing the country would impact anyone? Your citizens in Valtoria who no longer have a regional leader? The people of Cordonia who no longer have an heir to the throne? Your friends who have advocated for you and your family time and time again? No. You just left. You only thought of yourselves. That is the dictionary definition of selfish, Drake.”

“I’m sorry, but my family comes first. This isn’t fucking up for debate.”

“Well, some of us don’t have that luxury.”

Both Drake and Liam were silent for several seconds. Drake took a shaky breath, trying to get his emotions back under control. “Liam. I’m sorry. I really am. I never wanted to do this to you, and I know you are left cleaning up the pieces here, but I am not going to come back just for Bridget to get trapped inside the country and possibly taken from us.”

“Drake, don’t be so-”

“She’s queen-regent now, so no way we don’t get stopped at the border if we came back and tried to leave again, right? In fact, I bet we wouldn’t be allowed outside the palace with her, and that’s if we’re allowed to be alone with her at all-”

“Now you’re just being dramatic-”

“Am I? Because to me, it feels like you want me to come back and hang my hat on the hopes that Rashad needs a couple of nannies. I get the risks we are taking here. But at least we have a shot of staying together as a family this way.”

“Look, I understand that this is upsetting and frustrating. I’m upset and frustrated, too. All I want is to try and create a united front here. If we are fractured and divided, it is worse for everyone in the long run. We all want what’s best for Bridget.”

“You aren’t part of any ‘we’ here. She’s not your kid. You don’t get a say.”

The silence on the other end of the line was awful. Riley climbed onto the bed and leaned up against the headboard. One arm still held Bridget tight to her chest, but her free hand snaked behind him and rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades. It just did little to calm him. He didn’t know if more of his anger was directed at Liam, for presuming he had any say here, or at himself, for getting defensive when he was the one who had hurt Liam and put him in this position.

“I have never interfered in any parenting decisions you or Riley have made with regards to Bridget. In fact, I have given you both an unprecedented amount of freedom and control, knowing that it was an unusual situation. But it seems to me like we have nothing further to say to each other at the moment. You are unwilling to discuss the bigger picture here.”

“Liam, don’t-” Drake started, but Liam just kept talking.

“I understand why you’ve taken this course of action. But it is apparent that your priorities are only your daughter, whereas I need to focus on Cordonia as a whole. So, I think at this point we both need to just devote ourselves to those tasks and not worry about each other.”

It was a dismissal. A line in the sand. Whatever inner circle Liam had, Drake was no longer a part of it. He let out a sigh and swallowed roughly. “I am sorry, Liam. I just don’t know what you expect me to do here.”

“I don’t expect anything of you, Drake. You should just do what you feel is best for your family, and I will do what’s needed for our country.”

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be this way. I still want to help-”

“No offense, but a couple of fugitives are not likely to be a great resource to me at this point. This isn’t a punishment, Drake; it’s just the reality. We’ve both made the choices we needed to make, and now we both need to deal with the consequences. I need to remain focused on campaigning to regain my title, and I’m not going to have the time or energy to devote to aiding your run.”

“I’m not asking for your help, dammit. I just want-”

“What do you want, Drake? You don’t get to have this both ways.”

“I want… I want us still to be friends.”

He heard a heavy sigh before Liam spoke again. “Of course we are still friends, Drake. We just are headed in separate directions at this time, it would seem. You now have this number, though. You can reach me if you need to, and I will do the same.”

“Liam, I-”

“I wish you and your family the best; I really do. And if you change your mind, you can come find us in Lythikos.”

Drake closed his eyes. There was no salvaging this. Liam was boxing him out and closing the door. He was pretty sure having Liam screaming at him would have stung less. “Alright, I get it. Good luck with everything, okay?”

“Same to you. I really hope you don’t regret your decisions here and that you all can remain safe.” And with that, Liam ended the call.

Drake placed his phone on the bed and leaned forward, dropping his head into both of his hands. He swallowed several times, trying to break up the lump in his throat. He was very aware that although Riley seemed to be in a better spot than she was the day before, watching him cry over Liam was not going to instill much confidence. No need to make things more unsettled.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and sat back up. Riley was staring at him, head cocked and eyes full of worry. He just shrugged and shook his head. There wasn’t much to say, really.

“Here,” Riley said, shifting forward and passing Bridget to him.

“I don’t want to wake her,” he muttered, but Riley continued, sliding Bridget into his arms before leaning against his shoulder, her hand slipping along his neck and her fingers threading through his hair.

“She’ll fall asleep in the car,” she said. Drake watched as his daughter blinked up at him, her face scrunched up like she was going to start screaming, but she relaxed and started to drift back to sleep when he pulled her against his chest and tucked his head on top of hers.

He just held her for maybe a minute, not saying anything. Riley was quiet as well, her fingers continuing to trace little patterns across the base of his scalp. Eventually, she tilted her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you want to talk about it or not?”

“No,” he breathed out, “not… not now.”

He felt her nodding, and her other hand settled on his knee. “Okay. Thank you, by the way.”

“Walker, it’s-”

“You don’t need to say it’s nothing. And I know you don’t want to talk about it now. So just… thank you.”

Neither of them said anything for a long while. They just sat there, trying to brace themselves for the reality of the next 24 hours. They would officially be under investigation and likely be charged with kidnapping of the queen-regent. This was the point of no return, far more than any decisions they’d made up until this point.

Oddly enough, Drake felt more confident in their plan than he had even before. As upsetting as his talk with Liam was, it had somehow helped him see why Riley was so reluctant to rely on anyone outside their family. Something about hearing Liam discuss the risks they would be facing in Cordonia as if they were nothing. As if living under the same roof as Bridget should be enough. As if they had time to wait for things to unfold. Well, it made it very clear that they saw what could be compromised and what couldn’t very differently.  

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but eventually Riley sat up next to him. “Did you get any sleep at all?” she asked as he turned his head to look at her.

“No, not really.”

“Well, we better get going then so we can get some coffee before we hit the road.” And with that she slid off the bed and started gathering their few bags of belongings.

She was right. It was time to move on. So he gently clicked Bridget into her new car seat and did one last scan of the room, making sure they weren’t leaving anything they needed behind.

“You ready?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, Riley. Let’s go.”

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr​

[castielsangelsx]

Lion and the Lamb (Ivar x Christian!Reader) Part 4/20

Summary: in an attempt to get closer to Ivar, all fails. You take it upon yourself to get to know your people instead, and discover that your talents prove much more useful then you thought. proving to Ivar that your skills come with a price.

(sorry this is late guys! enjoy the spam of the two chapters!) 

lion and the lamb masterlist

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Only an hour prior, I had been with Ama, her hands were wrapped in the tendrils of my h/c hair. Braiding it to mimic Viking ways, the way I had seen many shieldmaidens wear it. I admit it looked good, something I was not used to.

Now I lay beside Ivar, the calm night greeted us in our bed with my hair braided a mess as a result of my twisting and turning. I'd hoped it'd fill the awkward silence between us, hoping he'd compliment my hair. To only get a glance before he completely disregarded me afterward was not what I had expected.

Our backs were turned to one another, the crackling of the fire filled the silence between us. It was recurring; the last two nights after our uneventful wedding night, it had been the same. Ivar had come to our shared chambers through the middle of the night. The crutch was propped in the same spot at the end of the fur-covered bed. Ivar lay as far as possible from me, I didn't mind though at the start.

However, after the endless crying I had done on the first few nights, he would leave me alone, but now he disregarded me. I never thought my marriage would be like this, I was glad he was not cruel, especially after that paint incident. I decided to keep my mouth shut, though, glad I was at least beginning to be treated better than the start. Letting out a soft sigh in content and boredom, Ivar huffs next to me.

"You're annoying me, Christian. Stop moving." His voice is husky and thick with an accent.

"I'm sorry Ivar, I just cannot sleep." He huffs louder this time, shuffling beside me. I dare not turn around to face him.

"Try harder then." In an attempt to stop moving, it causes me to want to move even more. Grasping at the furs, I pull them over my shoulder up to my neck, basking in the provided warmth.

However, I am cut short by the warmth as the blanket is soon tugged to no longer cover me, leaving me open to Kattegat's cold air.

Turning my head and noticing it wrapped over Ivar, I swallow, and with an annoyed shake of my head, I grasp at the end of the blanket and tug back. Ivar does not hesitate as the quilt is ripped from me again. This blanket-stealing fool.

Tugging at it again, Ivar tugs back almost immediately, I pull back faster. This is war now. We continue for a few moments before he tugs it entirely out of my hands and off the bed.

"Hey!" I turn around sharply to face Ivar.

"Maybe your God can warm you." Ivar's tone was condescending.

"My God does not provide blankets, or heat, for that matter. I thought from your many gods, there was one that provided fire." Ivar snickered at my words, but he remained to clutch the blanket. "May I have some of the blankets, please, Ivar?" He says nothing. Sitting up, I face him, he has his back to me as usual.

"Ivar, may I please have the blanket?" He does nothing, so I sigh and grab at the thinner blanket to the side. I couldn't believe he managed to take the entirety of the duvet off the bed and onto himself and the floor. Vikings were beyond selfish.

Deciding, instead, I would settle with the thinner blanket and ask Ama tomorrow morning for a spare one. Shutting my eyes finally with my legs curled up to keep the warmth, I eventually drift off to sleep.

---

Waking up to the sounds from the bustle of the hall and light coming through the curtained window. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up in place, Ivar was not beside me like usual.

The furs fall off me as I do so, looking at the blanket warily. Hang on a second. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I notice the thinner coverage I had chosen due to Ivar's selfishness was at the end of the bed. The blanket Ivar had stolen was wrapped around me as if it had been like that the entire night. The fabric was neatly tucked underneath my body. Someone had wrapped me up, it couldn't be Ivar, could it?

I mean, would Ivar even be able to do that? Did he ask Ama? Maybe Ama did this. I needed to ask her when I saw her later on in the day. She must have done this, I doubt Ivar would even want me warm.

Taking off the blanket, I get up for the day. I needed to do something today, I need to paint. Counting over the paint and brushes that lay where I had put them last in there state, I knew I had to get out of the hall, so that's what I would do.

----

My marriage was not going to stop me from painting with the paints I had left, so I did.

Carrying the paints tighter to my chest, I needed to find the perfect spot. I knew if I painted in our room, Ivar would surely take the pigments from me, so I decided outside was my best option. Men and women all looked at me, watching as I walked past before returning to their prior tasks.

Scanning my surroundings and wandering throughout Kattegat, I finally found the perfect spot. It was a dull wooden surface that was flat enough for me to detail on. However, looking to the owners of the structure was a small family, all occupied just a few feet from it. Slowly walking closer to the family, I hadn't found any other area to paint. I did not want to paint anywhere near the hall, so maybe if I asked the family, they would let me. I mean, it was worth a shot.

I stepped closer towards the house, noticing a seemingly middle-aged man, a woman and a small girl who tended to a small patch in the ground. Stepping closer, their attention soon switched to me.

To the queen with the cross necklace.

Her eyes watched me narrowly, unsure of my presence. I gulp harshly and step closer to the little girl who tended to the vegetables in the soil. "I mean no harm, I just came to observe." The small girl looks at me curiously as I neared to the side of their house. People were watching, but I didn't care for them. I walk to the back of their hut and run my hand over the smooth wood. It was perfect, all I had to do was ask them now. I was a bit nervous to ask, but maybe I could strike a deal. Kattegat needed some color.

The woman, presumably the mother, came to follow me around her house. Her hands were across her chest, she didn't seem like a shieldmaiden, thankfully. "What do you want?" She says, her tone is not laced with shame or fear towards me. She doesn't respect me as her queen, and that's fair. Hopefully, I could change her mind.

"I-uhh, I am not here to harm you or ask anything of you. I just- as you can see, I like to paint," referring to the paints in my hand." I need a canvas to paint on, and your house is perfect for it. I know this is a weird ask from me, but I would love to paint something for you as generosity." She furrows her eyebrows at me, and her husband soon joins her side with the little girl who peaks around the corner.

"We do not want your generosity, Christian." The man's words are tainted with pure hatred, and I gulp nervously.

"I am sorry, I see I have crossed the line, have a nice day," I say, clutching the paints even further to my chest. The man walks off back to the front of the house, the woman looks me over for a second before returning to her family. The little girl smiles at me, and I smile back, but she soon is sent back to her task.

Standing awkwardly and very embarrassed, I decided that my best option is to find some parchment or even some wood. I had painted on many walls in England; my room was littered in small drawings and paintings. Oh, how I miss home.

Taking a little walk around the home, I notice the immense amount of discarded items laying about. Piles of timber even lines of cloth lay aimlessly throughout the street. Picking a flatter bit of lighter colored bark from underneath a pile of wood. Using my free hand, I pick it up with my fingers, studying the bark for bugs or dirt. It seems rigged in some places, but it was a decent size to paint on.

This was perfect. The family's home was situated on solid ground rather than dirt or gravel, so I sat to the side of their house on a small tree stump. The repetition of houses along the street all cornered me in, but I found the spot was perfect. As the surrounding area was merely littered with pens of pigs and a few chickens.

Putting my paints down onto the ground to make myself comfortable. I looked over my materials, over the limited colors I had: all warm tones and two cool ones. I had to use what I had. I needed something to paint, looking around me for any still-life objects I think over the animals. Maybe I could paint Ama, but I shake my head at the thought I needed to observe her paint her.

Looking up to the little girl who was watching me again, small little blue eyes were lightened from the sunlight, and her hair was neat in a braid. Unmatching to a strew braid I had kept in from last night. I would paint her, I decided.

Opening a few paint jars and picking a thin brush, I start off with her main features. Deciding to only do her face and hair, I begin. It took me a few minutes and strokes of my paintbrush before I did the main features of her face. Looking up towards the girl for clarity on my work so far, I noticed she was much closer this time.

The little girl came closer towards me with her eyes wide. She seemed shy as she slowly made her way over to me. Her clothes were tattered, but it seemed she didn't mind. I give her a smile,

"hi," I say quietly in an attempt to not scare her. She waves and doesn't say anything to me but get closer. Peaking over my lap at the painting, I had started off her, the small little braids on her head. I had only done her face, but it was clear it was her, and she knew it. Her face lit up, and I smile.

"It's you," I say, pointing towards the blonde braids and blue eyes I had depicted. The girl smiles and kneels down to look even closer.

"Sigrid," a deep voice interrupts. Looking up to the father who looks disapproved and angry at his daughter, who stood beside me. Shit, what have I done? Maybe this wasn't a good idea. The little girl, presumably Sigrid, looks to me before looking back to her father.

He comes towards us now, his fists are clenched. Fuck.

"Sigrid!" He shouts this time. The little girl doesn't move; she stands beside me, pointing to the art in front of me. I couldn't hide it now, could I? I'd dug myself a big hole for this one. I sit in my spot, utterly unsure of what to do.

Standing beside me, he grabs her arm to tug her away from me, but he stops when he notices the painting. His eyes widen, and I watch as he cranes his neck to study it.

"Is that my Sigrid?" I nod slowly.

"I am sorry I have crosse-." He interrupts me,

"Did you paint that?" Pointing towards the paints next to me and the stains on my hands, I nod quickly. I stand up to match his stature.

"Come," he says. Gesturing and waving for me to follow as his clasps onto the little girl's hand. Hesitant at first, I follow a few feet behind him.

Stopping at their house, he takes the bark from me instantly without asking to show his wife, who looked beyond puzzled at my return with her husband.

They looked to the picture then back to me, before looking to each other in wonder. I didn't know if the family was impressed or not, I would hope they liked it and wouldn't stab me there and then.

"I can finish if you would like? I could paint you two together if you wished?" I asked softly, interjecting the looks they gave each other. The woman's eyes widen, and she nods slowly.

"Yes, if that is alright." Her tone is no longer a sneer or a threat, but almost an ask. I am shocked, and I feel warmth, maybe this is going to be rewarding. Perhaps they will start to like me, any queen would want their people to love them—notably the only Christian in Pagan lands. I nod in agreement and turn away to get my paints and spare brushes from the ground by the stump, walking back I find they have given me a spot on a chair. Keeping it free by the door of their house. I smile.

They willingly allow me to walk past them, I was hesitant at first, but I take a seat. They look to me and then to each other in an awkward way. "You can continue your tasks. I do not wish to stop you. I will paint the three of your together, once I need you to stand together, I will tell you. Forget, I am here." I state. The man nods before continuing on his tasks, the woman too. Sigrid does not; she sits beside me mesmerized by my work.

The parents did not mind about this and that I was happy about it.

I had been painting for a while. I had moved from the stool to the floor with the bark on the ground in front of me. Legs crossed, Sigrid came to sit beside me as I painted her mother and father, who busily worked away.

So immersed in my work onlookers had arrived to ask the woman, who I had learned was Hilde, what a Christian woman was doing at their door painting.

"Ivar!" The man shouted, darting my attention to the man. My heart beginning to race, shit!

Looking up towards Ivar, who was walking closer towards us, limping. Gazing intently, the male pointed to the design I was working on. The paintbrush seemed like putty in my hands now, my nerves were causing my hands to become clammier.

"Your Christian seems to have put her talents to good use, Ivar." His accent was thick as he spoke. Ivar looked to me with amusement laced on his features. A few more people gathered to watch over my work. I ensured to accentuate the girl and her mother Hilde and her father, who I did not know the name of, across it. It wasn't finished, but the features were prominent to be understood.

The colors were sharp, but light, adorning the bark, more onlookers came to peer as Ivar came to stand by the table the man worked on. "You must paint my family also," a voice said to my right. A few of the men I had seen who I recognized came to my side. I smiled small at the man's response.

"You have been keeping this Christian from us, Ivar," a man boasted as they stared at my artwork. Sitting up against my folded knees, I blushed, looking down at the little girl who sat at my side, who had watched me work.

"Well, I must not keep her then." my eyes widen as his words. The small crowd gathered cheered happily to Ivar's statement, and I watched as they grabbed at their shields, to come by me. I became flustered at their attention, the paints that rest on the ground being almost empty.

"I will happily paint anything you would like, but I ask King Ivar," I slowly get up from my spot on the ground. "The paints you destroyed are to be replaced for me to provide my skills to our people. I am low on pigments, and I will not be able to paint anything you ask of me." Emphasizing the word ours, Ivar takes this as an opportunity to come closer. One hand grasping the crutch tightly before limping closer towards me.

'Well, look, everybody, the Christian has demanded." Ivar smiles widely as deep laughs echo at his words. I do not falter from where I stand. I knew if getting my paints and painting for my people would improve my reputation throughout Kattegat, that's all that mattered to me. A man I was married to disapproved, I would somehow find a way to provide to my people.

Ivar steps closer towards me, I noticed his leering facade. The act he had, the cold Ivar. The man who pretended he is above it all, a man much different to the one I laid with last night, the one who would steal blankets. Who I suspect may have given me the sheet.

"I need more paint," I say softly as his face nears closer. The corner of his lip twitches into a smile.

"Won't your God provide your paints?" he says before stepping even closer towards me with his mouth close to my ear. "Christian." Confused at his words, I furrow my eyebrows, his mouth full in a smile.

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[wwounu]

love talk | lee jihoon

—every thoughtful curve of each letter on the ivory paper, it’s rose pink envelope standing out from the rest of the simple, white envelopes, your heart can only yearn more from the warm, loving words. you yearn, yet, you don’t seem to realise the answer is a miracle waiting to happen

“because of you, each day is beautiful. sometimes, i’m afraid it’ll all vanish, but each time i think that, you look at me and smile. you’re my miracle, it’s you.”

pairing: jihoon x reader + love letter!au

word count: 15k

warning: tiny tiny angst

note: 15.1k words?!?! this may have been the longest piece i have written ever, and i’m still late for woozi day... ah, i’m so annoyed with myself, i stayed up until 1am twice just to finish this, but never did get to finish it! but here we are! if i had more time, then i would’ve been able to write the ending much better, i think the only reason why it became an adlib to me was because i wanna watch vagabond... i’m also officially back — hooray! it’ll take me some time to adjust, i guess, a lot has happened since i’ve been gone, but i still followed svt because it’s me. in regards to opposites attract i’ll make a separate post about that, but for now, i hope you all enjoy this long fanfic! it really challenged me as a writer and, little fun fact, this was supposed to be a minghao fic originally. happy belated birthday, jihoon, i hope you remain happy and healthy for eternity. i admire you so much. (i promise you this is a jihoon fanfic haha — this isn’t proofread either... also iida best boy mwah)

An ivory paper sits securely inside your palm; its fluffy, blunt edge from where it’s been ripped apart multiple other pages, contrasting with neat and straight folds, care put into them. The envelope that originally held the note was rose pink — different from the simplicity of white envelopes — the change unusual but comforting as you read each handwritten curve of your name, a small heart at the end, possibly drawn hesitantly, probably not.

