#i dug up my notes and references from a class I took almost 10 years ago

[pikapeppa]

Alright, why wouldn't Hekarro wanna use Carja glyphs as the Tenakth writing system? The Phincian alphabet is the basis for most of the writing systems in Western Europe - if you got a writing system that works, why not adapt it?

I'M FINALLY ANSWERING THIS ASK TWO MONTHS LATER 😂

For anyone who's curious, the context for this was a post I made a while back in response to an ask regarding whether the Quen might be able to read Chinese, since the Focuses they would have found in the Great Delta would plausibly have been formatted in Chinese. In the tags on the post, I remarked that I had a rant about Hekarro wanting to borrow the Carja writing system. Everbright has asked me to elaborate, and now I'll finally be writing the essay that's been sitting at the back of my mind for like a year LOL.

My thesis here is as follows: it's not the idea of the Tenakth borrowing the Carja writing system that bothers me, necessarily. I take umbrage with the fact that Hekarro seems to think the Tenakth are inferior to the Carja because they aren't a literate society. 

This post is going to get long, so I will put the rest behind a cut to give anyone a break who wants to scroll on past LOL. Also, please note: trigger/content warning for mentions of residential schools in Canada.

First things first: I'm writing this as a non-indigenous Canadian, so I may be writing with biases of my own that I will apologize for in advance. If any members of the cultural groups I'm going to mention should read this and take issue with anything I've said, please do feel free to write me a message here on Tumblr!

Okay, let me set the context here. When Aloy first meets Hekarro, a piece of their conversation is as follows, with the transcript to follow:

Aloy: I’m sorry about Fashav. He seemed like a good man. Hekarro: More than a man. A bridge between Tenakth and Carja. No outlander ever earned our respect as he did. I had hoped he would be my voice in Meridian. That peace with the Carja might become something more. A: An alliance? H: An exchange. The Carja have much we lack. Our deeds are written in ink upon our bodies. Our memories die with our flesh. But the Carja never forget. Their deeds are written in book and scroll. A:  You wanted to learn from them? H: As I learned from Fashav. He will be missed.

This conversational exchange has always bothered me, because inherent in this exchange is the idea that Hekarro views the Tenakth as being lacking compared to the Carja -- that the Carja are superior to the Tenakth because of the fact that they're able to read and write, rather than tattooing their history on their skin. This statement reflects a bias that feels very 'colonizer' to me in an icky way. Being a literate society does not inherently make you superior to a society that doesn't use writing, but that exact idea has been used tons of times in history to argue that the indigenous cultures of a place are less advanced/less intelligent/less valuable than the people who are coming in and trying to force their ideals, including literacy, on the indigenous group(s). In the context of Canada, for instance, Kirmayer et al. (2009) wrote that "aboriginal peoples were viewed as incapable of understanding and participating in democratic government, thereby motivating efforts to 'civilize' and assimilate them into mainstream Canadian society," with that mainstreaming process including residential schools: institutions that took indigenous children from their families and communities and placed them into segregated spaces where they were forbidden from speaking their native languages, practicing their traditional customs, and from contacting their families at all.

This is especially irksome to me because the Tenakth tradition of tattooing (or "ink", as they call it in-game), is based on tattooing traditions IRL with an extremely rich historical and cultural background. The most obvious similarity is to Polynesian tattoo (or "tatau") practices, which I'll focus on here, but similar methods with equally rich histories exist in the Philippines and in Japan. 

One of the most striking things about Polynesian tatau practices is that it's not just the act of striking ink into the skin that matters; it's the meaning behind the act of getting a tattoo, and the embracing of community and identity inherent in the practice. As one Samoan tatau artist said, "it's important to know the meaning behind the symbols of our traditional tatau so you have a deeper understanding of the significance of what you're wearing. Each 'maman' or each pattern has its own meaning and story behind it." Polynesian artists also highlight the fact that these traditions are passed through the generations for thousands of years, and that those who wear tatau are "wearing the maps of our ancestors." As another artist said, Polynesian tatau is "a reconnection to all my ancestors and everybody behind me, because I'm not only speaking for me, but a whole generation of kids that are like me, that are getting Polynesian tattoos to reconnect." 

Tenakth tattoos, like Polynesian tattoos, are a way of recording history and lore -- not only one's own stories and victories, but those of the people that are important to a warrior, as evidenced by Kotallo stating that he plans to ink Varl's deeds on his own skin in tribute. I also personally think that it's culturally fitting for the Tenakth to record important history on their bodies, since the Tenakth place such emphasis on physical strength. It makes logical sense that they would record their proudest deeds on the thing that they view with such pride, i.e. their physical bodies. Hekarro's statement that the Tenakth are "lacking" because they don't record their history "in book and scroll" feels like a devaluation of the Tenakth's culturally-specific method of recording history, much in the way that colonizing societies have devalued the oral traditions of North American indigenous groups. Oral traditions are an extremely important aspect of many indigenous cultures; a group that provides indigenous culture training has stated that "certain stories are never written down, which preserves the tradition of sharing knowledge, culture, and history orally. These stories are the fabric of the community’s history, knowledge and culture, and some are thousands of years old. In some cultures, if a story is written down it is degraded." By ignoring this rich tradition and imposing written records of those stories, they would be degraded and rendered less than what they're meant to be.

Now, some of you might be asking whether it was an oversight/mistake on the part of the Guerrilla Game writers that Hekarro made this accidentally-denigrating comment toward his own tribe. Honestly, I do think it was an oversight, and one that I find disturbing, because it seems to stem from a blind spot that GG isn't aware of. This isn't the only time that content coming from the Horizon world seems to follow this 'colonizer'-like idea of certain societies being more advanced and superior to others. In the concept art book for Horizon Zero Dawn, for instance, there's a description of the Carja as follows (p. 47), transcript below:

 [Transcript: Among all the tribes of Horizon Zero Dawn, the Carja Sundom boasts the most advanced culture. Using the advantages of their geographical position, the Carja have developed agriculture and trade while other tribes still rely on hunting and gathering. The Carja's impregnable capital, Meridian, provides security for a civilized population. Artisans and traders flourish here, serving sophisticated, well-to-do citizens. Carja civilization towers over the other tribes, just as the Sun of their religion rises above the horizon of their mesa valley.]

Even worse, there’s this passage from p. 48, where the non-Carja tribes are called “primitive”.Transcript below:

[Transcript: Through ages of perfecting the techniques of machine plate-working, the Carja have developed the most sophisticated way: to apply the materials of mechanical fauna. While more primitive tribes would roughly affix more or less useful machine parts on their garments, Meridian artisans interweave fine fitted machine elements into comfortable and functional pieces.]

Quotes like this make me worry that there are people at GG who aren't recognizing their own bias inherent in the description of the Carja compared to other tribes. There seems to be a lack of awareness here about the dangerous underpinnings of seeing one culture as more "advanced" than another just because it is more dominant or mainstream. As Shaw (2001) states, "in not according recognition, let alone respect, to the distinctive linguistic and cultural identities that have shaped First Nations peoples, the majority culture continues to exert a significantly negative influence on identity, on self-esteem, on pride in one's cultural heritage, and on one's sense of self and of place in the broader society."

To summarize to some degree: I don't have a problem per se with the Tenakth borrowing the Carja writing system. My qualms come from the idea that the idea of the Carja being superior will come along with that borrowing, thereby devaluing the rich tradition of Tenakth tattoos. As Hale (1992) states, "while it is good and commendable to record and document fading traditions, and in some cases this is absolutely necessary to avert total loss of cultural wealth, the greater goal must be that of safeguarding diversity in the world of people. For that is the circumstance in which diverse and interesting intellectual traditions can grow."

TLDR: Tenakth tattoos are just as valid and important a method of recording lore and history as Carja writing, and the Tenakth are not inferior or primitive for not having a tradition of reading/writing. I think Hekarro's comment about the Tenakth being "lacking" is reflective of a blind spot at GG that I hope will be addressed in future games. 

If you came this far, THANK YOU FOR READING and accept this cookie as thanks for staying with me! 🍪😂 A friendly final note: do be warned that any replies or comments to the effect of "but literate societies ARE inherently better than illiterate ones" will be removed and the writers of such comments may be blocked, depending on their intentions as I read them. 🥰

-- love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika xoxo

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 17 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer is concerned about Reader’s growing impulsiveness, but Reader is the one who gets a call from JJ asking if she can come get her boyfriend. Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader 
 Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) 
 Content Warning: Discussions of drugs, death/dying, suicide, overdose; Alcohol, addiction, oral (male receiving), handjob, fingering, Daddy Kink, fights, PTSD, hospital talk, drunk smut w/ blanket consent Word Count: 12.5k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

When I opened the front door, I realized that I had returned to an empty home. I wasn’t sure which was weirder; the realization that the house was empty, or the fact that I was referring to her apartment as my home. It certainly had started to feel that way.

It never stopped being a shock that I would find a home in someone so quickly and with such little self-awareness. I'd certainly never suspected   that the house we’d be in would also be shared with several other people, all of whom were significantly younger than me and shared almost no similarities with me beyond our love for (y/n).

And even if it wasn’t the weirder of the two realizations, the fact that she wasn’t there was definitely the more troubling one. I tried to gather at least a little evidence before I called her; I wasn’t exactly excited about being blindsided again. Judging by the red solo cups that were scattered in the kitchen, I had an idea of how her friends had spent the night. The fact that no one was here led me to another conclusion that I desperately hoped was inaccurate.

Her phone rang four times before she picked up, which was strange in itself. When she did pick up, she sounded like I expected her to. Tired. Groggy.

“Hello?”

“Hey little girl, where are you?” I hoped she couldn’t hear the fumbling of my keys in my pocket, or any other sign of just how anxious I’d gotten in the last three minutes. “Oh. I’m sorry, Spencer, I forgot I was supposed to see you today.” She mumbled, sounding genuinely apologetic if not a little confused.

“You… forgot?” I repeated, quickly making my way over to the calendar hung on a bulletin board outside the kitchen, noting the nothingness over both the current and following week.

“Yeah, I guess I got carried away with school.”

She was lying. I couldn’t be for sure about what, but it was obvious. If she was really having that much trouble with classes, she would have told me. We’d gotten past the whole insecurity over me thinking she was stupid thing a long time ago, and she knew I would always let her learn it on her own if she didn’t want my help.

“... What are you not telling me?” I tried to make the words playful, although my hand was now nervously patting the side of my hip at an alarming rate.

“Nothing! I just got distracted. I’m... a little busy today so we should just meet up again next weekend.”

“A week?” I knew she was probably getting tired of me parroting her words, but that just seemed like a ludicrous amount of time. Usually, we went barely a day or two without seeing each other when I was in the city, cherishing the time together when I wasn't called away to attend to crimes halfway across the country.  

“What’s going on?” My voice was quickly falling into that register that warned her I was about to start profiling her, whether I wanted to or not. And unfortunately, she chose the worst possible reaction to that warning, further tipping me off to the fact that something wasn't quite right.

“Spencer, stop being weird.”

But I wasn’t. I knew that I could be weird; it’s kind of my thing. If you looked up weird in the dictionary, you wouldn’t find my name, but you’d definitely find a description that perfectly characterized my personality.

“You’re the one being weird. Turn on your camera.”

“I can’t. It’s dark in here.” She shot back her answer so quickly, I knew that she had already anticipated the request.

“Then move.” I ordered more than suggested. She understandably didn’t take kindly to my reaction, but I know she also knew why I was doing it. The excuses she was giving weren’t even well thought out.

“What is this? An interrogation?” She scoffed, “Do you think I’m cheating on you with barely dissolved stitches in my intestines?”

I took a deep breath, sitting down at the kitchen table still sticky with leftover sugary liquor and turned the phone onto speaker. “Turn it on.” This time, my voice broke with the order. As much as that didn’t make it sound authoritative, it did make her feel guilty.

As the screen lit up, it all made sense in the worst possible way. She was forcing a fake smile, her other hand resting against her face in a failed attempt to draw attention away from the the mottled skin of her left eye.

“I’m not cheating on you. Happy?” The words were sharp on her tongue, an anger in her features paired well with the understanding that I wasn’t wrong to be worried. I honestly think that was what bothered her the most – that she wanted it to be nothing, for me to be overreacting, but knew that it was a little more serious that she let on.  

“I’m definitely not happy. What happened?” I was already at the door by the time the sentence ended... She shut off her camera just as quickly, hearing the commotion from my side. “Where are you? I’m coming right now.”

She sighed, and I could see it clearly despite the fact that she wasn’t on my screen anymore. “I don’t want you to come here. Spencer, I’m fine.”

I might have believed her. I might have honestly given her the benefit of the doubt – let her lie to me a little, and just accept that a black eye wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Eventually, she would tell me how she got it, so I wouldn’t need to worry about it.

But it became very obvious very quickly that it was not just a black eye.

“Ms. (Y/l/n)?” A third voice announced in the background, accompanied by the distinct sound of an alarm sounding in the distance.

“... Are you in a hospital?!”

“For fucks sake. I hate dating a profiler.” She grumbled, implicitly admitting that my conclusion was right. She wouldn’t let me have another word, speedily slurring her goodbye. “I have to go, Spencer. I’ll call you later. Love you!”

—————————————————

Anyone who has spent a long time in inpatient knows that nosy nurses are both the best and worst kind of people to be assigned to your stay. They were the best because they always had the best gossip and would spend their precious little free time sharing stories about their lives that were always more entertaining than whatever poorly budgeted gameshow was on the old, staticky television.

They were the worst because one wrong move meant that you were the subject of gossip. And boy, were they good at getting it out of you.

“Trouble in paradise?” She sweetly hummed as she pushed my bed down the hall.

I wanted to tell her that there was trouble, and that it was through no fault of my own. If the other people in the hospital didn’t have the audacity to be sick at the same time that I needed a CT scan, then I wouldn’t have even still been here. I could have been back at home, where… well, I guess Spencer would have figured it out either way.

“Yeah, I guess.” I sadly admitted, playing with the string of my gown. “He’s just a worrywart.”

The woman had that glimmer in her eye, the kind that came from years of seeing the same stories over and over again. Although, I had a hard time believing she’d ever been in this exact scenario, I guess they were all kind of the same after a while, semantics aside.

“Well, that makes sense considering your current state.” It was more of a reprimand than anything else, and I audibly groaned to try and get her to stop there. She didn’t, though, having spent enough time with me to know I needed to hear it. “You were very lucky, you know. If things had been even just a little bit different…”

Couldn’t you say that about everything? If things had been even just a little bit different, I never would have met Spencer in the first place. We never would have fallen in love or fought or done any of it at all.

I didn’t like thinking about that. I didn’t like even considering a life without Spencer. No matter how much pain I’d been through, or what traumatic memories were dug up, they were worth it.

That’s what she wanted me to realize, and she had succeeded. Suddenly, as we turned into the room, I was overcome with guilt at the way I’d ended my conversation with him.

The nurse knew it, too, because as she transferred me onto the scanner, she smiled. “I’m just saying, sweetheart. If he woke up next to your hospital bed last time, I understand why he’d be scared.”

Chewing on my lips, I thought about the last time I was in a hospital. I thought about how Spencer had curled his giant lanky body onto the bed and barely slept for 2 weeks. I could see the way his eyes got more sunken by the day, but never stopped shining with relief. I could hear him chewing on ice because he didn’t want to leave to grab food until after I’d woken up, and the cold would distract him from just how hungry he was.

“He must love you an awful lot to be that worried.”

I hated when they did that; when they read my mind and said exactly what I was thinking.

“Yeah, I know.” I tried to smile. It was hard with the stabbing pain in my stomach and the aching in the entire left side of my face, but I managed. It was just one of those things where if I thought of Spencer, my body had to react. It was as natural as breathing.

Which, speaking of…

“Take a deep breath in.” The technician alerted me from the speaker.

The high pitched whines of the CT scanner weren’t as obnoxious as the MRI machine. I was silently grateful that they were still too scared to use the giant magnet. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be stuck in a confined space, listening to loud banging that sounded too much like gun shots for my comfort.

Even just the thought made me nauseous. I felt like a baby, to have such a strong reaction to something so stupid. I’d been in an MRI before. I was a in a hospital. Nothing bad was going to happen to me, and I knew that.

But even now, in a machine that made virtually no noise and barely covered half my body, I wasn’t able to hold in a breath. Each time I tried, it felt like I was choking on Spencer’s lap again. The stinging in my stomach felt so much stronger, even though I knew it was healed.

The world felt like it was closing in on me, and every second that passed felt like days. I couldn’t even trust myself to guess how long it took for them to get images that should have taken no longer than 5 minutes.

I felt like such a burden. Like I was in their way. Like I was doing it wrong. Like I was a little kid, thinking that she knew what she was doing and could do it on her own.

I wanted Spencer.

That was the only thing I could think, and although it should have been comforting, it just left me feeling empty. The thought of him wasn’t enough to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. The hands of the nurses trying to calm me down didn’t help, either. They felt wrong. They felt cold.

I just wanted Spencer. I wanted him to be there to hold my hand and distract me from my own thoughts. I wanted him to replace them with other things, like he'd promised me. I wanted to make new memories far away from here.

But I couldn’t. I was an idiot and I’d gotten myself back in the hospital, and he wasn’t here because I told him I didn’t want him to be. Why had I told him that? There was no reason that made any sense.

Once we finally did get out of the damn radiology department, I could still only barely function. The ride back to my room was much quieter, and the nurse didn’t meddle anymore. Gossip was only fun when it didn’t hurt like this.

Again, I couldn’t trust myself to guess how long I’d been in the CT scanner, but as we crossed back into my room, an overwhelming sensation of relief washed over me when I saw his satchel in the seat beside my bed. I hated the knowledge that I’d wasted 45 minutes of the technician’s time, but I was just so fucking happy that he had actually come.

Being alone in my room wasn’t a big deal anymore, because I knew it was only temporary. So as soon as I could, I sat up and waited patiently for my favorite mop of curly brown hair to peek around the corner.

He didn’t disappoint. He rarely did.

“Hey little girl.”

All the tension melted from my muscles, my head finally resting against the pillow with a dopey smile on my face. “Spencer.” I sighed, holding my hand out to him to usher him closer.

He gladly took the invitation, taking wide steps so he could be with me sooner.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I grumbled, flicking him on the arm while I locked our hands together. “But I’m glad you are.”

It was obvious from the way he let out a deep breath that he was also relieved to see that I wasn’t angry at him for coming. However, that’s also where his relief stopped. Because he’d seen me an hour prior and knew that I hadn't been crying then. But now, on top of the black eye, he saw the red rimming my sclera.

Taking my hand into both of his, he pressed a hard kiss against the back of it. Without looking up, he muttered into the skin a sad plea.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?” I asked, pulling back on my hand so he would stop with the shameless display of romance in such an awful place.

“Whatever’s going on.” He paused, but was clearly unhappy with the open ended question, and just as quickly specified, “What happened last night?

Unfortunately, I still wasn’t in the giving mood, even when it was information, and even if the person begging me for it was the boyfriend that I’d just cried for in the CT Scanner. If anything, that almost made it worse.

I hated feeling like this. Vulnerable.

“Nothing.”

Spencer was getting fed up, but it was like I couldn’t stop myself from fighting with him. I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell him that I needed him to take care of me and ask him to hold me while I cried on his shoulder about nothing at all, but I couldn’t. He would do it in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t ask him to. I couldn’t ask him for anything.

I couldn’t need anything without feeling too horribly guilty.

“Please don’t lie to me.” He was begging again, looking up at me with those impossibly warm amber eyes. He smiled when he saw the way my lips curled at the sight of him, unable to be angry for too long.

“Am I not allowed to have any stories for myself?” I joked, reaching forward to poke his face. Instead of moving away to avoid my hand, he leaned into the touch.

“You can. I just...”

“I know. You’re worried.” I responded with an exasperated sigh, rolling my head back. I could still feel him watching me, though, with a precarious smile, happy to see my spirits relatively high while also being deeply unhappy about the circumstances.

Wanting to see that full, confident smile again, I realized I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m sure that whatever he’d come up with in his head was much more sinister than what had actually happened.

“Fine. Stop looking at me like that.” I mumbled, gesturing to the childlike pout and laughing when he sucked his lips into his mouth in an attempt to follow my direction. I was glad he was still in a joking mood, because I had a feeling it would disappear as soon as I started talking.

I took a deep breath, looking up and away before I began my explanation of the stupidest night.

“I went out for drinks with my friends–”

“Drinks?!”

It hadn’t even been five seconds and he’d already cut me off. I couldn’t blame him, but it was so freaking annoying. This was exactly why I hadn't told him. Well, that and the fact he could get in serious trouble.

“I didn’t have any! Geez. Chill out.” I yelled back, chuckling a little bit at the conflicting looks of terror and relief. Because while he obviously believed that I didn’t drink any myself, it gave ugly context to the nightmarish guesses his mind had concocted.

“And everything was fine. We were on our way home. But then some asshole started messing with my friend. And she was way too drunk and started crying.” I was groaning internally the whole time, thinking about all the different ways this whole situation could have been avoided. Honestly, I don’t know why she had decided to try and square up with a cat caller when she knew damn well that she would start crying the second he raised his voice.

Which, of course, he had.  

“So, I told the guy to fuck off. And he did not like it.”

There was a powerful rage boiling under the surface of Spencer’s skin, which was only betrayed by his clenched jaw and the sheets scrunched under his hand. “Did they arrest him?” He said, trying to calm the trembling in his voice. He wasn’t angry at me for being a victim, even if he was probably a little annoyed that I went out without telling him.

Not like he was even in the state, anyway.

“I didn’t press charges.”

He took a deep breath, clearly about to tell me that I was stupid for not holding him accountable. That I could’ve gotten hurt and he would’ve gotten away with it. That I could’ve died if he’d hurt me the wrong way.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop. I didn’t want to go to court, and I’m fine. I didn’t even need invasive surgery again.”

