#i’m just really bad at making decisions and i’m always hyperaware of how people are gonna react to the things i day and do anyway

[shadow-kid-cole]

i finally finished da2 and while the credits are rolling all i can see is my reflection in the computer screen. those are the eyes of a broken woman. this game broke me. holy fucking shit.

[analviel]

BAD BAT: an old thing I found in one of my notes, just wanted to share, not gonna continue it at all, I have no idea what I had planned for it.

Tim needed to do something.

Anything.

Anything but sit in front of the Bat-computer, staring.

Oh god.

Oh, god.

Tim needed to do something. Now.

But he couldn't because blood was rushing in his ears and his mind was sluggish, a desperate attempt to protect himself as his world crashed around him not for the first time.

This time, he didn't, wouldn't, have Batman beside him.

Because Batman-

Because Bruce-

Tim stared and stared and stared and all the evidence stared back.

The face of Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, and Timothy Drake stared back.

Robin stared back.

And of course Tim's mind had already made the connection, had already completed the picture, had already matched it to reality and filled in the blank spaces he hadn't even been aware was there.

Oh, god.

Combined with his sickness that had him benched for the night and the sudden, shocking, knowledge that Batman had killed his parents, had killed Robin's parents, Tim staggered to his feet and off his seat, socks slipping on the cool cave floors as he stumbled towards the nearest bin and upended his dinner. And lunch and breakfast and the other dinner until he was left dry heaving and crying in the Batcave over the stink of his vomit.

Oh, god.

Tim needed to do something.

Tim needed to start thinking of what to do.

The action was easy, instinct, trained. Retrieving one of his Robin storage from his jacket, Tim scrambled back to the computer to fumble with sticking it in, copying the entire file and all the incriminating evidence.

Methodically, he returned it back to its previous encryption, erased the backdoor he made, and burned every hint that he'd even come anywhere close to the file. So very, very aware of the chill of the cave, cold fingers digging in his inside, and senses peaked for any presence in the cold, cold cavern.

Now what?

Tim stared at the black of the screen of the Bat-computer and missed the light.

Shock, he distantly thought. He was in shock.

Robin- Tim stared down at the gold chip in his hand. So tiny. So harmless. And now it contained everything that could make or break.... a lot of things. A lot of people.

Oh god. Where was he going to go?

Oh, god.

Did he want to go?

Because Batman-

Because Bruce-

Bruce is Tim's father. The only father he's left.

And-

And maybe he's wrong.

(Denial.)

Maybe someone was trying to frame Batman. To turn his own family against him and what kind of son was Tim if he let himself be fooled so easily.

This couldn't....

This couldn't be right.

Tim took a shaky inhale.

Shook his head.

But if it was right then his current train of thought was all wrong.

Tim....

Tim was always left with the hard decisions wasn't he?

This wouldn't be the first time and he had the sinking feeling it wouldn't be the last.

So with an exhale, Tim yanked himself into the backseat of his mind and let training and objectivity slide in the slot of the driver.

In Tim's hand was evidence that Bruce Wayne, his adoptive father, had orchestrated the death of Dick's, Jason's, and Tim's parents deaths.

And just putting those in words, even just in his mind, almost had him with the knee jerk reaction to crash his mind just to stop thinking about it.

Now Tim didn't know what to do but he, undoubtedly, had to do something. Anything.

Well, anything that hopefully wouldn't get him killed by the man he considered his father-

Bad Tim. Don't think about that. Not now.

Later.

Who was he supposed to go with this information?

Alfred?

..... Tim didn't know. Everything he knew about Alfred said that the man would've never condoned this if he knew.

But everything Tim had known about Batman said the same.

Tim was too scared to be wrong and maybe even more afraid to be right.

Oracle? No.

Babs was a badass but she was vulnerable to Batman. She might be able to help, distanced from the situation as she was, certainly would be able to make better decisions than Tim currently could, but Batman could get to her -and it was easier to think Batman than Bruce- and Tim didn't want anyone hurt, least of all her.

Wether this was real or not and regardless of the growing part of him that wanted to shut it all out.

Tim was running out of time.

His mind was working against him.

And wasn't that a chilling thought because suddenly the word brainwashing and reprogramming-

Not now, Tim.

The sound of footsteps, faint and purposeful, was like a shot through his chest.

Tim stuffed the stick in a skin coloured garter pocket wrapped around his calf.

"Master Timothy- My goodness, young man."

Oh yeah. He didn't just feel sick, he probably looked the whole shebang.

He turned and he was vaguely glad that he didn't need to fake a smile or what when Alfred crossed the distance between them with a pinched expression, because he really didn't think he could put up any expression other than shock. And that he could barely hold up as it slowly gave way to despair and- and just an amalgamation of emotions he couldn't start even naming much less dealing with.