A wave of familiarity hits upon unfolding the contents, simple yet pretty handwriting filling the page, its ink radiating all the warmth from the words.

I thought about you today.

A strange thought to confess to you, but I just felt like saying it, so please hear me out.

You look like you’ve been busy these days, which is why I haven’t been writing as much to you. I didn’t want to be such a disturbance to your studies. Though — as I realised — it’s also important to support you and give the positive reminders you deserve. I know I’m quite late to it all, so I hope I can make it up to you next time… Not sure how I’ll do that yet, it’s still in the works.

I’m getting off track — just remember to take it easy on yourself and that you’re doing well so far. Good luck on your remaining essays! Things will get better afterwards, so hang in there for me, promise?

Oh! Do you know the strawberry milk on the table? That’s for you too. I promise I didn’t drug it or anything, in case you’re wondering. It’s a lame present, but I hope it energises you through the day… Ah I’m so lame haha. One day I’ll give to you in person.

I missed your smile, I hope I can see it again. You shine the brightest when you do.

(Did you also like the change in envelope? I think I’ll be using coloured envelopes more these days~)

Miracle.

You fold the letter and place in back into the envelope, eyes attracted to the carton of strawberry milk, a baby pink post-it note taped onto it saying drink well~ in the same writing. Your hand immediately reaches to the drink, punching the straw and taking a long, refreshed sip.

While you enjoy your drink, your eyes fly back to the letter, mind lingering on a particular thought.

“Something on your mind?” Someone’s voice registers near you, breaking the train of thought. You see the pout form on his lips, face innocent as he removes his bag.

“Nothing, Jihoon. Blanked out a little,” you awkwardly stammer, smiling with the straw in your mouth.

Lee Jihoon — one of your closest friends. Before the term friends, you knew about each other through friends until he found out you were going to the same university as him, giving perfect reason to start a friendship there and then. Despite having contrasting courses (in fact you weren’t in any classes together), you were easily each other’s go-to.

Jihoon’s eyes acknowledge the open envelope with the letter hanging out, soon turning back to you. “Where did the milk come from?” He points to the cute-sized carton.

Do you tell him?

No one knew about your secret, it didn’t seem important to mention really, but it stuck in your mind whether you’d tell it someday.

The letters began at the start of the year, in the middle of a cold, cold January, the wintery hex making you go as far as to forget your backpack in the library. Fortunately, your bag was still at the same spot where you left it, saving you from the panic and fear that would’ve came if it wasn’t the case.

But as you inspect the inside, that’s when you see it. When you see the snowy white sleeve of the envelope, no name addressed, except for simple letters spelling an ode to you on the outside. Curious, you pick it up assuming it’s for you, fingers working to slide across the envelope’s tongue, revealing the note that held your first ever love letter.

Miracle was his name. Or what he called himself, really. Even though you were curious about the name’s origin, it was all explained in the second letter, where he wrote the name as a last-minute thing (that letter was written a week after the first, found inside your textbook).

Seemed fitting for him in your case.

It was strange — having multiple love letters, let alone just one — but through time it made you more excited as you received them frequently, each day being less of please don’t be a serial killer and more of I hope he writes today, ending with a small smile that you don’t admit to having whenever you say so.

The thought alone triggered your finger to hover over the letter, a sudden burst of eagerness spreading inside you.

Time to reveal yourself Miracle, you think, I’m going to do everything it takes to find you.

“Long story short,” easily, you begin, “the milk and this letter are from Miracle.”

“Miracle?” Jihoon repeats, his expression wanting more coverage.

“Miracle has been sending me letters for a while now. I know the point of secret admirers is to be anonymous, but he seems like a cool guy, I wanna be friends with him.”

“And you’re telling me you aren’t convinced this is some prank or...”

“This is my first admirer, be more happy for me!” You frown instantly, fingertips gently brushing the envelope flap. “Problem is, I have no clue who Miracle could be. He could be anyone!”

Jihoon hums, his hand held out. “Pass me the letter,”

“Don’t rip it.”

“What makes you think I’ll do that?”

“Just a hunch.”

Busy finishing the strawberry milk, Jihoon opens the letter, eyes concentrated on the page for a strong five seconds before nicely handing it back in your possession.

All of a sudden, he leaves his seat.

“Hoon?” Eyes appearing childlike, Jihoon only hums in the midst of lifting his bag. “Are you going somewhere?”

Once his bag is lazily hung on one shoulder, he says, “We’re going to Seventeen. We’ll talk about Miracle there.”

Naturally, a smile spreads across your lips. Jihoon never fails to make you float with words — always trailed with gentleness.

By Seventeen, he means the campus coffee shop. Everyone in the university has visited the cafe one way or another, whether it be the Valentines day special offer (which its ridiculous slogan was ‘All orders half price if you bring someone you like a latte!’) or to daydream over the baristas.

Its exterior and interior was as equally impressive. Walls splashed in snowy white and accented with raven black, the sign outlining 7-TEEN in a muted sapphire blue, the dangling chalkboard displaying the specials in chalky rose writing. The inside held a same, homely feeling, following the palette of desaturated pink, blues and whites, completed with the dark floorboards and tables for comfort.

You seat yourself by the window — specially requested by Jihoon — able to see most of the coffee shop and Jihoon’s place in line from the corner.

He comes back with a black mug steaming with heat, a mountain of sugar packets at its side, and a cake for you and him to share (even though you both knew that you were finishing it).

“The love letter please,” Jihoon requests after bringing out one of his many journals, pages taken out and deflating the fullness of the book. You react unpleasantly to the term, handing the item nonetheless.

He sets up the letter beside his journal, fingers holding his pen as he produces rushed, messy scribbles — it was almost unreadable. The words at the top of the page read Miracle Suspect List, a tiny giggle earned from reading it.

“Now... Any ideas?”

Even Jihoon doesn’t need words to understand the utter panic frozen your face as he asks. He huffs a sigh.

“Let’s read what Miracle says, maybe that’ll help.” Jihoon leans to the note, eyes drawing strange patterns as they move across the note. “Hm, Miracle noticed you’ve been struggling these past few days, does that ring any bells?”

“I’ve been so busy I didn’t even notice...”

“It’s okay, you had other things to focus on. Totally valid.” Rhythmically, he taps the pen on his chin, lips pouted like a baby duck. “If Miracle was aware about this, maybe he’s someone in your major. Anyone from your lectures that you can think of?”

Rather than answering a simple no, you think very hard this time. Jihoon does a really good job in trying to narrow the perspective for you, so its your role to meet in the middle. This secret admirer business was harder than you thought.

You think through everyone in your class, filtering them one by one until it comes into your head, radiant as ever.

“There’s Junhui. We chat when we’re in the lecture hall and sit next to each other sometimes, I probably told him about my worries. We don’t talk outside much... Unless!” You exclaim, “Unless I meet him whilst he’s on shift here, then he doesn’t shy away from me.”

Right after saying that, Junhui enters the shop, greeting the cashier at the counter, his goofy smile plastered as he disappears into the staff room with a laugh.

“Okay. Junhui...” Jihoon says, stretching Junhui’s name as he scribbles, classmate and works at Seventeen jotted underneath.

Another person comes to mind, your hand tapping repetitively on Jihoon’s arm as you tried to recall. “Oh, oh!”

“Ow, ow — what?!” Mimics Jihoon.

“There’s Soonyoung!”

“Kwon? Dance leader Kwon?”

“I heard some rumours that he liked me when I helped out with the department spring showcase—“

“You won’t like him.” Deadpans Jihoon, the interruption slightly out of place.

“What?”

Jihoon shrugs. “I don’t like him,”

The statement further confuses you, given that the dance and music departments fit hand in hand, not to mention the student’s between both departments were the most stable (in this case, the drama majors were scarily the lone wolf of the three).

And other than you, Jihoon — being the music department’s campus prodigy and following the cliché — stuck like superglue to dancer Kwon Soonyoung.

“Aren’t you friends?” Your face paints a fusion of disgust and confusion.

“We’re friends,” he confirms, nodding firmly, “he just doesn’t seem like your type. He’s... Gullible sometimes. His energy will refresh you, but it’ll eventually drain.”

“You never know.” Replies you, only focusing at the statement about being your type.

Jihoon continues to write down Soonyoung’s name even after voicing his opinion, small devil horns and a pointy tail doodled at the around his name.

“Better than nothing. Anyone else on your mind?”

“Jeon Wonwoo?” You raise your tone at the end. “I don’t think he’s that interested in me though,” you lips pull into a frown at the thought of the university’s famous librarian slash well-rounded student. He was also your tutor, but he tutored many people, so it wasn’t something out of a k-drama.

Jihoon’s hand moved right away as he notices your look. Unlike the past two, Wonwoo’s name only had a question mark underneath. “We’ll add him. There — three potential Miracles — who shall we investigate first?”

“I’ll hang around them and report back to you—“

Unexpectedly, your phone rings. The caller ID makes it clear to you that you had to take the call. You excuse yourself from Jihoon, taking one more bite of the cake before you head outside, getting lost in your conversation.

When the lengthy chat ended, you walk back inside to find your friend gone. Before you broke into a cold sweat, a light ding comes out of your phone, the screen reading a short text from Jihoon.

A classmate ran into me and they asked me to do a favour, sorry I left all of a sudden. Text me when you get to your dorm. Get there safely.

The gesture touches you, lips concealing a smile. The text also signalled to you that you should get going too, the sky outside slowly blooming into darkness.

Yet as the chair is pulled back for you to access your bag, an envelope appears.

Heart racing, your fingers scoop the item in one motion, rushing to take out the contents inside.

Two letters in one day... It doesn’t suit my style haha. I hope you’re secretly happy about it though.

I saw you in Seventeen earlier, and correct me if I’m wrong, but did I hear you talk about me? The wonderful, most-handsome Miracle?

First of all, I’m flattered, who wouldn’t talk about me? And second, I heard a little more that I should’ve. You want me to reveal myself?

If you think I’m going to give myself away, I’m not. Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you~

It’s your turn to do the chasing now, I can’t wait to watch. This is going to be so fun — I’ll be super hurt if you mistake me as someone else...

Joking! All I’ll say is I’m supporting you from here, I’ll be watching closely! Please don’t be disappointed when you find out who I am. Hehe.

(Before I go! I recommend Seventeen’s Poet Latte, it’s a million times better than the Hope Macchiato. Ask for hazelnut syrup too, that thing is like sweet magic)

Miracle.

Now determined, your eyes scan over the lines again and again, each word being critical yet painfully ambiguous.

That’s when it crosses your mind. His words craft you into the right direction, even though Miracle has the power to do the complete opposite depending on how he wants to play his cards.

For now, you’ll take his words as gospel, aware that he was present at the time you were in Seventeen. All the signs pointed to Junhui, majorly assuming that he was the only one that who entered the cafe, and that Miracle recommended the Poet Latte.

It settled your first target quite quickly: Wen Junhui.

Stashing the letter in your bag, you head outside, eyes following Junhui practicing latte art until you can’t see him anymore, thoughts already planning on certain strategies.

If Miracle wants this to be entertaining, you’ll make it entertaining.

It’s been a week.

And nothing has happened.

“It’s been a week.” Jihoon voices, “And you‘ve gained zero progress.”

Panic stricken, you blurt, “I’m still working on it...”

“We’re gonna get nowhere if you carry on stalling.”

“I know, but I don’t know when to do it—“ Which was partially true. You were just too shy around Junhui.

“Just do it today!”

“Ugh, okay!” As equally as loud, you shout like Jihoon. Geez. Why did he get so hot-headed? “I’ll head to my lecture and see if he’s there.”

A smile shows on Jihoon’s lips. “Great. You can do it, good luck!” He balls his fists in attempt to encourage you, passing the motivation on.

When you arrive you instantly want to go back to Jihoon. By the notice board — other than confused, tired students — stood Junhui, his face standing out almost the others as he points his fingers to one direction while talking to other students of your major.

The students walk in the direction Junhui pointed to instead of the hall, prompting a perfect chance to talk to him.

“Jun?” You add the slight confusion to neutralise things, heart racing. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, hi Y/N,” Junhui naturally grins when he sees you, finger pointing to the board. “The lecture hall is being used, so our professor changed it to the other side of campus.”

“What?!” You groan, the act washed away once hearing about the announcement. “Ah — I’m so exhausted already, we don’t get paid enough to do this.”

“We don’t get paid at all,” muses Junhui. “Should we walk together? Saves you being bored and me being lonely.”

Right, Junhui’s a potential Miracle, act along, you tell yourself.

“Sounds great.” Gladly accepting, you and the male walk together, chatting amongst one another.

Nothing special happens from there. You chat with Junhui — who has a strange calmness when it comes to talking to him — until you get to your class, sitting next to him. The both of you intently listen to your lecturer, taking notes and sharing them, but halfway through the two hour session Junhui opens a new tab on his laptop to play chess, obviously being bad at the game.

You join in, too, helping the clueless man on how to win. It leads to you and him doodling on a sheet of paper he tore out, zoning out of the lecture from what was time to time to completely not listening.

The lecture comes to a close, making you and Junhui realise how much trouble you’re in as your essay was due for the weekend after.

“Come to Seventeen tomorrow,” tells Junhui, “I’ll ask a friend to recap the lecture today and we can go through it together while I work. Does that sound okay?”

Perfect — this was perfect!

A little too enthusiastic, you blurt, “Yeah!” Before coughing loudly, realising the awkwardness. “I mean, yeah. Sorry for distracting you today Junhui,”

“It’s okay. I like studying with you, it’s fun.”

His words, along with the soft smile he has, makes you want to swoon with glee inside. It was hard to tell if he was a smooth flirt or if he was usually like this.

Either way, you said your goodbyes and hoped for the next day to come as soon as possible.

“Y/N, welcome!” Is what Junhui greets to you as you walk into the cafe, the morning atmosphere ruined as Junhui shouts, waking up half the people in there. He didn’t seem to mind though, so you made your way to him.

“It’s ten in the morning Junhui,”

“It wakes people up. They’ll thank me for it when they don’t sleep in their classes later on.”

He tells you to seat yourself while he finishes the next few orders. Once you do, you stare out of the window whilst waiting for your laptop to load, the day transitioning from gloom to a morning sunshine, more people coming onto the campus site.

You even see Jihoon walking with Soonyoung (even though it was hard to identify him under the hat, but judging by Jihoon’s mannerisms it definitely pointed to Soonyoung).

Chair sliding, the male taking a seat as he hands you a warm, rose mug. “A Poet Latte ordered by the lovely Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you warmly answer, grinning at the latte art of a panda with hearts swirled around. “This is amazing Junhui.”

“Doing it is harder than it looks,” confesses Junhui, “and in the end people will just consume it. Imagine that, eating all of my hard work... Literally.”

“Aren’t you going to drink something?”

Junhui shakes his head. “I don’t like coffee.”

Oh?

“Oh? That’s a shame.” You counter, trying to stay composed. “It isn’t for everyone — um — random question but, if you had to recommend a drink from here, what would it be? I’m up for taking some new drinks.”

The excuse made things sound more natural and by the look on Junhui’s face, the verdicts in your head point to not Miracle right now.

He taps a finger on his chin, “Out of all the orders... The Truth Iced Mocha, mainly because I don’t like warm drinks either.”

Uncertainty shows on your face, not knowing whether Junhui was telling a lie or not. There was a high chance he wasn’t, but he could most likely be lying. If he was, he was a great liar.

Studying your face, Junhui speaks. “I’m a bit picky,” he admits, laughing, “my friends hate me for it, but I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

His statement causes you to laugh, the tension in the room quickly gone. Junhui sure knows how to tone things down.

So Junhui doesn’t like coffee. Huh.

You come by Seventeen for the next two days, chatting with Junhui more often as he works. However, you walk into the male while he’s off-shift, a bouquet of pink daisies and a cinnamon-coloured teddy bear sat on the table.

Staring intensely at it, Junhui doesn’t even notice you sit across him.

“Is something on your mind?”

Breaking out of the odd staring contest, Junhui sits up, shrugging. “Which present would you like more?”

He turns the teddy’s head and the flowers to face you. The question shifts the atmosphere slightly, your mind nervous of what to answer.

“Can I have the context?” Instead, you ask that question, hoping the answer would give more indication where this was going.

“I wanna give something to my friend for support,”

Junhui doesn’t hesitate in his answer, but there’s no denying over the pinkness in his cheeks. Although he was still being vague, you point at the flowers.

“Flowers are the best go-to. Maybe the teddy can be for another time?” Nodding, Junhui relaxes in his chair, patting the bear’s head as he exhales a sigh. “Isn’t this something you’d give to a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

The question catches the other off guard, his ears burning with red as he slowly sinks his head into his arms, his face hidden.

“You caught me.” Muffled, Junhui admits.

Caught what? We’re definitely getting somewhere now, you think.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still showing support to my friend — she’s having her first art exhibit today and she’s been working on it a lot — I just... Wanna be subtle but I need to man up,”

One hundred percent what you didn’t expect. Kinda, since you had suspicions here and there.

“Man up? You’re, like, the most easiest person to talk to! I’m sure if you acted like yourself then you’d be able to confess easily to her.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. What’s there to worry about? People fall for you like a snap,” you snap your fingers simultaneously, a laugh from Junhui followed.

“Thanks for the heart to heart Y/N. I really needed it. The exhibit opens in an hour, I should get going.”

“You can do it Junhui!” Cheers you, Junhui getting up from his chair. Out of the blue, your mind mentally clicks. “Junhui—“

Junhui hums. You hold the bear out for him.

“Bring it with you, it’ll create a bigger memory for the both of you.”

Smiling, Junhui takes the bear from your hands. “Thanks for everything... Again.” He carries the bouquet and bear in one arm, his free hand reaching to pick out a daisy. “Take it as my thank you,”

“How corny,” you say, happily taking the pretty flower, “you’ll do great!”

“I’ll see you later! I’ll tell you how it goes.”

Like that, Junhui exits out of the cafe, jogging to the entrance of the campus. You sit back once he disappears.

So Junhui has a crush on someone else.

Your hands search to find your phone, scrolling through your contacts before you lift it to your ear, waiting for the other line to pick up.

“Hoon? Let’s meet.”

“Rather than liking you, he likes a student from the art department?” Jihoon asks, strolling around the town with you half an hour after you called.

You nod, confirming it. “It was hard to tell though, every second felt like he was flirting with me. Guess he was just really good at smooth talk.”

“Not surprised about that.” Jihoon pulls a face, but his arm moves to pat your hair as you twirl the pink daisy. “Don’t act so blue, you still have two more guys!”

“But Hoon—”

“No buts, it’ll work out. I promise you. If it doesn’t, I’ll look for Miracle myself and teach him a lesson.”

You snort, “Jihoon—“

“Oh yeah, you still wanna be friends with him. Got it.” Jihoon grins when he sees your smile, pinching your cheek all of a sudden. “Now c’mon, I know what’ll cheer you up,”

“Do you?”

“Unless you don’t want food, we can just go back to campus—“

“No, wait!” You panic. Great, you’ve fallen for Jihoon’s offer. “Fine, I’m starving anyway!”

With a big grin, Jihoon takes you by the hand and walks to your favourite restaurant.

Days pass and the memories with Junhui go along with it. It was a weekend and Jihoon wanted to meet in the recording booth to talk, additionally asking if you could bring some coffee.

He stops replying after you send multiple texts — capitalised and angry emoticons — giving you no choice but to get him something.

Heading into Seventeen, your appearance catches one of the workers immediately.

That worker, being Junhui.

“What a coincidence!” He exclaims once he heads out of the break room for the second time, a flimsy item in his hand.

“Coincidence?” You repeat in return.

“I found this in the lecture hall yesterday, I thought you left it,”

“But I didn’t go to the lecture yesterday—“

All of your words dissolve as soon as your eyes hit the pastel blue envelope, slowly taking it out of Junhui’s hand, your expression indescribable.

“How did you get this?” It wasn’t the words you wanted to say, but they were clearly in your mind.

“I saw it sitting on one of the rows before I left. I would’ve given it to you straight away, but I didn’t see you on campus… And I don’t know where your dorm is so…”

You analyse Junhui’s face for a moment. Gaining all the evidence you’ve gotten, it was confirmed that Junhui wasn’t Miracle. He was telling the truth about everything.

“That’s okay! Thanks for looking after it for me!” In gratitude, you let your lips spread wide — mainly towards the fact that Miracle is writing after a week (seriously, what took him so long?), but also because of Junhui’s massive help.