Spencer was still angry but trying to settle himself down before he spoke. He could hardly even look at me, his hand leaving the bed to run through his hair and shake his keys in his pockets.

I wanted to tell him that the tension of silence was worse than if he’d just raised his voice at me, but I couldn’t even gather the energy to do that. My body and mind seemed resigned to their current state; they’d just given up.

“(Y/n)...” He started, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the use of my name. They didn’t retreat, especially not when he dragged a chair over to my bedside, sitting down and placing a gentle hand over mine again.

“Are you okay?”

It was so sincere. So pure, so unforgivably kind. My hand that had felt paralyzed seconds earlier twitched under his. “I just told you.” I shrugged, fighting the urge to pull my arm away again. I wanted him here. I wanted him to touch me.

So why did it hurt? Why did everything hurt?

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” His voice broke, and I saw the way he was holding back tears with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. He was biting back so many things he didn’t want me to know.

But again, I was too tired to fight it. So instead, I said nothing.

“It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re hurting.” He continued, urging me to give him anything to work with. “How can I make it better?”

He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t I let him help?

“I’m fine. Nothing even happened to me.” My throat tried to reject the words, my brain screaming at me that they were fundamentally untrue. But my heart hurt, pounding louder in my chest to tell me that the logic was wrong. Because I was a big girl, and I shouldn’t be scared by things that already happened.

I’m safe, right? I don’t need to be scared, right?

Spencer could see the panic on my face because I couldn’t even have hid it if I'd wanted to. And my brain was telling me to not to. It told me that I needed to talk to him, to let him listen.

“That’s not true. You’ve been through a lot.” He bargained, trying to locate that little voice in my head with his offerings. He wanted to pull that small part of me out and force it to talk so that we might finally be able to start to move on.

“You go through worse every day.”

‘It’s common for patients suffering from PTSD to minimize their suffering or compare it to others. It’s a completely normal response, but I want you to try to resist belittling your own feelings. They’re yours, and no one else’s. Okay, sweetheart?’

The voice was so clear in my head, my body jerked in response. I looked around the room, looking for any sign of the man who’d told me them first. But he wasn’t here; he hadn’t been here for some time.

“Do you know how many profilers I’ve seen leave in my time at the bureau?” Spencer distracted me from the thought. He probably figured my flashbacks were more sinister than what they actually were. As upsetting as they had once been, hearing my dad’s voice in my head was usually oddly soothing.

“No.” I answered blankly, trying to pay all attention to the man who was still here.

“Four. And I’ve considered it myself.” There was a soft chuckle to hide the guilt in the admission.

I didn’t know why he felt bad for it; his job was so ridiculously difficult. On top of constantly having to rearrange his life on account of the various inextinguishable evils in the world, he had to face those evils every day and try to figure out their inner workings in order to thwart them. The only time I'd ever done that, I'd killed all three of them. Not the best track record.

“The first one, she... she reminds me a lot of you.” The soft twinkling in his eyes, much like emotional music in the movies, alerted me that a backstory was coming. Based on the extent of just how nostalgic he was coming, I guessed that whatever he was about to say was deeply important to him.

However, I was fragile enough as it was, and I didn’t need to add jealousy to my current emotional repertoire. “Is this another JJ origin story? Cause I don’t think I can handle it.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the frustrated pout that formed on my face. “No,” He said quietly, taking a pregnant pause to formulate the story. “Her name was Elle.”

The story he told was woven well, although I expected no less. He told it passionately and with absolute sincerity. He told me about the woman who was one of the first people he'd bonded with on the team. The playful relationship he described was painted so vividly in my imagination.

I wanted to meet her. But by the end of the story, it was obvious that it wasn’t an option. He didn’t say anything about it, but from the far off look I could guess that he hadn’t seen her since that last day.

“She was like a sister to me, and to see her fall apart and not be able to do anything to help her... it was one of the worst feelings in the world.”

And I understood then, why he was worried about me the way he was. He was projecting his previous experience on me, but things were different with me. At least, that’s what I told myself. Realistically I should have been reminding myself that she'd had the training and resources to overcome her obstacles, whereas I was basically still a stupid kid. The prospect of facing the reality was too difficult though; I just shrugged it off.

“Well, I already killed the people who did this to me.” I chuckled.

Spencer did not appreciate my humor. There was an even stronger concern that flashed over his features, worried by my flippancy over the death of three human beings.

Fuck, I should feel worse about it than I do, shouldn’t I? But if I thought about it, then it hurt so badly. If I had to pick one, I would pick apathy every time. I would choose the emptiness before the ocean of remorse.

“I’m not worried about them.”

I had drifted away from him again, and the sentence forced me to look at him.

‘I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you.’

I’d said that before. Those were my words.

I pulled my hand back from Spencer, rubbing my forehead with both hands before wincing at the sharp pain around my eye socket. It took me a minute to focus on the sentence and dive deeper into its implications. But once I remembered why it instilled such a visceral reaction, I nearly gagged on the words.

“Wait, you think I’m going to kill myself?”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly responded in the most defensive manner possible. If that was his attempt to calm me down, it did not work. It only pissed me off even more.

Because there was only one reason why he would think I was going to kill myself. I hadn’t given him any reason to believe that was a risk. Yeah, sure, I was being reckless and impulsive, but I was a teenager!

“Why would you think that?” I demanded an answer, and he was immediately hesitant to provide one. It was all the evidence I needed to reach my conclusion. “Don’t lie to me, Spencer Reid. You asked Hotch, didn’t you?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair now that it was obvious, I wasn’t going to want him to touch me. “Yeah, I did.”

“You told me you wouldn’t, Spencer! You promised!” I ground the words out between my teeth, hoping he understood just how much I was holding back my volume.

He looked over at the screen monitoring my heart, noting the way the spikes appeared at an exponentially faster rate. “I know.” He whispered with an evident guilt.

“What did he tell you?” I hated the way my voice shrank with my shoulders, my body insisting that I assume to the smallest position I could. Because as much as I hated that Spencer had asked when he told me he wouldn’t, I was desperate for the information.

I’d always wanted to see the files, to hear the story as they knew it. I wanted to know what happened, and this was probably the closest I’d ever come to that, unless that whole Ouija board thing is real.

“Probably the same stuff that you already know.” He knew he was disappointing me. He shouldn’t have felt as bad about that as he did, but I’d take the implicit apology for what it was.

“Tell me anyway.”

Spencer should have been delighted to have the opportunity to talk at me for such a long time, but I also understood why he wasn’t. They weren’t the best topics of conversation, your ex-best friend and your girlfriend’s dead father. But he was a trooper and a skilled conversationalist, despite people not being able to understand that.

“He told me that there were several missions your father was a part of that ended controversially. That… he reported several violations that were never followed through on.”

The words so easily unlocked memories I had tightly and resolutely locked away, it was unsettling. I could hear my parents arguing about the philosophy of blame and responsibility. My dad always arguing that he couldn’t stand aside and let innocent people get hurt. My mom reminding him that he couldn’t save everyone.

‘We also get to see a lot of good.’ Spencer had said on our first not-a-date.

‘Yeah, but which do you see more of?’ I’d asked, and he’d avoided the question. I remembered seeing the question dance across his vision before he shut it out. He'd wondered why I was so confident in my conclusions.

“And the last mission…”

He didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“I saw the report.”

My breath was knocked from my lungs by an invisible fist to my damaged gut. I swallowed, trying to regulate my heart that was at risk of setting off the damn machine next to me. “What did it say?” I whispered, clutching onto the sheets and my gown, hoping it would be enough to keep me grounded.  

“Killed in action.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” I barked, my brows furrowing regardless of just how badly it hurt to contort my face so badly.  “He didn’t– H-He wasn’t–“

“I know.” Spencer responded, a note of pity in his voice that made my face twitch in annoyance.

I turned to him with the same snarl, years of repressed anger resurfacing and wreaking even more havoc on my already destroyed life. “Do you? Do you know?”

“I mean, I can’t ever know for sure but… You weren’t the only one who felt that he...” He couldn’t say the word suicide, and for once, I was grateful. “It seems like all of his team had the same concerns.”

He was trying so hard to calm me down, to placate my fears and rage. He was sympathizing the best he could, but the truth was he would never be able to understand just how fucked up it was. He hadn't been there when it was happening, so the only thing he could do was try to slap a band-aid on a well-settled scar and hope that my not being able to see it made it hurt less.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered the two words cautiously, his heartbreak clear in his eyes. He had nothing to apologize for, but there he was, doing it anyway.

“For what?”

“That you’ll never have your answer.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but his answer took me by surprise. Of all the explanations I’d heard after an unnecessary platitudinous apology, I’d never heard that. And even worse, I’d never heard it in such a broken way, sounding for all the world like he believed he'd failed tremendously.

“I’m sorry that... that I couldn’t find it for you.”

I couldn’t stand the sight, and my hand found his cheek like it did so often, returning home to find that it was just a bit more stubbly than I remembered it. “It’s not your job, Spencer. We’re not one of your cases.” I assured him, running my thumb over the rough skin and remembering that he’d only just gotten home from exactly that: a case.

He did so much for me every day, but in the past few months he’d had to do so much more. And as much as I tried not to, I took him for granted so often. It was never as obvious to me as it was in that moment, when a tear slid down his cheek at the tenderness of my touch.  He always expected anger and pain. I didn’t want him to feel that way with me.

“But thank you for trying. I appreciate you.” I tried to throw my soul into the words as they formed on my tongue, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, too.” He sighed into the small embrace, leaning his weight more heavily into my hand. Still holding back, he grimaced at the words he shared. “If I’m going to be honest, I looked something else up myself. Not on any FBI database just... old school research”

I wanted to act surprised, but it was the least shocking thing I’d heard in a while. So instead I just stared at him, with the closest I could come to boredom while still being interested in what he had to say.

“Yeah? What’d you find?” Finally settling into the inevitable resignation, I moved my hand up the side of his face to tangle in his hair. It was so soft despite not having been washed for a few days. I could tell he hadn’t slept much. I wondered why he'd bothered digging into my past in the precious little free time he had.

But then he said it, reminding me of the pain of the cemetery and the events that both preceded and followed it.

“Trent Loughton.”

My fingers stopped in their exploration of his curls for a second, but eventually continued. “I see.” I hummed, trying not to push the conversation any further than he wanted to take it. As emotional as the topic was for me, it must have been harder for him. After all, he was the one who shared the nasty habit with Trent.

“I-I saw how he died... and I think I can fill in the rest myself.”

“Mrs. Loughton did give a lot of clues.” I laughed, mostly to stop myself from crying. That woman didn’t deserve any more of my tears. It was because of her that I’d spent years trying to convince myself that Trent’s death wasn’t my fault. Deep down, a part of me still believed her.

But honestly, it wasn’t my opinion that really mattered to me. It was Spencer’s. If he thought I was a failure, or that it was my fault for what happened, I wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to move past it. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to move past it.

“The drugs he overdosed on... they weren’t yours.”

Relief washed over me, but my mind told me not to get too comfortable, yet. “No, they weren’t.” My body had such a strange reaction to the words being said without an argument. I didn’t need to convince Spencer; he already knew. He not only believed me – he had come to the conclusion himself.  

“So why did you say they were?”

It was such an easy answer, I knew he had to know it already. His hesitance to come to conclusions on my behalf, while appreciated, wasn’t necessary in this situation. “Pretty little girl with no record and a batshit war hero dad stood a better chance in the criminal justice system. I didn’t ask my dad to protect me, but he did.”

Spencer clearly sympathized with my father more so than me in that moment, which made my heart flutter in a remarkably inappropriate manner. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that those damn psychologists were right – We really do sometimes pick men that remind us of our fathers.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Spencer said under his breath, and I wondered which one he was even talking about. It honestly could have applied to my whole life. He would have meant it each time, too. Because to him I couldn’t do anything wrong. I tried to take solace in that, but it honestly caused another voice to creep into the back of my mind.

I’d never be as good as he saw me. I’d never be worthy of his love.

Shoving those anxieties away again, I nodded in solemn recognition of the years I spent working to come to that same conclusion. “I know. It just took me a while to figure it out.”

My hand finally fell away from his face, although he grabbed my wrist to stop it from going too far. There was another hesitancy in his body language. His face turned down and his leg bouncing so gently I almost missed it.

“Is he the one you were talking about? The one you loved?”

Ah, nothing like a subtle hint of jealousy to boost a girl’s ego. I chuckled at the sound, swaying a bit in place to let him suffer a millisecond longer. “No. Not exactly.”

But then I genuinely couldn’t figure out how to say it. How could I describe what we had shared, when I'd spent so long trying to forget it? Had I loved him? Probably. No, I'd definitely loved him, just not in the way Spencer was thinking. Not like I loved Spencer.

“It was like, he always liked me, and I always thought we’d end up together because that’s how it happens in the movies, right? I was supposed to fall in love with him.” I ranted, trying to move my hands that were currently wrapped up in Spencer’s. “But I didn’t, and then he was gone and...”

We both stopped, his eyes trailing after me with questions he didn’t voice yet. He wanted me to finish before he decided whether or not they were worth it. I wanted to explain to him that they weren’t. As important as Trent was to me, he was gone.

“It’s fine. I’m sure he would be glad I found someone who makes me happy.” I was confident in that, at least. Because as I stared into those big hazel eyes, forcing themselves to stay open just to listen to me talk about my life, I was glad, too. “Even if that someone snoops too much for his own good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There were many reasons, most of which I didn’t want to go into. But the way he was looking at me shattered my heart into a million pieces, and I knew that if I lied to him now, it would only make it harder to put those parts back together.

He just wanted to help. I knew I should let him help.

“I didn’t want to think about it.” I admitted for the first time out loud. “I didn’t want to consider all the similarities. I didn’t want you to think I was just looking for a man to replace the ones I’ve lost.”

I couldn’t tell when I started to cry, but it was even more exhausting and painful than normal. Which is why I didn’t hesitate to accept Spencer’s offer when he stood up, wrapping his arms around me just tightly enough that it wouldn’t hurt.  

“I didn’t want to lose you, too.” I whined, the comforting scent of his cologne filling my lungs and reminding me of all the beautiful moments we’d shared so far. We had so many more to go.

“You won’t lose me. I’m here to stay.” He said, reading my mind like he always did.

“I know.” I started to laugh, but this time it wasn’t held back by secrets. “You’d think a girl could lose you by getting in a bar fight an hour away and going to an unnamed hospital but nooo...”

He laughed too, although his was much more reserved. Spoilsport.

Spencer’s arms tightened around me briefly, holding me closer to him before he backed away, his hands finding home on my cheeks. I anticipated a kiss, which was usually what happened when he held me like that. But he didn’t kiss me, instead giving me a gentle instruction.

“(Y/n), look at me.”

My eyes, bruised and dry, still opened at his command.

“No jokes. No lies.” He asked, clearly enunciating each word. “Should I be worried about you?”

All I could hear was the sound of my heart and the humming of the machines. I was brought back to the CT scanner, the way it felt to be choking on air. Flashes of other men I loved were racing through my mind. I couldn’t save them, I remembered, before my eyes landed back on Spencer.

My stomach twisted at the memory of a wooden box, a check, and suddenly all I smelled was the pine of the forest.

“(Y/n)?” He asked again, although I saw he’d already received half of the answer.

“No. I’m fine.”

The most terrifying part about it was that I believed what I said, but the look on Spencer’s face told me that I was lying. And I believed that, too.

—————————————————

The thing about coming back from a gunshot wound to the stomach is that it takes a ridiculously annoying amount of time. Like, yeah, the pain is something awful, but the wait for things to return to normal was even worse.

I didn’t even know how long it’d been, my brain blocking out anything that reminded me of that day. If I ever really needed to know, Spencer could tell me. I was basically only keeping track of the days by deadlines for school and the dwindling prescriptions I had left.

My follow-up appointment was next week, and it couldn’t come soon enough. Spencer told me he would come with me, but I hadn’t really heard from him in a couple of days. He didn’t even have time to tell me about the case, although I could tell it was one of the “bad” ones – not that there were really any “good” ones.

But still, it was almost 11pm and I was about to go to sleep, but I wanted to wait a little bit longer before I called it a night. I was just hoping that I’d be able to talk to him, even if it was just to say goodnight. I missed his voice like crazy.

So when my phone lit up, I didn’t even look at the caller ID. There weren’t many people who would call me this late on a Friday – my friends were all already out for the night.

“Hello?” I sang into the receiver, already excitedly spinning around in my chair.

But the voice that responded was decidedly not Spencer.

“Hey, (y/n), right? It’s JJ.”

Her voice rang like a record scratch through my head, and I halted in my chair. “Oh, hey JJ... Why are you calling me?” Suddenly, my enthusiasm morphed into an overwhelming anxiety and darkness that threatened to crush everything in its path. “I-Is everything alright?”

But then I heard it. The sound of terrible music, loud laughter, and the general bustle of a restaurant. It was followed by an even more nervous JJ, “Uhh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was calling because Spencer might have had a few too many drinks and—“

Above the chaotic noise that I just described, I heard Spencer Reid loud and clear. Well, maybe not the clear part. His inaudible slurring sounded vaguely like a rant I’d heard before. Then again, hadn't I heard them all at this point? ?

I hadn’t put it together yet, though, and once I did, I couldn’t help but laugh. “My boyfriend is drunk? Cute.”

I was already standing, gathering my things and tossing my jacket on to head out when I asked, “Do you want me to come get him?”

“Please.” I’d never heard a more relieved woman in my life. The very thought of him driving his best friends insane with his drunken lessons was enough to combat my exhaustion. The poor thing was probably humiliating himself one sip at a time.

But for every chuckle, I was really just hiding a deeper concern. Spencer wasn’t supposed to be drinking. Spencer wasn’t allowed to drink, and he knew that. Out of the two of us, he was the one who put himself at risk more often, and I had a goddamn bullet wound.

“Sure thing. Just send me the address.”

It dawned on me somewhere along the 20 minute drive that Spencer had not only finished his case, but also come home and gone out for a drink with his team. Normally that wouldn’t bother me, but the fact that he hadn’t told me about any of it...?

I tried not to think about it, knowing that talking to him about it tonight would be a waste of time, anyway. From the way he'd sounded over the phone, he wouldn’t be in any state to talk about the deep nuances of addiction and our relationship.

So I pushed it away, trying to enjoy the fact that I’d be able to see him again. Now that we’d cleared the air about my past, things felt strangely calm. I told myself it wasn’t just the eye of the storm because I  wasn't sure I could handle much more excitement lately.

Showing up at one of the bars I used to frequent didn’t do much to convince me otherwise, either. The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol hit me like a freight train as soon as I stepped out of my car. How did I do this every other night before?

As I approached the door, I didn’t even recognize the bouncer’s figure in the shade of the dim porch light. I recognized his voice, though, that’s for sure.

“Hey Jailbait, haven’t seen you around.”

Shit. Slower now, I hesitantly approached him with the most innocent and well-meaning look I could muster, knowing full well that another part of my life was going to be exposed tonight. At least this time, Spencer was the story and not the listener.

“Hey Tom...” I nervously laughed, drawing out the words while I came to a stop.

“Heard some pretty crazy shit went down to keep you off the scene. Must be bad if it keeps you away from me.”

It was weird to think that they talked about me. But I guess it was to be expected; we were all friends before Spencer Reid. And when someone in those friend groups goes missing suddenly, there’s usually reason to be worried. But in my situation, the worry wasn’t really necessary (aside from the whole being shot thing, I guess).

“Crazy is a good word for it.”

He leaned forward, beckoning for me to move in even closer with a wave of his hand. I complied, although I was a little confused as to why we were being so secretive.

“Hey, sorry, but... I can’t let you in tonight. You know I normally would, but the place is swarming with feds tonight.”

Then I remembered that I actually had to explain the reason for my absence, rather than just think about it in the abstract. “Oh no, I know.” I peered around him, trying to spot the man past the door. It wasn’t hard, considering how goddamn tall he was.

I pointed to him, causing Tom to turn with an amused grin before I explained, “I’m here for the drunk noodle man.”

The look on his face – hilarious, and a little insulting.

“What? Jailbait’s picking up a fed? Damn girl what’ve you been into?” He laughed, barely able to control himself. He laughed so hard, in fact, I’m surprised there weren’t tears in his eyes.

“Stop that.” I whined, but he didn’t listen.

“Does he know who he’s dating?”

The question hurt more than he could have anticipated. I didn’t want to confront those messy feelings, so I bundled them all into an annoyed exclamation. “Yes, he knows!” I huffed, crossing my arms and turning away from him as I stepped towards the door. “So can I go get him?”

He composed himself rather quickly after that, shaking his head and unhooking the rope that blocked off the door. “Please do. If I have to hear one more fact about Ancient Rome, I might quit.”

With the last obstacle gone, I happily skipped through the door, the excitement returning in a bubbling wave through my chest. “Thanks, Tom!” I chirped, barely giving him a glance as I raced through the door.

The only person more surprised to see me than Tom was Spencer. Although, to his credit, I did practically launch myself at his side. We both nearly toppled to the ground thanks to  our lack of coordination, but we were luckily stopped by the bar he was leaning against.

“Boo!” I shouted in his ear, hearing a small, surprised gasp from my boyfriend.

“(Y/n)?” He turned towards me now, stars quickly forming in his eyes as a big, goofy smile spread across his face. It took him a minute, but eventually he recognized me in the dim light.

“Hey old man.”

Hugging me back just a little too tightly, he began to gush, “Oh my gosh. What are you doing here?” Of course, before I could answer, he came to several other conclusions. “Wait! This is a bar. You can’t be here! You aren’t twenty one!”

He thought he was whispering, but he definitely, definitely was not.

“I’m here to pick you up, not party.” I actually whispered back, turning to see JJ practically hiding at the table. I’m guessing he hasn't wanted her to call me, although I was pretty sure he wouldn’t care at this point. He seemed pretty happy I was there.