Alfred rested a hand on his forehead, "Young man, how long have you been down here? It seems your cold has worsen. Hardly a surprise when you spend your time down in this damp basement."

Who was he supposed to go to?

Tim had only a handful of options.

Alfred, Barbara, and-

And Dick.

Oh, god, did Dick know?

He tilted to the right and Alfred caught him, lips pursed. Everything feels like it's trapped behind murky water.

"I think that's enough. Go up to your room now and rest, Master Timothy."

Dick would've warned him, right? If Dick had known, his big brother would've told him, right? He wouldn't have let this happen.

Dick was-

His big brother.

Dick wasn't his only brother. Wasn't the last option.

Jason.

Oh. It's weird to attach that label to that name.

Weird.

Not bad.

The older boy -man? he's never quite sure what to call them, neither word sounding right- never really acknowledge him as such, it was probably beyond presumptuous for Tim to think of him like that even in the quite of his mind, but....

Tim's head shot up, almost headbutting Alfred.

"You're right, Alfred. I'm- I'm going to go up."

He ignored how weak his voice sounded and moved away from the butler towards the manor, just barely managing not to break into a run.

Then he was breaking out into a run once he's out of sight, past the many rooms and halls of the Wayne manor, and throwing open the door of his room. Without a single pause, he picked up random semi-presentable garments off the floor and wiggled out of his pyjamas to put them on, digging around his closet for the black box containing his customised watch to strap on his wrist, and grabbing his skateboard, a sticky note, and a pen on his way out.

Tim slapped a 'do not disturb, sleeping' note on his door. Fifty-fifty that the warning would be heeded, every second would count.

Tim turned on the micro computer in his watch as he snuck out of the manor and past the grounds, using the shadows of the night and his innate predilection for stealth to his advantage.

~*~

A banging on the door had Jason grabbing a gun, Kori standing at attention, and Roy training an arrow at the window.

They were in one of his safe houses in Gotham, a short stop to pick up some supplies, patching each other up from their latest mission, before they're going straight back to the base.

No one should be knocking on this apartment.

Jason exchanged glances with the others and slowly approached the door-

"Please! Jason, I know you're in there! Please, please open up! Please, oh god, please open up!"

Robin.

He'd know that voice anywhere, practically his largest trigger for the Pit Madness-

He sounded desperate. In fact, if he was hearing right through the hardwood, the boy was practically sobbing.

Already knowing who it was, and feeling a trickle of worry in the back of his head despite himself, Jason sped up the rest of the way and pulled the door open to see Tim Drake in all his civilian teen glory. Pale, red rimmed eyes, and choking on his breath.

Out of his armor.

Defenceless in front of Jason.

Not Robin.

The boy didn't even wait for an invite, stumbling inside and grabbing the door out of his hands and slamming it close behind him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing kid?" Jason growled, letting all his menace fill the air.

Roy raised an eyebrow.

It was strange to see Jason being like this with a kid.

But Tim Drake was different.

No, not really. Jason was just a hypocrite who didn't do what he preach and wasn't actually all that better from those scums he put bullets in.

And Tim- Tim just stared.

So miserably it was the only thing keeping the green at bay from flaring as it usually did around his replacement.

That and the fact that, this time, if Jason was going to do something, he'd have to look Tim Drake in the eyes.

"Did- did you know?"

The question was so quiet he almost didn't catch it with his thoughts still swirling.

Jason blinked, "What."

And Tim sobbed, sliding down to the floor in a breakdown and Jason's mind blanked.

And for the first time in a very long time, Jason thought where was Dick?

(The last time he thought that, he was in a warehouse and a crowbar was falling on him.)

"I-" Hands came up to wipe at the tears in vain, "It was my fault. If I didn't- dad, and mom, they- and Bruce-"

Tim made some sort of keening sound and, yeah, he wasn't going to get anything out of the kid in his current state.

And Jason was hyperaware of his teammates behind him, waiting for his lead.

Jason dropped in a crouch barely an arms length away. The kid didn't even flinch, didn't make any indication that he was aware in how much danger he was currently in.

His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating in a way that had Jason suspecting that his temperature was higher than normal.

"Kid.... Tim...." it was a challenge to keep his voice at least not aggressive. The boy choked on another sob, blue eyes purple in the dim lighting as he looked at him, and oh, fuck, he was hyperventilating.

Jason needed him present.

And there was only one sure way he knew to do that.

"Robin. Calm down." He said in that exact same pitch he did.