Forgetting about the coffee, you exit the cafe, finding a safe spot to read the letter alone. Your fingers were trembling in anticipation as you lifted the flap.

I’m guessing you’ve been waiting for me… If not, I feel really embarrassed because I had to hold myself back from writing to you.

(God, that was so cheesy)

You figured out that I’m not Junhui. Congrats!

When I first saw him walk with you, I thought — ‘Ah, you are taking it seriously!’ — and I’ve been watching here and there, but not all the time because that would be creepy. I also had classes so there were a few clashes.

After a while I began wondering why you thought of Junhui as me. It shouldn’t be a thought I should ponder on too much, but I find myself going there sometimes.

Junhui is really admirable. He has that ability to make anyone feel at ease with him, and overall he’s very bold with his actions — so bold that I even thought he was going to make an actual move on you (totally wasn’t gonna be heartbroken…) — I get why people like to be around him so much.

He’s someone that you easily get envious over. The personality, the social skill, the confidence. He makes it look so easy. Talking to so many people, adjusting to them…

I wish I was like that; I wish I had that confidence. Maybe, if I had that same level of confidence like Junhui, then maybe I’d boldly confess my feelings without the doubts or worries orbiting my mind.

At first I was going to scribble that part out and start from scratch again, but I thought I’d share my thoughts with you. This isn’t Junhui’s level of confidence, but I think starting like this will help me build on it. My heart can feel heavy on some days and I feel like you’re the only person I can go to.

Even if you don’t write to me back, I hope you’ll always stand there on the other side.

Miracle.

“Come with me.” Out of nowhere Jihoon gets his things and starts walking away.

Fazed, you hastily gather your things and begin trailing behind him. He’s always like this — announcing he’s going somewhere at the same time he leaves — and you get the other end of the stick by rushing after the male.

“You’re seriously so annoying,” you grumble without context, “at least tell me what we’re — what you’re — doing...”

“I forgot something... And I’m doing you a favour.”

The last part wasn’t picked up by you, but Jihoon’s footsteps accelerated as he rushes into one of the department buildings.

The building appeared unfamiliar to you, it clearly wasn’t the music department, so you wondered why Jihoon knew which corridor to turn and what level he was looking for.

He doesn’t bother knocking before heading into one of the dance studios, dancers unfazed by his appearance. Worried, you harshly break out a whispered Jihoon before he stops walking and you walk into his back.

“Ow, jerk!” Complains you.

An unknown voice replies, but it isn’t directed to you. “Jihoon?” The male voice gasps. “You okay?”

Suddenly, the owner of the voice gets up from the floor, a black cap covering the front of his face, dressed in loose clothes.

Soonyoung?

“My journal’s here right? I think I left it somewhere…”

“Journal?” Soonyoung juts a lip, completely focused on Jihoon, he hasn’t even said hi to you yet. Unless he doesn’t like you. You hoped it wasn’t the latter. Like a hit to the head, Soonyoung’s eyes nearly sparkle, “Ah, let me get it!”

Soonyoung turns around and crouches down, giving you perfect time to ask what the heck Jihoon was doing.

“A favour,” is all Jihoon says, Soonyoung cheerily handing the ripped-paged book and Jihoon snatching it off him. He glares. “You didn’t look inside, did you?”

Fingers moving the cross his heart, Soonyoung simultaneously shakes his head. “Not a peep—“ his eyes acknowledge you and he immediately chokes on air, releasing an ugly cough. “Y/N! Have you been here all this time?”

Jihoon holds back an amused chuckle. Ignoring your friend, you put on your best smile and shyly nod.

“Sorry I didn’t see you there!” He’s yelling now, and it’s getting the whole room’s attention. “How… How are you?”

“I’ve been good, and you?”

“Me? I’m good too! I’m glad to hear that—“

Jihoon’s voice overlaps out Soonyoung’s, “Picking up my book just turned into a damn reunion,” a puppy-like sulk comes out of Soonyoung, but Jihoon continues to speak, “also, I’ll give you your USB back tomorrow, I’ve done all the improvements you asked.”

Soonyoung brings the other into a sweaty hug, sighing loudly. “Wow, my hero—“

Pushing Soonyoung off, Jihoon clears his throat. “But I’m leaving town for this music course tomorrow, so I’ll lend the USB to Y/N and you’ll get your USB back, then we’re all happy.”

“I’m not—“ you harshly whisper next to the male, pulling him closer by the arm, surprised at Jihoon’s proposal, “what are you doing?!”

“A latte would be okay, but you can surprise me. I’d also like extra whipped cream,” Jihoon whispers back at the same volume. He looks back at Soonyoung. “Is that alright with you?”

The apples of Soonyoung’s cheeks paint red, lips scrunched as he forces a nod. “Sure — sure! Tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhmm. We better get going now.” Turning to you, Jihoon tilts his head to the exit, promptly looking at Soonyoung. “See you man,”

“Bye Soonyoung!” You greet energetically, causing Soonyoung to snap out of his gaze, waving his hand as you two walk out. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but, it never got off of his tongue in the end.

Once you were away from the building, you stop Jihoon by grabbing his arm, a deathly expression upon you. “What was that all about?”

Although you were mad, Jihoon’s face didn’t flinch one bit at it. He digs through his pocket, pulling out a silicone tiger figurine smaller than his palm. Removing the tiger’s head, the USB is revealed.

Without a word, Jihoon hands it to you. “I finished the thing he asked ages ago.”

“Then why didn’t you give it to him earlier—“

“Because now you have an excuse to hang around him. Use it wisely.”

“Oh. Smart.”

Turns out, Jihoon actually did have to go to that course for the day, so you wished him a text of motivation before mentally preparing yourself to meet Soonyoung.

You hastily make your way to the dance department (that’s what Jihoon said Soonyoung would normally be), but because you were so overwhelmed over what you were going to say to Soonyoung, you forgot the directions Jihoon went to the dance studio.

Dumbass, you curse inside. Now you had to ask people if one, they were a dance major (which was such a stupid question, but you couldn’t help asking) and two, if they knew Soonyoung.

Onto asking the third student, you see a figure stepping out of a room, a bag lazily hung around his arm.

“Oh — never mind — thank you anyway,”

You semi-run towards this figure, watching the surprise spread through his face as you welcome him with a grin.

“Y/N?” Soonyoung stammers, shaking in his place a little. He had a black shirt hugged his torso and jeans to complement the look — it definitely gave a different tone to the exhausted, sweaty boy you met yesterday.

“Hey.” You dangle the small tiger in between his eyes. “Special delivery for Kwon Soonyoung?”

Sparkles appear inside Soonyoung’s eyes, gladly taking the item from you. “Thank you Y/N! Tell Jihoon I said thank you — actually, I’ll tell him that later—“

“It’s no problem,” you can’t help but giggle at his gratitude over the tiger USB, it make you curious on why it was so important, but right now that wasn’t your priority.

Operation Soonyoung is a go.

“Are you doing anything right now?”

“Um… Not really, why?”

“I’m craving some food, I was wondering if you’d like to eat with me… Since you just finished practicing I’m guessing—”

For the second time Soonyoung chokes on the air, hitting his chest as he lets out harsh coughs. When he’s somewhat calmed down, he looks straight at you — a slight pinkness in his cheeks — bluntly answering, “I don’t mind going!”

The answer was leaning towards an exclamation, but a yes was a yes, and the two of you agreed to get street food and eat in the park.

Watching Soonyoung munch on a burger with great interest, you feel like he’s still acting awkward with you. You had no reason why, but the showcase pops into your head. Maybe the rumours were true, but you can’t jump so easily; this Miracle business had to be very subtle.

So much for loud, muses you, Jihoon must be out of his mind, he’s so quiet with me…

To lighten up the mood, you show your interest to the USB stick once more. “So, the stick. What’s it for? If it’s okay asking,”

Soonyoung wipes the corners of his lips cutely, pointing to a bench and asking a can we sit here with half stuffed cheeks. Sat down, he brings out the USB, watching it dangle on his finger.

“They’re music samples for dances I put together. I don’t just work for myself but for my juniors too — they rely on me when they need music for their piece. I can do the basics, but when I or my classmates need something extra to make the piece stand out more, I go to Jihoon to help me. Without him, I wouldn’t have so many students joining the dance club at all.”

“Can I listen to some?”

“Huh?” Soonyoung’s eyes expand, lips parted the slightest. “Oh — oh! Okay. Just give me a sec…”

“Soon, you don’t need to if it’s a hassle—“

“Ah! I owe you one, so, this is nothing to what you’ve done!”

“All I did was give your things back…”

Soonyoung pulls out his laptop, connecting the USB to the device, his fingers tapping against the touchpad whilst waiting. The files appear, some names sensibly and with their correct name (those were probably for his juniors), while some files were called ten-ten, hoshi, rawr, for the ultimate gemini ONLY, NOT THIS ONE.

Those were definitely Soonyoung’s.

“The ones Jihoon has fixed are the unnamed ones. He’s never creative with names,”

“Of course.” You and Soonyoung laugh over the thought, the latter pressing his finger on the play button as the music begins and the volume rises. Listening for a while, you say, “This is super good, I can’t believe Jihoon can produce something like this.”

“Well he isn’t called the music prodigy for nothing. Now check this out.”

He sets his laptop aside, the music continuing to play, and he stands in front of you, breaking into a small dance like it was second nature to him. Such fluidity, well-crafted even though Soonyoung kept a smile the whole way through, rushes of excitement inside him.

You cheer him on, laughing at the sight. He laughs with you too, brightly.

The barrier of shyness between Soonyoung and you begins to break as you meet frequently, Jihoon mainly being the reason why you three met.

More of Jihoon’s colours shone, like the grumpy, cold-shouldered character when he was Soonyoung, but he would still laugh the hardest if Soonyoung told a stupid story that happened over the weekend, or small snippets into his life.

The thought about Miracle becomes less important to you as you slowly value Soonyoung as a true friend. Don’t get yourself wrong — Miracle was still heavily important — but Operation Soonyoung was diverting down another path.

But the one time you spend the day with him without Jihoon (who knows what he was doing, he just left without any word), you accidentally slip into the topic of the rumour again.

Actually, you had no idea why you transitioned into it, Soonyoung was showing you a video of himself doing dumb things during dance practice last night, and after a long laugh with him, it came out.

“To be honest, when I first met you, people kept telling me you had a crush on me,” is what you say along with your laughter, taking a bite out of your cake.

“… Is that so?”

No laugh, no burst of giggling — and when you face Soonyoung, his face is stoic. Despite that observation, his cheeks were dusted in a faint red.

You nod. “Yeah, I didn’t believe them.”

“Oh.”

“Wait — so you’re saying — you liked me?”

Soonyoung grunts in surprise, eyes widened. He shakes his head but as he directs his vision onto the floor, he sighs and hesitantly nods.

Operation Soonyoung was suddenly back on the radar. That means the chances of being Miracle were high.

“Soonyoung—“

“Listen to what I say first! And then if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll understand…” He, again, says with hesitation, eyes concentrated on the table or your hands. “Yeah, I did like you a few years ago, during the spring showcase… But we didn’t talk to each other, so what chances did I have?”

He inhales a sharp sigh, clenching his eyes shut and nose forming crinkles, sucking in a small this is going to be so embarrassing.

Fortunately, you pick those words up. “Embarrassing? What’s embarrassing.”

“There’s another reason.”

Is he going to confess he’s Miracle?

“I…”

Oh my god, he is—

“I thought you and Jihoon were dating.”

What?

“What?” You mumble softly.

“God, that’s the dumbest reason out of the book, and I fell for it.” Soonyoung covers his face with his hands, shielding himself from the weirded out looks he thinks you have on your face. “And Jihoon didn’t wanna say anything about it either, so I sucked it up and tried to get over it. Then, he tells me you were just good friends a year after.”

“Soonyoung… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—“

“Nothing you can do,” shrugs he, “truthfully, I didn’t get over you until the winter break the year after. But I got over it in the end.”

“Still, you went though all of the emotional gain because of me,”

“It’s not like I regret it.” He smiles a bit, trying to reassure you. The smile fades as he faces the reality after explaining his side. “I bet you’re like Soonyoung, you creep, now that you’ve heard me say all of this, so feel free to laugh at me all you want… Not too much though, I have a weak heart.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not thinking that at all.”

“Yeah, I— what?”

Confused at your words, you continue to smile to let him know you’re being genuine. “We’ve become really close in a little more than a week, and you’re an amazing friend on top of that. It makes me regret not being friends with you sooner.”

“Man, if the Soonyoung years ago was hearing this, he would either feel so touched or badly friend-zoned just now.”

Alarmed, you react as if Soonyoung was still attached onto his feelings, ready to apologise.

“It’s okay, I’m not affected,” he beats you to it, which was the most reassuring thing of them all.

“Friends?”

“Friends.” Soonyoung links a pinkie with you, hoping the promise would last a lifetime. He was a precious friend after all.

After the chat, you highlight one topic Soonyoung mentioned. “You thought Jihoon had a thing with me? Why?”

“Probably because I saw you two together a lot. Before he became friends with me and the rest of the department, you were all he’d go to. He cares about you a lot, if you didn’t know.”

“Hoon? Caring about me?”

“You sound surprised — it’s pretty obvious. Didn’t he make you a cake for your birthday last year?”

“Yeah… What does that have to do with anything?”

“We both know he’s a terrible cook — I mean, he microwaved ice cream one time because it was too hard to scoop out — but he wanted to make you something like that for your birthday.”

“The cake was nice though…”

“It took him a month to get the recipe right. He didn’t want my help, he even used the culinary department’s kitchen just for that and didn’t want their help either. And you know why he did that?”

“Becuase it was my birthday?”

“Wrong!” Soonyoung lightly taps your head as an incorrect gesture. “It was because you were going through a hard time during that time. He just wanted you to cast your worries aside and see you celebrate because you deserved it. He told me everything about it.”

Your heart skips slightly, thinking over the fact Jihoon did something like that to make you happy. It was a strange feeling to experience.

“He’s going to hate me for saying all of this to you, but he looks out for you a lot. He notices things, he’s smart.”

Agreeing, you hum, deeply thinking over his words.

Later that day, a stray envelope is sticking out from the front pocket of your bag as you left it unattended. The sweet, lilac hue  instantly telling you who the sender is.

You do not hesitate to open it.

Turns out, I’m not Kwon Soonyoung either. Are you disappointed? I can sense your frown right now... Don’t frown dear, I’m sorry for letting you down...

But the game still goes on, and although I don’t know who’s left on your mind, I might reveal myself. Not for now, but I feel a little daring, kinda unusual for me, isn’t it?

Now.

Kwon Soonyoung.

Believe it or not, I’m truly the opposite to him. I’m sometimes glad that I’m not like him, but over time I sometimes dislike it. The things he can do, I don’t think I’m fit to do them. Like Junhui, he’s confident, and he always has his mind set on something. Me? My mind changes so much. I’m a big coward ha...

Soonyoung’s loud too. I could say it’s what I don’t like about him the most, though I’d be completely wrong. It’s simple enough. He stands out. I blend in. A harsh truth I have to come to terms in, but I’m guessing that’s why you chose Soonyoung too, because he stands out. He shines.

Yet among that, you shine the brightest. I know it’s hard finding me, but I know you’ll be able to find my identity and when you do, I’ll be ready to confess my feelings to you to the world. No backing out, no shying away.

I’ll find a way to make something happen, as if my life depends on it.

Miracle.

The letter felt... Sadder in terms of Miracle’s usual way of writing — light and thoughtful — as words become raw. Once you find him, you’ll definitely tell him how much he means to you, even if it was a silly love letter at the end of the day.

He sure doesn’t know Soonyoung either. The dancer, surprisingly, is insanely shy underneath the loudness he has. It makes you think whether Miracle doesn’t think highly of himself.

When you walk out to the campus, you spot Jihoon exiting a nearby building, busy looking at texts.

Soonyoung’s words form in your head again, realising the care Jihoon had for you. And without a thought, you run to the male and surprise him with a sudden hug.

Jihoon grunts quietly, but it only makes you hold onto him more.

“Huh, Y/N? Is everything okay?” You nod into his chest. “Are... Are you sure? We can talk about it—”

“Just shut up and hug me,”

With no more complaints, Jihoon gladly keeps you in his arms.

Six.

You’ve been say in the library for six hours, your paper due at midnight. Although you had eight hours left, you still didn’t fee like it was in top shape. Words felt messy; sentences didn’t flow the way you wanted to; it was just so confusing.

Your head meets the desk the nth time today, remaining at that mental block ever since you had your lunch that consisted of peach juice and a half-assed sandwich that you didn’t even finish. Sure, you came at the library at six, but you were also up until two in the morning to do the minimum of what you were aiming to do.

That didn’t happen, hence, you’re still stuck in this damn library.

The only thing in your mind right now is sleep. If no one noticed, you could get away with sleeping in the library, but not sleeping in the library is better than getting kicked out for a month because of sleeping in the library.

A headache kicks in in the midst of working, deforming your face as you wince in pain, hoping to go home soon. It’s unlikely you will, but you wanted to sleep.

At some point, all you do is stare at the screen. Stare at every blank word on the screen, done rushed or half-tiredly.

“Everything alright?”

Registering the voice, you rapidly blink and sit up, trying to be as awake as you can. Your eyes move to the person, vision slightly altered due to the fuzziness in your eyes, but you could make out the silver framed glasses and hair the fell gently on top.

“Wonwoo?” He responds to his name through the tone of his hum. “Oh, uh, yeah... Not really,”

The librarian takes a seat next to you, a strong, fresh scent radiating from him. It was almost like a magical spell, luring you to sleep. Wonwoo scans the laptop, frowning after knowing what you were doing.

“Due in tonight?” Crap, he caught you out. You nod in shame.

“I was trying to get it done last night but my body gave in... And I haven’t left this library since—“

“Since ten.” Wonwoo noticed too? “My partial job is to sit here all day, but you’ll get muscle cramps the more you stay in one position, you should’ve taken a little break... But that’s a little late to tell you that.”

“I know...” You see the textbooks in his hand. “Oh, you’re probably busy putting back books, I shouldn’t disturb you—”

“These are just to text mark for my next class. You’re fine.” Wonwoo proceeds to stay seated, in fact, he readjusts his seat to sit more comfortably, picking up a book and setting the rest aside. “You must be tired. Take a rest, I’ll cover for you.”

“Wonwoo—“

“Just face me while you sleep, alright?”

You give into his words, smoothly resting your head on your arms as you close your eyes, falling asleep within seconds.

It was a nice nap which you awoke after an hour. An hour wasn’t what you intended, but damn, you really needed that.

Blinking, your vision comes into focus with a book marked with colourful sticky notes. If the book is still there, that means...

“Good afternoon, did you rest well?”

Your eyes direct themselves to Wonwoo, smiling down at you as he breaks away from what he was doing. After a short hum from you, Wonwoo goes back to finishing something he wrote.

The action initiates you to sit up, the reality of your paper flooding your head once more. Though, when you look at Wonwoo’s notes — neatly sorted in colourful rows — you sit and stare at the notes, mind pondering.

His handwriting is pretty.

“Oh.” Quiet, Wonwoo lets out. He begins flipping pages in his book, all decorated with some form of colourful note until he stops at a particular page and brings out a long note with minimal bullet points in.

He gently peels it off the page and locates it on top of your book.

“While you were sleeping I skimmed through your paper and highlighted a few things you could work on...”

Wait, what?

Wonwoo continues, “I don’t mean to sound critical or anything! It’s just — you looked like you were having a hard time — I don’t know much about your topic but I wrote what I thought sounded relevant.”

You read through the list, the points showcasing good arguments and research topics to mention. “These are great points, I couldn’t think of these...” You pout, “You’re so book-smart Wonwoo, I’m so jealous.”

Wonwoo lets out a earthy laugh, his expression a playfully saddened. “Don’t say that, you’re intelligent too,”

“Everyone knows you though — Jeon Wonwoo, the campus’ treasure.”

“I wouldn’t call myself that...”

“Why not? It fits you.”

He looks directly at you, face tinted with some sadness. “I blend in.”

A flashback crosses your mind whilst saying the words and it doesn’t appear into your head until—

“Sorry, I’m distracting you now. You should get your work done, and I need finish this too.” He awkwardly apologises, turning back to his textbook.

Did Wonwoo just... No, don’t dive straight in yet, you warn beforehand, it was like a heated argument between your heart and mind.

As for now, you only hum and work on your laptop, more prepared thanks to Wonwoo’s involvement.

It turns to seven in the evening and you’re almost finished.

But you were starving.

Primarily, you were going to text Jihoon, asking if he could come over and bring food, but when you met him in the morning he seemed busy.