“You can’t pick me up. You’re hurt.”

I didn’t even know where to start with that, so I just chuckled. “Smart as a whip, Dr. Reid.”

I ran my hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkled dress shirt he'd either had no time to iron, or had worn to bed the night before.  I didn’t like either of those options. Spencer must have noticed me analyzing the fact, because his hand came up to stop me.

Trying to quickly change the subject, I blurted out over the terrible music, “Even when I’m hurt, I can probably still pick you up. You probably weigh the same as me.”

He scoffed, looking down at his lanky body compared to mine before shaking his head. “That’s hurtful, (y/n).” He attempted a puppy dog face, which only made laughter burst from my pursed lips.

Grabbing hold of his wrists and pulling him away from the bar, I turned and waved to the few team members I could spot among the crowd before returning to my drunken idiot of a boyfriend. “Come on, love. It’s time to take you home with me.”

When the cool autumn air hit him, I felt the goosebumps ripple over his arm. He leaned a bit closer, resting too much of his body weight on me for my comfort, but I wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“How did you find me?” He mumbled, trying to touch me more than he currently was. Pushing him away from me was supposed to serve as a gentle reminder that we were in public, but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“JJ called me.”

“They all like you a lot. So do I.” His fast responses were a little less impressive considering how spontaneous they seemed, but I let it slide. As long as he was saying nice things, it was fine by me.

Guiding him as gently as possible, which is to say not gently at all considering he was essentially a human giraffe, I sighed. “I’m glad to hear it, Spencer. Maybe I can actually hang out with them one of these days.”

The guilt appeared before I could stop it, but it was the least of my worries at the moment. More concerning would be getting him into his house and in bed without either of us doing something stupid. After all, he was usually the one who stopped me from being stupid. And so far tonight, he’d already done something pretty damn stupid.

As I pulled the driver side door closed, a silence filled the car. Spencer was stuck between staring at me with a lovesick smile and looking away, probably because of his pink cheeks making him look a perfect combination of embarrassed and plastered.

“So what had you drinking, Spencer?”

“A case.” He shot back with that voice he usually reserved for the bedroom. It was the voice that told me not to press, to take his answer and let it die.

Unfortunately, I couldn't really do that this time, concerning this particular topic. . “Good thing or bad thing drinking?” I asked quietly.

I think he wanted to snap at me, to tell me that it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, but he didn’t. The way my hands and words trembled told him that I was just as scared as he was that the answer might be the wrong one.

“I don’t know,” was what he said, instead.

“Okay.” I accepted that answer, understanding that it meant we could talk about it later, when his blood went back to normal and his mind was where it should be. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

And there we were, me sitting and staring at the indicators on the car as the engine turned, and him staring at me in the little light provided. After staring back at him for a moment, I had to ask the glaringly obvious question.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

That’s when Spencer Reid let out an honest to god giggle, his hands reaching out to massage my face that no longer showed any signs of the black eye I'd received a few weeks prior. “You’re sooo pretty.” He drawled, slumping over in his seat so he could rest his face against my shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh back, petting his hair for a second before returning my attention to the wheel. “Oooh, I like this.” I whispered, letting my heart skip a few beats as he nuzzled into the warmth that only I could provide him.

“I love you.” He mumbled against my shirt, letting out a deep breath before apparently trying to fill his lungs with the smell of my laundry detergent.

The sensation of his breath hot against my neck caused a familiar desire to stir in me, just barely beaten out by the even more powerful adoration I had for the puppy-like man who was already practically asleep on my shoulder.

“I love you, too, darling.”

He didn’t hear me, his soft breath indicating that he would be out for the drive. Taking my time to avoid the roads with potholes and curves, I managed to keep Spencer on me the whole way back to his apartment. Once we were there, though, I didn’t have any option but to wake him up. Unlike him, I definitely could not carry him out of the car.

It took him a surprisingly long period of time to realize that we were not, in fact, at my place. As soon as he did notice, he rubbed his eyes like it would transform the door in front of him. “Why didn’t you take me home?”

“This is your apartment, babe.” I explained, digging through his pockets to find his keys. He jumped at the contact before letting out a sound that was way too close to a moan for him to be making in the hallway.

“Yeah that’s not home.” He answered, swallowing down other noises that threatened to erupt by the time I withdrew my hand. “But home is–“ He hiccuped, patting his finger on my nose as he tried to stabilize his feet. “Home is where you are.”

“Mmm, so smooth.” I hummed, unlocking the door and shoving his drunk ass into the apartment before he could do something else that made me question whether I should just turn around and go home.

But he just looked so proud of himself, spinning around on his feet and crashing into the table beside the door. “Thank you!” He chirped, reaching forward to grab my hand and pull me closer.

When our bodies pressed together, the first thing I noticed was the fact he was clearly much more excited to be home with me than he was letting on. The thin fabric of his slacks left little to the imagination, and when my hand slid over the tent in his pants, there was nothing left to wonder.

“I brought you here... because I didn’t want to have to be quiet.” I purred, palming his erection over his clothes.

Through his broken moans, he still managed to ask the silliest question: “Why are you going to be loud?”

He was so fucking cute; so remarkably innocent in his drunken stupor, it was hard to remember that he was the same man that once finger fucked me on the metro.

“Why do you think?” I asked just as sweetly, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

Spencer still just stared, mesmerized by the way the buttons slipped from the fabric between my fingers. Once they were all open, I ran my hands over his chest before wrapping my arms around his neck.

He was the one to close the gap, coming down to deliver a feverish kiss against my lips. He tasted like honey and whiskey, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in him. His hands were on my lower back, sneaking under my shirt and spreading goosebumps all over my skin.

I moaned into his mouth with the utmost desperation, murmuring words against his lips. “Take me to bed, Spencer,” I begged.

The words awoke something in him, and suddenly, his hands were off of me and raised in the air.

“Wait— I can’t.” He concluded, drawing in heavy breaths.

“Why not?”

I wasn’t sure which part of this situation did him in, although I had my suspicions. As much as I wanted him, I would suppress those urges if he was really, truly uncomfortable. I almost felt bad for a second, but then he spoke again.

“I have a girlfriend.”

With a few slow blinks, I tried to figure out how the hell I was supposed to return a serious answer. Deciding that was impossible, I deadpan replied, “I am your girlfriend, you absolute idiot.”

I took his stunned silence to be permission enough to start leading him into his room. He honestly looked like I’d just told him all the answers to the universe, and he trailed after me like my hand was a leash. Still, once I sat on the bed and pulled his body against mine, he paused again.

“My girlfriend can’t— she’s hurt. She can’t have sex with me.”

I got the impression he was trying to reason with himself more so than with me, which explained the third person. But it was deeply unsettling, because I really needed to know he was here in this moment with me.

“Stop saying 'she'. It’s me, babe.” I gently reminded, and I watched it dawn on him again, his eyes lighting up in the darkness. Sliding my hand up his arm, I pulled him forward to hopefully convince him to climb into the bed with me. “And we don’t have to have sex.”

Funny enough, Spencer was the one who had enough sense to strip off most of his clothes before he stumbled onto the mattress after me. His lack of coordination was even worse with the alcohol, and it reminded me of the virginal teenager I’m certain he once was.

It was strange to consider, that if we’d met each other under different circumstances, at a different time, our roles might have been somewhat reversed. To picture him as an innocent little thing was... kind of exciting.

But he was anything but innocent now, his face hanging over mine while he helped me disrobe, trying to focus his analytical abilities on me in his haze. Finding no pain or hesitancy, he crashed his lips over mine with an energy I hadn’t seen in some time.

And it was so invigorating, to feel his skin against mine without him having to constantly worry about whether or not he was hurting me. It’d been far too long since we shared a bed together like this, and now that it was happening, I could hardly breathe.  

“God, I love her.” He whispered against my skin, before quickly correcting himself, “I love you.”

I laughed, the kind that sputters from your lips when you try to hold it back. Pushing the hair from his face, I ran my fingers over his scalp. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m stupid.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, diving back down to kiss me again. I wasn’t going to argue with the brilliant Spencer Reid, even if the point he was making was that he was, in fact, stupid.

Maybe it was stupid, the two of us tangling up in his sheets despite the fact that I hadn’t been cleared for it yet by my doctor. I knew that it was coming soon – probably at my appointment in a couple weeks, actually – so why wait? I knew that Spencer would never hurt me. Even now, his hands were gentle in their insistence, raking over my hip and stopping just short of the place where I really wanted him.  

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned, his hips rocking forward and pressing his erection against my leg.

“Touch me.” I ordered, louder and more forcefully than I intended. I was expecting an argument, but I didn’t get one. In fact, Spencer’s finger had already breached my folds before I even finished talking. Unwilling to let him be the only one to enjoy himself, I reached down to grab his cock.

“Shit.” He hissed, biting down on his lip while he rutted against my hand. “I just want to hold you down and fuck you until you cry.” The restraint was obvious in the fingers slowly sinking into me, his jaw clenched and his eyes barely able to stay open. “But I can’t.”

Through my heavy breaths, I panted out another request. “Tell me more about it.”

He immediately realized why I’d asked, and his fingers began to pump in and out of me faster and with more force, his lips trailing kisses over to my ear. While I tried to keep up the pace of my strokes, it became more complicated when his breath fanned over my ear.

“It’s been so long since I bent you over and had my way with you like I did that morning over your kitchen counter...” He moaned, and I could almost feel the sensations as he remembered them. Although his fingers would never be the same, just having him inside me in any capacity felt like pure bliss.

But he wasn’t done, continuing to speak his thoughts into my ear. “I just want to—fuck, I want to fill you up.” I went to respond, but I choked on a sob, instead. The lewd sounds between us only aided his descriptions.

“God, I love the way you feel. You’re always so wet for me.” He whispered, beginning to make small thrusts with his hips. The movement essentially allowed him to use my hand to stroke himself, and he let out another unsteady moan at the contact. “Think about what it feels like, little girl.”

“I-I am.” I could barely make the words come out; my body too sensitive to his touch after being starved of it for so long. And Spencer was ready to take full advantage of that.

“I still have so much planned for you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that little stunt you pulled when you got all riled up.” He growled, using his free hand to grab a fistful of my hair. He yanked my head further to the side, laying sloppy kisses along my jaw. “I told you I’d give you triple the marks you left on me, and I can’t wait to cover you with me.”

“Fuck. Please, Spencer.” I hoarsely begged, my hand on his shoulder tightening so that my nails dug into his skin. If his grip on my hair wasn’t so tight, I would have thrown my head back. Instead, I just squirmed underneath him, crying out, “I’m so close, Spencer, please!”

He did not disappoint, his fingers curling inside of me with each thrust, and by some grace of God, he was able to coordinate his thumb over my clit. As if that wasn’t enough, he pulled back to look me in the eyes.  

“I want to feel you come on my fingers.” It was more of a demand than a desire, as evidenced by the way his hand tugged on my hair. “Come on, little girl. Make daddy proud.”

Just like that, my body responded to his call, my muscles trembling from the tension as my orgasm hit me like a fucking freight train. It was such an overwhelming experience, to remember exactly how Spencer was capable of making me feel.

And he knew it, too. “Oh, good girl,” he cooed, continuing his kisses against my neck and murmuring the words as they came to him. “That’s my pretty little slut.”

After taking my time coming back to earth, I struggled from the overstimulation still burning between my legs. Spencer hadn’t stopped his fingers, which were diligently stroking inside of me while he continued to buck his hips against my hand.

“I want you to finish inside me.” I slurred in my delirium, withdrawing my hand from his dick while he whimpered.

“I-I can’t. I can’t fuck you.” He was asserting a necessary and understandable hard limit, and it was clear I wouldn’t be able to convince him to fuck me that night.

But that wasn’t the plan, anyway.  

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” I said between gasps, struggling against his fingers still inside me. “Come up here.” I whined, rubbing my hands on his shoulders while simultaneously trying to sit myself up.

The movement and the words made him withdraw completely. “(Y/n)...” He warned, running a hand through his hair while he sat up on his knees. “I could hurt you.”

“That’s always been a risk with us, Spencer.” My retort was both quick and persuasive, judging by the way he almost moved, but stopped himself yet again.

“Please. Please, do it. I want you to do it so fucking bad.” There was an obvious and deep desperation. I was literally begging him, to the point that I swore I almost cried. It felt stupid, but I needed him like I’d never needed anything in my life before. He’d spent months taking care of me, and I couldn’t do anything in return.

I just wanted to make him feel good, to give him something like we used to share.

Of course, I think those thoughts were also visible on my face, and they were obviously worrying him. With tender touches, Spencer’s fingers lightly trailed over the side of my face. The brief flashes of clarity alerted him of my struggle, and he let out a shaky breath at the war inside his own mind.  

“I want to feel you inside me, and this is the only way.” I concluded, trying to lead him to the simplest conclusion. It was the safest, easiest way to solve both of our current problems. And although I could see how hard the decision was for him, my pleading eventually bested him.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, leaning forward to grab the headboard, staring down at me as I shimmied further up the wood.

“Fuck!” He repeated, rolling his head back with a light groan when both of my hands reached forward to grab his hips. “Fine. You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”

A giggle bubbled through my throat, and my body actually bounced in excitement as he slowly positioned himself in front of me. I wasn’t even sure which I was more excited for, my own orgasm or getting to finally give him one again.

As soon as my mouth closed around the head of his dick, I got my answer. Spencer’s moan filled the room, his hands holding so firmly on the headboard that the entire bed creaked. Although I figured he’d been taking care of himself in my absence, it appeared that wasn’t entirely the case. He seemed just as starved as I was.

“Holy shit.” He groaned, dropping a hand to the top of my head. I had to remind myself that he was drunk, which explained why he seemed so much more responsive than normal, with whimpers and pants flowing steadily through his mouth. He only got louder as he began to slowly push himself further into my mouth, stopping every few inches to retreat before pressing further.

“God, I need to do this more often. No back talk, no whining.” He said in a low tone under his breath, beginning to settle on a steady rhythm.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t think of anything except how fucking good it felt to be useful again, to feel him struggling to hold himself back as he started to more aggressively fuck my mouth. My eyes could barely stay open, but I needed them to. I needed to see him in the dim light of the streetlights that peered through the window.

He looked so beautiful, so perfect, and so mine. Feeling him slide back and forth against my tongue revived memories from long before and reignited my longstanding desire to do anything to please him. In all his caretaking, I was worried he might have forgotten how to control me.

But he hadn't.  Thank god, he hadn’t.

“Come on, little girl. Earn your fill.” He whispered, burying himself in my throat and holding me against the headboard. I only lightly choked on the intrusion before my body complied, swallowing him further until my lips were pressed against the base of him.

Suddenly, Spencer withdrew, beginning a brutal, dizzying pace. Now, my eyes couldn’t stay open, rolling to the back of my head as I used my hands to steady myself against his thighs. The sobs trying to escape felt more like moans, and they shoved Spencer over the edge he’d been riding in his caution.

“That’s it. Take it.” He barked the instruction, looking down at me and smiling, “Don’t you dare spill any of it, do you hear me?”

My answer was stifled against him, just the way he wanted it to be. And with a few more rough thrusts, Spencer buried himself as deep as possible. I swore my heart synchronized with the pulsing against my tongue as his seed spilled down my throat.

I hollowed my cheeks, trying to drain every last drop from him as he finished. It had its desired effect, and Spencer grabbed my hair and forced himself deeper one more time with a growl. “Good girl.”

Once he had enough, he pulled out of me with a satisfied grunt, waiting just a second before clumsily falling onto the bed beside me. I laughed as he hit the pillows, obviously too tired to even reposition himself in the disastrous sheets.

“Thank you, daddy.” I spoke in the silence, gingerly cleaning the spit that had dripped down my chin.

“Fuck.” The curse was muffled in the pillow, but I understood it well enough. He seemed more concerned when I started to sink down into the sheets again, reaching a tentative hand out to him.

Finally rolling over, he grabbed my arm and guided me closer. “Come here.” He said with the tenderness I’d grown used to over the past few months. He turned towards me, apparently not ready for me to sleep on my side just yet.

He brushed my hair from my face, lifting the sheets to look at the now mostly healed wound. I hated it when he looked at it. It just reminded me that I’d never be the same girl he first met. Every time he saw it, he would remember that day. I didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

But even with the insecurity and anger in my gut, I wasn’t lying when I answered. “No, I’m fine.” My heart was so full, my body relaxing for the first time in so long. I was just so unbelievably happy to be together again. Even if it wasn’t like last time, it was still just as wonderful.

“I’m a little better than fine, actually.” I admitted with a bright smile.

Spencer hummed something in thought, but then winced. “Do me a favor.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wiping a heavy hand over his face.

“Anything.”

“Kick my ass in the morning.”

He was caught off guard by my response, which was a full-hearted laugh that was too loud for how close the two of were. But I couldn’t help it, it was just so Spencer to still be punishing himself despite the fact that nothing bad had happened.

Once I calmed down enough to talk, I turned to him with a devilish grin. “I don’t wanna.”

Then were both laughing, and Spencer pulled me close to him until he could rest his chin on the top of my head, curling up against my side. “Spoiled brat.” He whined, running his hand through my hair and down my arm.

When I smelled the whiskey on his breath, the guilt hit me just as hard as any of the pleasure. I'd been so excited to get to experience this with him again, I almost forgot the reason he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

He just didn’t want to hurt me. He just wanted to make me happy.

“I just wanted to be with you again... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” I whispered, pulling the covers up so that I could hide my shame beneath them.

“I wanted to be with you, too.” He reassured me, half asleep and barely able to talk but wanting to get the words out. “I know it’s important to you, but I need you to know I would be with you even if I never got to touch you again.”

“Please never stop touching me.” I quickly replied, a genuine worry in my eyes.

But when Spencer glanced over, he just laughed, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“No? Even when I get pregnant and have a big ol’ belly?” I playfully answered, bringing his hand to my stomach and pressing it against the side that still remained intact.

The familiar position caused a shift in Spencer’s body language, and suddenly he was even more insistent on being impossibly closer. “You’ll still be irresistible to me.” He said against my hair, running his fingers lightly over the unmarked skin of my lower stomach.

“We’ll see, I guess.” I mumbled, not realizing that I said it aloud until I heard his confused reply.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” The defensiveness in my voice was terrifyingly transparent, and I hoped that if his drinking made him forget anything, it would be this conversation. “Go to sleep, drunk ass.”

“I need hugs and kisses first.” He complained, rubbing his nose against me in a way that should have been irritating instead of adorable.

“Spoiled.” I grumbled, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. I turned to kiss his cheek through the smile that was plastered over my cheeks.

Already half snoring in his sleepy state, he got out one more cringe worthy joke before he succumbed to his exhaustion. “What’s good for the goose...”  

“...is good for the gander.” I finished for him, before taking the advice and following him to sleep.

 —————————————————

| Part 18 |

[btsqualityy]

Scripted: Part 9

Namjoon x Reader; Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, President!Namjoon, Head of Security!Jimin

Warnings: (Reluctant) open relationship, mentions of cheating, fingering

Author’s Note: If you’ve been following me for a year or more, you guys know that I always upload something on my birthday so here you go! Here’s an extra long part 9 to make up for how short part 8 was and the Italics indicate a flashback! I hope you guys enjoy it!!

When you woke up the next morning, you were in a bed that was in a room that you didn’t recognize. You sat up, stretching your arms out as everything that happened the day before came rushing back to you. The last thing that you remembered though, was coming to Jimin’s apartment and falling asleep cuddled up to him.

Using the context clues, you figured that you were in Jimin’s room since you saw several photos of Jimin’s brother and niece around the room, as well as some of an older couple that you assumed to be his parents. Pulling the duvet off of your body, you climbed out of his bed and walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. You were able to hear the telltale sound of bacon cooking so you followed the sounds and smells into the kitchen, where Jimin was standing in front of the stove.

“Hey,” you spoke up, making Jimin jump in surprise as he looked over his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” he smiled as he recovered and you walked further into the kitchen in order to stand next to him. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” you shrugged, not feeling like you had much of an appetite. 

“Well, I’m making bacon and pancakes, in case you do decide that you’re hungry,” Jimin told you and you nodded. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah, I did actually,” you replied. “That’s your room, right?”

“It is.”

“Where’d you sleep then?”

“On the couch,” Jimin replied as he grabbed a plastic spatula, flipping one of the pancakes that was in one of the pans on the stove. “This is only a one-bedroom apartment.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you scolded him lightly. “I’m the one who barged over here.”

“You didn’t barge over here, I invited you,” Jimin chuckled. “And you’re my guest so you automatically get the comfy place.”

“Well, thank you,” you smiled and before you could overthink it, you leaned over and kissed his cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin for a few seconds before you pulled away. He looked over at you with a small smirk, before the sound of the bacon frying in it’s pan became overwhelming. 

“How about you go sit at the island over there while I get this food done,” Jimin suggested as he gestured to it with his free hand. “And then I’ll fix you a small plate.”

“I don’t know if I’ll eat it all,” you admitted.

“That’s ok, just eat whatever you can manage,” he told you and you nodded before turning around and walking over to the large island that divided the kitchen and the living room, taking a seat on one of the stools that was pushed against it. You set your elbows on top of the island and then placed your chin in your hands, watching silently as Jimin moved around the kitchen trying to finish breakfast. 

About 10 minutes later, he was done and he walked over to the island carrying two plates, setting one down in front of you before taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“This looks amazing,” you complimented, staring down at the plate that was covered with two pancakes, a few strips of bacon, and some strawberries as well. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jimin shrugged as he dug into his own plate, not wasting any time in eating his food. “I figured you could use it after everything that happened yesterday.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, cutting into your pancakes and taking a bite. “It still doesn’t feel like everything that happened yesterday, actually happened. You know?”

“I get it,” Jimin replied. “I had a lot of those days in the Navy.”