But to Jason's confusion and actual rising concern, rather than freezing and gradually falling back to trained breathing, Tim paled -how that was even possible with how pale he already was, Jason didn't know- and reeled back in horror, chest stuttering.

Shit.

Jason watched him.

He shook his head, but at least his eyes seemed more present now, "Don't- don't call me that, please."

Well, if he hadn't already thought so before, now he knew with certainty that it was Bruce that got his Robin running towards his homicidal predecessor.

Go figure.

"Hey, kid. Tim. You need to calm down. Mainly, because you're not gonna get out whatever you came here to tell me or whatever, and partly because I ain't promising I'm not gonna get violent if you keep wasting my time."

.... It was exactly what he wanted to say, but as usual, something in him got a bit complicated. Not quite regret.

But closest he was probably going to get.

He felt that around Tim a lot.

Tim hiccupped, finally falling back on training to shove aside the hysteria. Then he pulled himself to his feet, eyes staying locked on Jason's and completely ignoring the two.

He presented him with something gold and Jason looked at it with a raised eyebrow as he straightened himself.

"I-" he cleared his throat, "I don't know- Just. Jason, you need to see this- no, I mean, you need to leave Gotham, immediately, and then read it. Everything. Don't- Don't come back until you do, please. That's-"

He ran his hand through his hair the second he was sure Jason wasn't going to drop the stick, looking torn between being as far away from it as he could and snatching it back.

He exhaled a gust, deflating, staring at the older boy morosely, sparing a glance at his friends.

"I don't know what to do, Jason. I- I don't have anywhere else to go. I don't think...... I don't want to think anymore, please. I'm sorry. I could be wrong, I'm probably wrong, I'm being stupid and just overreacting and- and I don't know what to do when I get back. I don't know if anyone else knows, if Alfred-" his voice hitched, "Or, Dick, or- or Superman, I just. I just don't know-"

Jason watched the teen practically break in front of him and in a split second decision, he telegraphed his actions.

And pulled Tim Drake into a hug.

"Calm down. Calm down. Breathe."

He didn't coo, and his voice wasn't designed to be soothing. It was almost a demand actually but it worked and Tim stopped babbling and after a few minutes of complete silence and Jason's hand awkwardly drawing circles on his back, their breathing were in sync.

"... Thank you." Tim said to his chest, and fuck, the kid was short and so fucking small how did he not bleed out-, "Thank you, Jason. I'm going to go- go home now."

And because, well, he didn't really know what else to do, Jason agreed and sent him out, letting him go back to the manor.

He'd regret that later.

~*~

Dick stared at his phone with a frown, worry churning in his gut.

3p.a.;bst¿!

Seemingly a random keyboard smash text from an unknown number, but was actually one of the many protocols of the contingencies his little brother absently rambled about during late nights hanging out, one of the many codes he'd memorized, not quite humoring Tim since anything was possible, but not one he'd ever worried about in their immediate future.

Batman was compromised and likely going after Dick for whatever reason.

And okay, yeah, Dick was concerned but not harried, since if it was really bad then another protocol would've been activated. Mind you, the Batman being compromised was truly something to be concerned about, but it seemed whatever was happening didn't pose the risk of Bruce dying.

That said, Batman was compromised and last Dick knew, Tim was with Batman.

And now Dick had no choice but to trust that Tim knew what he was doing and was somewhere safe for them to regroup.

Not that it stopped the familiar stone in his chest whenever he worried about his little brother -little brothers.

Dick grabbed his emergency pack and prepared to leave, for Nightwing to disappear while they fix this.

Sorry about the big block but I'm... trying to figure out how to do the read more thing on mobile.

[pergaias]

soon we’ll be home ; pt. i

umm here i am with more writing ? 

here’s a short story i wrote based off of almost home by mxmtoon, innocent by taylor swift, and never grow up by taylor swift ; um, i personally adore it - maybe i’m just biased, but i love the emotions and descriptions in this :))

i hope you love it as much as i do !

word count ; 2470

When I was eleven years old, all I wanted to do was grow up.

They told me that I wouldn’t want to - being a child is … it’s the time of your life, Mama promised. She wore spicy-sweet citrus-blossom perfume and always-smudged eyeglasses that hung on long beaded strings. Mama was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and a tired, sad sort of energy, like coffee that had been left to go cold.

Mama made a lot of empty promises.

And because of it, all I wanted was to grow. To me, growing up meant laughing with friends, going to bed past midnight, driving in a bright-red sedan - eleven-year-old me had an extensive vocabulary, even if I didn’t know how to properly apply it - kissing boys and wearing dresses and lipstick. Things that I couldn’t have back then. Things that I thought were only attainable if I was grown. 