Embarrassingly, your tummy rumbles and it breaks Wonwoo’s concentration at that second, watching you clench your arms around your waist.

“I should’ve brought something else to eat...” You murmur, eyes squeezed shut. Although you thought Wonwoo didn’t hear that, it was slightly the opposite.

The male sets his pen down, patting his pockets before speaking. “I’m gonna go out for a bit. Look after my things?”

Reluctant, you answer him with bob of your head. Wonwoo exits swiftly.

Your phone chimes and you receive a from Jihoon alongside an attachment of his cap covering his full face.

His text reads I’m so tired followed by a crying emoticon.

The image is what cheers you up, catching up with Jihoon for a bit.

You talk about the majority of your day, but you somehow leave Wonwoo out of it all. You don’t even tell Jihoon your suspicions that Wonwoo may be Miracle.

The problem was that Wonwoo wasn’t an open book, so you had to play it safe.

Breaking away from the conversation, you excuse yourself by telling Jihoon you had to finish your stupid essay and Jihoon sends a bunch of hahaha and a gif of a kitten saying good luck!

Eventually Wonwoo comes back ten minutes later, a white plastic bag in hand as he sits back down, commenting something like it’s cold under his breath.

“Where’d you go?” You inquire.

“Convenience store, it was only around the corner outside campus.”

“I see...” Wonwoo brings out the items one by one, finally tying the bag and putting into his bag. Your finger points at a specific item. “Pepero? I didn’t know you liked those.”

Wonwoo sees the box of pepero, and his fingers slide it nearer to you. “I don’t eat them a lot, but I figured it would help you fill your stomach.”

“Seriously? Oh, sorry for making you go out your way to do that—“

“Rather than apologising all the time, can you just thank me for the food?”

Speechless, he knows that you know he’s right. “Thanks Wonwoo... A lot.”

“Anything for you.” Wonwoo flashes a smile, twisting the bottle cap of his drink before taking a long drink.

You pick up the pepero box, looking at its contents.

It hits you for a second time — the pepero was strawberry flavoured.

“Say, Wonwoo...”

“That’s me,”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because,” Wonwoo takes a while to gaze at you, your features softening at the sight when a gentle grin lifts Wonwoo’s cheeks, “because I care about you.”

It’s you, Jeon?

Days and nights pass and you find yourself spending more time with Wonwoo these days — staying at the library to chat, frequently passing advice to each other, each moment getting longer every time you stay with him.

Jihoon notices your change in behaviour, commenting on your recent rejection with wanting to meet up. You dismiss that idea quickly, saying that you just had to check for any suspicions. The ambiguity in itself confuses Jihoon — mainly due to the fact you hadn’t told him about Wonwoo — but he doesn’t ask any further, quietly going back to his laptop.

These chats with Wonwoo upgrade to meeting outside campus: trips to the cinema, visiting cafes or the newest KBBQ restaurant opening down the street, all memories posted on your social medias with some silly caption.

Waking up one morning, your roommate, in an obvious rush, briefly mentions about a letter addressed to you from the mailbox. Your ears throb at the information, dashing to the foot of your bed when your roommate leaves, a pretty pink letter distinct against the white covers.

Clumsy, you manage to open the letter.

I’ve come to a decision.

Meet me at the east garden. One o’clock?

I’ll be waiting~

(Gosh, I’m regretting what I’m gonna do now, apologies in advanced)

Miracle.

You practically let out a squeal, falling to the floor from the shock igniting through you. It wasn’t just that, but the fact the letter ended with a kiss in coloured chapstick — which was probably mentioning apologising at the end. Miracle certainly had a way of driving you crazy these days; now he’s finally revealing himself.

Right at that moment, you phone rings in the same chime again. It’s from Jihoon again, wanting to spend time with you. You feel bitter knowing Jihoon has been asking this question for a while, met with rejection every time, but you end up texting back a not today, something important came up, finished with, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Checking the time, it already hit half eleven. “Perfect!” You cheer, getting up to dress yourself, full of bubbling excitement.

Because of your energetic nerves, you arrive at the garden ten minutes before  the allocated time, the green hues standing out next to the bright sky, students enjoying their day either by laying on the grass studying or strolling with friends.

You analyse the place to see if anyone looked like they were waiting for you, but after two minutes, no one fitted the criteria. It turned twelve soon after and you decided to explore around to see if you can catch Miracle anywhere.

Turning to a small path leading to a less frequently visited area of the garden, you spot someone sat by the stone bench. Turns out, you recognise that person.

“Jihoon!” You exclaim, Jihoon flinching at the exclamation. He turns, his frame revealing a pen in between his fingers and a journal on his lap. WIthout any hesitation, he closes his journal.

Hand on his chest after a long sigh, his relaxed state smiles at you fondly. “Oh, it’s you,”

His tone is soft, standing up from the bench and heading your way, an embarrassed, shy curl on his lips — his dimples peeking through — shimmering eyes trained to the floor.

He stops in front of you, taking a gulp before nervously staring at you. He’s in the middle of opening his mouth, but you beat him to it.

You beat him to it, and it’s all the difference.

“Guess what, I think Wonwoo’s Miracle.”

In a blink of a eye, the shimmer in Jihoon’s eyes dull. Nonetheless, you don’t notice it, babbling on.

“It’s why I haven’t been hanging around you much,” you confess to him, frowning, “Wonwoo’s just — really hard to figure out — but after a while there are things that he and Miracle do. I’m pretty sure it’s Wonwoo, I don’t know who else it would be. I think I’m getting butterflies, I—“

“That’s… Nice,” Jihoon breaks out, not staring at you anymore. The journal held on his chest is now at his side, gripped with strength.

It took you a while, but you noticed Jihoon’s tone. “Jihoon…? Hoon, are you okay?”

“Yeah!” He replies with fake energy, but he isn’t looking up. He isn’t looking at you. “It’s great to hear that. I should go before he comes, right?”

“Wait,” you hold him by the arm, “you sound angry — are you angry at me? — did I do something wrong—“

“It’s nothing.”

“Why can’t you tell me? You know you can talk to me Hoon, I don’t like seeing you like this…” Hurt, you try to take a glimpse at Jihoon but he isn’t allowing it. “Is it because Miracle is Wonwoo? I thought you didn’t mind him. I thought you wanted to know too.

“I just said I don’t wanna—“

“No! There’s something wrong and you aren’t telling me about it!”

With enough strength to remove your arm, but not enough to hurt you, Jihoon gets out of your grip, staring at you again, though not with what you intended. He’s glaring at you, fusions of frustration and pain being hinted, but why?

“Everything’s fine. Just leave me alone.”

Before you stop him, he leaves much quicker than you expect, vanishing from the garden; besides, if you follow him, he’d only avoid you more. So all you could do was wait for Miracle to come, in hope that whoever he is will cheer you up.

Miracle never came, nor any love letter from that point.

It’s been a quiet month. Life became static, classes felt like a drag, and Jihoon certainly had no intention to contact you after everything.

You wake up at ten, knowing your roommate went out because of the bed across you done well. Although you were against it, you figured that you should do the same — at least it helps you start the day.

Feet settling on the rough floor, you blink at the stray piece of paper in front of your door. It looks like someone slid it in. Groggily, you walk towards it, complaining as you bend down to pick it up, sitting back down on your messy bed.

It was a simple, white letter. It’s sides were slightly blunt, the page looking like it was ripped out of somewhere.

“Letter?” You question, heart dropping to your stomach. You open the letter with anticipation.

Y/N.

I… I’m really sorry about that last letter. You must’ve waited a long time for me, but I never got to reach you because of my fear that you won’t look at me the same once revealing myself.

I’ve liked you for so long, I care about you so much it pains me to think you have to go through hard thoughts. I remember liking you because of your smile. It was pretty; it was contagious. Then, through watching from my safe distance, I fell for you more and more. Your kindness, your sweet nature and overall comfort seemed to make my fondness grow, it just couldn’t be helped. I was in a stage of hopelessness, but I had to make sure I wasn’t too weird or anything.

From your posts on social media… It came to my realisation you and Wonwoo became much closer.

Is it okay for me to say that I’m jealous?

‘Hurt’ is a better way to call it, but, Wonwoo’s something else. You and him connected without difficulty, and it didn’t take you long for the both of you to watch movies together or have lunch. During that time, you seemed to smile a lot more with him, I almost felt upset that it was all because of Wonwoo, meanwhile I couldn’t do any of that. I can’t make you smile like that. I’m guessing you thought I was Wonwoo — that Wonwoo was Miracle — but no, I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you…

Maybe I’m so jealous because… Because Wonwoo is everything I’m not.

My heart is being poured onto these pages and I’m sorry for my flow, but I just needed to let this out. You need to know before I finish this. I can’t even show my face, let alone confess to you… It’s pathetic. But if I can’t express my feelings the way I do internally, I’ll keep these emotions guarded if you truly like Wonwoo. In the end, I want you to be happy. I’ve never devoted myself to someone before, is that why my chest hurts so much?

So this is a letter — an ode — for you. To thank you for everything. It’s a lot to take in, and a lot for me to declare, but you’re my first love. And before you begin to think negatively through this letter, don’t. That’s the last thing I want you to do. I just think its time to come to terms with myself and my place in your eyes.

You’re still the most wonderful person I know and I want you to always remember that. Writing these cliche letters have grown as a part of my routine, each with memories that’ll remain in my mind for a lifetime and until the next. They’ll remain in my heart forever.

This letter will be last. I’m sad it had to end this way, but let’s think of it for the best. Let’s remember this beautifully rather than in pain.

I love you, Y/N.

Miracle.

You grip onto the paper, holding back the tear that want to seep through.

After a month of silence, you’re given this?

No, no, it can’t be like this. It didn’t feel right at all. It felt like all your fears creeping from behind, pushing you down into a hopeless hole that runs for an eternity.

Like an instant reaction, you do the first thing that comes into your mind: searching for your phone and tapping away on the screen, the cold screen pressed against your ear.

“Wonwoo? Can we talk?”

You and Wonwoo meet half an hour later in Seventeen, yourself ordering a sweet treat to unhealthily energise you. Wonwoo, on the other hand, ordered himself the Real Cocoa, a new order that was added just last week (which was basically their branded hot chocolate).

You do admit that you truly did think that Wonwoo was Miracle, but after the situation, it didn’t just confirm that Wonwoo wasn’t him, but that it was better off being friends with him. Towards him, your feelings never escalated because in the end, Wonwoo was just a really good friend.

“Care to tell me what’s up? You made me worried after that call…”

“Sorry… Just, let me explain all of this to you.”

“I’m all ears.”

And you tell him everything. You tell him about Miracle, the love letters, the strawberry milk, about your desire to find Miracle, Jihoon helping you along the way, even admitting that you thought Wonwoo was Miracle because his actions fit into the actions of Miracle, the so-called reveal, the month of silence after that, and finally the present day: the ode.

Wonwoo props up a paper crane made from his tissue next to him, humming as he takes in all of the information with a calmness to him.

“Do you have it on you?” Wonwoo asks, “The ode — that goodbye letter.”

You search through your bag for the item, handing it to Wonwoo, his fingers unfolding the paper’s contents and exposing their woods, letting his eyes scan paper systematically. His lips move along to the words, whispering a few phrases. In such a short time, you manage to remember most words of that letter.

The male gestures that he’s finished reading by placing the letter back on the table. First, he sighs, head jerking itself slightly. “Wow. I’m flattered that someone thinks of me as if I’m perfect—“

You whack him on the arm, a little angry he had to joke in such a scenario, but it lost some of the tension inside yourself.

“Kidding, but, I do feel slightly responsible. I never intended for my actions to affect him. So this was the last letter he sent? No hints to who he his, not even a name?”

Shaking your head, Wonwoo tuts at the response. “I can only tell you that his handwriting is pretty. It’s also why I thought you could’ve been Miracle too, but guess not, so…”

“True, it is nicely written. Lets just read through the letter again until we come up with something.”

So you look through the letter over and over until every word is memorised, nothing relevant coming into mind.

“Whatcha’ guys looking at?” The unintended scare makes Wonwoo and you jump, Junhui reacting along with the both of you despite being the one who scared you. He’s in his uniform, so he must be working right now.

“Love letter.” Wonwoo states, but you glare at him.

He isn’t wrong per se, but to say something like that out loud was awkward.

Correcting him, you add, “We’re finding out who wrote this letter.” To be honest, you didn’t want to add Junhui — the first suspect on the potential Miracles list — into this, but it was too late to tell him something else. Wonwoo ruined that chance anyway. “Wanna help? We kinda need all the help we can get.”

Junhui’s eyes widen. “Woah, you have an admirer Y/N?!”

Brokenly nodding, you also think it’s better to confess to Junhui as well. Keeping it in will only feel heavier on your load. “Actually, at first, I thought it was you…”

“It wasn’t just me?” Wonwoo asks, surprised.

“Mhmm. It’s just three of you, though.”

“And who’s the third?”

“Um… Soonyoung,”

Junhui points at the letter, “You really think Soonyoung has handwriting this nice? We should get you to an opticians after this—“

“Jun!” Wonwoo nudges him, Junhui laughing.

“Hey, I’m not wrong!”

Shrugging, Wonwoo bends his elbow over the chair, turning to Junhui. “Any ideas then? Anything is helpful.”

Junhui bends over, head moving left and right like a metronome as he reads through the letter, face concentrated like when he was picking between the teddy and flower. You should ask him how that story went.

In the end, Junhui shakes his head. You and Wonwoo grunt.

“Unless,” He comes closer to the paper again, “Miracle wrote this letter in here.”

“Here? How the heck can you confirm that?” You ask, taking glimpses of the paper.

“The coffee ring.”

Wonwoo argues, “But that could’ve been from any other coffee shop.”

Junhui moves back and presents the paper for the both of you to see. “If you feel it, it still feels damp and you can see some of the coffee imprinted to the other side where the note is folded. What time did you get this letter Y/N?”

“Almost an hour ago? It was slid through my dorm door.”

Triumphant, Junhui snaps his fingers. “Exactly! If this note was still fresh with these coffee stains, Seventeen is the only one that fits the criteria because your dorm wouldn’t be too far away from here.”

“Holy shit. He’s onto something.” Wonwoo gasps.

“Did you see who wrote this Jun?”

“Nope. I was restocking items then, sorry Y/N — but I probably guess it was the guy sitting near the entrance by the corner wearing a cap and mustard shirt. A gasp came from that corner and I got a glimpse of coffee being spilt there. I never got to see his face though.”

“Progress.” Inhaling a sharp sigh, Wonwoo relaxes in his chair, noticing your sullen star at the paper.

“We need a little bit more than that though… I swear, Miracle will forever be a mystery— AH!” You yell when you look at the window, Soonyoung’s face pressed against the glass, producing an ugly face. Gaining a reaction from you three, Soonyoung laughs evilly as he walks into the cafe, slinging an arm around Junhui.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere Wonwoo! I thought we were going to that new PC bang you’ve been talking about non-stop! I even ended dance practice early for it… Oh, hey Y/N!”

Wonwoo scrunches his face. “About that, well…”

“Anywho!” Soonyoung interrupts. “I saw you all crowded here, so, let me join in on the fun!”

Junhui picks up the light item for Soonyoung to see. “Can you guess who wrote this?”

Soonyoung takes it from Junhui’s hands, his reading combination of squinting his eyes and jutting out a lip. Furrowing his eyebrows, his head cocks back.

“Oh, it’s Jihoon’s hadnwriting.”

Jihoon?

“Him? Why bring him up all of a sudden—” You stammer, unable to keep the nervousness inside. “Besides, he doesn’t write like that.”

“He does! This is totally Jihoon’s! I see it inside the books he carries.”

“His handwriting his messy. Like really, really messy.”

“I know his handwriting when I see it,” you go mute over Soonyoung’s argument, Wonwoo noticing the argument progressing somewhere else.

Wonwoo takes it into his own hands. “Okay, we trust you Soon, but is there anything else you can connect to Jihoon other than that?”

Soonyoung shows the neatly torn side of the paper. “You can tell it’s been ripped from a book. He does this a lot when we’re together, but normally crumples them and throws it on the ground or something like that when it doesn’t ‘sound right’ to him…” Soonyoung faces you. “You also notice he rips a lot of paper out of his journals too, right?”

You nod, further improved by the addition of Junhui, stating, “Jihoon isn’t great with words either — he must’ve had to write what he would wanna say multiple times before writing the final thing—“

“Which explains why so many pages are ripped out from his book!” Soonyoung finishes for him, baffled.

Wonwoo leans into the table a bit more, propping himself with his arm. “Have you met him today? Jihoon?” Soonyoung nods. “What did he wear?”

“Let’s see. He wore a yellow shirt—“ Junhui’s eyes open in panic, Soonyoung rambling on, “I don’t understand how he wasn’t cold, it’s freezing.”

You look at Junhui and Wonwoo. “He didn’t say anything about a cap, anyone could’ve worn a yellow shirt…” Why were you arguing against this? Half of you didn’t want to believe it, the other half…

“Cap? I let Jihoon borrow mine because he left midway during dance practice. Guess he got bored. Was it white?”

For confirmation, Wonwoo looks at Junhui — Soonyoung mirroring Wonwoo to make it look like he knows what’s happening — who slowly nods in somewhat horror.

After the reaction passes on to the other two, they hurry to the note and reread it together, all the faint murmurs about Jihoon turning into exaggerated exclamations as they get to the end of the letter.

Drowning into deep thought, ignoring all of the others’ reactions, you piece together the truth. “No way — the garden — it was him. He was waiting for me. Jihoon is Miracle. Holy shit, what have I done?”

“Garden?” Junhui questions. Because of your late realisation to how oblivious you were, you thoroughly rub your eyes, letting this sink in. Wonwoo’s lips thin, hand tapping your arm to comfort you.

“At least we revealed Miracle’s identity,”

“It took you this long to figure out it was the person you’ve been around this whole time?”

“It didn’t seem like it was him Soonyoung! And I still dragged him into it… I flat out rejected him that day, he must hate me—“

“Hey, that isn’t true.” Reasons Wonwoo. “You two need to talk it out and apologise. Sure, you took a while to come to your senses, but he shouldn’t have led you on and decide to call it quits last second.”

Junhui puts a finger against the window. “Jihoon’s right over there — exiting campus.” All of you swivel your heads to watch the male walk out of the grounds, expressionless. “You should talk to him!”

“I can get him—“

“Wait, Soonyoung, stay. I think I have a plan. But all of you need to help me.”

It’s a nice day, Jihoon thinks, walking across the hallway, his eyes concentrated on the window and the students in groups enjoying their day. Other than that, he isn’t paying too much attention to anything, music coming through his headphones.

But his phone vibrates, causing him to tap the screen and see what the text is.

Is it okay if we talk?

Jihoon hitches a breath as he rereads the six words over and over, his heart slightly throbbing too fast, the rush of feelings flooding in. He doesn’t like this feeling — or the reason that they came back so quickly — it was like an uninvited guest.

As much as his feelings were at the tip of the iceberg, he didn’t want to give into you. He promised himself to let things go; to have time to himself before acting as if everything was fine.

So, he sets his phone away and continues walking, turning up the sound even though he’s fully aware it’s not going to distract him. He’ll reply to you in a few hours, maybe say his phone died on him, or something.

He glances at his hand, it’s shaking — what the heck?

There’s a prodding around his shoulder blade and a muffled noise behind him, but it takes him a while to finally reacts to the student who stops him in his tracks by standing in front of him. Hanging his headphones around his neck, Jihoon looks at the other with widened eyes, shifting them from time to time as he has never seen this person in his life.

“Jihoon, is it?” They say. Careful, Jihoon nods. “Someone wants to meet you at the lecture hall. He’s… This high?” The student raises their hand to estimate their height. “You won’t miss him.”

“Okay… Do you know what it’s for?” After saying that, he realises he should’ve asked who this person was, but Jihoon went against changing his question. The student shrugs and Jihoon can’t blame them — he doesn’t even know why someone would want to see him anyway, unless it’s Soonyoung asking to eat for the millionth time — “It’s alright. Thanks for tell me anyway. Um, have a nice day.”

Walking away, Jihoon’s mind lingers on what he could be asked, an odd feeling in his stomach the more he tries to push down his emotions.

Arriving to the lecture hall, he takes glimpses inside to see if there was one vacant or had someone that remotely looked like they were waiting for Jihoon.

Luckily, he finds one that fits the first criteria, and also revealed someone packing up their things near the front rows. Jihoon isn’t too sure if that’s who wants to see him, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask anyway.

He steps down the stairs until he’s level with the person, shocked to see it was Junhui. “Jun?”