“And I’m just so...angry,” you added. 

“Do you think that maybe you’re ready to explain all of this to me?” Jimin wondered and you looked over at him, and he held his hands up in mock surrender. “You said later.”

“And it’s later,” you finished for him with a chuckle, setting down your fork and knife before turning the stool so that you were able to look at him head on. “Should I start from the beginning?”

“It’d help,” Jimin agreed as he took another bite of his pancake. 

“Ok so like I told you yesterday, Namjoon and Hyejin had dated for most of high school and the very beginning of college before Namjoon broke it off with her,” you said. “Namjoon and I met the next semester, in an intro political science class.”

“Did you two start dating soon after?” Jimin asked and you shook your head.

“Actually, me and Namjoon were just really close friends for the first few months of us knowing each other,” you told him. “He was still pretty butt hurt about the whole breakup with Hyejin and I wasn’t looking for a relationship because I was too focused on getting my degree. A few months into us being close though, my parents died in a car accident.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that Y/N-ah,” Jimin sighed, reaching over and setting his hand on your knee. 

“It’s ok,” you assured him, setting your hand on top of his and you couldn’t help but to smile when he flipped his hand over and intertwined his fingers with yours. “After that, I was pretty much on my own since I’m an only child and don’t have any other immediate family so I just kind of..attached myself to Namjoon more. He didn’t mind though,” you chuckled as you thought back to your college days. “He may not seem like it, but he was a big softie back then and he’d almost faint if I did something as simple as hold his hand.”

“That’s cute,” Jimin laughed. 

“So we started dating officially and once we graduated college, Namjoon proposed to me and we got married,” you continued. “I managed to go to law school, pass the bar, and establish my law firm while Namjoon began his political career and things were good for the first three years of our marriage.”

“When did things start to change?” Jimin questioned.

“When he made the official announcement that he was going to be running for President,” you responded. “After that, he was gone more often, giving speeches and meeting people, so we barely saw each other. Things happened and our marriage just kind of started to....crumble, in terms of communication.”

“Is that when he cheated with Hwasa the first time?” Jimin guessed and you nodded.

“It was like a month before the election and I caught the two of them in our bed, just like I did yesterday,” you laughed ruefully. “Ironic right?”

“I was thinking more like disrespectful but whatever works,” Jimin shrugged.

“I tried to kick her ass but Namjoon wouldn’t let me get to her,” you huffed. “After that, I was ready to leave him. I had packed up all of my shit and I was ready to just....walk away.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Namjoon’s father, Kim Sang-hoon.”

............................

You were in your and Namjoon’s old house, packing up the last of your belongings so that you could take it over to Momo’s house, which is where you had been staying ever since you’d caught your husband in bed with his ex-girlfriend.

As you were putting the last few of your knick knacks into a cardboard box, you heard the doorbell ring. You had hoped that it wasn’t Namjoon, who you had texted before coming back to the house and explicitly told him not to come back until you texted him that you were gone because you didn’t want to see him. However, you realized that Namjoon wouldn't ring the doorbell since he had a key. Leaving your box on the bed, you walked out of the bedroom and into the front hall, walking over to the door and pulling it open.

“Sang-hoon,” you said in surprise and Sang-hoon nodded his head to you.

“Hello Y/N-ah,” he smiled.

“Hi,” you bowed, greeting him properly before holding the door open. “Please come in.” Sang-hoon thanked you before stepping inside and you shut the door behind him. “Can I get you some tea or anything?”

“No thank you Y/N-ah,” he declined. “I actually came here to talk to you.”

“I have to admit, I’m not sure why,” you confessed.

“Namjoon told me about what happened,” Sang-hoon announced and you sighed as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“And you’re here to try to get me to take him back?” You guessed.

“Ah, think of it more as a...proposition,” Sang-hoon replied and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Can we sit?”

“Sure,” you nodded, gesturing into the living room. The two of you walked into the living room, you sitting down on the couch while Sang-hoon sat down in one of the armchairs. 

“So, I know that you’re upset and hurting,” Sang-hoon started. 

“I’m pissed,” you clarified and Sang-hoon held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“And that’s completely understandable Y/N-ah,” he assured you. “But I have to ask you, have you thought about what a separation and potential divorce could do to Namjoon’s chances of winning the election?”

“I don’t care,” you chuckled in disbelief. “He cheated on me, and with Hyejin! Out of anyone, I would think that you’d understand. Being as though you were the reason why he broke up with her all those years ago.”

“Trust me, I don’t know why my son went back to that...woman when he has a perfectly suitable wife in you,” Sang-hoon agreed. “But, my son is also a man and he’s his father’s son.”

“So you’re trying to tell me that you’ve cheated on Mi-sook before?” You questioned, referring to Namjoon’s mother.

“Yes, and she knows about it,” Sang-hoon confirmed. “Because we have an agreement.”

“An agreement where you can cheat on your wife?” You shot back.

“It’s not cheating if the marriage is open,” Sang-hoon replied and you just looked at him. “Mi-sook’s and I’s marriage has been open, oh, since about a year after Namjoon was born.”

“That long?” You wondered in awe and Sang-hoon nodded.

“When you’re married to someone in politics, everything becomes a deal of some sorts,” Sang-hoon explained. 

“So you’re suggesting that I come up with a ‘deal’ that’s similar to the one that you have with Mi-sook?” You said.

“I figured that it’d be hard for you so I talked to Namjoon and we came up with some basic ground rules,” Sang-hoon told you and your eyes widened. “You can feel free to add your own as well.”

“Are you serious?” You demanded to know. “You really think that I want to stay with him after he’s broken our vows?”

“If you think about it Y/N-ah, it’s really in the best interest of you both.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“For Namjoon, obviously he wouldn’t have to go through the public embarrassment of a divorce and he’d win the election, which you and I both know he has in the bag otherwise. And as for you, you’ll get to continue living the life to which you have grown accustomed, while also being able to go out and have your own fun.”

“First of all, when Namjoon and I got married, I decided then that I didn’t want to have my own ‘fun’ anymore because I had found my soulmate, or so I thought,” you told him. “And secondly, I don’t need Namjoon’s money or the recognition that would come along with being First Lady. I had a very successful law practice before I gave it up for your son, if you remember correctly.”

“Look Y/N-ah, I just came here to urge you to think about it,” Sang-hoon said as he stood up from the armchair. 

“And what if I decide to say fuck you, fuck your son, and leave anyways?” You wondered out of pure curiosity. 

“Well, then we’d be force to spin everything to make it look like you were the unfaithful one,” Sang-hoon shrugged. “You know me Y/N-ah, and you know I could ruin your law career if you force my hand. That’s why I came here to talk to you but I can see that you still need a few days to get back into your proper mindset so I’ll see myself out. Have a good rest of your day.”

............................

“So, it was Namjoon’s father who basically manipulated you into that ‘agreement’?” Jimin summed up and you nodded your head. 

“After he left, I thought about it and I realized that he was right. Sang-hoon is a decent person but he has some fishy ass associates and I knew that he could make it to where I wouldn’t be able to sustain myself if I opened my practice again,” you explained. “And besides, despite how angry I was at Namjoon, I still loved him and I didn’t want him to lose the election because of me. So I stayed.”

“What were the rules that Sang-hoon had told you about?” Jimin asked. 

“Oh, that Namjoon and I were both able to see other people, albeit discreetly, as much as we wanted. Condoms had to be used during any encounter, people that either of us are close to are off-limits, and we’d have to keep up the facade of being happily married for the entirety of Namjoon’s five-year term. I also added the stipulation that Namjoon wasn’t allowed to see or speak to Hyejin anymore too, but that was mostly me being a petty bitch who just wanted something to make me feel better.”

“And he broke that rule,” Jimin supplied.

“He did, and I don’t know what I’m gonna do about it,” you sighed. “I’ll admit, I clung to Namjoon once my parents died partly because I just didn’t want to be alone but now it feels like I’ve gotten myself stuck in a cage that I can’t get out of.”

“Come here,” Jimin said, pulling your hand and pulling you into his chest before he wrapped his arms around you. You allowed yourself to relax against him, wrapping your arms around him as well and allowing him to just hold you. 

“Baby bird,” Jimin spoke up suddenly a few minutes later and you pulled away from him just enough so that you could look at him.

“Huh?”

“You know how baby birds are always so eager to fly, even when they don’t know how yet?” Jimin explained and you nodded your head. “You’re like a baby bird who wants to fly away but you just aren’t sure how to yet.”

“That’s....such a good way of describing it,” you smiled softly. “I like it.”

“I’m glad,” Jimin said, leaning forward and kissing your lips softly. When he tried to pull away, you reached up and set one of your hands on his neck, pulling him back to you. He moaned against your lips, placing both of his hands on your cheeks as the two of you kissed for what felt like forever. When you finally pulled away, Jimin had this insanely wide grin on his face.

“How about you finish your breakfast and then we can do something fun?” Jimin suggested and you nodded your head.

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, leaning forward to kiss him one last time before turning back to your pancakes.

............................

“Don’t open your eyes.”

“You’re putting something slimy on my face and I don’t want it in my eyes so they’re definitely closed.”

“I’m telling Jung-hee that you called her face mask slimy,” Jimin threatened as he used a small plastic spatula to spread the homemade face mask onto your face. Jimin had come up with the bright idea of doing a face mask in order to help you decompress, and you couldn’t say that you completely hated the idea. So that’s why you were laid out on Jimin’s couch, dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his joggers, with Jimin kneeling on the floor next to you.

“Please don’t,” you begged. “I’m actually genuinely afraid of what would happen if I got on her bad side.”

“I won’t tell her, for the price of a kiss,” Jimin smirked and when you puckered your lips out, Jimin leaned over and pressed a quick peck to your lips. Once you felt him move onto to spreading the mask onto the bottom half of your face, you opened your eyes and looked up at him.

“Can I ask you something?” You wondered.

“Go for it.”

“Are you afraid of this?” You asked and you saw his eyebrow quirk upwards.

“Afraid of what?”

“This..attraction between us, I guess,” you shrugged lamely. 

“Not really. Well ok, I take that back,” he corrected himself as he looked down at you. “I am attracted to my boss’s wife, which is literally like the number one thing that I was told not to do when I accepted this job.”

“You were told not to fall for me?”

“I was told not to develop close personal relationships with you or Namjoon,” Jimin told you. “Being too close to someone that you’re protecting can make it hard to do your job effectively.”

“I’ve heard that before,” you nodded. 

“Are you afraid of it?” Jimin turned the question back on you.

“No,” you shook your head. “After everything that’s happened, I’m kind of over feeling bad because of Namjoon so I don’t really have any reservations about it.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re comfortable with the fact that you like me?” Jimin questioned.

“I am,” you smiled. “Are you comfortable with liking me?”

“More than comfortable,” he assured you and you just watched him as he finished up with your face mask. “Now, we have to let it set for 10 minutes and I have something that we could do while we wait.”

“What’s that?” You wondered. 

“Sit up for me,” he requested and you did so, sitting up and swinging your legs around so that you were sitting upright on the couch. Jimin then set his hands on your thighs, squeezing them softly as he kissed you firmly. You instantly responded, reaching up and looping your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer. Soon enough, his lips had moved away from your lips and down to your neck, sucking at the skin there.

“Oh, that feels good,” you moaned softly, tilting your head back in order to give him easier access. 

“Yeah?” He murmured huskily, and you almost felt yourself shiver from how much his voice had dropped. 

“Mmhmm,” you hummed and Jimin licked a wide stripe up your neck. 

“Can I touch you?” He asked.

“You are,” you giggled.

“I know, but I meant more,” he said, moving his hands so that they were tracing the band of the joggers that you had on, and your breath hitched at the feeling of his fingers on the skin of your stomach. “Like here, and lower.”

“It’s been a while,” you admitted sheepishly and Jimin pulled his face out of your neck in order to look at you.

“It’s ok. We don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with,” he promised. “But I would like to make you feel good.”

“Ok.”

“Ok?” He smiled.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I trust you.”

“Good,” he replied, leaning forward and kissing you again. As the two of you made out, one of Jimin’s hands slipped underneath the band of your joggers, his fingertips pressing against the fabric of your panties.

“O-Oh,” you exhaled breathlessly as Jimin gently rubbed over your clothed clit. 

“Can I pull them aside?” He whispered against your lips and you nodded wordlessly, giving him permission. He did so, the both of you letting out simultaneous gasps when he touched your clit.

“Damn Y/N-ah,” Jimin grumbled deeply. “You’re so wet.”

“I told you, it’s been a while,” you sighed, enjoying the feeling of him rubbing your clit firmly.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, and it almost seemed as though he was talking to himself and not you. You felt his fingers leave your clit and trail downwards, lightly rubbing the length of your slit. You were working up the courage to ask him to put one inside of you when he took the initiative and just did it, sinking the tip of his middle finger inside of you. 

“Oh my God,” you hissed, making Jimin look up at you.

“This ok?” He checked in.

“More than ok,” you chuckled breathlessly. “Feels so good.”

“I’m glad baby,” he whispered and you didn’t miss the term of affection. “God, I’ve been thinking about this for the last two months.”

“Really?” You asked, your eyes fluttering closed as Jimin began to thrust his finger in and out of you. 

“Ever since the day that I met you in Namjoon’s office,” Jimin confirmed. “You had on that sexy green sweater dress that shows off your legs, and all I could do was imagine how good they’d look wrapped around me.” 

“Jimin,” you gasped, feeling yourself becoming wetter as he fingered you. “Another finger please.”

“Whatever you want,” he smirked, pausing the movements of his middle finger and pushing his pointer finger into you alongside it. You immediately clenched around the digits, and the desire to come became almost overwhelming.

“Give it to me,” you begged, opening your legs wider and hooking your ankles over Jimin’s lower back. “Fuck me Jimin.”

“Fuck, you have no idea how sexy you sound right now,” Jimin grumbled as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace. 

“Oh, that’s so good,” you praised him, leaning forward and pressing a sloppy kiss to his mouth as he fucked you.

“You want me to make you come baby bird?” Jimin wondered and you nodded your head rapidly.

“Please, please.”

“Look down and watch me finger fuck you,” he instructed and you did as he said, looking down in between the two of you, where you could see the outline of his fingers moving in and out of your pussy. The sight only turned you on more, and you found yourself moaning louder and louder.

“Please Jimin, don’t fucking stop,” you pleaded. “I’m gonna come.”

“Come all over my fingers baby,” he encouraged and with a few more thrusts of his fingers, that’s exactly what you did. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, and he didn’t stop until you reached down and grabbed ahold of his wrist.

“Too much,” you chuckled weakly, making Jimin smile fondly at you. 

“Good girl,” he told as he pulled his fingers out of you and out of the joggers that you had on. As he brought his hand up, you were slightly embarrassed to see your juices on his fingers but nothing could have prepared you to watch him stick his fingers in his mouth and suck them clean. 

“Tastes amazing,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you groaned playfully, reaching up and pushing his shoulder. “Give me a few minutes to recover and I’ll reciprocate.”

“You don’t have to do that Y/N-ah,” Jimin waved you off. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“You sure?” You asked.

“Definitely and besides, it’s been over 10 minutes and there’s no telling what Jung-hee put in this mask besides what’s on the label so we should get it rinsed off,” Jimin smiled. “And then you can shower again. I’ll give you more clothes and everything.”

“Thanks Jimin, for everything,” you told him.

“Anytime,” he replied, leaning forward and kissing you one last time before standing up and helping you off of the couch to go rinse your mask off. 

............................

Tag List:  @toddsgirl27 @leftieaquarius @joyfulkmusicfan @jennyjq @xcharlottemikaelsonx @pop228 @belatona @babebri144 @dragonqueen01 @paolaa9700 @yiarsan @sunshinein17 @daydreambrliever @lyralefayc @weirdestpersoninearth @peachesandcreamsthings @missseoulite @ramengrace @minyoongi-infiresme @0minabean0 @korkanswers @dchimminie @mysr3 @emily2404xx @leilaakk @vonvi-blog @btsxdoll @heartfeltscribblings @nooooooooona

[hyuniepot]

the butterfly effect. || chapter 3

chapter word count || 1,763

genre || thriller, angst, drama

members || mark lee, na jaemin, lee jeno, huang renjun, lee donghyuck, zhong chenle, park jisung

warnings || mentions of death, implications of depression

pairing || fem!reader x jaemin || slight fem!reader x mark

synopsis || you never thought you’d be able to play with fate so easily, especially not through some shady app. but you suddenly must say goodbye to what you know and hello to a new world where everything seems perfect.

taglist || @gothboyjisung​ @jeongyoonohs @doiewonu @huanginjoon​

a/n || please read the replies to see what was removed from the beginning! luckily it was only one paragraph :-)

previous chapter

Wednesday, September 13

The past week had been great. You had gotten used to your new schedule and friends. You were starting to think maybe you could get used to this. Granted, doing something after school everyday whether it be practice or hanging out with friends, got pretty exhausting. But you didn’t mind. In the long run, it helped you sleep better.

“So who’s paying?” Hyuck asks, sliding into the booth seat across from you. Mark sat next to you.

“So who’s paying?” Hyuck asks, sliding into the booth seat across from you. Mark sat next to you.

“So who’s paying?” Hyuck asks, sliding into the booth seat across from you. Mark sat next to you.

“I can,” you say. “I have some extra money.”

Hyuck nods. “Good enough for me. When was the last time you paid?” he teases.

“I don’t know,” you say, grinning. “It’s not my fault you guys like to pay for our food.” you didn’t even know if that was true.

“You guys? More like just me. When was the last time you paid, Hyuck?” Mark asks. You internally cringe at your slip-up.

Hyuck puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, don’t get mad at me! I pay… sometimes…” he mumbles.

A waitress takes your order and you pull out your phone as Mark and Hyuck talk about something that happened in their science class. The ButterFly app is still there, almost taunting you. You ignored it and opened instagram. Finally, your social media was back to normal. No unsettling ads to be found.

You liked some pictures from your classmates -- Yeri’s selfie and a screenshot of her listening to Ariana Grande. Sihyeon, one of your new friends, posting a candid photo of her outside of a store. Suhyun, showing off a makeup look she did recently, looking cute as usual. A boy named Xiaojun posted selfies as well. You didn’t really know him, but you both had the same history class. You quickly scroll past a selfie of Naeun and Jaemin, trying to ignore it entirely.

“Do you remember that?” Mark asks you, laughing.

You put your phone down. “Remember what?”

“When you were scared of butterflies.”

You smile. Finally, something from this universe you already knew. “Yeah… I remember,” you reply, laughing. “Why do you ask?”

“Because our friend Hendery said he used to be scared of them too. It made me think of you.” Mark says, glancing away from you. “And then I took you to that butterfly garden and you suddenly loved butterflies. It was kinda cute, watching your feelings towards them turn from fear to love,” Mark tells you. You ignore the warmth in your cheeks.

The waitress returned with your food, putting it down on the table. You dug in, realizing how hungry you were. You, Mark, and Hyuck just talked about random subjects like the shows you’ve been watching on Netflix, things that happened at school and practice, and how good the food tasted until you were all ready to head out.

“I’ll go pay,” Mark says, scooting out of the booth.

“What? Mark, I said I was paying,” you argue, quickly scooting out after him.

“It’s fine. I’m used to paying.” he replies.

“Oh my god,” Hyuck groans. “You better not complain about me not paying ever again. You’re the one always volunteering.”

Mark shrugs. “I’m feeling generous.” he starts to walk towards the front counter.

“No. I said I was paying, so I’m paying.”

You go to follow him, but Hyuck suddenly grabs your wrist. “Hey, can I use your phone real quick?”

You stand, stunned, for a moment at the question. “Uh, yeah. That’s fine. The passcode is 7492.” Hyuck nods and lets go of your wrist, and you turn to catch up with Mark.

He’s pulling out his wallet. “Mark, I’m not giving up. Let me pay, please?”

Mark grins. “Okay. Since you’re so adamant,” he puts his wallet in between his arm and his side. “Rock paper scissors? Best out of 3.”

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Fine.”

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

You cheer as you beat Mark.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

Mark wins.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.

You return to your table, dejected. Damn it. You didn’t even care about paying, you just wanted to beat Mark. “How is he so good at every-”

Your heart nearly stops as you see Hyuck on your phone. You recognize the familiar layout of ButterFly. And he was looking at what you sent. You snatch your phone out of his hands, your face growing hot with embarrassment. How the hell were you going to explain this to him?

“You downloaded it?” he asks, softly.

“Yes. But it’s… I just,” you try to speak, but nothing would come out.

“I knew it,” he breathes. “I used it too.”

You’re stunned again. You don’t even know how to respond. You weren’t even sure if you understood what he was saying.

Hyuck stares ahead. “I wished for something too,” he tells you. “And it put us in the same universe.”

You’re suddenly lightheaded. So this Hyuck was the one from your old life. The one who annoyed you and Jaemin everyday. And he knew you were the old you.

“Listen,” you say. Your voice is trembling. “We will talk about this later.”

“Talk about what?” you turn and see Mark.

“Homework. I used her phone to call my mom and when I hung up she got a text from a friend. We all have literature together and we just found out we have a project due on Friday.” Hyuck says, nonchalantly. “It’s a long story, but now we only have two days to do it.”

You nod, thanking the Gods above that Hyuck was a good liar.

“Damn,” Mark picks up his drink and drinks what’s left. “That sucks. I hope you guys get it done in time.”

“Yeah. We’ll have to work on it tomorrow. We don’t have practice, how about you?“ Hyuck gets out of his seat.

“I don’t either,” you reply. You all exit the restaurant start your walk home.

Mark and Hyuck talk again. You wonder what Hyuck could have wished for that put you in the same universe as him. Maybe it was the same thing. You just tried not to be too freaked out by it and tried to mentally prepare yourself to talk about it with Hyuck. You had just started to feel normal here, and now everything was turned upside down.

You make it home safely and try to relieve your stress by hanging out with Jisung and Chenle, who had come over after school. You watch them shoot hoops outside for a bit.

You wonder where Jisung’s love for basketball came from. He wasn’t really into it in your old life -- he was more into dance, although he was starting to become more and more uninterested in it. You knew Chenle was always into basketball, so maybe he was able to keep Jisung interested in it.

Then you remember that here, Mark and Hyuck were both on the basketball team. You start to think maybe Mark helped Jisung and Chenle get into it. You make a mental note to try and get Mark or Jisung to talk about it with you soon.

Once the sun started to set, Chenle went home and you went inside with Jisung. You did your homework with him. “Hey, (y/n?)”

“What’s up?” you respond, not looking up from your paper.

You hear Jisung shift in his chair. “Did you and Mark break up?”

You almost break your pencil out of surprise. You look up at Jisung, who is staring back. You weren’t even sure how to respond. Were you dating Mark? In the past week you’d spent with him, there was nothing that indicated you were dating him. He never referred to you as his girlfriend or anything like that. So surely, Jisung had to be confused right?

You took your chances.

“Jisung,” you chuckle. “Mark and I were never dating.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Really? But you guys spend so much time together… I just kinda assumed…” he continues working on the assignment in front of him. “I just thought you didn’t tell me because it’s none of my business,”

You sigh in relief with a smile. “But why do you ask? Mark and I are still great friends.”

“Well,” Jisung puts his pencil back down and closes his notebook. “He never comes over anymore.” he says softly.

Your shoulders drop and you sigh. “He’s just really busy,” you reply. “He’s busy with school and he has practice after school. He doesn’t have a lot of free time these days.”

“I know…” Jisung says softly. “Which is why I feel so dumb complaining. I just… miss hanging out with him. But he’s your friend, not mine. I don’t think he wants to be hanging out with some kids,”

“Hey,” you say firmly. “He’s your friend too. Trust me, Mark doesn’t care about his friends being younger. You’re only what, 2 and a half years younger than him? That’s nothing!” you say. “Seriously, you’re too in your head, okay? Don’t overthink it. Mark doesn’t hate you or anything.” you tell him.

Jisung avoids eye contact with you as he picks up his things, standing up from his spot.

“But… don’t feel dumb for being worried about things like that. It’s normal. Don’t be afraid to talk to me if you’re ever feeling sad, alright?” you tell him. He gives you a small smile before nodding and leaving the room.

It was awkward to tell him that. Jisung never talked about his feelings to you, and you definitely didn’t do it either. That just wasn’t how your relationship was. Jisung was 10 times happier here than he was in your old life, but even now he still had worries. All you could feel was guilt; You had been sacrificing Jisung’s feelings for the sake of not feeling embarrassed.

You shake the feeling off and try to finish your homework. You had enough to feel stressed and guilty about, there was no to go back and fix things now.

Or so you think.

[reylo-solo]

a secret admirer

(rated G; 3536 words)

A Reylo Valentines AU from a cute prompt left by @nite0wl29 where Ben leaves secret Valentines cards in Rey’s locker! Thanks for the prompt, beautiful! I hope you all enjoy the adorableness! Happy Valentine’s Day, reylos! ❤

Read it on AO3.

10-20-30-40.

The lock opened into her palm with one firm pull. Rey slipped it out of its place and pulled her locker door open.

She was expecting to find nothing unusual inside her locker when she opened it, because it was her locker. No one knew the combination to get inside besides her. What else should she be expecting besides the same, small magnetic calendar that was two years out of date, but which she was keeping for the cute photos of kittens? What else, besides the little Polaroid pictures of her and her friends? Or the drawing she’d done of a horse that she was still quite proud of. Or the overdue library books, which were shamefully stashed away in the back, behind her textbooks and binders.

No, she did not expect to find any surprises when she opened the door. And yet, there was one, taped to the inside of her door so that she couldn’t possibly miss it.

A card, hand-made with fine, recycled stationary, decorated with gold leaf accents. Her name was printed in beautifully flowing calligraphy on the front, the ink a beautiful navy blue colour. She gasped as she saw it, and the fact that someone had been in her locker didn’t even hit her, so struck was she by the simplistic beauty of the thing.

Carefully, she pulled off the tape which secured it to her door and, leaning into her locker a little, opened it inside.

The same flawless lettering greeted her, along with something that completely shocked her: a hand-drawn portrait of herself, done in graphite and charcoal. In the drawing her hair was pulled back into her signature triple-bun style, and particular care and attention had gone into adding each freckle that graced the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. Her eyes were downcast; her lashes, long and dark, casting a shadow over her cheeks. It looked like she was studying something, but there was a hint of a smile there upon her penciled lips, as though she had heard something amusing a minute ago. Whoever had drawn this had watched her intently for a little while. They had to share a class with her, she thought.

The other half of the card’s interior was dedicated to a brief but lovely message, which began quite eloquently with the opening stanza of Lord Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty”:

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heavy to gaudy day denies.

-         Happy (almost) Valentine’s Day from your secret admirer.

P.S. I hope you like the portrait. Though it can never compare to the real thing.

P.P.S. You should really think about a more challenging lock combination. That was far too easy.

            It took Rey another few minutes before she even began to realize how much her cheeks hurt from smiling. She closed the card and clutched it to her chest. She’d never gotten a Valentine like that before! Or at least, she’d never gotten one that didn’t have a cute bear or cartoon character on it, and those certainly never had romantic poetry included with them.

            “Lord Byron…” she murmured to herself.

            They must be in my English class. We just covered Lord Byron’s work a few days ago…

            But…who was it?

            She spent the next two days trying to puzzle it out on her own. This also meant that she had paid little to no attention in her English class since receiving the mysterious Valentine. The entire time her eyes had been secretly jumping around the room, as though she could catch someone staring at her, and maybe doodling in their notebook at the same time…

            She ruminated the possibility of it being any number of people, but none stood out to her. She even thought about it maybe being her best friend, much to the detriment of her own anxiety, but then she remembered that Finn can’t draw, and he certainly can’t do calligraphy like that. No, it couldn’t have been him.

            It was almost maddening, trying to figure it out. She began to second-guess herself. Maybe the Lord Byron thing had been a fluke. Maybe it was someone in her history class, or math. Maybe it was janitor Bob for all she knew.

            Rey was starting to feel down on her luck when she opened her locker between fourth and fifth period and something fell out, gliding down to land perfectly atop her shoes. She bent down to grab it and her heart skipped a beat.

            Another Valentine! Written on the same paper! Oh, and the writing is the same…

        There was no poem this time; instead she found a personalized message just for her:

            Rey,

Still can’t puzzle it out, can you? That’s okay. I’m not giving you very many hints, am I? Maybe I should change that for you. I’m a male in your English class, if the Byron poem wasn’t a big enough clue. We’ve had lots of classes together over the years, but you’ve probably never noticed me before, not like I’ve noticed you.

I saw you looking for me the other day in class, though. You weren’t very sneaky about it, but I didn’t mind. You looked right at me for the longest second of my life, and I thought maybe…maybe you saw it in me, but you didn’t. It’s a good thing – I’d rather you see who I am outside of class anyway.

        Speaking of, Valentine’s Day is only a week away. Think you can guess who I am by then?

-         Your secret admirer

He had gifted her another portrait. This one was done faster than the other, and he’d left it looking half-finished, but she liked it like that. He’d captured her mid-laugh, with that cheesy smile of hers. He’d even gotten her dimples right. Even though his pencil had spent the briefest of time on this page, he’d created something which Rey thought was even prettier than the real thing.

“Whatcha got there?”

Rey jumped and the Valentine slipped from her hands. She bent fast to pick it up but another hand had caught it before she had a chance. Rose Tico’s eyes widened as they saw the beautiful calligraphy on the front of the card, addressing it to Rey.

“Oh, wow…what is this?” Rose inquired. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Rey. “You’re already getting Valentines? What am I saying…of course you are, look at you.”

“I-it’s nothing,” Rey excused, trying to grab for the card to no avail. Rose kept twisting away, keeping it just out of Rey’s grasp. “Can you give it back please?”

“Who’s it from?” Rose grinned broadly and opened it up, her eyes hungrily skimming over the message. She gasped. “A secret admirer?!”

“Shh!” Rey demanded, finally swiping the card away from Rose now that she was distracted enough. “Say it a little louder why don’t you, I don’t think everyone heard…”

“I can’t believe you have a secret admirer! That’s so exciting and romantic!”  Rose squealed, in a much quieter tone. “Who do you think it is? And am I mistaken, or does that message sound like you’d already gotten one card from him?”

Rey sighed, looked at her friend, and figured she had not one hope in hell of keeping this secret any longer. Besides, she thought, she could use the help figuring out who the mystery man was. So, she dug around in her schoolbag and produced the first Valentine, allowing Rose to read it, provided she keep it close to her person so no prying eyes could look over her shoulder and see.

“Wow…this is beautiful,” Rose whispered. “That drawing is…wow…”

“I know,” Rey said, swiping the card back and stowing it safely away, along with the other one.

“Who could it be, though? He said he was in our English class…”

“Yeah, I have no clue,” Rey groaned. “I’ve been trying to figure it out since I got the first card and I’ve gotten nowhere since.”

“Hmm…well, two minds are better than one. Let’s go grab some lunch and Nancy Drew this shit, shall we?” Rose offered Rey her arm, which Rey happily took.

“Let’s.”

The two settled themselves in a secluded area of the cafeteria, safely away from prying eyes or ears. First, they had to remember all the boys in their English class, which took much longer than they thought it would. Once they’d recalled mostly everyone (there were a few relatively new kids whose names they couldn’t remember, and so they were referred to as ‘boy with really thick glasses’, ‘boy who wears the same jacket everyday’ and so on), they began to break it down individually. This too was a little tougher than they had anticipated, once they eliminated all the boys they knew to be in a relationship. They were left with about ten viable options after that, and they had to go through each one and decide if they fit the bill or not.

Rey eliminated four of them right off the bat, either because she couldn’t stomach the thought of them leaving romantic notes for her, or they truly didn’t seem the type to think romantically, let alone write in beautiful calligraphy and make lovely sketches. Then there were a couple who hadn’t said more than one word to Rey since elementary school.

Suddenly, Rose gasped and made a low ‘ohhh’ sound.

“What?” Rey demanded. “What is it?”

“What if…no, he wouldn’t…or would he…?”

“Spit it out, Rose!”

“What if it’s Ben?”

Rey went still. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise but she didn’t move or speak for a moment. Rose was monitoring her reaction with keen interest.

Ben Solo. Tall, dark, with a boyish grin, he was alluring in the most unique of ways. He had thick raven hair and deep, soulful brown eyes; his strong, broad frame was built for endurance and power. But he hadn’t always looked that good. Rey remembered a young, gangly boy, with messy black hair and a pasty complexion, whose ears stuck out a little, running around the playground during recess with his toy spaceships, playing games with his friends.

It had been that little boy who Rey had opened her crying eyes to when she had fallen off the swing and hit her head in second grade. He’d been standing over her, blocking out the sun, and offering her his hand.

“Hi, are you okay? Do you need me to get the teacher?” he’d asked, and his voice had had a minor lisp, because he was missing two of his front teeth.

Rey had sniffed and wiped away her tears, not caring if the sand and dirt smudged on her cheeks. She remembered feeling flattered as she had taken his hand and allowed him to help her up. She hadn’t wanted a teacher to come over, and so he had offered to sit with her for the remainder of recess, until her tears stopped falling. And so they had sat together by the swings and talked and laughed until the bell rang, and by that time Rey’s head had stopped hurting, and she had long ago stopped crying.

“Ben…?” Rey whispered to Rose after mulling it over for a moment. “No…no, it couldn’t be. I haven’t had a real conversation with him since…middle school, I think.”

“So? He seems like the type to pine over a girl,” Rose argued. “You know, I’m sure there’s a proper gentleman beneath that surly exterior.”

“But he has lots of friends. Some of them are girls, even.”

“Again, I ask: so? He’s single, isn’t he?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Hm, well, I’m just saying. If I had to bet on it being anyone, I’d bet on him.”

Hmm…

*

She didn’t receive another card until Valentine’s Day, and even then she didn’t receive it until the day was almost over and she was cut straight through with anxiety.

During that time between card two and card three, Rey had tried desperately not to convince herself that it was Ben writing them to her, but it was tougher than she anticipated. She’d continuously catch herself absentmindedly referring to her secret admirer as Ben, and then she’d proceed to mentally slap herself for doing so. She hated getting her hopes up; she’d had them crushed too many times in the past.

But she was powerless against the idea that it might be him. The thought of him bent over a desk that looked far too small in comparison, his dark locks falling over his brow and tickling the bridge of his long nose, as he penned her part of a Lord Byron poem and sketched her image just made her feel giddy for some reason. It made the cards even more flattering, and she found herself looking at them repeatedly, reading and re-reading their inscriptions.

She also had found herself watching for Ben, something she hadn’t really done before. She’d constantly be looking past someone’s shoulder, or looking over her own, trying to spot him. Every now and again she’d hear his distinct laugh or his deep, warm voice, and she’d stand up a little straighter and fix her hair.

She hated it.

It felt like he had some kind of control over her. Only he seemed capable of making her palms that clammy. She’d find herself getting annoyed at him from a distance. Who does he think he is? Walking around in his dark wash jeans, with his hair all messed up like that, smiling that goofy smile. What have you done to me, you evil, handsome snake…

One of these times, when she was viciously cursing him in her head, her eyes had actually locked with his across the school courtyard. It had just been for the briefest of moments, but in that time it felt like all the sound was sucked from the world and everything around them stopped moving. Rey’s heartbeat hammered in her ears, steady and loud. There was something there, in the space between them. Something visceral and real and tender.

Or maybe it had just been wishful thinking.

And it was that kind of doubt which had fuelled her panic on Valentine’s Day when she arrived to her locker in the morning, after having practically ran the entire way there, only to find no card inside. And it didn’t help when Rose kept asking after every period of she’d gotten it yet, and Rey kept having to answer with ‘no’.

So when she got to her locker, fully exasperated and confused, at the end of the day as everyone else was scrambling to gather their things and get the hell out of there, and found a letter taped to the outside of her locker, she nearly squealed in excitement.

This one was safely kept in an envelope (which she tore open quite quickly). There was no drawing in this one, only an urgent message:

Meet me in the theatre, right now.

She didn’t even put her books back in her locker. She took them with her as she raced past the swarm of bodies towards the theatre at the back of the school. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears and every person who got in her way came perilously close to having their toes viciously stepped on.

This was it, she thought to herself. The mystery was finally coming to a close. She was going to find out once and for all who had been behind all those letters. She was going to see who her Valentine really was.

She braced herself when she got to the theatre doors, taking a deep breath in before pushing them open. Her nerves almost had her trembling.

She walked into a mostly-dark theatre. The only light was a silvery glow angled at the stage, where an old piano sat. Upon its bench was a person, playing its keys slowly and a little awkwardly. Rey didn’t realize she was holding her breath.

Oh my god. It’s him.

The door closed with an echoing click and the piano music abruptly stopped. Ben stood, all six-foot-two of him, nearly knocking the piano bench over in his haste. His eyes landed on hers, all the way across the theatre, and his hands rubbed themselves upon the thighs of his jeans.

There it was again – that crackling in the space between them, like a field of exhilarating static.

“Hi.”

His voice echoed, too; its deep, nervous lull drew her instantly closer. She walked down the aisle towards him, one step at a time, until she had reached the stairs up to the stage. Once there she paused, staring up at him as if she couldn’t quite believe he was really there – and a part of her certainly couldn’t believe that. But the rest of her was internally screaming because, damn it, she knew it!

“Hello.” She said, her voice strangely quiet even to her own ears.

He leaned down and offered her his hand. She appraised it for a moment, her eyes roaming over its lines and freckles, before slowly, temptingly, taking it. Their fingers wound around one another and held on lightly. She took the steps up to join him on the stage.

Suddenly their bodies were very close together. She could feel his warmth and smell his entrancing scent. Her eyes travelled up to his face, and she thought her heart was going to jump from her chest when she saw those deep brown eyes lingering on her; looking at her like they never wanted to look at anything else again.

“So? Are you surprised, or did you puzzle it out on your own?” he asked slowly.

“I…had my hopes up that it would be you,” she answered shyly.

He smiled that incredibly handsome, boyish smile, and it was just for her. She couldn’t help but giggle and smile back.

After a moment, she couldn’t help herself from asking, “Why me?”

“Why you?” His eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought you’d know.”

She tilted her head, puzzled. “Know what?”

“Ah…do you remember back in like, second grade or whatever it was, when you fell off the swing?”

She blushed. “Yes, I do. You helped me up and wiped away my tears.”

“Yeah, and we spent the rest of that recess talking,” he smiled warmly. “I don’t remember exactly what we talked about…probably silly kid stuff. But, I do remember thinking you were pretty, and that you should never have to cry like that.”

“Even then?” she whispered.

“Even then.”

“Then why…why now?”

“Because…I suck. I spent all these years with a crush on you that I could never move on from and I…I was way too nervous around you because of it. I still am, but I just…well, it’s our senior year, so I thought it was now or never. And I realized I really, really couldn’t stand the thought of it being never.”

Rey hadn’t realized until just that moment that they had been slowly getting closer and closer together. When her chest brushed against his she couldn’t help the gentle gasp she made, or the steady pounding of her heart when he didn’t move away.

One of his fingers brushed a lock of her hair away from her face and she wondered, in that brief moment when his skin made contact with hers, if he could feel the heat he’d created upon her flesh. Did he know what he was doing to her? The undeniable nervousness in his shining eyes said yes, he knew firsthand.

“If I never got to see you like this, if I never got to be alone with you again…I think I’d go mad,” he continued, his voice a softly rasping whisper. “If I never got to kiss you…”

“Then do it,” she begged, daring to place her hands delicately upon his chest. “Kiss me, now.”

His fingers trailed along her jaw as he lowered his lips to hers, and she held his hand there, as she felt the roughness of the stubble on his cheek with her other. His lips were soft upon hers at first, and alluring. He was clearly allowing himself to enjoy every tiny moment of their kiss, and it was so romantic of him, but she couldn’t resist the insatiable pull she felt within herself. She wanted more.

Her fingers threaded themselves into his hair and pulled him closer, holding him there, securing him before her. The feeling of his hand travelling down her side and slipping around her waist almost made her moan. It felt like the world was finally giving her everything she’d ever asked for, and she felt equal-parts thrilled and stunned that it had been right in front of her this entire time.

When their embrace finally ended, they looked at each other through half-lidded eyes filled with stars.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Ben whispered.

Rey chuckled and let her head settle on his chest. His arms wrapped protectively around her and she felt as comforted as she had that day on the playground.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ben.”

[lifegoeson-wecarryon]

Title: It’s Electrifyin’! Short Summary: Sixteen year old Bellatrix Petty decides that she’s old enough to venture alone, but she isn’t prepared for what lies ahead. Long Summary: Bellatrix asks her father if she can go to the woods alone. When in the woods, she finds herself stuck in one of Arie’s traps. Bella meets a mysterious young boy, who points her in the direction of a new adventure. Characters: Bellatrix Petty [OC], Arie McNamara [OC], Samoa Lakewell [OC], Salem/The Insidious Humdrum, Nicodemus Petty. Word Count: 1593 Notes: This is a story I wrote for class, but basically it’s from an AU I’m working on where Fiona and Nicodemus had a child. She was born while they were still in school, and Fiona forced Nico to take her when he chose the vampires. This also somewhat corresponds with another AU I’m working on where the Humdrum becomes a real boy instead of disappearing.

Enjoy!

“I’m sixteen, dad. I’m not a child anymore.” Bellatrix Petty started as she walked up to the pool table.   The man she was referring to was currently aiming at the 6 ball. “What’s this about, Bella?” He asked, glancing up at her for a moment, before hitting the ball. It hit a few others, two of which ended up in the holes. Bella took a breath, before responding, “I want to go out. Alone.” She managed after a few moments. Her father looked at her, and she continued. “The forest. We’ve been there before, and I know most of the area.”   The room went silent, and Bella just stared at her father. She crossed her fingers behind her back. Five minutes passed, before he spoke again. “Don’t stay out too long. Be back before sunrise, yeah?” He chuckled when a bright smile came across her face.  

“I will Dad!” She rushed over to him and gave him a hug, before running out of the building.   He sighed when she was gone. “Just like her mother…”

Celeste Aradiana McNamara, otherwise known as Arie, was currently hunting. Being a vampire who refused to drink human blood was hard, to say the least. She was draining a rabbit she found when she heard footsteps on the leaves. She didn’t need to use her enhanced sense of smell to figure out who it was, for she’d memorized the sound.

“Alone, are you?” She set down her prey. “Interesting…” Arie scampered off, a plan formulating in her mind.

Bella walked around, poking things with a stick. Sure, this was boring, but she felt a sense of maturity as she walked alone. She ate berries. She picked flowers. She walked under trees and looked up at the moon.   And she did it alone. She felt like an adult. She was so focused on being an adult, that she didn’t notice the tripwire, and she fell into a hole that was dug into the ground.

When Bella woke up, she saw a boy looking into the hole.

“Hello, uh… do you think you can help me?” She asked nervously. He was quiet, but smiled. He walked away from the hole for a few moments, before throwing down a rope. With a sigh of relief, Bella grabbed hold of it and he pulled her up. Now that she was out, she could see him more clearly. His pale skin seemed to glow in the bright moonlight. There was a mess of dark curls resting on his head. Dark spots on his cheek–maybe moles? He looked young, like he was 10 or 11. A child.  

“Uhm… thank you.” Bella said, sheepishly. He nodded in response. “Can you talk?” The boy shook his head, before pointing to a group of trees. “Do you want me to go there?” No answer.  He just started walking.  

“H-hey! Wait for me!” Bella chased after him.