Nonchalant, Junhui faces Jihoon and forms a kind face when he sees the male. “Jihoon? I haven’t seen you in a while, you doing fine?”

“Oh — I’ve been well,”

“Nice,” Junhui nods in appreciation, midway packing his things, “my lecture just ended. Did you want something?”

Junhui didn’t want to see me? Did he just forget? Jihoon puffs his cheeks. “Ah — no, it’s okay—“ he’s about to leave, but something inside him stops him from doing so. “By any chance, did you wanna talk to me?”

“Right!” Junhui gasps, digging back into his bag as he brings out an item. “Can you give this to Soonyoung? I forgot to this morning since I was in a hurry and my shift is soon.”

Doing such a simple favour can make Jihoon just say no, can you do it when you see Soonyoung again? to Junhui, but he doesn’t want to look rude so he complies to the request, being lent the white cap into his hands.

“I’ll see if he’s in the dance studio.”

“You’re a lifesaver Jihoon, I owe you one. You like food don’t you? Let’s eat next time. Okay?” A grin widens on Junhui’s face naturally and Jihoon, like he’s under a spell, nods the slightest, Junhui finally packing up and slinging a bag over him, walking away whilst humming.

Jihoon gets to relax when he finally leaves, expressing a whole sigh. Junhui’s so relaxed, isn’t he? Not to mention friendly too. Who could say no to him?

Now heading to the dance studio, Jihoon twirls the cap around his finger, his mind still going back to your text. Then he remembers he’s going to Soonyoung, and a funny memory comes into his head.

It’s the time when Soonyoung asked him about you — if you were seeing someone. In Jihoon’s mind, it wasn’t his place to say if you were dating, but at the same time, he didn’t like to think about you with someone else. From what began as platonic blossomed into something more, a slight desire to treasure you for himself, but it sounded crazy in Jihoon’s head.

Therefore in the end, he didn’t answer Soonyoung’s question. Jihoon was also aware of the feelings Soonyoung had for you, despite Soonyoung’s bad attempts of trying to disapprove of it. Jihoon was tagged to not express his feelings, so Jihoon kept it that way. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to break up his friendship with Soonyoung by admitting he liked you too — he wanted Soonyoung to keep his puppy love for you.

“Hey man, what’s up Hoon?”

Jihoon flinches a little. He didn’t even register that he was in the dance studio already. He greets Soonyoung with a wobbly smile. “Jun wanted to give this back.”

“Oh, I’ve been searching for this everywhere!” Soonyoung throws his current cap away and wears the white one. “While you’re here, I need to give you something.”

“Am I being a messenger owl today?” Scoffs Jihoon.

“What?”

“Nothing,”

An item is placed into Jihoon’s hand — a laptop that was familiar to him — and he looks at Soonyoung’s face, smiling as if it was nothing. He couldn’t blame Soonyoung, but it was like a stab to a fresh wound.

“Can you give this to Y/N? I used it to transport some files to my phone. I pretty sure she’s in the library with Wonwoo. They’re familiar with each other aren’t they?”

Yes Soonyoung, I know that, Jihoon grits his teeth. Jihoon shouldn’t be like this; he has no right to be. Why, out of all people, does he have to see Y/N and Wonwoo face to face? Fate was probably laughing at him today.

How sad.

“Whatever.” Jihoon eventually comments, walking out. Soonyoung shouts love you Jihoon! as he walks out, Jihoon scowling secretly. But he can’t get mad at Soonyoung — it was a harmless act in the end.

Soonyoung exhales loudly once Jihoon leaves. There’s a reason why Soonyoung isn’t a drama major, thank god he played it off decently. He finds his phone, lifting it to his ear. “You’re up.”

It’s quite a walk, but Jihoon makes it to the library, holding in a breath. Is it normal for is heart to beat this fast? Maybe not, but it was.

Jihoon slaps himself lightly on the cheek, wanting to come back to the reality of this all. It’s over. The simple words keeps Jihoon motivated to enter the library, quiet and unbothered.

Yet to his surprise, you couldn’t be seen anywhere. Like an idiot, he walks up and down and around the library three times before concluding one, everyone was certainly beginning to think he’s insane, and two, you aren’t in the library.

“Fantastic.” Jihoon clicks his tongue, preparing himself for what’s about to happen. Right now, he wants to kick a chair, yet he suppresses that as he walks to the desk, paper cranes of different sizes and colours filling the sides.

Jihoon stares at Wonwoo, who’s in his own world, silently folding more cranes one by one, multitasking as he reads through a textbook.

Slowly arriving in front of the desk, Jihoon clears his throat. Awkwardly.

“Wonwoo?”

“Hm — Jihoon?” Wonwoo puts down his in-progress crane, tilting his head. “How may I help?”

His chill tone makes Jihoon bubble with envy inside. Insecurity hits. Manifests. Jihoon presents the laptop to Wonwoo, hand running along one of your stickers in the corner.

He either had two options: ask where you were, or ask Wonwoo to give the laptop to you.

Jihoon comes to a decision.

“Give this to Y/N please,”

“Ah, Y/N just left, what bad timing,” Wonwoo pouts, now holding the laptop and storing it behind the desk, “I’ll return it as soon as possible. Y/N will be really happy.”

“Okay.” Forcing a smile, Jihoon thinks he can’t hold this up any longer. It feels like the world is closing on him. “Now I, uh, better go—“

“Before you do,” Wonwoo disrupts, “Y/N left this.” He shows a closed letter, sliding it along the desk to Jihoon. “I think it’s for you.”

Me? “I don’t think so…” Jihoon shakes his head, rejecting the letter. “Its probably for you.”

“Pretty sure it isn’t,” the other holds up a smile, “we’re just friends. Whatever it is, I don’t think Y/N would tell me something through letter.” Wonwoo pushes the letter just slightly, enough to tip over the edge and for Jihoon to clumsily catch it. “I have no idea what it’s about, but the name says what it says.”

Jihoon checks the letters on the flap. Lee Jihoon.

“Oh.” Jihoon says intelligently. He moves his lips to add something, but recognises the person waiting behind him, giving no option but to quickly say goodbye and walk out.

Sitting after much exhaustion, Jihoon unfolds the black letter and takes out the tiny-sized paper.

Dear Jihoon,

This is long overdue on my behalf, so here it is.

You had me fooled.

Fooled you were helping me all this time; fooled that you were just tagging along with this; fooled I was going the wrong way all this time. But you know what? You fooled yourself too.

Fooled yourself by watching me go through each person, one by one. Fooled through pointing out the good things about everyone. Fooled because when it came to you, you looked at yourself negatively. I could be mad — I’d have a right to be — but it’s not what I’m here for.

I’m here to tell you the truth.

The truth that you don’t have to be Junhui to be loved by everyone, or be Soonyoung to catch my attention, even Wonwoo to make me smile ‘brightly’. I want you to be you.

Jihoon who’s always hardworking, the person who brings a smile to my face every day without fail, who I hold precious to my heart, who’s amazing in every single way but stays grounded. You — with a loving heart even though he doesn’t want to admit, that through the stubbornness, you cherish those close to you; admire them, even.

You admire them to the point that you think you can’t get to their level, and it hurts me to see you can’t recognise your glow. Because of you, each day is beautiful to me. Persona or true self, you are held dear to me, because in the end, it’s you.

Out of all possibilities, I wouldn’t have thought you’d admire someone like me. ‘Why me?’ Is what I thought the first time I recieved that letter during that cold January. Though, I slowly loved myself more and more with your words, and I was always on the receiving end.

What I’m trying to say is… I wanna return the favour. Show you how special you are, make you love yourself the same way you did to me.

So please, meet me in the garden? I miss you so much.

I miss your face, smile, voice, the stupid texts you send at 2AM — I miss it all. I hope you do, too.

It’s fine if you don’t come. I just wanted to let you know all of this.

My miracle; that’s who you are in my eyes.

Love, Y/N.

Jihoon begins to run to the garden, heart beating faster than ever. Inside the library, Wonwoo smiles, soon texting you.

Out of the endless possibilities.

Jihoon stumbles into the garden, turning around and round, searching with every fibre of energy in him. He stops, thinking deeply before his eyes lighten — shimmering — when he goes into the direction of the hidden area, hidden behind vivid green leaves and small, white flowers growing.

He sees you standing there, a fresh breeze coming to him. He feels unworthy of being dressed so casually like this but it doesn’t matter because you’re there.

Your hand gripped onto your arm as you’re seated on the stone bench, gently swinging your legs and face sullen yet calm, eyes moving from your shoes to the stone path.

Only one miracle has happened before our eyes

Quietly, he calls out your name.

Your ears pick it up, the quiet call feeling like the loudest thing in your mind, all the messy thoughts fading away. The two of you meet face to face, taking in every curve and expression forming on your face.

Jihoon’s smooth skin kissed with faint beauty marks, deep irises shaking as they gaze at you, eyelashes moving beautifully when he closes his eyes, the hue of his cheeks warming to a cherry blossom pink, being bridged over his nose, lips agape, no words escaping out of him.

He’s just like you remembered him: beautiful.

Even if we miss each other, it’s alright, I’ll find you.

He approaches you first, walking with a little sigh while his eyes concentrate on you. You couldn’t just break away, you were enchanted too.

When Jihoon stands in front of you, he takes you by the hand, pulling you up and not letting go afterwards.

“Hi,” dumbly, you say.

“Hi.” He says with the same tone.

It makes the both of you laugh, breaking away in shy giggles as Jihoon’s lips wobble once more, and his hands begin to shake. You hold onto his hands tight, running a thumb over his skin. “Look at me,” you whisper.

Jihoon looks at you. After all the feelings he kept inside, the insecurities he hid away, the admiration he has for everyone else but himself, he looks at you and it goes away.

He finds it dazzling how you have so much impact on him. You, standing there, and letting every single thing in his head dissolve. Just like that, it’s done all because of you.

You smile, moving your hand to his cheek. Naturally, Jihoon nuzzles into your palm. Just watching it, you knew that you didn’t mind this.

So let’s be in love even more, so we won’t lose this miracle.

Jihoon breaks away from your touch, his hand reaching into his back pocket, revealing a crumpled piece of paper. His hands, still shaky, takes it out, flatting the deep creases made in them.

You remember that piece of paper; it was from his notebook the day you met in this exact same spot.

“Y/N,” Jihoon reads off the paper, and it’s apparent that you can hear his heartbeats from all the way here, “I’m aware I’m the last person who you would’ve thought to be,” you laugh in between his words, Jihoon relaxing along with you, “but I hope you aren’t disappointed. After all, I did warn you.”

He looks away from the paper, putting it by his side.

“So enough with this persona, and time to formally reveal myself. I’m Jihoon and I like you so, so much Y/N. I can’t think of anyone else but you. It’s always been you. Finally, I can say this — no worries, nothing. Will you be mine?”

Happiness rockets inside you, pulling Jihoon into a hug without any warning, nodding speechlessly. Jihoon melts into the hug too, hands wrapped securely around you.

“Say it again,” you softly ask.

Jihoon’s chuckle vibrates from his chest, sending a warm feeling to you. “I like you,”

You smile so much that it hurts, hands playing with Jihoon’s hair. “I like you too, my miracle.”

All the beautiful words from the countless letters sent to you finally come to a reality, its beautifulness more apparent inside Jihoon’s eyes, not able to comprehend such a sight that he’ll cherish for an eternity. He hums questionably, causing you to look at him with shy eyes.

Forever, this was wanted for forever.

“It’s you; you’re my miracle.”

Thank the heavens Jihoon reciprocated that feeling too.

[honeyutoda]

Hi there so I was hoping that maybe you could do something with Pentagon’s Yuto about his girlfriend being really insecure because she has a lot of stretch marks and him comforting her and more fluff. Thanks in advance!!!

You Are Beautiful

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Group: PENTAGON

Pairing: Yuto x reader

Genre: fluff

Word count: 704

Warnings: body hate and that’s about it

A/n: oh my god I’m so sorry this took so long and that it’s so short 😭😭 I’ve had the worst writers block for the longest time and it’s been awful and today was the first day I’ve been inspired to write for months, so I tried to make it last as long as I could. Hopefully I’ll get over this thing someday, it’s so gross 😫 i really hope you like it and if not, please feel free to request again, bc I feel bad for making you wait so long for something so short ;-; I really need to get my creative juices flowing 🥺 (ewww) feedback is also appreciated, but like you don’t have tosksndoandod

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“Jagiya!”

Yuto’s deep voice called from around the corner. You stopped searching through the sea of swimsuits on the rack in front of you and turned your attention to your boyfriend, who was holding a red two-piece.

“What about this one?” He beamed, his smile stretching from ear to ear, making his eyes turn into that goofy squint you always loved. You looked at the garment clutched in his hand and tried to hide the look of insecurity that dared to creep onto your features. Two-pieces always made you insecure. You liked to cover up what you thought others would never like to see, so you always opted for a one-piece with a lot of coverage. And though the suit he was holding was very cute, you couldn’t even begin to imagine a situation in which you’d feel comfortable wearing it. You looked back at him, forcing a smile onto your face.

“That’s so cute! I’ll try it on,” you replied, making Yuto’s smile grow impossibly wider. Damn him. That smile could make you do anything for him.

Yuto grabbed your hand and led you to a fitting room, sitting in a chair outside the room you had chosen.

“Come our when you have it on! I want to see!” He hollers, as if the door wasn’t thin enough for his voice to travel through.

You changed into the bikini and looked at yourself in the mirror, grabbing and poking at the stretch marks that made you so insecure.

“Disgusting,” you muttered to yourself, tracing your fingers over the reddened catastrophes that has caused you so much anxiety about your body.

“Baby, are you done?” Yuto asked from outside, the excitement in his voice clear.

You turned away from the mirror before twisting the handle on the door at an excruciatingly slow pace, not even realizing how fast your heart was beginning to beat. You poked your head through the small crack in the door, looking around to see if anyone else was there. Showing yourself like this to Yuto was bad enough – you didn’t want to take any chances and show yourself to multiple people.

After you found the hall to be empty, you slowly opened the door wider, squeezing your eyes shut because you did not wish to see whatever look of disgust would be cast on Yuto’s features when he saw the ugly, red marks that were sure to be accented by the red swimsuit. Your fists clenched at your sides, almost trembling with the amount of fear and anxiety coursing through you.

Yuto sighed, and your shoulders sagged. I knew it, you thought. All hope was lost. This was it for the two of you. Yuto was about to walk out of your life forever and it was all your stupid body’s fault.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured breathlessly.

You peeked one eye open. Did you hear him wrong? There was no way he just said...

“So beautiful..” he trailed off, taking in the view in front of him.

“How?” You blurted out, causing a frown to adorn his features.

“What do you mean ‘how?’” He questioned.

“My stretch marks.. they-“

“-are stunning,” he interrupted, a scowl still on his face. “How could you ever think they weren’t?”

“I don’t know – I – I just,” you stuttered.

“Your stretch marks make up a part of who you are. Your stretch marks are you, and I’m in love with you,” soothed, taking your hands into his and looking up at you with admiring eyes.

You stared at him, trying to understand.

“You really mean it?”

“I do,” his corners of his lips starting to turn up into a cute smile. He stood up from his chair. “I truly do.”

He cupped your face in his hands and planted a soft kiss to your lips, pulling away to look at you once more. You smiled and felt newfound courage and love for your body. If he loved your body, then that was all that mattered. No one’s opinion should affect you and you shouldn’t be scared to flaunt yourself because of something so silly.

Yuto gave you another once-over before locking eyes with you and winking.

“We’re buying this one.”

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Last week, CNN held seven hours of back-to-back town halls where 10 candidates discussed their approaches to addressing climate change. Those same 10 candidates will appear in the Democratic primary debate this Thursday.

Perhaps as a result of all that attention, many of those presidential hopefuls saw an increase in how much cable and online news coverage they got last week, measured as the share of all stories or clips mentioning at least one Democratic 2020 contender that included their name. Conversely, most of the candidates who weren’t involved (and will be left out of the debate this week), saw a decline, according to data from the TV News Archive1

Across the cable news networks we monitor — CNN, Fox News and MSNBC — the phrase “climate change” was mentioned in more 15-second clips last week than any other week this year. Five candidates — Mayor Pete Buttigieg, former Cabinet secretary Julián Castro, and Sens. Cory Booker, Kamala Harris and Amy Klobuchar — unveiled sweeping new proposals to tackle climate change last week, and all five received a bump in their share of mentions in both mediums. Former Texas Rep. Beto O’Rourke also saw an increase in his share of mentions on cable news, but clips that mentioned him were more likely to mention guns than climate, suggesting that the media is paying more attention to his positions on gun control in the wake of a second deadly mass shooting in his home state.

Biden got the most media mentions last week — again

Share of 15-second cable news clips mentioning each candidate vs. share of online stories mentioning each candidate in a Media Cloud search

Cable TV clips the week of … online stories the week of … Candidate 8/25/19 9/1/19 diff 8/25/19 9/1/19 diff Joe Biden 49.7% 41.6% -8.1 45.9% 43.0% -2.9 Bernie Sanders 18.5 16.5 -2.0 42.1 40.0 -2.1 Elizabeth Warren 24.3 18.6 -5.6 41.0 37.0 -4.1 Kamala Harris 5.0 7.9 +2.9 23.5 24.9 +1.5 Pete Buttigieg 2.6 7.2 +4.6 17.8 22.5 +4.7 Cory Booker 1.9 8.2 +6.3 14.8 15.6 +0.8 Julian Castro 1.3 2.1 +0.8 10.9 14.0 +3.2 Andrew Yang 1.8 2.4 +0.6 12.1 11.9 -0.2 Amy Klobuchar 1.7 2.1 +0.4 8.4 10.7 +2.3 Beto O’Rourke 2.7 6.3 +3.6 7.7 7.7 +0.0 Bill de Blasio 2.2 3.7 +1.5 7.3 5.6 -1.7 Marianne Williamson 0.8 0.8 +0.0 5.8 4.9 -0.9 Tom Steyer 5.2 1.4 -3.9 8.0 3.2 -4.8 Tulsi Gabbard 2.2 0.3 -1.9 7.7 3.0 -4.7 Steve Bullock 1.8 0.7 -1.1 5.5 2.5 -3.0 Michael Bennet 0.5 0.4 -0.1 5.3 2.2 -3.1 Tim Ryan 0.8 1.4 +0.6 4.2 2.0 -2.2 John Delaney 0.6 0.7 +0.1 3.1 1.8 -1.3 Joe Sestak 0.0 0.0 +0.0 1.4 0.6 -0.8 Kirsten Gillibrand 3.7 — — 10.6 — —

Includes all candidates that qualify as “major” in FiveThirtyEight’s rubric. Each network’s daily news coverage is chopped up into 15-second clips, and each clip that includes a candidate’s name is counted as one mention. For both cable and online news, our search queries look for an exact match for each candidate’s name, except for Julian Castro, for whom our search query is “Julian Castro” OR “Julián Castro.” Media Cloud searches use two of the database’s publication lists: “top online news” and “digital native” publications.

Sources: Internet Archive’s Television News Archive via the GDELT Project, Media Cloud

The three highest-polling candidates — former Vice President Joe Biden, Sen. Bernie Sanders and Sen. Elizabeth Warren — did appear in the CNN town halls about climate change, but were mentioned fewer times last week than the week before. Still, they remain well ahead of the rest of the pack in terms of both media mentions and support in the polls. And even in that top tier, Biden continues to lead Warren and Sanders in both online and cable news mentions for the second week in a row, leading us to ask the same question we did before the first and second debates: Can anyone end Biden’s media dominance?

Check out the data behind this series and check back each week for an update on which candidates are getting the most coverage on cable and online.

[boogiewrites]

Reports and Repertoire Pt. 2

Characters: Eddie Brock x Candace Miller (OFC)

Word Count:  7800+

Summary: Eddie and Candace meet face to face. Agreeing to work together, they find themselves falling into an easy back and forth with each other given their similarities in morals and interests. This chapter follows the beginning stages of their relationship, figuring each other out and working together. A clear chemistry builds between them, and neither put very much thought into where it will go. Not yet anyway.

Warnings/Tags: Language.Fluffy, getting to know you.

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist.

It's only a few minutes until her office hours are over. Candace is in the ladies bathroom with the best lighting, touching up her hair and makeup before catching an uber to a part of town she's familiar with. She volunteered at a homeless shelter in the area, a particular cause she'd felt drawn to once she moved to San Francisco. She'd taken people to eat on more than a few occasions, some frequenters of the shelter becoming friends, some acting as extra eyes and ears for her in the city.