She lost him. It’s like he just disappeared out of thin air. She kept going in the direction he pointed to, however. She knew an adventure when she saw one.

“Carry on, Bella.” She told herself when she got nervous.   After a while, she heard faint crying. She ran to the source of the sound, and found a girl not much younger than she was.

“Are you okay?” She asked, cautiously.

The girl squeaked, jumping up.

Bella smiled softly. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I want to help.”

The girl nodded, set at ease by her smile. “I….I’m Samoa…” She rubbed her arm, not looking the other in the eye.

“Hi Samoa, I’m Bella. Are you hurt anywhere?” She kept a soft tone, careful not to scare the girl.

“Arm…”

“May I see it?” Samoa nodded, letting Bella come closer to inspect it.

“Samoa…” The older girl started, “Where are your parents?”

“Don’t got no parents.”

Bella blinked. “Are you all alone?”  

Shyly, Samoa nodded.

Bella tore a piece off of the girls dress- it was already heavily torn in the first place- and tied it around her arm. “You can come with me, I bet my dad would be glad to take you in!”

“Really?”

Bella nodded. “I’ve always wanted a sister.” She smiled at her, and Samoa started to weakly smile back.

“Alright,” came a voice behind them, “Break up the sap fest. I’m not going to stand here all day.”  

“…Celeste?” Bella turned around when she recognized the voice.

Arie rolled her eyes. “It’s Arie. I’m bored, are you two gonna take much longer?”

“What do you want.” Bella glared at her rival.

They used to be great friends, but then Celeste- or Arie, as she seemed to prefer- suddenly turned on her. Bella never understood why.

“I want lots of things, Bellatrix. One of which I can never have as long as you’re around.”   Samoa look at the two, confused, as Bella groaned.

“I don’t have time for this. I need to get my new friend to safety.”

Arie just scoffed. “You’re too kind, it’s one of the things I hate about you.”

Bella sighed, walking towards her. “What happened to you, Cel?”

For a moment, sadness and regret washed over Arie’s features. And then, pure rage. Bella gasped in shock when Arie’s mouth was suddenly filled with large teeth as sharp as knives. Then, Arie pounced on her. Bella knew what this meant. Arie was a vampire, and when vampires experience extreme hunger or anger, it goes straight to their fangs. She couldn’t help but wonder what about her question set her former friend off.   As she watched Bella struggle against Arie and hear the words that were spit at her, Samoa noticed a boy not too far away. He was waving his arms frantically, staring at Bella. His mouth was moving, but no words came out. He was holding something in his hand.

“B-Bella!” Samoa called out. “I think- I think that boy is trying to get you’re atten- attention!” Bella looked over to where Samoa started pointing. The boy from earlier. Once their eyes locked, he mouthed the word ‘catch’ and threw what he was holding at her. Almost magically, it landed perfectly in her now outstretched hands.   Bella looked down at it, ignoring Arie’s impatience. She instead looked at the boy in confusion, who gestured to his neck. He wanted her to put it on. As soon as the necklace rested comfortably around her neck, Bella felt a tingle in her throat.

This only confused her more.

Why did the necklace feel… important? Arie pounced again and part of a song suddenly made its way into Bella’s mind. A phrase from a popular musical that has been said over and over. This only confused her more, and when Arie was nearing her neck, Bella let it out.

“It’s electrifying!” She exclaimed, emphasizing the 'lec’ part, like in the movie she has seen numerous times with her father.

When her words came out, they were coated in something she couldn’t recognize. When Bella grabbed Arie’s arms, a shock ran through both of the girls. For Bella, it was static. For Arie, a bolt of lightning. When Bella let go, Arie stumbled back in shock. The vampire cursed, rubbing her arms that were now covered in burns. She looked at Bella with pure fear in her eyes, before running off.   Bella blinked a few times in confusion, before running back over to Samoa. “You weren’t hurt, were you?” Samoa shook her head. “What… what happened?”

“I’m not too sure.”

“Ask your dad, he’s gotta know.” It sounded like a young boys voice.

“Aha! You can talk!” Bella jumped in realization when she realized who it was. The boy giggled. “Now I can. I couldn’t earlier.”

“Why not?” Samoa asked in her soft voice. He didn’t answer, instead, he started walking away from them.

“Hey, don’t run off again!” Bella whined. She grabbed Samoa’s hand and pulled her along, chasing the mysterious boy.   Before long, the duo made it out of the forest. They stopped running, trying to catch their breath. The sun was starting to rise. Bella blinked when a bottle of water was placed in her hand. She looked up and saw the boy from earlier giving her a concerned look.

“You didn’t have to run so fast, I would have waited for you here.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know where you were going.” The boy giggled again. “Salem.”

“…What?”

“You asked my name earlier. It’s Salem.” He ran his hand through his curls, before handing Samoa some water as well. She muttered a 'thank you.’

“You should be heading back to your dad, Bella. Didn’t he tell you to be back before sunrise?” Bella blinked. “How did you know that?” Salem simply smiled, before walking off again. This time, Bella didn’t follow. She was tired, and knew that Samoa must be tired too.

“This way, Samoa.” She waved her over to the direction of the bar, and they made their way. Bella had a lot to talk about with her father.  

[iswearonmarcuskane]

Prepare for Trouble: Make It Double

Title: Prepare for Trouble: Make It Double Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Kabby Tag/Warnings: Modern AU Setting, College Setting AU, Pokemon Go References Words: 5,596 Read on: AO3

Summary: Spring break, a time to forget the books, school work, and exams. A week on the beach filled with a new sunburn, friends, and memories. So, how did an innocent game of ‘what are the odds’ take a turn for the worse? Simple: put four friends, alcohol, and a rare Pokémon on private property, you should prepare for trouble- make it double.

Part 3 and final segment of Pokemon Go!Kabby series

“I am not doing that!”

“So your odds are 1-20?”

“My odds are none!”

“You’re no fun,” Abby drawled out in a bored tone as she took another drink of her beer.

Callie gave her a pointed look. “I’m sure you wouldn’t go streaking in the ocean right now.”

“It’s dark out,” Abby pointed out, “and no one is around us. Try me.”

Callie examined her as the bonfire in front of them crackled in the silence. It was late at night, the stars painting the black sky, the moon complimenting them. “Fine,” she said. “What are your odds?”

“1-10.”

“3…2…1…”

“5!”

“8!”

A triumph grin spread over Abby’s lips as she winked at Callie, tipping her bottle to her lips once more. Callie mimicked her actions, adding an eye roll as she leaned back in her beach chair.

The small fire in front of them helped take away the small nip of cold in the weather during the Florida night. As they sat in their bathing suit tops with shorts over their bottoms, they couldn’t complain about the little cold at night. It was better than spending spring break back at college where snow was still falling.

During the day, they would spend the day on the beach, swimming and sunbathing. They would enjoy a cold beer on the hot sand, the humid hair blowing through their hair. Then at night, they would enjoy heavier drinks in their room while chatting away the night.

Tonight they decided to do a little bonfire on the beach and relax. It was peaceful. Abby felt relaxed. So relaxed she almost forgot about the big medical exam she has in two weeks when she returns from this safe haven. Almost.

What did wipe the medical exam from her mind was the sighting of a familiar duo currently walking towards their small bonfire. “I’m gonna need something stronger,” Abby commented as she finished off the beer.

“Huh?” Callied asked, confused as she watched Abby put the empty bottle back in their cooler. She watched as Abby pulled out their pint size bottle of Smirnoff and her bottle of Sprite.

Abby nodded towards the duo approaching their bonfire as she poured a shot for herself. Callie looked over and an ‘ah’ escaped her as she took the last of her beer in as well. Abby said as she lifted the Sprite to her lips, “I think it’s cause that Indra woman has her eye on you.”

As Abby chased down her first shot, she was satisfied with hearing Callie choke on her beer slightly. The alcohol burned as it went down her throat. She didn’t miss her undergraduate years where they would take straight shots without chasers. The next morning she would instantly regret every shot she took.

“I think you have it backwards!” Callie replied, setting her empty bottle by hers. She coughed more, clearing her throat before adding, “I think it’s because of you and that one cop.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she responded, reaching for her own shot class and stealing the Smirnoff from Abby, “and now I need a shot for that comment.”

“I only speak the truth,” Abby teased. “You couldn’t shut up about her after that drug deal ordeal.”

“Because she saved our lives!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m gonna need another shot after this one,” Callie mumbled to herself as she took the one she poured herself. Even in the dark, the glow of fire showcased the blush that had spread across Callie’s cheeks.

Abby smiled to herself as the duo finally arrived at their bonfire. Callie was setting her glass down, pouring another shot immediately. Indra watched her and looked to Marcus, telling him, “You owe me five bucks.”

Marcus mumbled a curse word under his breath as he dug around his swim trunk’s pockets. He pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to her. Abby watched the ordeal as Callie took her second shot. Abby asked them, “You bet that it would be us here?”

“Well,” Marcus started, “we saw the fire and I asked Indra, ‘who would be stupid enough to do something as illegal as a bonfire on a beach?’ and she said you two.”

Abby looked over to Indra who added, “So we bet on it. It’s about to buy my next tequila shot.”

Abby nodded at that, giving her kudos. “I don’t know if I’m more insulted that you called us stupid for doing something illegal or complimented because you thought it was us,” Abby mused, seeing Marcus shrink back in embarrassment.

“When you decide, just remember he called you stupid, not me,” Indra replied. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go buy my shot and bring it back.”

She wondered off as Abby turned her attention back to Marcus. He was in his swim trunks with a white wife beater. She couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over his shoulders and his arms. Even in his relaxed state he was still well defined with muscle.

“So besides the fire, have you done anything else illegal before we got here?”

Marcus’s words snapped her out of her gaze and she looked up to meet his eyes. The fire made the brown in his eyes swirl and resemble melted chocolate. She smirked back at his words and told him, “Are you going to arrest me this time if I say so?”

He smirked back. “You’ll just have to find out after you tell me.”

They stared at each a bit, smirks on each side never faltering. Abby finally looked away and to Callie, taking the bottle back from her. As she poured herself another shot, she said, “If you most know, Callie was about go skinny dipping.”

“Am not!”

The horror in her voice made Marcus and Abby laugh in unison. Abby topped off her shot glass and set the bottle aside. Abby told him, “Okay, I stretched the truth there. She didn’t lose her odds, so she isn’t, but it could’ve happened.”

“We’re off this week so I couldn’t arrest you for public nudity anyways,” Marcus stated.

This spiked Abby’s interest. She asked, “What are you here for then?”

“Every year our squad takes a week off and comes here to relax. Like our own version of spring break,” he explained.

“Interesting,” Abby commented as she took her other shot. She felt his eyes on her the whole time. When the alcohol burned its way down her throat, she added, “We were playing ‘what are the odds’ when you two showed up. That’s how the idea of her skinny dipping came up.”

“Who’s skinny dipping?” Indra’s voice broke into the conversation as she walked back up to their bonfire. She handed Marcus a shot glass with a lime, similar to the one in her other hand.

Abby smirked and told her, “Callie.”

“Abby!”

Indra erupted in laughter, looking over to Callie who was now a shade redder. It wasn’t due to the sunburn she had either. “What did I miss for this to turn interesting?” Indra asked as she sat down in the sand.

Marcus followed in suite and told her, “They’re playing ‘what are the odds’.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a game,” Abby answered. “Kind of like truth or dare but all dares.”

“Interesting. How did you get out of skinny dipping?” Indra asked Callie.

Callie stumbled over her words as Abby laughed. Abby explained, “You ask someone, for example with the skinny dipping, ‘what are the odds you go skinny dipping?’. Then the person lists their odds, like 1-10. Then both you and the target choose a number between that range and someone counts down to zero. When they reach zero, you both shout out your number. If it’s the same number, the person has to do it.”

“And if it’s not the same number?” Indra asked.

“Nothing,” Abby replied. “You just move on to the next person.”

“Sounds like a fun game,” Indra commented, “but I’m gonna need to get a little fucked up first.” She proceeded to suck on her lime and take her tequila shot. She sucked on the lime immediately right after again and shook her head. “I’m in.”

Abby looked to Marcus as he finished taking his tequila shot too. He licked his lips as Abby asked, “You in? Or are you afraid of breaking your own laws?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. He held his hand out with no words. Abby tilted her head at him as she handed him the Smirnoff bottle. He poured himself a shot, locking eyes with her. He downed the shot in a second, no chaser and without breaking eye contact. He told her shortly after handing it back to her, “I’m in.”

Abby smirked, pouring herself another shot slowly as she watched him. “Alright deputy, what are the odds you go skinny dipping?”

+

“13!”

“13!”

“Damn it!” Marcus cursed to himself as Indra erupted into laughter, Abby poured the shot for him, and Callie dug around the cooler. “Why do you even have pepper?”

Abby shrugged as she topped off the shot glass. “Might’ve left it in there by mistake,” she responded as Callie pulled the pepper shaker out. She leaned over and shook a light layer of pepper into the shot.

Abby handed him the shot and he gave it a sour look. Abby lightly shook her bottle of Sprite, asking, “Want to chase this one?”

Marcus could hear the teasing note in her words. He didn’t like pepper, thought the invention of it was useless. How he lost this and won against the skinny dipping odds, he wasn’t sure if he was blessed or cursed. He didn’t answer her as he chugged the shot down in two seconds.

He immediately regretted not using the chaser. It burned as it went down his throat and he gagged, the tasted lingering longer than he wanted. He coughed and spit into the sand, trying to get rid of the taste.

Abby was laughing in hysterics, the alcohol coursing through her, feeling the buzz slightly. She smiled at him, telling him, “That’s why you don’t reveal what you don’t like during this game.”

He offered her a scowl as he watched her scroll her through her phone. He spit again, the taste slowly fading. He saw her open the Pokémon Go app and lazily scroll through it. An idea popped into his mind. Had he been stone cold sober, not four shots into the game, the idea would’ve never crossed his mind.

“What are the odds you go onto the private property part of the beach to play Pokémon Go?”

Abby looked up from her phone, Indra threw a surprised look in Marcus’ direction, and Callie’s face immediately dropped. The two locked eyes and Abby tilted her head at him. She was a bit surprised the words came from him. She told him, “You should know I’d do it willingly. The real question is, what are the odds you join me?”

His eyebrows shot up at that. He wasn’t expecting it to be turned back on him. He held his hands up saying, “Hey, I asked you-”

“Don’t be a wimp, Marcus,” Indra interrupted him.

He looked at her, replying, “You’re not being asked to break the law here.”

“Fine,” Abby interrupted both of them, “how about this: I’ll do my odds and if I lose, Indra has to join you and me.”

“Only if Callie comes along as well,” Indra pipped in.

“Indra!” Callie exclaimed, horror on her face.

“Deal,” Abby agreed.

“Abby!” Callie looked to her. “Did we not learn the first two times with trespassing?”

“Probably,” Abby said as she screwed the cap back on the Smirnoff, “but I’ve had one beer and four shots. AKA I don’t have the mental effort to think about how bad this could turn out. My odds are 1-20.”

“Double that!” Callie shouted.

“You’re no fun, Callie,” Abby muttered.

“Do 1-10,” Indra suddenly suggested.

“Indra!” Callie had her hands in her hair. “You’re supposed to be the rational one here!”

“1-10 it is,” Abby agreed, silently laughing at Callie’s groan of annoyance. She looked over to Marcus. “Ready?”

He nodded as Indra counted them down, “3…2…1…”

“4!”

“4!”

“Unbelievable,” Callie muttered to herself as she shook her head.

“It’s decided. We’re gonna break the law!” Abby cheered as she stood up from her chair. She put out the small fire with Callie and cleaned up their mess. They gathered their things and planned to come back for it when they returned from their adventure. They did, however, bring along their alcohol and chasers.

Marcus was leading them to the private section of the beach, the others following close behind. He looked back to Abby and asked, “What happens if we get caught? I usually do the catching.”

“Well,” Abby asked, “what did Callie do when you caught us?”

“Lie.”

“Hey!” Callie sounded offended and Abby laughed a little bit.

“Well yes,” Abby laughed a bit more, “but she was improvising.”

“So we just improvise?”

“Yup!” Abby stated as they reached the border separating the public beach from the private property. She pulled her phone from her short’s pocket, setting her chaser down. She opened the app, seeing nothing so far. “Any Pokémon in there better prepare for trouble!”

“Make it double!” Marcus declared as he also opened the app on his phone.

Indra gave them both a look, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did you nerds really just quote Team Rocket?”

Marcus looked to her, pointing out with a swing in his voice, “Only a nerd would know that.”

Indra rolled her eyes as Callie crossed her own arms, stating, “It would be ‘make it quadrupled’ anyways. There’s four of us going in.”

Indra looked back to her as the others did too. She told her, “You’re the nerd.”

“I’m just stating facts!”

Marcus and Abby laughed as the two stared each other down for a bit. Marcus said, “A wild Indra attacked using ‘labeling’.”

Indra’s attention shifted to him, eyes narrowing the slightest. “I’m about to attack with you ‘surf’ by throwing your drunk ass into the ocean.”

He watched her closely. They both knew he wasn’t drunk, but his mind had a slight buzz to it from the alcohol. “You wouldn’t,” he dared saying.

“Wanna know my odds?” She shot back.

Marcus saw Callie raise her hand behind Indra, saying, “I would love to hear them.”

His mouth dropped open a bit. “Hey! I was defending you!”

She crossed her arms again and gave him a pointed look. “We wouldn’t be arguing over this if you hadn’t provoked Abby to trespass again.”

“Oh we won’t get caught,” he reasoned with her. “It’s late.”

“That’s what she said the two times we did get caught,” she retorted.

He didn’t have an answer as he waited for Abby to speak on her behalf. When he heard nothing, he looked behind him to where she had been. Key word: had. She was no longer there and when he looked around he didn’t see her anywhere. He asked, “Where did Abby go?”

“Did she slip off without us?” Indra asked as they all looked around where they stood.

“Abby!” Callie yelled but immediately slapped her hand over her mouth.

Indra rolled her eyes at her reaction and said, “She definitely went ahead of us. Either she got tired of waiting or something popped up on her phone. She really is- Marcus! Wait!”

It was too late, he was already running onto the private property of the beach and away from them. He was going to find Abby first and make sure she wasn’t capturing any Pokémon without him.

He disappeared from view, being swallowed up by the darkness. Indra and Callie watched the empty space where he disappeared and Callie shook her head, looking to Indra. “Isn’t he supposed to keep people out of trouble? Including himself?”

Indra smiled a little bit, looking down to her, replying, “Marcus seems to forget everything he learned in the academy after a few shots.”

+

Macrus has been searching for Abby for about five minutes. It’s pitch dark out and his phone flashlight only goes so far. He doesn’t want to call out for her because he isn’t sure if the response he would get would be her. He also isn’t sure if he’s been at this spot before. He swears he’s seen the same shell pile twice.

He blames the alcohol.

He continues on anyway, making sure to not turn at the shell pile. A few more steps and he sees a slight glow in front of him. He quickens his pace slightly, a smile gracing his face. Soon, the light gets bigger and he can see the familiar silhouette forming.

He walked up behind her, seeing her eyes training on her phone intensely. She takes a small sip from her Smirnoff bottle and winces, shaking her head. He looks to her chaser he had picked up before he took off after her. He asked, “Wish you had your chaser, don’t you?”

She wiped around, startled. Her eyes focus on him and she sighs in relief. She put her hand over her heart and tells him, “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that, especially at night!”

He shrugged, holding the bottle out to her. “You left it at the border when you ran off in the middle of our bickering.”

She took it and looked to him, “I got tired of waiting.”

She immediately went back to her phone and continued to walk around slowly, changing directions slowly. He watches her, watches her movements and how her eyes flicker from her phone to the area around her. He ponders aloud, “You didn’t leave because you go tired of waiting, did you?”

She looked back to him, a little caught off guard. She said, “Nope, I definitely left because of that.”

Silence fell between them. He watched her, she watched him. Her eyes flicked to her phone for a quick second and a small smile formed on his lips. He told her, “You found a Pokémon didn’t you?”

“Nope.” Her response was too quick, like it was a rehearsed lie. He heard it many times back at his job.

“You’re lying,” he told her, taking a small step towards her.

“Not in the slightest,” she responded. She watched him get closer, but she stayed firm to her spot.

“I thought we agreed to improvise if we got caught?”

“I am improvising.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Yes,” she tilted her head to the side, “I’m feigning innocence.”

He smirked a bit. “You just admitted to lying.”

“Shit.”

They stared each other down for a while, but soon Marcus opened the app on his phone. Abby watched him as he made his way beside her. He held his phone up to hers, seeing a Growlithe in her nearby section. There were two steps by it.

It suddenly popped up in his nearby section too and he shook his head. He looked to her saying, “You’re always finding rare Pokémon when you’re trespassing, aren’t you?”

She saw the playful glint in his eyes and she rolled hers, a smile forming on her lips. She winked at him, “Works in my favor. Got a problem with that deputy?”

His smirk returned as he watched her check her phone really quick. He told her, “You’d end up in handcuffs.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his and before her brain could fully register the words, they flew from her mouth, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Both fell silent at the bold statement. Both knew there was slight alcohol influence behind those words, but Marcus had a feeling she was this bold on the regular. He had witnessed it before.

He smirked a bit, seeing the flush on her cheeks beneath the glow of her phone when the reality of her words sunk in. They connected gazes and both could feel the tension rise around them. His smirk grew a tad and he teased back, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He walked away from her slowly, his eyes going to his phone and scanning the area ahead of him. Abby shook of the shock of hers and his words to focus on the situation at hand. She would, however, be lying if she didn’t say she was curious about the answer to that question.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

He turned to look at her, unfazed. “Pokémon hunting,” he told her.

“I found the Growlithe first! It’s mine!” Abby could feel the déjà vu creeping in.

He smirked at her and Abby found it infuriating and handsome at the same time. He simply told her, “Then catch it first.”

He was lucky he was further than an arm’s reach from her because Abby wanted to do nothing more than strangle him or kiss him senseless. She wasn’t sure which thought occurred first but she did knew which was influenced by the alcohol.

“Fine,” she replied, “It’s up for fair game. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

He chuckled a little bit as he watched her, taking in her flustered stance. It was cute when he first met her and he still thought the same. “Wrong universe,” he told her.

She flipped him off. “Close enough!”

+

“Come on, go lower!”

“No! Would you go lower?”

“…Good point.”

“Exactly,” Marcus pointed out, walking still. Neither had found the Growlithe yet and had returned to what are the odds while they searched for it. Neither Indra or Callie had found them either.

“So 1-20?”

“1-20.”

“Okay, 3…2…1…”

“17!”

“2!”

“Damn it,” Abby whispered under her breath. Marcus heard and laughed in response. On both of their phones, the feet counter had ticked down to one a few minutes ago. They knew they were getting close.

“Why would you want me to squirt vodka out of my eye?” He asked, a little grossed out by the idea.

Abby looked to him and said, “One, it looks disgusting. Two, I want know if you can actually do it.”

“I’m pretty sure vodka would sting squirting out of your eye. I think that’s why people use water or milk,” Marcus chimed in.

“They’re no fun.”

Marcus laughed and pointed out, “All your odds have me doing something weird with a body part. Why is that?”

Abby shrugged, eyes on her phone. “Makes it more interesting. You can tell who the freaks are if they’re willing to do creepy shit with their body.”

He laughed again and Abby smiled to herself. In her mind, she was back in the abandoned apartment building, sitting next to him. His laughter had been a safe haven then, now it was a joyous song to her ears- one she hoped never ended.

She told him, “Try it, do one for me.”

Marcus looked to her, stopping his progress. She kept her gaze on her phone and the path in front of her. He eyes studied her, soaked in her beauty that he could see in the dark. He felt his breath hitch a bit and his mind swirl. There was still a buzz in his mind from the shots and it gave him a boost of encouragement. “What are the odds you let me do a body shot off you?” He asked.

Abby’s eyes immediately flew up to meet his. The tension between them was thicker than the last time. Her eyes flew over him, taking in his windblown hair, his rough stubble that was thicker than the last time they met, and his muscles beneath the wife beater. She immediately found herself wishing he would just do the body shot. “1-2,” she told him.

His eyebrows shot up that, clearly not expecting it. He should have from her comment beforehand about the handcuffs. He didn’t let it stir him away from nodding and counting down, “3…2…1…”

“2!”

“1!”

They both fell silent, watching each other. There was disappointment on both ends, evident to each other as well. Marcus kept his eye contact with her, saying, “Well that’s disappointing.”

“Very much,” Abby agreed.

The two looked at each for a few more seconds before they mutually broke the eye contact and went back to searching for the Growlithe.

It wasn’t easy for Marcus to go right back to Pokémon hunting when his thoughts were filled with him doing a body shot off Abby. All he could think about was the lime between her teeth, the salt by her collarbone and the shot on her stomach. He could imagine his tongue running across-

Buzz.

He snapped out of his daydream and looked down to his phone. The Growlithe had disappeared from his nearby section and onto his screen. He screamed slightly, jumping around.

Abby looked over at his sudden exclaim and could only guess the worst. She deflated a bit but watched him. He clicked on his screen, probably clicking to a battle with the Growlithe.

A lightbulb went off in her head and she made her way over to his side quickly. She made sure to get close to his side, a hand resting on one of his arms. She felt him tense under her touch and she smiled innocently to herself. She moved slightly closer to him, body resting against his.

Yup, the alcohol had made her a bit bolder.

She examined his phone screen, smiling at a fact. “You only have five Poké balls, should’ve come more prepared.”

He looked down to her and said, “I didn’t think I was going to be illegally hunting Pokémon today, I think I deserve a pass.”

He threw his first Poké ball and it absorbed the Growlithe. The Poké ball swayed side-to-side for a while, but the Growlithe eventually broke out.

“Damn it,” Marcus whispered to himself.

He went to throw his next Poké ball when Abby got on her tip toes and whispered into his ear, “Let me have the Growlithe and you can do that body shot.”

His finger froze on its advance to the Poké ball. The way she had whispered the words, the way her body was against his, and the heat that her body was radiating off onto him made his mind swirl. The images he was having before flashed in his mind again.

He looked down to her and bit his lip when he saw the heat in her eyes, which he was sure reflected in his own. He wanted to agree and forget the Growlithe but he knew she was bribing him. Just like when you blackmailed her back when you first met, he thought.

He shook it from his mind and locked eyes with her again. “Maybe next time,” he told her as he threw the second Poké ball.

The Growlithe immediately broke out of the Poké ball this time, lasting barely a single sway. Abby rested her head on his bicep, eyes watching his screen as his breathing hitched. “Only three left,” she observed, eyes flickering up to him. “The body shot offer still stands.”

He was in the middle of throwing his third Poké ball when she spoke the words and his arm jerked at them, causing him to completely miss the Growlithe. He heard a slight giggle from Abby.

He tried again, this time getting the Growlithe in the Poké ball; however, it broke out again. He sighed, frustrated. He heard Abby taunt him, “One more chance!”

He looked down to her, catching her eye. He told her, “If I miss this, I get that body shot.”

She smirked up to him, humor dancing in her eyes. She replied, “That wasn’t the deal.”

Her attention goes back to the phone and he closed his eyes for a second to collect himself. He opened them and clicked on his last Poké ball, getting ready to throw it. He’s in the middle of praying to catch it when a light suddenly flashes in their direction.

Marcus swears and they both stumble away from each other, panic seeping into their bones. Marcus slides his phone into his pocket as he looks around. There’s nowhere to hide, everything is open space.

Abby is freaking out. She could deal with cops back home, but in another state? It was a bit trickier to talk your way out trouble then; especially, when you’ve taken five shots worth of vodka. She looks to Marcus, hoping his police training can get them out of this.

He looks to her as well, seeing the panic in her. She asks in a hushed voice, “What do we do?”

A single word immediately popped into his mind and his eyes flickered to the growing light and the sound of the footsteps becoming clearer. He looked back to her, heart pounding as he made his decision. “Improvise,” he said.

“Improvise?”

“Improvise.”

She was going to ask how, her mind running a million miles, seeming to leave her body behind. He, however, decided how it would go. He closed the space in between them, taking her into his arms, and crashed his lips onto hers.

Words couldn’t describe the feeling of her lips on his. It felt like a release and a trap at the same time. It felt like ocean waves crashing against him, dragging him further in, but he didn’t care. He wanted more, he wanted her.

She found herself not only lost in the kiss, but in her mind too. Surprise was her initial reaction, then smug, then happiness, and now it was bliss. It felt like a tornado had ripped through her mind, tossing her brain around in a storm. She didn’t know where it started and where it ended.

His hand found its way into her mess of hair, strangling his fingers into the strands. They were soft and fell against his fingertips smoothly. His other hand rested on her hip, holding her to him. His hand burned against the exposed skin above her shorts, leaving him with a heat that he wanted more of.

Her hands came together at the base of his neck, getting lost in the strands of hair there. Her wrist rubbed against the stubble and it burned. It made her mind lose more focus as she let herself sink into him, wanting nothing more than to get lost in the feeling.

“Finally, we’ve been looking for you two for ten min-”

“ABBY!”

“Well,” Indra commented, “wish I could I say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

The two pulled apart from each other, recognizing the voices. They both looked at each other, noticing the tousled hair, swollen lips, and dilated eyes each sported. Abby’s face flushed as she looked to the other two. Marcus looked at them too explaining, “We thought you were cops so were improvising like we said we would. That’s-”

“Sure Marcus,” Indra interrupted him, “and I like men.”

Marcus fell silent, heat flushing his own cheeks. He mumbled, “But you don’t like-”

“Exactly,” she concluded. “C’mon Callie, they’re obviously doing fine without us.”

Callie looked to Abby and mouthed, “We are so talking later tonight.” It only made Abby flush more as she watched the duo turn and walk away.

Indra called over her shoulder to them, “And next time, get a room. I mean seriously, there’s three between the four of us. Couldn’t be that hard to find a room key, is it?”

Callie laughed as the two disappeared into the night, leaving the two in silence. They looked to each other, the silence turning awkward. “What now?” Abby asked.

“Well,” he said, digging in his pocket, “first things first.” He pulled his phone out, checking his Pokémon Go app. Sure enough, his flinch with the light caused him to throw his last Poké ball, missing. The Growlithe escaped.

“Gone?”

He looked down to her and nodded in confirmation. He told her putting his phone away, “The good thing is, this time it Indra couldn’t have gotten it.”

Abby laughed and swatted his chest lightly, looking up to him. He tilted his head to the side, asking, “You can’t let me have any Pokémon can you?”

She smirked up to him. “Not when I can catch it.”

He smirked back down to her, his hand absentmindedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He told her, “You’re nothing but trouble.”

She raised an eyebrow in response. “You’re one to talk.”

He fully smiled this time, chuckling. “Make it double?”

Abby laughed fully and whole heartedly. He watched in awe as the moonlight reflected against her skin, as her eyes crinkle during the laugh, and how the smile stays plastered to her lips after she finishes. It makes his heart swell.

And she notices him watching. She takes a step closer, chests pressing together once again. His arm automatically comes to wrap around her. She knows it’s herself, not the alcohol, when she asks, “What are the odds you kiss me again?”

“1-1,” he said immediately.

She can feel the grin on her lips grow wider as she replies, “I like those odds.”

“3…2…1…”

“1.”

“1.”

Both of them smile, lock eyes for a short second, and meet together for another kiss. This one is less intense, it lingers and is slow. It makes it feel like the waves are moving in slow motion around them. It feels like they have all the time to waste in one night.

Both know, however, that every second spent together won’t be wasted.

[blackkudos]

Eddie Tolan

Thomas Edward "Eddie" Tolan (September 29, 1908 – January 30/31, 1967), nicknamed the "Midnight Express", was an American track and field athlete who competed in sprints. He set world records in the 100-yard dash and 100 meters event and Olympic records in the 100 meters and 200 meters events. He was the first non-Euro-American to receive the title of the "world's fastest human" after winning gold medals in the 100 and 200 meters events at the 1932 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. In March 1935, Tolan won the 75, 100 and 220-yard events at the World Professional Sprint Championships in Melbourne to become the first man to win both the amateur and professional world sprint championships. In his full career as a sprinter, Tolan won 300 races and lost only 7.

Early years

Tolan was born in Denver, Colorado, one of four children. Tolan's father was Thomas Tolan. The family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah when Tolan was young, and moved again to Detroit, Michigan in 1924, when Tolan was 15 years old. Tolan later recalled, "My father read about better opportunities for Negroes here, so he packed up Mom and the four kids and we came here."

Cass Tech High School

Tolan attended Cass Technical High School in Detroit where he was an outstanding football player and sprinter. While at Cass Tech, Tolan set state records in the 100 and 220-yard dashes. While still in high school, Tolan ran the 100-yard dash in 9.8 seconds and the 220-yard dash in 21.5 seconds. At age of 16, Tolan was a member of a two-man team from Cass Tech that won the 1925 National Interscholastic indoor meet in Chicago. He won his first sprint double at the state meet as a sophomore, and in 1927 he won the 100 and 220-yard dashes at the National Interscholastic Championship at Soldier Field in Chicago. Despite his accomplishments as a sprinter, Tolan's first love was football, and he often said "the six touchdowns he scored in one game as a 131-pound quarterback at Detroit's Cass Tech High School was his greatest thrill, rather than his double win in the Olympics."

University of Michigan

Football

Tolan was recruited by several major universities as a football player, but he chose the University of Michigan. There are differing accounts as to why Tolan never played on the varsity football team at Michigan. According to a published account in The Detroit News in 2002, Tolan joined the freshman football team as a freshman in 1927. At that time, no African-American had played on Michigan's varsity football team since George Jewett in the 1890s. Tolan was initially allowed to play, but on the third day of practice, the freshman football coach told him, "Some of the coaches are disagreeing on your chances. Some of them think that you shouldn't be allowed to play football. I'd be tickled to have you but I'm afraid I'm going to be outvoted." The Detroit News noted, that the freshman coach was outvoted: "They took away Eddie Tolan’s football uniform and handed him a track suit in exchange."

Other accounts indicate, it was an injury that prevented Tolan from playing football at Michigan. An Associated Press story on Tolan in 1958 stated: "He would have been a football great as a quarterback, had a knee injury in his junior year in high school not forced him to channel all his energies to track." In his obituary, the Associated Press reported that the coaches at Michigan "talked the pint-sized speedster into going out for track." Tolan was also quoted as saying, "The track team did a lot more traveling then, so I saw the opportunity to travel on a Pullman and see the country."

Big Ten and world sprint champion

At Michigan, Tolan ran track under the mentorship of two of the great sprinters of their generations. Michigan's head coach, Steve Farrell, was considered "the greatest professional footracer this country has ever known" in the 1880s and 1890s. And Michigan's assistant coach Charles B. Hoyt, who took over from Farrell in 1930, was rated "America's best sprinter" in 1913, but lost his opportunity to compete in the 1916 Olympics due to World War I.

As a sophomore in May 1929, Tolan broke the Big Ten Conference record and tied the world’s record for the 100 yard dash with a time of 9.6. Press coverage starting with this world record run, and throughout his career, focused on three features – Tolan's race, his eyeglasses, and his short stocky build. Tolan was one of the first African-Americans to have success in sprinting, and he raced with eyeglasses taped to his head. Various accounts put his height anywhere from 5 feet, 4 inches, to 5 feet, 7 inches. One writer noted that Tolan "looks like a church deacon." Another writer described Tolan's appearance this way:

"Tolan, known as the 'Midnight Express,' was five feet six inches (1.7 m) tall and weighed 130 pounds (59 kg). He smiled often, raced while chewing gum, and could be easily identified by a bandage around his left knee to protect an old football injury. In addition he wore horn-rimmed glasses held in place with adhesive tape."

Tolan's gum-chewing became part of his routine. He chewed gum before a race to relieve stress. After accidentally running with the gum in his mouth, Tolan found that he was chewing in sync with his stride. Tolan later began chewing gum as part of his routine, chewing the gum faster when he needed to accelerate his leg movements.

At the Big Ten championships in May 1930, Tolan broke the world's record in the 100-yard dash with a time of 9.5. Tolan's performance was accepted by the International Amateur Athletic Federation as the new official world's record.

Seven weeks after breaking the world's record in the 100-yard dash, Tolan also broke the world's record in the 100 meters race. Competing in Vancouver, British Columbia, Tolan shaved two-tenths of a second off the record with a time of 10-1/5 seconds. Track officials in Vancouver announced after the race, that Tolan's record-setting performance was "all the more remarkable in the fact that he ran uphill, the finish mark being thirty inches higher than the starting point."

Tolan's world-record performances in 1930 brought him international fame, as he became known as the "Midnight Express." In May 1931, Tolan again broke the world's record in the 100 meters event with a time of 10.3 seconds in Vancouver. Southern California sprinter Frank Wykoff jumped to a slight lead, but Tolan came from behind to pass Wykoff at the 100-yard mark.

Tolan graduated from the University of Michigan in 1931.

Double gold medals at the 1932 Summer Olympics

Lead-up to the Olympics

After graduating from Michigan, Tolan enrolled at West Virginia State College, where he did "graduate work preparatory to teaching and coaching at a Negro institution." Early in 1932, Tolan was not running at his prior level. Despite the slow start, Dean Cromwell, Chairman of the All American Board of Track and Field, predicted great things for Tolan in his column on 1932's "Olympic Prospects." Cromwell wrote of Tolan:

"Just as spring warms into summer Tolan slides from the class of mediocre sprinters to that of the champions. He is a slow starter, but when the weather gets warm so does Eddie, and off he goes."

While press reports regularly referred to Tolan as "stocky," Cromwell took issue with that characterization:

"Eddie is now 24 years of age, five feet six inches tall and weights about 130 pounds. Although he has always been termed ‘stocky’ by the press, a comparison of his weight and height will show that he cannot properly be so styled. He is well muscled, though, and in action gives the impression of great running power, with his arms and legs working smoothly and strongly in a machine piston-like manner."

The Olympic trials were held at Stanford University, and Ralph Metcalfe won both the 100 and 200 meters finals, with Tolan finishing second to Metcalfe in each case. The results meant that the top two American sprinters in the 1932 Olympics would for the first time be African-Americans. As a result, much of the press attention focused on race. Los Angeles Times sports columnist Braven Dyer wrote: "Metcalfe and Tolan make the ace of spades look positively pale by comparison … But how these boys can run … And they figure to do even better here than they did at Palo Alto because it's warmer now and they enjoy the heat."

100 meters race

The 100 meters contest at the 1932 Olympics was one of the closest races in Olympic history. Tolan broke the Olympic record in the first heat of the second round with a time of 10.4 seconds, but Metcalfe remained the favorite. In the finals, Japanese sprinter Takayoshi Yoshioka jumped out to a four-yard lead after 40 meters. Tolan passed Yoshioka at the 6 -meter mark and had a two-yard lead over Metcalfe at the 100-yard mark. But Metcalfe passed Tolan at the tape and appeared to the crowd to be the winner. Sports writer Maxwell Stiles described the last strides as follows:

"His powerful legs churning wildly, Metcalfe swept down upon little Tolan like an avenging angel full of fury. Tolan, his left knee in an elastic bandage and his glasses taped to his head near his ears, dug in for one last desperate stride in his effort to hold the lead. Just at the tape, Metcalfe rushed past Tolan and was well ahead a yard beyond the finish. Almost everyone thought Metcalfe had won."

It was hours later, after review of films taken with a "Kirby two-eyed camera," that officials were able to declare Tolan the winner with a time of 10.3 seconds. The films showed that Tolan and Metcalfe hit the finish line in a dead heat, but Tolan was declared the winner, because he had his entire torso past the line on the ground before Metcalfe.

200 meters race

The 200 meters race was held on the fourth day of competition, and this time the race was not close, as Tolan beat Metcalfe easily with an Olympic record time of 21.2 seconds – four-tenths of a second better than the prior record of 21.6 seconds. Tolan stumbled slightly with three yards to go, but righted himself and finished with a four-foot lead. With double wins in the 100 and 200 meters contests, Tolan was dubbed the "world's fastest human." Tolan was the first African-American to have that distinction, and press coverage of his Olympic wins focused on his race. The Associated Press called him the "spectacled little American Negro" and "the dusky little thunderbolt." Braven Dyer referred to him as "the stubby colored boy," and noted that "the chunky Detroit Negro" had defeated Arthur Jonath of Germany, "the white-skinned Teuton." Another writer described how the "little black man with horn-rimmed glasses" crossed the finish line, being chased by "a white man of America, George Simpson," and "a brother black, Ralph Metcalfe."

Commentators also noted, that the only other two sprinters to win double gold in the 100 and 200 meters races were also University of Michigan athletes, Ralph Craig and Archie Hahn.

Reaction to Tolan's Accomplishments

After the sprint competition concluded, a reporter interviewed Tolan and Metcalfe in their shared room at the Olympic Village. When Metcalfe teased Tolan for being lucky, Tolan replied, "Yeah, I had it all right – but it's 'bout time, Ralph; first little ol' luck I had in eight years!" Still in bed at noon wearing pajamas and with a stocking cap on his head, Tolan said he was "in the best condition of my life when the 200 meters final started," and he vowed to give his gold medals to his mother.

Back in Detroit, Mayor Frank Murphy appointed a reception committee to meet Tolan at the train station, and Michigan Governor Wilber M. Brucker declared September 6, 1932 as "Eddie Tolan Day" throughout the state. The governor issued a proclamation stating that Tolan had "brought honor to our commonwealth" and encouraging communities throughout the state to arrange ceremonies "as an expression of Michigan's pride in his achievement."

Tolan's mother noted, that she was proud of her son's accomplishments. She noted that, though she had worked hard as the sole provider for the family, it was worth it. She added, "If my menfolk could only find jobs I could ease up a bit and a mighty big worry would be off Eddie's mind."

In April 1936, Tolan, along with many other sports champions and stand outs, was honored at a banquet in Detroit, MI. This Banquet was the first celebration of Champions Day.

Vaudeville and hard times

Less than six months after winning Olympic gold medals and the title of the "world's fastest human," Tolan garnered national press when he fell on hard times. Syndicated columnist William H. Beatty wrote that "the heady wine of victory has turned overnight to vinegar" for Tolan. Tolan noted that, when he was met at the train station by a welcoming committee, his half-brother was collecting waste paper in the grass of the park in front of the train station. Tolan noted that his half-brother was "luckier than I am," because he had a job. His parents had both been unemployed for many months, and it was not until January 1933 that Tolan was able to get a low-paying job as a filing clerk in a county office. Tolan's lifetime dream of becoming a physician was waning, as he had been "unable to make enough to support himself and his parents."

Desperate to earn a living, Tolan "walked the streets of many cities, seeking work," and even briefly appeared in vaudeville in 1932 with Bill "Bojangles" Robinson. They made a good team; Tolan had set world records for running forwards, and Robinson had set world's records for running backwards: 50 yards backward sprint (6 seconds), 75 yards backwards sprint (8.2 seconds), and 100 yards backwards sprint (13.2 seconds).

Because of his brief appearance in vaudeville, the Michigan Amateur Athletic Association stripped Tolan of his amateur status in June 1933. And in April 1934, Tolan's bad luck continued as an automobile he was driving struck and seriously injured an 80-year-old pedestrian.