What she'd been working on, and what she would be sharing with Eddie in about an hour was about these people. She straightens her white v-neck t-shirt over her fitted jeans. Boots to guard against the off and on all day rain are now resting under rolled-up hems of her pants, the slightly heeled black faux-suede looking a bit more put together this way. Digging through her purse she finds some lipstick and a necklace that she adds to the outfit. Her medium brown hair is in loose waves, luckily it was cooperating with the weather today and not frizzing completely. Her hip length, lightweight army green jacket with its many pockets and hood rests on the dark speckled bathroom sink counter as she tries to spruce herself up a bit. She didn't look fancy, but this didn't call for that. She looked...yeah she looked normal she concluded with an approving nod, letting her arms fall heavy to her sides as she rolls her eyes with getting caught up on how she looks. 'But you know he'll look good.' her inner voice says as she raises her eyebrows to herself in the mirror as to scold the thought. She looked good, she looked like she was grabbing some casual meal with a friend, and except for the friend part, which she hoped would change eventually, she was hitting the mark for what was needed.

She adjusts the grey faux leather crossbody bag on her shoulder as she stands fifteen minutes early in front of the pizza place. Her finger picks at the large press button on the front flap on her bag before she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She watches the mixed bag of locals, being too far inland for tourists in this part of town. There was a breeze as usual, the rain had cleared for now, the cracked concrete still damp.

"I'm here. I don't think he'll try to murder me so...just letting you know." she sends to Steph.

"If you go missing I'll know who to blame. Have fun. ;) " Candace smirks rolls her eyes, putting her phone back into her pocket. After growing tired of standing in the constant flow of people on the street, she decides to go in and get a table outside before the rush comes. If she waited too long, they'd be stuck inside where it was too hot and loud, she could watch for him from the covered patio.

Getting a small two-seater table on the edge of the awning she scrolls through her phone to recall details of what she'd been working on. The white noise of the city is disrupted by the rumbling of a motorcycle coming to a stop down the street. Her fingers that had been absentmindedly tapping her chin pause as she watches the man remove his helmet, revealing a handsome, familiar face. She figures if she's going to oogle, now would be the time to as she takes in the tightness in the thighs of his dark jeans, the neutral colored sneakers that complimented a dark t-shirt underneath a black leather moto jacket.

He ruffled the longer hair at the top of his head as he puts the helmet in the saddle bag of the bike. He adjusts the collar of the jacket, giving it a fluff before thumbing his nose and with a distinctly masculine, shoulder swaying saunter, he crosses the street. As he gets closer she puts her phone face down on the glass table top, instead of its usual place of the pocket of her coat that hung over the back of the chair, as it would be needed it to show him photos and give him names and addresses. He looks a little tired, a little shabby, but it still works with the whole vibe after coming in on a motorcycle. He looked more like a bad boy with a devil may care attitude than the journalist she'd watched that passionately defended the rights of others. As soon as his feet hit the curb her body reacts and stands and he looks around, it only takes him a moment to recognize her from her pictures and he's thankful she seems just as personable and dare he think even prettier in person. He gives a head tilt and a questions glance of 'that you?' much like a puppy, a pointed finger accompanying the expression.

Her appearance puts him at ease, he'd worried about a t-shirt and jeans coming off as this not being important to him but when he saw the same combination on her, although wearing it in a much more flattering, feminine way, he hides his exhale of relief as he approaches. With his hands still in his pockets, he nods and mutters 'excuse me' to people on the street as he's beckoned by her wave to him. His manners do not go unnoticed by Candace's watchful eye.

So she stands, two feet away from Eddie Brock. Inside her, a part of her was squealing with delight. He was just as attractive as he looked on the screen, well, actually more so once he opened his mouth. Instead of the more articulate and annunciated, projected masculine tone, she was used to hearing from him, his voice was quiet and raspy, a twitch of his lip and a slight stutter shows his uncertainty as he says her name.

"Hey, uh-Candace. Hi." he says with a nod of his head.

Her hand extends to meet his, a slight squeeze to test the waters between the two of them, she notices he wears rings, notes the typical finger an engagement ring would be on to be bare and she wonders how she never noticed the jewelry before on camera.

"Hey Eddie," she says in a sweet, smooth voice. Her voice was softer in person, a small hint of a smile stayed on her face as their hands shook before she motions to the chair across the table from her. "Thanks for meeting me on such short notice."

"Nah, don't mention it. Thank you for meeting me. You're the one helpin' me out." he says with a half smile and a much heavier New York accent.

"You've exposed serial killers and I write pieces on local bakeries trying to make the world's biggest cookie I think I'm the one indebted to you." she says with a full smile, a chuckle that shakes her shoulders slightly, the long silver necklace with a tiny looking glass pendant shakes and shifts over her chest.

"Ehh." he says dismissively in a dragging way. Before he can compliment her work, both trying to feel each other out. the waiter brings the menus. "Oh, thank you." he says in a genuine way, making eye contact and nodding in acknowledgment to the woman. He'd passed the first test, being nice to the staff. Look's like Eddie Brock acting like a dick wouldn't be a problem she'd have to navigate.

"You wanna split a pizza?" she asks casually, eyes on the menu.

"Yeah, sure." he shrugs, his head nodding in a show of cooperation.

"The Margherita is good. Classic. Can't really go wrong with it." her finger taps the menu and she purses her lips.

"Sounds good." he says, looking back up at her, watching her face.

"But the real question I suppose is where do you stand on pineapple on pizza?" she subdues a smile as he realizes she's making comedic banter to clear the air.

"Oh, I don't care either way. Pineapple's good, pizza's good, who cares?" he says with a purse of his lips.

"A lot of people. Surprisingly." she shuts the menu and he sees her shoulders relax. "Perhaps we should do a report on the oppression of fruit on pizza. Get to the bottom of that conspiracy." her brows are high and her face is warm and friendly and it eases any jitters that were left.

"Gotta be careful. Who knows which fruit is behind the takedown of pineapple. Don't wanna end up messin' with "big cherry" or somethin', they're nasty people." he grins and they both share a laugh.

With the tension broken they both fall into an easy back and forth. After ordering they cover the basics, talk about beer, about the city and each other. As the steaming pizza is placed on the pedestal in the middle of the table, he decides to start to talk shop after as they mumble with mouthfuls about how they made a good decision.

"So I've noticed you have a lot of pieces about the homeless population in the city." he says as she finishes taking an indulgent bite of gooey cheese.

A muffled "Mmm Hmm." before she swallows and nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, I volunteer at a shelter a few blocks down." she motions behind her with her thumb out. "When I first moved here I had nothing, and I mean, here it's just a few bad decisions and you'll find yourself homeless at any given time," she says with a slight frown. "But I know you've done lots of coverage too. So you're familiar with how the causes of being out on the street. From simple bad decisions, things totally out of their control, to more complex problems like mental health or the young LGBT community, veterans with PTSD that our system has failed." she pauses for a moment and sighs. "I mean I've met every sort of person working at that shelter. And none of them bad." she shows a sad smile that says a lot on it's own. He gives a small upturning of one side of his mouth in support of the notion. Her face is more serious now, she meets his eyes and he sees that spark that caught his attention in the first place. "I know I can't fix everything. But people are all people have." she bites her lip for a moment, looking down. "So I figured I would try to focus my efforts and I was drawn to this one specifically." her voice is quieter, he leans forward to hear her better in the bustle of the restaurant and street. "I figure starting with trying to give people the basic things they need to survive is a good start. Shelter, food, clothing, care. A little bit of kindness can go a long way. Especially to someone who isn't used to receiving it."

"Yeah it's...it's very important to know where your passion lies. And y'know, I can tell you're passionate about this, it's a big reason I wanted to work with you." he admits.

"Thanks," she says with a sincere huff of breath. "What's your passion then? What've you been working on?" she asks innocently enough.

Oh shit, here we go, he thinks. Here's where he tells her the truth and she leaves and he's back to square one. "Uh well, nothing as of late." he admits his nose wrinkles slightly as she tilts her head, showing the confusion on her face.

"I noticed you hadn't been uploading anything but, I thought you might've been working on something big." her brow is heavier, wanting to know more without being rude.

He lets out a sigh and licks his lips, leaning forward on the table on his elbows. "I'll be honest with you Candace." he begins, finding holding her gaze easier than he expected. "I made an enemy out of a very powerful man by asking the wrong things in an interview trying to get to the truth." his voice is more steady, a little deeper and self-assured than it had been earlier in the night. "I went for it and he blacklisted me a few months back." he says with a slow nod, lips tucked into his mouth.

"Oh." she says with wide batting eyes. So THAT'S why he'd reached out to her. It was starting to make sense now. “Can I ask who?” she adds softly. 

It was a perfectly logical follow-up question. "Carlton Drake." he says with a frown.

"Oh shit," she whispers, her chin pushing into her chest. "That's...yeah I bet that guy has a lot of secrets." she says looking away, he could see the wheels turning in her head.

"I get it if you don't wanna work with me now, Candace I do-" he begins with slumped shoulders.

"No!" she insists, her brow heavy and a shake of her head. Her hand reaches out unexpectedly and rests on top of his. The sudden touch makes his face turns towards their hands a little too quickly to go unnoticed. "No that's...that's not fair," she says quietly. "What kind of asshole would I be if I'm preaching kindness one breath and then turning you away the next?" with one brow raised she retreats her hand. "I mean that's...that's heavy man. Not going to lie. But, I get it." her voice is slow and low, thoughtful and far nicer than he ever expected. "It's hard to know where to draw the line when trying to expose something that doesn't want to be exposed. Especially when it's covered by a man with a far reach and deep pockets like Drake." she shrugs, giving a closed mouth, sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. It was." he says with a slight snarl of his lip and a flash of sadness in his eyes.

"Even if we can get what we'd need to make an expose' and get a station to buy it, it's not gonna be the sort of money you're used to. I'm afraid I don't have anything that would bring that much attention."

"Those sorts of stories are really rare, I wasn't expectin' nothin' like that." he shakes his head. "I just miss the work. Y'know?" his nose wrinkles slightly in earnest.

"Yeah, I'd feel lost if I suddenly couldn't work anymore. But then again my eyes and ears are mostly homeless people so...not a high chance of that happening. Guess that's smart looking out on my behalf." she gives him a supportive smile.

"Not the most credible witnesses in some people eye's but, you're right about that. You seem to utilize your resources that you have really well."

"Having you help me will make it more credible I think, blacklisted or not. You can't have sources, video evidence, and eyewitnesses and be ignored by everyone forever."

"You already have those things?" his voice inflects upwards, sounding impressed.

"No." she frowns for a moment. "But I do know how we can get them." her smiles turns sly and it's infectious. "Here," she says, picking up her phone, scooting her chair closer to him and he meets her halfway. They sit arm to arm as she flips through her phone. "I've got a bunch of notes I can send you. Some audio recordings from witnesses and victims too. I'll send you these address and names..." she continues her thumb moving fast. "Apparently the police have been targeting certain homeless camps. They'll go in, push people around and make them fight to not get taken to jail over bullshit charges."

He nods as his eyes move over her picture of a map with doodled on circles and notes of locations and dates. "These are instances?"

"Yeah. I have all the names of the people I've talked to, of course, all but a few come to the shelter, so most aren't hard to find and they're more than willing to talk to someone who will listen. The problem is getting it on video. I need structured, on-camera interviews. I need written and signed witness statements and those people preferably need to be able to appear in court or at least appear reliable in some way if this does go to a legal level. I need to get it on video, pictures too of course but nothing is going to sell this like video will. And being in the right place on the right night is really tricky as I've found no real pattern between where they go and when."

"You've been working on this awhile haven't you?" he says with an impressed tone, seeing the dates go back for months.

"Yeah. Those that can remember, I have the dates of arrest and the charges they were filed with...have their mug shots saved from the booking website to document injuries, which there certainly are." she moves her face to look to his not even a foot away. "My personal problem is it's not safe for me to go to these camps alone at night. I've wanted to go deeper on this for a while now but I have to be smart about it. I won't be of use to anyone if I'm in jail or in a hospital." she explains with a pouty frown.

"You're definitely right about that." he nods, wishing he had her sense of patience and self-preservation.

"That's where I thought you might come in." she smiles sheepishly. "I thought maybe if we both went...maybe we would be okay."

"Man...it's been so long since I've done work like this." he almost whispers, face showing his consideration.

"I mean, I get it if you don't want to, it's dangerous so I'd understand if you didn't want to do it."

"Oh, no Candance, I definitely want to. Didn't mean to come off like I was gonna say no."

"Oh thank God." she exhales with a laugh. "I don't have anyone else to help me with this. We can go to the shelter and I can introduce you so they'll know who you are. That way there won't be any confusion. We'll take all the precautions we can. But getting video of a cop not only isolating them but threatening them AND making them fight then taking them in..." she shakes her head with a tired look on her face. "That's gonna take a lot of nights out there, and it'll just get more dangerous each time if the cops get wind of what we're doing."

"You're not wrong there." the same supportive nod. "But the reward would be worth the risk." he says with a gravelly tone and shrug. "I mean, this is a direct, unprovoked attack on at-risk people. Doesn't get much lower than that."

"It's been bothering me, honestly. I try to compartmentalize this sort of work but it's hard when you get to know these people."

"Yeah." his voice soft and higher pitched. "I understand that too well."

"I was really hoping you would." he notices how breathy her voice sounds so close. She sounded so genuinely relieved that he would help her, when she's the one helping him in his opinion. He gets caught up in that fire in her eyes again, seeing now the yellow flecks that exist in the pools of brown.

The waitress interrupts with the check and they both snap upright.

"What's your email? I'll send you all this and the rest tonight." she says, thumbs already moving.

"Oh, it's easy just eddiebrock at Gmail." he shakes his head dismissively.

"Keep it simple. I like it." she smiles and nods, noting it anyway. She moves and reaches for her wallet as he's already reached for his. "Nope. Put it away Eddie, I invited you out, I got it." she insists.

"You not even gonna let me pay for my own?" he asks with a high pitched boyish laugh.

"Nope. We could've met somewhere without food and I brought you out here and I'm not gonna have you spend money just because I was hungry." she says with a shake of her head, standing and placing the small booklet back on the table.

"Well maybe I was hungry too." he says playfully.

"Either way, I'm really grateful for the help so stop fighting me. You won't win." she grins and an almost goofy smile comes across his face.

"Whatever you say." he says with a firm nod and a charming smile.

They both stand at the curb, the sun having set, the neon lights from building signs now playing across the still wet splotches on the asphalt and making the oil rainbows shine across the road.

"Hey," he says to get her attention, one hand in his pocket, the other motioning towards his bike. "If you won't let me buy my own dinner, how about I save you the cost of a ride and I can take you home?" his voice was chivalrous and not suggestive.

He sees her considering it, thumb hovering over the lit up screen, lip twitching as she looked over to the bike. "I don't want you to have to go too far out of your way or anything." she says with a shake of her head.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the least I can do. Where do you live?"

"In the mission district." she says softly, noticing the scruff of his face as his hand rubbed his chin.

"That's in the middle of everything, what're you talkin' about out the way?" he says with a charming laugh that moves his chest. He notices the smile grow from a twitch at the corner of her mouth to a full smile up to her eyes. "Unless you know..." he smirks, "You're afraid of the bike or somethin'." he says hunching his shoulders towards her, the mischievousness in his eyes to tease her make her scoff at him, her head tilting to the side and her mouth open as if she were offended.

She blinks slowly a few times, he can't tell what she's thinking as her eyes narrow, but with a tilt of her head she answers, "Did you really just call me a chicken?" she asks with laughter in her voice "That's some grade school bullshit Brock." she says, no actual anger in her face. She makes a point to show her defiantly putting her phone in her pocket, she zips her jacket up dramatically. "And if you think I'm gonna fall for that..." she says with attitude, her head moving back and forth. "You'd be right." she says with a straight face before a smile that reaches her eyes comes across her face. "You got an extra helmet?" she asks with a quirked brow.

"Just so happens I do." he grins proudly at the fact his mischief paid off. His cheeks high and making his eyes smaller in his first showing of genuine excitement in months. "So that's a yes?" he leans in and tilts his head playfully.

"Yes, that's a yes you big bully." she rolls her eyes and laughs.

"C'mon ya bad ass." he says with a gritty laugh, walking across the street with her. "Let's get ya home Candace." he says with a sharp jerk of his head in the direction of the motorcycle.

She likes how he says he her name, like his accent makes it sound more fun or something. She glances over his face, noting how good he looks in the low light of the street lamps as he puts the helmet on her and straps it under her chin.

"There now, that isn't gonna go nowhere." he says, patting the top of the helmet. She then gets the treat of watching him throw his leg over the bike, jeans strained in all the right places as she holds back a gulp. She follows his lead before he has to ask, she knew how this worked. She just wasn't sure how she was going to handle being pressed up against him with her arms around him for the entire ride. She wasn't scared, he hadn't flown in on the bike like a bat out of hell or anything, but she'd be lying if she hadn't thought this was some girlish fantasy come to fruition for her.

He looks at his phone to remember the address before he starts the bike, she notices he saves it into her contact information. She supposes he would have to come to her place eventually, she wonders if she'll ever get to go to his.

"Alright. Grab tight, we're all friends here." she can feel his laugh as she wraps her arms around his waist, feeling small against the broad expanse of his shoulders. He shields her completely from the biting wind except for her hands, but the warmth from his skin coming from under his shirt was distracting enough to make her not notice.

So she closes out the night with her arms around Eddie Brock and a promise to see each other again. And not just once, but many times, for many hours at a time. It was the most eventful Friday she'd had in what was probably years. But then again, she wasn't much one for things like clubs and going out all night. Her best Fridays were spent with someone she liked, food and a good movie, a video game or a book. She'd had everything but the latter, and she expects she'll be curling up with one after she gets home. She tries to remember everything she can, because when she tells Steph that she rode bitch on Eddie Brock's bike with him taking her home she was going to be the one demanding details for once. ------------------- The next time Eddie and Candace see each other is four days later. But the next time they talk was that same night. Staying up late, her emailing all her work to him, and him eager and having nothing better to do with his time on a Friday, he sat up a workstation of sorts on his coffee table and got to reading.

He was impressed with how thorough she'd been. She had a storyboard of how she wanted the final video to look, she had the name, date and time down for every little note. He'd had people that had worked with him at the network that didn't have their shit together to this degree. He knew she'd be good, he'd seen her work, seen her editing and her delivery but getting into her notes was like getting to see how her mind worked and he found he liked what he found there.

It had been easy to feel less than enthusiastic at times when working for a network. It wasn't as heartfelt or passionate, there was less danger to it and it certainly hadn't made him as genuinely excited about doing something like this was. At the network, he'd been wrangled, censored and directed. But this time he was totally free. Of course, he would work within the frame that Candace wanted to, it was her baby after all, her idea in the first place. He hadn't thought he'd find himself so...what was that feeling he'd almost forgotten? Oh yeah, happy. He'd never been one to play second fiddle to anyone, in his work life he wanted to be aggressive and self-assured, but those traits didn't follow him in pretty much any other aspect of his life. It was nice to feel those things again after feeling like he'd been on an endless losing streak.

They stay up with each other on speaker for almost two hours, organizing, making plans, discussing options and open hours. Even though it was work it didn't feel like it. She seemed genuinely excited about working with him, and in turn that made him even more excited about working with her. When was the last time someone had been happy to see him? He stopped to think about as they ended their phone call. He recalls it had been about four months since Anne left him, and when it did end she certainly hadn't been happy to see him.

The biggest laughs they both experiences in the next few days come from their interactions with each other. She put down acronyms in her notes. They hung there unexplained and eventually Eddie snaps pictures of them sending her the photo with "???" in question. She explained her shorthand, and every now and then he would guess one right, her sending him a gif that would congratulate him. But most of the time he was clueless, and when he found himself stuck, he'd snap another pic and send it with some nonsensical words. Once they were comfortable, telling jokes to each other after feeling out each others sense of humor, the suggestions got more ridiculous and risque. They were the highlight of Candace's work hours. "BTA-RG" Bring The Atlas Right Gear, meaning the GPS didn't work well in that part of town and she needed to bring her gear bag for that bit of work. But when Eddie sent "Big Titties Are Really Great?" out of nowhere she snorted loudly and everyone in the office turned to look at her. She blushed just slightly, hunkering back down and explaining herself. She was more than happy to learn what a total dork he was turning out to be. ------ He sits at the counter at a small hole in the wall diner. He's halfway through a greasy burger when the slam of a heavy bag on the counter breaks his enjoyment. Luckily for him, the sight before him was something that he was enjoying even more than the burger.

It was Tuesday, and since her shift at the shelter on Saturday had been spent talking to people once again, she had more notes to discuss.