Professional sprinting career

In November 1934, Tolan took a leave of absence from his job as assistant county registrar of deeds to compete in the Australian sprint program, a series of five professional races, including the Stawell Gift handicap. Tolan returned in April 1935 after having set new Australian records of 21.5 seconds in the 220-yard dash on a full curve track and 7.5 seconds for the 75-yard dash. He won the 75, 100, and 220-yard events at the World Professional Sprint Championships in March 1935 in Melbourne, and became the first man to win both the amateur and professional world sprint championships.

In his full career as a sprinter, Tolan won 300 races and lost only 7. Throughout his career as a sprinter, Tolan worked by a simple creed: "Start fast, run easily, stay in your lane and finish strong."

Civil service and teaching career

After returning from Australia, Tolan returned to his job in Detroit as a clerk to the Register of Deeds. Tolan worked at a variety of jobs in the 1940s and 1950s. In 1956, Tolan became a school teacher in physical and health education. He taught at the Irving Elementary School on Detroit's West Side for several years.

Death and family

Tolan never married. In 1965, Tolan's kidneys failed, and he was required to undergo weekly dialysis treatments for the rest of his life. In 1967, Tolan died from heart failure at age 58 at Detroit's Mt. Carmel Hospital, while undergoing one of his weekly treatments. At the time of his death, Jesse Owens paid him tribute in Jet magazine:

"When I was in high school, Eddie and Ralph (Metcalfe) were my idols. Eddie and I later became close friends. I used to live in Detroit and every time I'd go back Eddie was one of the first ones I’d look up."

Tolan was survived by his sisters, June Brown and Martha Lombard, and a brother, Hart H. Tolan. Though the two never met, Tolan was also a cousin of former Major League Baseball player Bobby Tolan. Eddie Tolan is interred at United Memorial Gardens in Plymouth, Michigan.

Honors and awards

In 1958, Tolan was inducted into the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame. He was one of the first 18 persons inducted. He was inducted into the University of Michigan Athletic Hall of Honor in 1980. Only 17 individuals were inducted into the Hall before Tolan.

Tolan was a member of Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity.

Eddie Tolan was inducted into the National Track and Field Hall of Fame in 1982.

Wikipedia

[peppurthehotone]

Aye-yi-aye! The past couple of days have been r-o-u-g-h! Hormone Rita has been raging but on top of that, I had to acknowledge that while I thought I was “past it”, my no-kid grief still lives in me. Yesterday I described it to Matt that I feel like little pieces of shattered glass live above me and they just hang out there sometimes reflecting light and others times missile down on me and stab me in my happiness.

My therapist told me I’m pretty good at helping myself and last week I mentioned to you all that I use my writing to help myself and that we all need to find something like this to stay high in order to stay afloat when things start to get wonky. So yesterday, I tried to take my own advice and put my head down and I got to work. Two new clients kept me busy (one for speech writing and one for copy editing her marketing book). I am grateful. And I also got back to working on my ancestry book, which was nice.

Alas.

If you’re following along, while during my residency, my goal was to write 30,000 words of my new novella. They didn’t have to be good words, but I thought, I can write 30,000 words in a month. Welp, last Sunday, three days before the end of the residency, I was only at 23,951 words and I freaked out. I started crying. I was in a beautiful home, seated at my own personal desk, in a quiet room with no one to bother me; I had all the things I yearn for and there I was at my computer crying. I knew I was having a form of a panic attack built up from self-imposed pressure exponentially souped up by my Instagram posts touting my daily numbers.

<blockquote class=”instagram-media” data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-permalink=”https://www.instagram.com/p/B37655AleEI/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading&#8221; data-instgrm-version=”12″ style=” background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:540px; min-width:326px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% – 2px); width:calc(100% – 2px);”>

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</a> <p style=” margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;”> <a href=”https://www.instagram.com/p/B37655AleEI/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading” style=” color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;” target=”_blank”>What's Hot? Inspiration! Day 22 Bookcases inspire me. Those writers of the books on those shelves were exactly where I am right now. 15,234 words and wondering what to write next! #writer #residency #ancestry @thesquirefoundation</a></p> <p style=” color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;”>A post shared by <a href=”https://www.instagram.com/peppurthehotone/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading” style=” color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px;” target=”_blank”> Peppur Chambers</a> (@peppurthehotone) on <time style=” font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;” datetime=”2019-10-22T21:52:50+00:00″>Oct 22, 2019 at 2:52pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote> //www.instagram.com/embed.js

I was feeling like a failure, even though I knew (this time) that I wasn’t one. So, through the tears, I sent an SOS to my support girls. We are a group of six black women who have been together for almost ten years and we help each other with everything from freak-outs like this one, to motherhood stuff for those on that journey, to job referrals to snarky stuff to  vagina creams. I messaged them:

“Matt says to think about changing the goal so I don’t beat myself up and still feel good. That feels like I’m being a wuss. But I did set the goal, no one else did. Or do I just say I will be happy with whatever I accomplish? I’m getting stressed. Started crying this morning. Not worth it to cry.”

My dear friend Morenike sent an audio clip back with the best advice, which I call, “The Goal is Not The Thing”:

https://blogtoprague.files.wordpress.com/2019/11/audio-from-peppur-chambers-1.wav

After listening to this, more crying ensued which was simply a true release of tension. I felt redirected and I was able to continue! I decided that I would use the remaining time to organize and research and to let that “30k” go. It was THE best thing to do and glad I did because I didn’t allow myself to ruin what had been a wonderful experience. I posed  this picture to remind myself. #Winning

So yesterday, I got back into the story for the first time since being back and I was happy I had my notes to refer to and knew where to start up again. I looked at all the questions I have to answer about character and themes, and I wrote a dope paragraph on fear coming from a father perspective to his daughter, and then I got interrupted and had to do something else. But I realized I’d worked on the book for a good solid hour and that made me happy and I walked around in gratitude for awhile and I felt better emotionally.

Something else that made me feel better yesterday is that I received an early birthday present, sort of. For my birthday this year, which is Friday November 8th (best.day.ever), I made it a *goal* to have a completed draft of Harlem’s Awakening Pt 2. I had sent off my current draft to beta readers on Oct 1 so they could review it during my residency and therefore, when I got back this week, I could work like a beaver and chop away at their changes and voila have a completed draft on my birthday. Once again the goal was a little lofty. Not gonna make it. BUT, I did receive the notes. Yesterday I received great notes back from my reader friend Ruthy who four years ago read my manuscript and was like, “What the heck is this? Please tell me you didn’t send this to anyone.” Which I had and the agent passed and then it took two years to recover from the disappointment and now I’m back! So, Ruthy says this is a much better read and that there are still problems, but much better! My mom is my second reader, I know — family: not the answer — but she is my 1940s expert and her comment was, “Not enough time-period stuff”. So, I have that to work on. And a new author friend, Katherine Ross read a few chapters. I met her while doing a reading earlier this year and her debut book, Black Was Not a Label  just dropped this month (please support!). She commented that the pacing is good, it feels colloquial in places and Magdalena may need some fleshing out. This is all great news; I’ve got work to do on my birthday and that’s what I’ll be doing!

One more “random” thing:

While I was in Santa Barbara, my new friend Sophia (who runs SoFar Sounds SB) told me about this amazing shop on State Street called Random. It is exactly that. A random flea market+vintage shop+bookstore+holy crapoloa I love it store. There are boxes of things like jeans and buttons and kitchen tiles and paintbrushes everywhere. I wandered to the back and found a box of someone’s personal stuff. This happens all the time; people pass away and then their stuff ends up in a world of Random for people like me to find.

Because I’m heavy into researching on Ancestry.com and would love to find anything random on my family, when I found this box full of vintage family photos, I got suuuper excited. As I dug further, I discovered this box most likely belonged to a WWII photographer (or someone who enlisted and was good with a camera). I really hoped that some of his war-time photos would have just even one black person and I could hope that maybe it was someone to whom I belonged. Alas, that wasn’t the case. However, it is the case for someone else. So, for Veteran’s Day on 11/11, I’m going to write a special blog post about the box and show more photos from it in the event that maybe we can find to whom these pictured people belong.

Their patch is for the 100th Infantry Training Division. While this is a staged shot, according to Wiki, they were called into active duty on 15 Nov 1942 and were sent into combat to St Remy France on 1 Nov 1944.

Family Day?? I love the ladies in the background.

Ann Caudiff (?), 25 mos, Dec 25, ’51

I love this photo. I’ve begun to research this “Ann” to see what I can find. So along with the Chambers family, Nigeria and Igbo culture,  I’m now researching a bunch of people I don’t know.

    Aye-yi-aye! The past couple of days have been r-o-u-g-h! Hormone Rita has been raging but on top of that, I had to acknowledge that while I thought I was "past it", my…

[letthesleepingdoglie]

From Whence He Sprang - 09

Title: Never Left or Right

Part: 09 of 18

Rated: M

The Batcave

Gotham City

January 17th, 2012

17:24 EST

Team Year One

“You look like crap.” Artemis noted as she stepped off the open elevator platform that had brought her down into the Batcave.

Dick tore his gaze from the screen in front of him and turned to look over his shoulder at his friend. At least, he tried to. The movement was stiff and sluggish on account of the many bandages and stitches covering his exposed torso. It had taken Alfred the better part of an hour to patch up all the wounds that Dick had received from the fight last night, and the last thing that he wanted to do was tear all the meticulously stitched cuts open.

Now that the adrenaline from the events of last night had worn off, each and every one of the wounds he’d received ached and throbbed as he moved. The fight with the mysterious assassins had been so intense that he didn’t remember receiving half of them.

“You should see Bruce.” Dick grunted as he finally managed to complete his turn.

“Seriously?” Artemis asked, an expression of surprise on her face. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen the dark knight seriously injured. “What happened to you guys?”

Dick shrugged. “Assassins, sword fights, explosions. The usual.”

A cursory glance told him that she must have come straight from school; she was still wearing her hated Gotham Academy uniform.

“What brings you all the way out here?” He asked her, which was a valid question. Batman didn’t have a Zeta Tube installed in the cave, and Wayne Manor was a relatively long trip from her home in the East End.

It was Artemis’ turn to shrug. “You missed class. I was worried.”

Dick suppressed a small smirk, though he tried to hide it. Artemis always put on a tough front so that people wouldn’t see how vulnerable she truly was, but it was always endearing to see that she cared.

“Plus,” she continued, pulling a handful of papers from her backpack, “Barb wanted me to make sure you got your homework.”

Dick groaned, but took the papers from Artemis and flipped through them. It wouldn't take more than an hour to get through, but it would be tedious, and he had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Artemis took advantage of Dick’s momentary distraction to glance at the screen that he'd been working on. A meaningless scroll of names, numbers and code flashed across the screen.  “What’re you working on?”

“A difficult case.” He put his homework to one side and hit a few keys on the bat-computer’s keyboard, bringing up the relevant files and images for Artemis to skim through.

“About two weeks ago, Batman and I met a kid named Jason Todd and sent him over to the Catherine Hershey school. Yesterday, we got word from Commissioner Gordon that he’d gone missing. We went to the school to see if we could find any leads on what happened to him and ended up being ambushed by a group of assassins working for something called the Court of Owls.”

He pointed up at the corner of the screen, where the image of a man with inverted eyes was displayed. “He was their leader. Called himself Shrike.”

Artemis frowned as she looked at the picture. “What’s the Court of Owls?”

“We have no clue.” Dick sighed in frustration. “The assassins blew themselves up when they realized that they were going to lose. We’ve been looking since the attack and haven’t found anything. Batman’s never heard of it, and I can’t find any references to it in anywhere.”

Artemis’ frown deepened. It was rare for Batman to have never heard of something. “Do you have any leads?”

“Not many.” Dick admitted. He gestured over to the side, where several items sat arranged on top of a high-tech scanning bed. The mask that Robin had removed from Shrike. The swords and throwing knives the assassins had dropped in their fight. Charred pieces of limbs and barely identifiable chunks of tissue.

“Most of the physical evidence was obliterated in the explosions. We’ve run their DNA through all the databases we could and come up with nothing. Their gear is also untraceable. We’re analyzing what’s left, but nothing yet. Batman’s back at the school, looking for anything we missed.” Dick sighed. “All we really know for certain is that the Court of Owls is good.”

He tapped at the keyboard again, bringing up a series of case files bearing the GCPD’s logo. “Look at this.”

Artemis moved so that she was standing next to Dick’s chair and peered at the display. Dozens of names and faces populated the screen, each identifying a child between the ages of 10 to 13. “What am I looking at?”

“GCPD missing persons reports. Specifically, children listed as missing from the Catherine Hershey School. Notice anything?”

Artemis frowned. Some of the kidnappings stretched back decades, with some going all the way back to the 70s, when the GCPD had started keeping track of missing kids. She realized what she was supposed to be looking for as she read the dates listed on the files.

“Like clockwork… One kid disappears every four years. Jason was just the latest.”

“Right.” Dick confirmed. “And those are just the disappearances that we have official records for. Unofficially, I managed to dig up reports of similar disappearances stretching all the way back to the school’s founding.”

“Why?” Artemis asked, incredulous. For a school to have this many missing kids… Granted, this was Gotham City, but still, even accounting for the fact that a boarding school oriented towards strays and orphans would probably have more runaways and disappearances, how had someone not noticed?

“I don’t know.” Dick said. He was clearly frustrated, which was understandable. He’d been trying to come up with the answer to that question for the last few hours. The problem was, he didn’t know if that was the right question to ask.

At first, both he and Batman had based their theories on the assumption that Jason had been kidnapped because someone was trying to bait them; after all, it was a common enough strategy amongst their regular rogue’s gallery. But now that he’d dug deeper and found the reports of serial disappearances, he was forced to come up with new theories to work around.

It was like trying to put together a puzzle, except he didn’t have all the pieces, he didn’t know which pieces he had were useful, and he had no idea what the final image would look like.

Knowing that a child’s life was likely on the line, his inability to figure the situation out was maddening.

“Any ideas?” Dick asked her. “I could use a fresh pair of eyes on this.”

Artemis hesitated, considering how she could best contribute. It wasn’t that Artemis thought she wasn’t smart enough to help, or that she was intimidated by the fact that her mentor wasn’t a world renowned detective. The simple truth was that most of the things that she could think of right then and there would have already occurred to him. If she wanted to help, she needed to draw on the resources and skills that she had exclusive access to.

“How good were the assassins who attacked you?” She asked.

“Very.”

“League of Shadows good?” She pressed.

“No. Better. Much better.”

Artemis considered that for a moment before pulling out her phone. “I’ll ask my mom if she heard of anyone like them when she was part of the League. They try to keep tabs on anyone that has skills like that.”

“Thanks.”

As Artemis took a few steps away so that she could call her mom without disturbing Dick, an automated notification popped up on the Bat-computer’s screen to tell him that the detailed scan he’d been running on the assassin’s bodies was done.

“Whoa…” Dick breathed as he read through the results.

Almost every biological sample that he and Batman managed to collect displayed some evidence of either chemical or genetic manipulation. For example, the assassin’s blood contained cells that looked like normal platelets, but upon closer inspection, appeared to function much more effectively, clotting in a matter of seconds rather than minutes. Fragments of bone revealed that their skeletons had been coated in a porous material that allowed biological materials to pass through, but was as strong and as light as titanium. There were even remnants of organs that the bat-computer didn’t recognize as human.

No wonder he hadn’t been able to find a match in any of the databases he’d looked at. Even something as fundamental as their DNA had been re-written to include what looked like distinct strands of animal genes. This was almost Cadmus level gene-manipulation; there were parts that barely looked human anymore.

It wasn’t just the sheer scale of the enhancements that Dick found overwhelming, but also the amount of time it must have taken to implement them. He’d seen full body augmentation and reconstruction before, of course, but it wasn’t something you could do all at once. Even with advanced tech from STAR Labs, someone undergoing this much surgery and gene therapy would need, at best, several years to adjust to all the changes being wrought on his or her body.

Years… Dick realized with a start, as a disturbing thought crossed his mind.

Working quickly, he minimized everything on the computer screen except for the picture of Shrike’s face that the cameras built into his mask had captured, then opened up a program that had been designed for forensic investigators so that they could “age” pictures of young children to find out what they might look like several years after their respective disappearances.

Dick ran the process in reverse, taking a scan of Shrike’s face and reversing the aging process so that it displayed an approximation of what Shrike might have looked like at the age of 12. Granted, the image was very, very, very rough, but at least it gave him something to work with. He ran the image through every database concerning missing children that he had access to, both within the US and internationally.

Even with a super computer as powerful as the one that was built into the Batcave, the search still took a few minutes.

That gave Dick a moment to ponder. And to hope he was wrong. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Artemis was done with her phone call until she was standing next to him.

“Nothing.” She told him, tucking her phone away. “My mom says she’ll ask around though.”

He looked over at her. “Are you sure? I don’t want her to get into any trouble.”

Artemis waved his concerns away. “It’s fine. She knows how to take care of herself. Besides, I think she likes being able to help with hero stuff. It gives her something to do besides sit around the house all day, you know?”

“Mmm.” Dick conceded. He could empathize with that.

He sighed, rubbing his face, giving his eyes a rest. He’d been working non-stop on this since the ambush last night. Just because he was used to long hours of work didn’t mean that it never caught up with him. It was just hard to focus on things that seemed as trivial as food and sleep when someone’s life was on the line.

“Are you alright?” Artemis asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Dick said, pushing himself upright in his chair. “It’s just been a rough day.“

“You should get some rest.” She said. Dick glanced at her. He recognized that tone. Despite phrasing it as a suggestion, Artemis’ voice made clear that she was prepared to frog march him upstairs if she thought it would be necessary.

Oh, to have an big sister like Artemis.

“I’m just gonna finish this search, then I’ll grab a quick nap.” Dick promised.

Artemis crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. It wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d made a similar promise to her, only for her to return hours later to find him slumped over the keyboard, fast asleep.

“I will.” He insisted when she didn’t budge.

She continued to stare at him for a few moments longer before she uncrossed her arms. Inwardly, Dick breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fine.” Artemis said as she made her way back towards the elevator leading up to the manor. “But if you don’t give Zatanna a call by the time I get back from the Cave, I will beat the crap out of you.”

“Fair enough.” He conceded.

Artemis rolled her eyes, but gave a quick wave goodbye as the elevator doors slid shut.

The computer chimed in with a notification, letting him know that the search was done. Facial recognition had found a relatively close match for a child that had gone missing in Oregon.

“Matthew Board.” Dick said to himself, reading the name at the top of the report. Born to David and Serena Board, September 1975. The youngest of four children. Reported as missing January 16th, 1988. The official notes listed it as likely the child had run away from home.Interestingly, it hadn’t been his parents who had reported Matthew as missing, but a teacher at the school he had gone to. He ran a quick check and found that both the mother and father had criminal records, mostly for drug related offenses, though there were more than a few citations from Child Protection Services as well.

Dick’s discomfort was starting to grow. It felt like the picture on the puzzle was starting to become clearer. Matthew matched Jason’s profile almost exactly. A child from a rough background, around the age of 12, whose disappearance wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

This being the United States, which maintained a national database of missing children, there were DNA records for Matthew on file that Dick could access. He pulled these up and compared them to the samples that he had recovered from Shrike.

After Dick edited the sequences of animal DNA and removed them from the analysis, they were almost a perfect match.

Shrike was, or had been, Matthew Board.

Dick’s blood ran cold at the realization. Whatever the Court of Owls was, it had been kidnapping children in order to turn them into super-powered sociopathic killers. They’d been doing it in Gotham for years, decades even, right under their noses.

And he and Batman had put Jason right in their path.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The Labyrinth

Location Unknown

Time Unknown

Jason knew he was going to die.

That was his only rational thought as he stumbled forward through the dark, displaying none of the learned caution or stealth that he normally would have used. In truth, he was so consumed by the realization of his impending demise that he was scarcely aware of his surroundings, moving forward out of stubbornness rather than any real hope of going anywhere.

He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The way he would die was irrelevant. Cut apart by another booby trap. Bludgeoned to death by the fists of ferals and torn apart to be eaten. Finally succumbing to the gnawing pit of hunger and thirst that was welling up inside of him. It would all mean the same thing in the end: dying, alone, down in the dark.

Strange, to think of his death in such dispassionate terms. In a way, the only thing that surprised him was the fact that he was still alive.

He hadn’t seen any signs of life for…

He didn’t know.

He didn’t remember.

He didn’t care.

Lorena. Joseph. Chris. Sean. They all probably thought he was dead.

Maybe they were right. It certainly felt like he was in hell right now.

For all he knew, they were the ones who were dead. The tunnels reeked of so much decay and abandonment that he couldn’t really believe that there was anyone friendly left in the world. Moving through the darkness, still covered with clotting blood and other visceral filth, he felt so cut off and isolated from everything that nothing felt real.

One of the few reassuring things he still felt was the weight of the knife in his hand. He vaguely recalled prying it, his own hands still sticky with blood, from the grasp of a fragmented skeleton that he’d tripped over as he’d stumbled through the dark. Judging from the size of the remains, it had probably belonged to a past aspirant. One who had fallen into the blood pool, just as he had, and somehow died, just as he would.

The knowledge had scared him at first. He had stared at the knife for a long time, knowing that he could have turned the weapon on himself, ended all of the pain that he had endured and the pain sure to come by slitting his own throat.

The prospect had, admittedly, been tempting.

But Jason hadn’t done it. Instead, he thought back to when he’d found James’ body.

His friend had known he was going to die the moment he realized he’d been caught in the floor trap that had dumped both of them down here. Even with everything that had happened to him, he’d gone down fighting, quite literally tearing the guts out of his feral killer.

Even in death, James would have avenged himself had Jason not intervened.

That seemed like a good example to follow.

If Jason was going to die no matter what he did, he wanted to die doing something, die fighting his fate. As much as he wanted the suffering to end, he wouldn’t take the easy way out. As much pain as it would bring, he would keep moving, resist, even if brought him to the bitterest of ends.

Jason clutched his looted knife tighter and kept moving forwards.

It was as good a direction as any other.