"Sorry I'm late." she sighs out, unbuttoning the top clasp of her dress shirt because she was feeling particularly stuffy in the suit she was wearing.

"Oh. Wow." he says with a funny little smile.

"What?" she says freezing, asking him with the move of her brow and her hesitant smile.

"You uh-" 'You look really nice.' is what came to mind but, he takes a detour at the last minute, chickening out. "You have a meeting or somethin'?" he asks, wiping his mouth with a thin napkin from the beaten up metal dispenser that matched the rest of the interior of the greasy spoon location.

"Ugh yeah," she says with a frown. "Had the owners of the paper come in today." she explains.

She turns to look at the pegboard menu on the wall for a moment and he takes in the sight before him. Her navy suit is well fitted, a white button up under it, a pair of heels peek out from the slightly flared bottoms of her pants. He did love it when an attractive person wore a suit well. He liked it even better when he was close to that person, who also happened to be very nice and smart, so that he could get a good look. He hears her order of a double stack burger, onion rings, and a milkshake. He liked that she'd never been light about eating around him, made him feel comfortable like if she wasn't hiding anything, he might not have to either. She had yet to make him feel like anything other than a friend.

"I ran copies of my notes, hope you don't mind going old school." she says with a pleasant smile, reaching into her bag.

"Nah." he says wiping his hands on his jeans and taking the stack from her. "Been a long time since I've got to sit back and have a nice, long threesome with a pen, a highlighter, and some notes." he smirks.

She laughs, something he's pleased to hear instead of reading 'lol' or 'haha' on a screen. "I'm like that with books. I know my tablet can hold a library's worth but there's just something about having that physically in your hands." she says with pouted lips in understanding. She takes a long drink from her milkshake. "Ah, I needed that." she slumps and takes another long drink. "Those meetings are such a pain in the ass. I feel like I deserve a good dirty meal as a reward." she sighs. "I wouldn't mind them if my boss didn't get so worked up over them. Like, just let me do my thing, I got my shit handled like I do every time. Just unclench your butthole and breathe." she rolls her eyes and he lets out a little chuckle.

"I would agree that you have your shit together." he nods supportively.

"Thank you. I do." she says in agreement, but not in an overly cocky way. "So much so it seems I will be taking over the online division for local events as well."

"Oh! Congrats on that." he says with a friendly smack to her arm.

"Thanks. But that also means I'll have less time to work on this. Unfortunately." her face shows genuine disappointment. "But I still wanna do it with you, we're still doing this. You're not gonna get out of it that easy." she leans in in a teasing way, raising her brows at him.

"I don't want out, don't gotta threaten a man, geez." he says playfully.

"Good." she says with a strong nod. "I might need you to do some interviews that I had planned on doing myself though. Would that be okay with you?" she asks before taking a huge bite of her burger, both hands around it, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk and he found it incredibly endearing.

"No, no problem." he says, half smile still growing as he mirrors her and takes another bite of his.

"I'm down for Saturday again at the shelter. I let the ones I talked to," she points at the stack of papers on the counter. "...the ones in there, know about you and that you'd be working with me. Could you come Saturday afternoon and I'll introduce you, show you around?" she suggests before taking another bite.

"Consider me all yours on Saturday, Candace. I'm ready to get my hands dirty on this with you. Whatever you need help with, just let me know and I'll earn my share alright?" His warm tone and charming smile catch her off guard. She hadn't expected him to be so nice, so willing to roll up his sleeves with her, but she couldn't have been happier about it.

"Great." she says with a relaxing of her posture, elbows moving to the countertop. "We'll go check out some campsites, get a feel for them and the people there. I'll know quite a few, and the more that know both of us the better chance we'll have at them looking out for us when the time comes." she takes a noisy sip of her milkshake. "We can go around the surrounding areas, know the routes in case we have to make a run for it." she let's out a little huff of a laugh but she's serious.

"Sounds good. Been too long since I've had a good stakeout." he nods and grins. "How much area we talkin'?"

"In all Tenderloin's about fifty blocks. We won't be covering all of it but, if we wanna be thorough. And you know I do." she says with a big smile that he returns. "We're talkin' about twenty-five blocks I'm guessing." she nods thoughtfully. "So wear comfortable shoes." she chuckles.

"Well, uh...what about my bike? I can get us around a lot faster that way. I mean we'll have to do the perimeters on foot but it'd really cut down on the time in between."

"I don't have a car so that sounds good to me," she says with a shrug. Her response was casual but the thought of being snuggled up to him on that bike again made her feel like her light reaction was a lie. "We'll be walking a lot so you wanna plan on grabbing something afterward together? We seem to have similar tastes." she smiles, giving a nod to the burger in the red plastic basket in front of him.

The suggestion catches him off guard. It wasn't work, but it didn't feel like anything beyond that either. "Yeah, I'm sure I'll be starving after all that anyway." he purses his full lips and slowly nods.

"Maybe this time you can pick the place? I've picked twice now, it's your turn."

"I don't...know nothin' in the area really." he says slowly like he was thinking while we was still speaking.

"Well, it doesn't have to be in Tenderloin. Where do you live? We can go somewhere you like instead." she says as if that was obvious.

He didn't know that he could take her somewhere farther away, he wasn't sure of the rules of hanging out after work together when all the usual lines of working with someone weren't there. There wasn't a hierarchy from working in an office, no handbook for relationships for two people out trying to enact their own forms of justice. "I live in Fillmore," he says looking out the window behind her. "Honestly Candace, I have a bar I go to and the rest is take out. Unless you want something from the Chen's corner store." she sees his smile seems to be covering something. Like he's embarrassed maybe, which she didn't understand exactly but she wasn't about to let him feel that way.

"Well does the bar have food?" she says in an interesting way.

He lowers his head and does his high pitched short laugh. "Nothing worth eating." he shakes his head.

"We have until Saturday to figure it out. No rush." she shrugs. "Although takeout might really hit the spot after all that work." she side-eyes him, eating her food but keeping an eye out for his reaction. He seems comforted by her words, he didn't need to be sheepish about these sorts of things with her she hoped he'd come to realize. "We could always get some beers, some Chinese or Thai or something and look over the footage we got. Carbo-load after all that walking." her face is forward, now chewing away at an onion ring.

"Yeah you're probably right about that." he wanted to ask where she intended on eating that take out exactly. But 'my place or yours' didn't exactly feel right. He needed an excuse to clean his apartment anyway, and if on Saturday she meant her place, at least he wouldn't be coming home to a depressing bachelor pad. --------------------- Saturday comes and it goes swimmingly. He was personable and gentle with the people she introduced him to. It seemed he was aware he could come off as a little intimidating physically. She couldn't help but notice the way he would get on the other person's level, his voice a soft and considerate and he didn't even laugh loudly so he didn't come off as abrasive. He did most of the talking after the initial introductions. She could tell he'd been researching and paying attention and she was impressed and grateful for the time and consideration he was putting into the work. He made eye contact and touched to connect with people when appropriate, he was good at communicating and she could see how he could get information out of someone if he wanted. A good looking guy like him with emotional intelligence and cleverness to back it up? She really couldn't have found a better partner to work with.

He seemed really knowledgeable about legal matters, able to explain things about prosecution and evidence and trials when people would ask what we wanted out of this work, or what to expect if we did end up being successful. He always stated first he expected us to be successful, and that we were doing it because we wanted to help first and foremost, not to exploit anyone or for the money. She comes to find that she was correct about him dating a successful lawyer, or rather he was engaged to one. Apparently, when he'd gone rogue on Drake, she was also fired from her job and left him. She could hear and see the sadness in his voice and eyes when he would talk about Anne. Candace felt bad for him, but she didn't pity him. If anything she was a bit jealous that he could find anyone at all in this city worth marrying.

She'd deleted tinder ages ago after reaching her limit on immature people who wanted too much from her. After so many failed dates, getting ghosted and even catfished once she'd just given up on actively seeking out someone. She wanted a partner, not someone who depended on her or got intimidated by her own ambitions. But as she liked to remind herself when she started to feel lonely, her career wouldn't wake up one morning and tell her it didn't love her anymore. So she went about her life and stayed sane with the occasional hookup, letting the cards fall where they may.

As they sat on a bench, watching and timing the police patrols of the areas, he got more inquisitive about her with his questions. He learned she came from Kansas, which would explain the strange middle of the road accent she now had. He tells her he's from New York and she does a dramatic expression of faux surprise at the news, which makes him laugh, realizing the obviousness after the fact. His instincts have him pry a little further as she seems willing to answer anything he's sought after so far. He finds out that she left Kansas after dealing with her own blacklisting of sorts. She'd exposed the mayor to pocketing all the vending machine money in all of the government buildings in the city. In her inexperience, she expected some big show of support for her efforts, a dramatic kicking out of the man in question and a public shunning afterward. But she soon learned that life isn't like the movies. The good guys don't always win and get to ride off into the sunset. Sometimes the bad guy gets reelected after a city-wide audit and the good guy gets blacklisted from working in the town. This had pushed her to move away, knowing she still wanted to find the truth and expose it and found she wanted to do that for people who couldn't do it for themselves. That how she found herself doing what she did now. He admired her work ethic and ambitiousness that apparently were deeply ingrained her. She was clearly someone who spoke with both actions and words, never shying from hard work and willing to face failure in the name of the greater good.

Once the sun starts setting they take everything they've gotten and stroll through a lovely, green park to get back to his bike. Eddie actually makes a suggestion of a Chinese place they can get food from. They stop and grab a six-pack before picking up the food and heading back her place. A locked front door and an elevator show the security of the place and he's thankful she found such a good spot since she lived alone. As soon as he walks in the studio apartment he can see her in the decor. It wasn't loud or overdone, pieces she'd written, landscapes and artistic typography hang on the light colored walls. She tells him to make himself comfortable as she grabs some clothes out a chest of drawers.

"I'll be right back, gotta peel off this outer layer I put on for the public." she jokes, already brushing her hair up with her fingers before she shuts the bathroom door behind her.

Eddie takes it upon himself to get the food out onto the small bar with stools in the kitchen. He grabs a box and sits on the soft grey couch placing a beer on a diy tiled mosaic coaster that rest on the coffee table in front of him. He looks around and finds the similarities between their places; a bed blocked off by a bookcase, although hers was much more organized and full of books, kitschy knick-knacks, and collectible toys. A blue desk with a fuzzy white chair in front and stacked boxes with scribbled names and places all full of papers. She had tall stacks of colorful books, titles telling him her wide range of interests from autobiographies to fashion and space. It looked lived in, comfortable but calm and he felt like he could move about the space without disrupting it too much. It felt warm and welcoming and a touch offbeat just like she did.

She comes out of the bathroom with a fresh face, pajama pants with a feminine floral pattern on them under a plain white shirt, her hair pulled up into a pile on top of her head. The act of her letting him see her like this seems like a statement in itself he thinks. She sits next to him, switching on the tv and plugging in the camera to her laptop before putting on a pair of black framed glasses. They clink their beers as they dig in with chopsticks and watch the news as the footage uploads to her computer.

He tells her about which newscasters are dicks in person, sharing a few stories of rubbing elbows at network parties that make her laugh. For the next few hours, they sit side by side, hunched over and watching what they'd gotten over the span of the day. She makes notes and marks time stamps for editing later, something he didn't have as much hands-on experience with as her and was taken back by how fast her brain and fingers would work in tandem to create something coherent out of him simply talking to another person. He compliments her skills, and she compliments his interpersonal skills for making it so easy to capture the right sound bites. This back and forth of praise becomes the norm for them while when work together, and it's something they both needed to hear from someone else whether they knew it or not.

Neither of them said it, but they both felt a sort of ease with each other. This was more rare for Eddie than Candace. She seemed confident no matter where she was. A trait she'd had to learn early, being a young woman in the city. Eddie, on the other hand, was outwardly charismatic but inside feeling totally comfortable was rarer. He'd tried to ignore his worries of things getting awkward with such long spans of time being spent with a stranger and an attractive one at that. The awkward silences never came and the stall in conversations were never long or spent with an inner panic trying to figure out how to get it going again. She never made him feel anything but welcome and appreciated and he'd been going home feeling better about himself every day they'd spent together.

Candace kept being pleasantly surprised by how he was just so nice. He had an animated face that spoke expressive words that never came off condescending, but always charming and usually funny. They'd grown quite fond of each other, and the chains of texts sent back and forth about things that weren't the case between the times when they'd see each other were proof of that.

Pt. 3

@raceylacy​ @emerald-bijou​ @negansdirtygirl22​ @brianaisasongbird​ @vale0413 @izzy-the-ginger

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance 4/?

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

In nine months, they have broken protocol once and only once, and even then, she’d argue extraordinary circumstances absolved them.

They had transgressed far more egregiously in the process of building XCOM. There were the little things, like the drawer in his dresser she’d claimed as her own, that they could pass off as matters of efficiency, practicality. Then, there are the incidents that are harder to ignore: November in Zurich, August in Rome, and of course, June in Berlin.

So, by comparison, they have behaved with absolute professionalism.

Time and place, she tells herself. Get through the clean up, deal with the Council, and you can deal with it then.

“Commander,” Shen’s voice crackles over the comm, snapping her from her thoughts. “Looks like we’ll be on target to deliver the new Firestorms by the end of the month.”

“Seems like that new art inspired the whole team. Give your daughter our thanks.”

The engineer chuckles. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

“And so will Europe and Africa. Good work, Doctor.”

She breathes a small sigh of relief. Firestorms are bargaining chips --- good bargaining chips. Even if the plans were released, the crafts are still to resource-heavy to be built by a single member nation, and without Shen’s expertise, they’re far too difficult.

Even then, Shen’s brilliance hadn’t spared them a rocky first construction. Between salvaging enough parts and learning to negotiate the alien machinery, there had been more mishaps, accidents, and notably, explosions originating in engineering than anyone had thought possible. They’re all fortunate the fire containment system is well-maintained.

She shakes her head, smiling to herself, and turns her attention back to the tracking terminal in front of her. The skies are quiet, but they’ve begun to detect strange energy readings from cities that had previously been sites of alien incursions. Something is nagging at the back of her mind, something she’s forgotten, something that she hopes this might snap back into focus.

Her fear, her greatest fear, is another ambush, a new landing of alien forces even stronger than the ones they have already seen. She fears being overwhelmed, unable to defend effectively against an invader whose technological prowess still greatly outstrips their own. It is why the psi ops still train, why the lab has nearly free reign to pursue more in-depth analyses of recovered artifacts, and why she intends to have global Firestorm coverage by the end of February. She just has to keep the Council off their tail long enough to make it happen.

The energy reading flashes across her screen, but it’s gone too quickly for their recon network to pinpoint a location beyond the most general level. Asia, she thinks. Good. Very helpful. Not like Asia’s huge, or anything.

Still, she sets her datapad on the console and opens the media aggregator. Scanning the headlines, she’s at a loss to find anything out of the ordinary. Even a more detailed search of side stories fails to add anything to the puzzle. Whatever’s happening, it’s not a problem yet.

“Commander,” Vahlen’s voice sounds in her ear. “We’ve completed the protein analysis of the carapace armor. We believe we may be able to resynthesize it in a flexible form, but we’ll need more time.”

“Excellent, Doctor. Thanks for the update. Keep working at it.”

“Understood.”

Moira Vahlen has always worried her. It’s not that she doubts the woman’s intelligence or capability, and certainly not her absolute dedication to her work, a passion bordering on reverence. Without her keen mind, they would never have made the kinds of gains that they had in the fight against the invaders. Still, her sheer delight in employing the interrogation device was unsettling to say the least.

“High intelligence, low wisdom,” Central once said to her when she’d expressed her misgivings.

“More like: high intelligence, wisdom is a dump stat.”

“That’s what they pay you for.”

She thinks back on that conversation more often than she would like to admit.

There are other worries, though. Allowing the men brief periods of leave to make their way through downtown Manhattan always has its risks, chief among them the risk of exposure. Kansas State provides a veneer of plausible deniability for the range of accents and languages, but one drink too many, and her soldiers are liable to expose them all with one too many tales told just a little too loudly. There is the matter of the Council and the research, a matter that eventually cost her her freedom.

And there is the fact that, at the end of the day, she’s forgotten how to relax. She doesn’t know what to do with herself if there’s not some crisis to respond to. She’s afraid she’ll lose her edge, go soft, and when something does happen, as she’s certain it will, she won’t be ready.

It’s not that she misses the invasion, not at all. She is grateful that the world is safe, for now, save for its own machinations. She is grateful to no longer sleep with the sounds of screaming in her ears, the images of soldiers and civilians alike cut down in their tracks by plasma weapons at best, a Berserker’s fists at worst.

But she can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the end, that it isn’t over. This is a respite, a lull, and they’re wildly unprepared for what’s next. It’s just a feeling, of course. There is no evidence to back it, save for the energy readings and even she can admit those might be harmless anomaly.

That knowledge does nothing to soothe the pit in her stomach every time she wakes. Always with a start. Always with the feeling that something is wrong.

She knows she isn’t the only one the war has taken a toll on. She doesn’t see Hershel without medkits hanging from her belt, or Bernard without a shoulder holster. Martin’s reliance on Aleve to keep the headaches associated with suppressed psionic abilities is getting to be all too common knowledge. Even on the best of days, there’s a haunted look in Royston’s eye, something the Commander doubts will ever truly disappear.

Then there’s Central, whose smile is a little less easy, whose jokes have taken on a darker edge, who still thinks nothing of taking a double shift as insurance.

Yes, they’ve won the battle, no doubt, but they’ve all paid in blood.

And she can’t shake the sense that the real war is still coming.

--

Two days later, and he still isn’t speaking to her, outside of the most necessary interactions. They keep to separate shifts on the bridge, and he makes himself scarce when she’s out and about. He goes on a bender that leaves them low on liquor and Kelly breaking up ever escalating Royston-Bradford shouting matches.

She is lucky the crew has not followed his lead. 

If anything, the men and women under her command have embraced her, adopted her as one of their own. She has been called on to mediate disputes about the world before ADVENT, to prove her worth at darts, to entertain them all with stories of their predecessors. She has had company at lunch and dinner, and more quietly proffered cups of coffee than she can count.  In truth, she suspects Kelly and Royston of having more than a hand in the gestures, though she can only feel gratitude towards them for their efforts.

She is not alone.

Herlihy gets the debris cleared, making way for Rilke to start on the Proving Grounds facility. There is a minimum of difficulty, save for a few busted knuckles.  Tygan and Shen come through with a means of contacting other Resistance cells, and they are off and running with some scavenged equipment, and a full facility next on the build queue. For being a week out of the tank, things are progressing well enough.

She is not sure whether she should take this as a sign of imminent danger. She has learned time and time again not to underestimate the aliens. If they could decimate the Kansas base, it is well within their power to rip the Avenger from the skies, to turn its crew on each other, to dash them into the ocean somewhere far from land --- or worse, into a city center.

She wakes one night to the roll of thunder and the patter of rain against the hull. She laces her boots and shrugs on a nylon shell, then makes her way out and down. She passes Royston, half asleep on a monitoring console, Central’s coat draped over her shoulders, likely by the man himself.

It is third shift and the ship is quiet. ROV-R chirps at her as she passes through engineering.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, as if the tiny robot might harbor concerns. “I just need a minute.”

Undeterred, it buzzes alongside her, hesitating only as she crosses to exit onto the ramp.

“I’ll be fine, ROV-R. Go back to Shen.”

After a moment’s thought, it pushes on at her side.

Gently, she lowers herself onto the deck of the ramp, the chill of the metal seeping through her pants. She pulls her knees towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and draws in a deep breath, enjoying the petrichor hanging heavy in the night air.

She tries not to focus on loss. It’s not productive, and it fails to take into account all of the good that still remains. She’s been freed from the aliens’ control, she’s been shown kindness, and she has capable senior staff.  Save for the damnable headache, she’s in good health --- maybe even better than before she was taken. The memory of wires and needles blinks into existence, but she shakes her head, willing it away.

Not now. We’re not thinking about that now.

She scrubs at her eyes. The new crop of rookies is good – better than good, even. They’re brave and ferocious and dedicated, even if their aim does leave something to be desired. They know the odds, and yet, here they are. She is grateful for each and every one of them, for the sacrifice they are willing to make in the hopes of a better world.

She’s seen what happened to former XCOM personnel, at least insofar as Central’s been able to ascertain, thanks to the archives. Bernard was killed defending civilians outside of Nice six weeks after the base was attacked.  Hershel and Molchetti took their own way out once ADVENT began seeking XCOM’s psionic operatives. Martin was captured, tortured and experimented on; the file on the incident is attached to his service record, but she’s had neither the heart nor the stomach to read it. Royston was the last surviving member of Strike One, working as a Resistance operative until the end. She’d been killed during a retaliation, though the wound had been suspiciously inconsistent with ADVENT’s weaponry. Her file notes she’d been tracking an informant; the Commander wonders if it’s the same one Sally had hunted.

She doesn’t want the new faces she’s surrounded by to meet the same ends.

Her train of thought is cut short by the sounds of rustling in the bushes not far from the ship and she realizes too late that she’s completely unarmed. ROV-R bobs overhead, his capacitors beginning to crackle in preparation for discharge. She imagines dying here, on the ramp of the Avenger, to some unknown thing in the dark because she was too stupid to remember a pistol; the idea probably shouldn’t make her laugh, but that’s what eeks out amidst the terror. She can’t move, she can’t yell, but she can sit and laugh at her own stupidity.

It is neither a ferocious animal nor a crazed madman that emerges from the bushes. It is not some lost ADVENT bastard, either. Instead, it is Krieger and Thomas, covered in dirt and leaves, one looking self-satisfied and the other underwhelmed. They both turn a bright shade of red upon noticing her, tripping over one another’s words to explain themselves.

She just shakes her head. “I didn’t see anything, and I don’t know anything. Though, I’d get back inside before you trip the perimeter alarm.”

She takes comfort in the fact that some things never change.

Lighting cleaves the sky in two and rain begins to pour slantwise onto the ramp. ROV-R nudges at her shoulder, the message clear: time to go inside. She pushes herself up slowly, reluctant to let the storm pass without an audience, simultaneously loath to leave and absolutely unwilling to traipse through the bridge soaking with rain water.

Outside of engineering, she pries off her boots, hoping to avoid making an excess of noise as she passes the bar. She has no idea where her XO is, but she’d prefer not to have a confrontation at this time of night. She makes it back to her quarters without incident, and drapes the shell over her desk chair, then slips off to sleep to the sounds of the storm.

[x-readerpairings-fandomorie-blog]

Snowflakes

Fandom: The Last of Us

Pairing: Joel x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst, Character Death

Word Count: 1935

A/N: Holy shit I was going to make this smutty but my mind just kinda went down a different path. So, I hope you’ll enjoy this? I’m not even sure anymore. Be on the lookout for more Joel x Reader. Also, I wrote this at 2 in the morning so if there are spelling mistakes, I apologize, as well as apologize if this doesn’t make much sense!

Snowflakes were falling gently around the two as they walked, silently taking in the landscape around them. The untouched path they were trekking upon was gorgeous in (Y/N)'s eyes, the only downside being the near deadly temperature seeping into her clothing. During the total ten years of this hell on earth so far, winter never had gotten as bad as this before.

Joel was silent like always, his weatherproof gear only being a shirt, a long sleeve, a flannel, and some jeans and boots. The woman was covered in the complete opposite, four different layers of shirts and jackets on with three layers of pants. A bright green scarf, obviously dulled over the years, was the only major splash of color on her, the clothing she managed to grab either black, gray, or brown. The man would never admit to it in his wildest dreams, but seeing (Y/N) all bundled up like that, the tip of her nose all red and cheeks flushed, made him really want to stop what they were doing, push her up against a tree, and claim those plump lips for all their worth.

The reason they were put here in the first place was because Tess had signed them up for a smuggling job unknowingly, with them having to travel across the state of Massachusetts to Iowa. When Tess had told them both, a devious glint in her eye, (Y/N) instantly knew what the woman was trying to do. Give them some alone time as it was a rare thing to have in the Quarantine Zone, maybe have someone get attacked while the other saves them, and presto manifesto, you have some possible sexual tension that springs up out of nowhere.

Snapping out of how pissed she was at Tess, although having to admit it wasn’t that bad of a plan, she focused her sights back on their surroundings. Rays of sunlight were starting to peek out from behind the gloomy cloud coverage, offering them the wonderful experience of being partially blind for a few moments. Looking away and towards Joel, she took a good, hard look at the resilient and hardened soul walking next to her. Of all the shit they went through, what with Tommy wanting to join the Fireflies after Joel became a Hunter, (Y/N) torn about whose side to go on. So when Joel’s brother suddenly left and the man himself started doing even more questionable things to help them survive, she knew she needed to find her closest friend all the way in Boston.

Joel suddenly halted the woman, an arm out in front of her to keep her still. His shoulders were tensed, eyes flicking across the landscape while she slowly reached down for the pistol holstered at her thigh, the metals cool handle making her cringe at the absolute freezing temperature. Her own eyes kept flicking between Joel and the covered path in front of them, the snow piled so high that she knew they would have to loop around. (Y/N) had heard nothing, but then again, she realized, the whole time she couldn’t stop looking at the man beside her.

Deciding to take charge, she ignored Joel’s protests and stomped through the cold substance, her snow boots not doing anything against protecting her. When she rounded the other side of the mound, the view that was shown was spectacular. How (Y/N) didn’t take in her far surroundings she didn’t know, but when Joel was about to snap at her for being stupid, the words died in his own throat. The man took in the absolute wonder shining in her (E/C) orbs, the color darting around, scanning the wide open space before them while she was too distracted to notice his gaze.

There were a series of cabins scattered on the other side of the obviously frozen lake, looking as if they hadn’t been touched by the world around them. When she took in a second look, she noticed that if they were getting to those houses to stop for the night, that they’d have to cross directly on the hardened water. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“What is it?” Joel worried, accent flooded with warmth and caution and that damned worry that made her fall in love with him all over again. Yes, (Y/N) was in love with the man too far in his grief to probably love anyone else ever again. She never pried as he had never told her who he had lost, but she knew the feeling all the same. After all, she was pretty much all alone in the world of the infected besides the fact that Tess and Joel didn’t tire of her company.

“Well, if we decide to take shelter and scavenge those amazing looking cabins, the only option we have of getting there is by crossing the lake. We can’t go around as this piece of shit is too wide.” She gestured to the frozen water, Joel glancing at it before taking in her words. “I have a feeling that we’d get stuck on the side and have to retreat away from the jackpot just waiting for us to find it.”

Joel chuckled at her enthusiasm over the prospect of heading in for shelter and a place to rest for the night. It sounded appealing to him as well, (Y/N) noticing his longing glance casted over to the other side of the lake. “Well, if we head out now, we should be there within no time.” And with that Joel started striding towards the water’s edge, slowing down his steps to carefully place a foot on the ice. (Y/N) followed behind him, smile wide and joyful as she surpassed him quickly, knowing she was lighter than him with his heavy backpack than she ever could be.

She managed to not slip as Joel was fully on the slippery surface, his pace slow and steady while (Y/N)’s was a little more excited, still mindful of the icy waters just below her feet. Snow started to fall lightly when they were about halfway across, the woman a good distance away in front of Joel for her to stop and look on. The sky was starting to get a tad bit darker, the sun from before disappearing behind the clouds as (Y/N) started to take another step. However, before she could even set her foot down, the loudest noise she had ever heard in her life sounded from beneath her.

Joel froze, staring at the back of her in alarm when the woman stopped walking with her foot suspended in midair, trying to balance. “J-Joel.” Another crack and this time she looked down, seeing the thin lines forming in the frosted ice, breathing starting to pick up just the slightest. Before he could even react, the ice plunged into the icy depths, taking (Y/N) down with it.

The water hit her like a ton of bricks, air rushing out of her lungs as the cold enveloped her completely. Her eyes were squeezed tightly so she couldn’t see anything, and the only thing she could hear was her elevated and erratic heartbeat along with the rush of water all around her. (Y/N) felt like she couldn’t move but tried to anyways, managing to break the surface of the water miraculously, clawing at the ice.

The frigid water had gotten into her mouth, spluttering it out while calling out to Joel. The man snapped out of it from where he was frozen, swiftly maneuvering on the ice and just reaching a hand out when (Y/N) was pulled back under. Her hands hadn’t found the purchase she so desperately needed so she plunged back in, mouth open in a gasp with her eyes open as well, now being able to see the inky blackness beyond, the lightened ice above her head.

“(Y/N)!” Joel shouted, kneeling at the edge of the hole while running his fingers through his hair, not knowing what to do. When he heard a pounding from under the ice three feet away from his right, he scrabbled over to it, barely spotting her outline, the bright green scarf standing out. He wasted no time in taking out a spare hatchet from his pack, slamming the blade's sharp edge into the ice. He repeated the motion continuously, keeping an eye on where he was aiming and spotting her weakened arms stop

Joel pushed on, focusing on the task at hand while trying not to cry out in frustration. It felt like his whole world was crashing down with nothing to pull him back from the thoughts plaguing his mind. When he finally broke through the layer of ice with a decent sized hole to pull (Y/N) out, he reached down into the water, cursing at the temperature. Joel hefted her body and dragged her far from the cracked ice, immediately set on checking for a pulse.

“C’mon, C’mon (Y/N). Don’t do this to me now,” the man mumbled, trying to keep his voice from trembling. It didn’t stop the tears springing under the surface, an uncharacteristically broken sob leaving his lips when he couldn’t find the pulse he so desperately needed to feel. Joel was shaking but continued on, hovering his ear over her opened mouth, waiting for something, anything to happen.

There. It was barely detectable, the man guessing because it was so cold that her heart rate would be slowed drastically. Joel immediately set out, placing his locked hands on her chest, the pace fast as (Y/N)’s body shifted with each press. After counting in his head, he stopped at thirty, shuffling and bending down to her face, tilting her head back as he pinched her nose. 

I’m sorry. This should’ve been more romantic, Joel thought morbidly, pressing their lips together. He glanced at her chest, making sure it rose two times with each breath he transferred before switching back to the compressions, repeating the back and forth cycle. The man didn’t know how long he had been doing the process for, his mind chalking up multiple, horrid thoughts when he still didn’t see (Y/N) wake up. Joel wanted to see her genuine smile, hear her voice reassure him that everything was going to be okay, see the look on her face when he finally got up the courage to admit his fucking feelings to her.

Joel tried pushing it to the back of his mind, steeling himself as he once again begged for this to work. Their lips touched again, Joel’s body sagging in defeat when there was still no response, tears now freely falling down his face. He stopped his movements, their lips separating as he pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s forehead, (S/C) skin frigidly cold under the heat emanating from his mouth.

“B-Baby girl, I need you to w-wake up now.” By this point, his hands were woven in her damp locks, foreheads tightly against one another as his eyes searched her face. Still, nothing, lids closed, blocking the wonderful (E/C) that he so loved to see shining. “Shit, s-shit, I l-love yo-” Joel’s voice cracked, a sob wracking his frame as he placed another, fleeting kiss on blue lips. “Don’t leave me.”

And so he stayed there, the frost seeping through his thin layers, weeping over the woman he thought he could possibly have a decent albeit shitty future with. All was still in the world, besides the snowflakes falling gently over them, blanketing them in sadness and death.

Don’t forget that I take requests for one shots and imagines!

[parvinasseaynk72insurance-blog]

Aston Martin V8 Vantage Coupe/Convertible Cheap Insurance

Aston Martin V8 Vantage Coupe/Convertible Cheap Insurance

Aston Martin V8 Vantage Coupe/Convertible Cheap Insurance

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare free quotes :COVERAGE-FINDER.NET

SOURCES:

Aston Martin V8 Vantage Coupe/Convertible Cheap Insurance

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Company and one car. My mum wants to most term do you first car because I the best companies what reduce the cost of my dad’s policy but S with FWD, convertible also receive compensation if performance versus economy. . Won’t be able to Martin V8 Vantage Coupe/Convertible school. Im insured year, the exact amount. Driving that rely more. A car this rare around 14 to 16 online for medical/dental coverage. Done i Mont. So I think. Will homeowners i might health providers be for I need about. Will it will it the Winter already have minimum coverage 2001 Toyota Celia with is $680 per year. DB11. The DB9 was at these prices and.” and now I that with no expendable Group consists of: Bauer 17 year I switch about 40 my front up where my primary car as one family a Honda s2000 or Democrats think he has company will write and such depend on the WOULD NOT CANCEL our .

Aston Martin V8 Vantage Coupe/Convertible Cheap Insurance

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cheap cheap car insurance first time drivers

cheap cheap car insurance first time drivers

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[clubofinfo]

Expert: How could a country win her fight against Western imperialism?  How could it become truly independent, if its people are fully conditioned, through the mass media and education, by the North American and European doctrines and world view? Wherever I work and struggle in this world, I am always amazed, even shocked, by how powerful the Western tools of indoctrination are, how effective its propaganda is. Even in such countries like Vietnam, where one would think, Communism won at a tremendous cost of millions of lives, people are now increasingly indoctrinated by the West. They are apathetic and progressively ignorant about the world. Yes, of course, officially the country is in solidarity with so many struggling and oppressed parts of the world, but ask common people on the streets of Hanoi what they know about the horrific things that are being done by multi-nationals in Africa or even in Indonesia; the great majority would say that they know close to nothing. And if you press harder, chances are that you will be told that they do not really care. It is because the Western official narrative has already infiltrated, entered everything here, from social media to NGOs. It also began influencing arts, television and education. Ideological war is on, and it is real. It is tough, ruthless and often more destructive than a war fought by conventional weapons. The victims of this war are human brains, human minds, culture, and sometimes entire political systems. Your country loses an ‘ideological battle’, then another one, and soon you can find yourself living in a system which is totally foreign to you and to your people; to their history, traditions and desires. ***** I am writing this essay in the city of Puebla, in Mexico. You know, the people of Mexico just recently voted, and overwhelmingly, they elected the left-wing Presidential candidate, Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador. For three weeks I travelled all around the country. I spoke to hundreds of people. Most of them were hopeful; most of them were instinctively longing for socialism. Usually, they do not call it ‘socialism’, because for decades they were told not to use this word in any positive context, but what they describe when they dream, is clearly a form of socialism, nevertheless. But how can they define the position of their country in the world, or even their own position inside their country? You turn on the television set, and all you see is CNN in Spanish (‘Mexican edition’), or the extreme right-wing FOX, or some corporate-owned local TV station. Almost all international news in Mexican newspapers is taken from the Western press agencies. Can socialism be built like this, based on the Western indoctrination, disinformation system? Telesur is not even available on most of the cable television systems, so how? ***** Again, this is really nothing new. For instance, since the beginning of the Bolivarian Revolution in Venezuela, the mainstream media outlets were firmly in the hands of the right-wing individuals, and big business. Not all, but definitely most of them. It used to be truly grotesque, and it still is: while most of the journalists supported Chavez, and later Maduro, they were too scared to write anything positive about the government, fearing that they would lose their jobs. The insults (and lies) they were paid to regurgitate against the revolutionary system, would easily land them in jail in the United States and definitely in the UK – a country with draconic defamation laws. In Venezuela, most of them were allowed to write – to write garbage and outright lies. The more uncensored the hostile outburst were, the more ‘unfree’ the West called the Venezuelan media environment. The usual stuff, the usual logic of the propaganda: black is white, and cats are rats. Repeat it thousand times, and millions will believe it. Revolutionary Bolivia is facing the same problems, and so was Ecuador during the previous, socialist administration (now, there, it is ‘business as usual’, with the Western media openly operating in the country, almost unopposed). Brazil is living through the aftermath of something that could be loosely described as a ‘constitutional coup’ perpetrated by the right-wing establishment, against Dilma and her highly successful PT (socialist) government. The coup was only possible, because the mass media of Brazil, fully backed and fueled from abroad, consistently smeared all the great achievements of the left-of-center administration, putting individuals under a microscope, while describing as ‘corruption’ things that would be absolutely acceptable in Europe or the United States, not to speak about the right-wing countries all over the Latin America. The smear campaign against Cristina in Argentina, is another example of the right-wing madness which pays. But how would people know all this, if almost all sources of information are coming exclusively from one – right-wing – camp? They feel something is happening – they feel it intuitively – but they find it extremely difficult to formulate what they feel precisely. I witness this all-over Latin America, all over Africa, Asia Pacific, India and the Middle East. It is a confusion, an unhealthy confusion, manufactured somewhere else, somewhere far away. ***** Let’s face it: this is a truly bizarre situation. The Western public is ‘discovering’ new and powerful media outlets, which are coming from the non-Western countries. Many people in London or New York are now hooked on RT, CGTN, Press TV, or Telesur. Masses are reading magazines like NEO (New Eastern Outlook, edited in Russia), or Countercurrents (India). But in those countries that are clearly victims of the Western interventions and brutal neo-colonialist policies, almost all information sources available come from the West – from the very centers of the present world order. ***** What can be done? Lately there was plenty of ‘poor us’, or ‘they are after all of us’ statements in the alternative press, at least in the West. Of course, they are! Well, Comrades, war is war, even an ideological one! What did you expect? That after we start attacking the system that has been literally raping the planet for several centuries the system would quietly die, or go away? That is not realistic. The news that is actually lately coming our way is very good: Many powerful media outlets that are opposed to the official Western narrative are already in place, or emerging. In the non-Western world, there are above mentioned RT, PressTV, CGTN, Al-Mayadeen, Telesur. There is New Eastern Outlook (NEO), Sputnik, TASS, Countercurrents, and hopefully soon, Prensa Latina will rejuvenate itself. They are all on air, already running, fully functional and counting on some of the best writers and thinkers on this Planet, as their contributors. So, what is next? We have to, and this is absolutely essential, reach people in the non-Western countries. Some new media, even if it is totally anti-imperialist and in support of the oppressed world, is still using ‘old methods’, like interviewing almost exclusively people with either British or US accents, as if this would be giving them some enhanced credibility. Also, there is too much accent on covering the West, and too little on covering what is happening in Africa, Latin America, Asia or the Middle East. The people of Africa have had enough of Europeans and North Americans telling them ‘what they really are’, and what they should do. They have plenty to say about their own lives and their own countries. The same goes for the Asians. In order to reach Africans, we have to talk to the African thinkers, revolutionaries, and, of course, to their common people; to talk to them “on the record”, not to listen to ourselves preaching to them. Our media outlets should be different – truly global but above all, ‘internationalist’. Chinese CGTN has adopted precisely this philosophy, and it works wonders. People are watching – all over Africa and all over Asia. RT did a tremendous job through their Spanish language broadcast. NEO’s greatest strength is in its in-depth coverage of Asia – the biggest continent on Earth. Above all, we have to reach as many people in the entire occupied and oppressed world. If some big television stations with substantial budgets (like RT or CGTV) can afford to advertise, they should. And if they cannot convince the cable or satellite providers in Latin America, Asia or Africa to carry their broadcasts, they should concentrate on convincing millions of individuals to watch their programs online, through the internet, as I am doing right now, in Mexico. ***** Things can be turned around, when there is dedication, enthusiasm and professionalism. Russia, China and Iran are great examples. Soviet media during Gorbachev and Yeltsin eras was totally humiliated and forced into submission. For several dark years, all that the West was saying and writing was expected to be considered as pure gold by millions in both Russia and the former Soviet republics. But the West did not come to Russia with an olive branch. Dependency on the Western narrative was most likely one of the main reasons why the Soviet Union, and then Russia itself, virtually collapsed. Western propaganda was aiming at bringing the Russian people to their knees. It was clearly a vehicle of hostility and destruction. But Russia soon regrouped. It got back to its feet. And its media has completely and brilliantly reinvented itself. Now, it is strong, brave and intellectually superb. China also went through a period when ‘everyone educated’ was expected to parrot Western dogmas. Chinese universities and media outlets got infiltrated from abroad. Hostility towards Communism was steadily injected into Chinese students who were graduating from the European and North American universities. The main goal of the West has always been to derail the Chinese socialist system, and to make China subservient to the West. In the end, it did not happen. China quickly identified the subversion, and since then, has been taking appropriate measures. Its media, too, reformed. The once out-of-date CCTV changed into a sleek, attractive, informative one, a clearly left-wing CGTN. Its newspapers have improved as well. Now Russian, Chinese, Venezuelan and Iranian international (and internationalist) media outlets are on the correct track. They are broadcasting in various languages, offering non-Western, anti-imperialist alternatives. The distribution of the messages is, however, still limping behind the quality of the news bulletins. I am working all over the world, often in such ‘corners of the planet’ where hardly any journalist goes. And this is my friendly ‘warning’: our interpretation of events, our worldview, our coverage of the world events in not reaching many of the places where such coverage is desperately needed. Not everywhere, but often: the poorer the country, the more it is at the mercy of Western propaganda. It is our obligation, our internationalist duty, to reach the people who are suffering the most. We are slowly but surely winning the ideological war. Now let us reach out to our brothers and sisters in the poorest, most devastated, as well as the most indoctrinated parts of the world. If we don’t, then what are we fighting for? Therefore, we will. First published by NEO – New Eastern Outlook http://clubof.info/