Why - why did I want it?

The coffee shop was filled with a droning buzz, the hum of university students up too late with too much caffeine in their systems. There was nobody coming to place orders, so I was leaning on my elbow on the bar, the smell of coffee and caramel syrup thick in my nostrils. No shouts of Emmie! As my friends - if they could be called that - barged in, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, scarves caught with snow.

Growing up had hurt. The realization that I wasn’t a child, that there was no place of retreat that I could go back to, that no one would comfort me or stroke my hair or hold me as I cried myself to sleep. It was easier in my lunch box days - when I believed in everything.

And everybody believed in me. 

There was a tinkling, and the coffee shop doors open. My eyes snapped wide, and a group of people sauntered to the counter, coats dusted with snow and cheeks high with color from the cold. Strangers in red and green and gold, stories in their own rights.

I wondered what they were waiting for - it was obviously something more than a hot cup of coffee on a late, snowy night.

A mocha for the girl, extra whip. Green tea for another girl, who was picking at her chipping gel nails. Americanos for the two boys who were holding hands. A peppermint special - sorry, love, pumpkin spice is still on the menu. Oh, yes, I’ll take that.

My hands shook as I wrote names and orders onto cardboard coffee cups, the scent of tea and coffee and spices almost overwhelming for a moment. Growing up was like Mama’s candied orange peels, mostly bitter but sweet if you looked for it.

And I - well, I was too tired to look for it.

Vega was in the back, her colorful highlights barely visible under a black knit cap. Vega had a septum piercing, a tattoo, and a girlfriend at home. She was the kind of person Mama - and Papa, for that matter - would have told me to stray away from on the street, but the kind of person I secretly admired nonetheless. 

Curvy, brunette Emerson Quinn-Whitley, the girl with the fake friends and shattered dreams and eyes the color of the coffee she made for minimum wage on a late shift, admiring an almost-delicate petite girl who did what she wanted when she wanted it, a girl with dyed hair and emotionless, luminous fox’s eyes, lips stained red with the blood of her conquests.

I shook the thought away. Vega was nice enough - Asian American, scholarship, hard worker, girlfriend at home, etcetera etcetera. I handed her the orders and leaned on my elbow again, my backpack full of shattered dreams, sleepless nights, and the sexy promise of an all-nighter.

Vega filled the orders, her thinly-plucked brows pressed tightly together in concentration as she drizzled something onto another something. The thought of why why why why why nagged me almost as much as the homework did. Why did I want to grow up? Why did I?

Because you were impatient, a sour part of my conscience nagged. Because you hated the rules your mother imposed on you, reminded another. Because you were waiting for Neverland, a different part sighed. A wistful picture painted behind my eyelids of a castle waiting for me to be queen, which slipped away like a tear down a cheek.

They didn’t tell you that all the love you give might not be enough. Was it when I had that epiphany that I grew up? A thousand possible moments, snapshots, memories, tinted dark like Polaroid photos. 

The chatter in the room crescendoed as Vega finished with the group’s drinks, her usually brooding expression firmly in place as she pressed a pumpkin-spice-not-peppermint-mocha into a girl’s mittened hands and shooed her out the door.

Bad vibes, Vega mouthed at me, hazel eyes twinkling. Vega liked witchy things - crystals, detox tea, chunky jewelry and drapey black dresses. Vega had personality - you could see it on the rings on her hands, the swoop of her black, color-streaked bangs, the hand-painted night sky on her bookbag. 

I tapped my fingers against the counter, counting minutes - seconds - until . . . what? Would a prince drop waltz through the glass door and offer me his hand? Would a fleet of owls - no, crows - no, how about peacocks, those sound cool - appear out of nowhere with summons for me, the lost heir, who had family and promise and a story, far far away?

If I wanted to grow up, this wasn’t it. I didn’t want to sit on a high stool behind a cash register, the smell of burnt coffee pressing in on me, the insufferable buzz of students doing homework droning on over the music playing slow and low in the background?

Our other employee, an unpleasant dudebro who went by Albie - his name, I had discovered, was Alberto de la Cruz the fourteenth or something - had chosen today’s coffee shop playlist. I had no idea who he was trying to drive mad first with the rapping; Vega and I, who bitched about his taste in everything from music to cars to girls - and one time, interestingly, tomato sauce, or our customers. They came here for cool beans and caffeine and classic rock or indie music, not Billboard’s Top 100 Rap Failures.

“Almost closing time,” Vega remarked, idly brushing an eyelash off of her cheekbone. She was tired - I could see it in the hunch of her shoulder and the tone of her already-husky voice.

I turned away from her as my head rushed to make excuses as to why I noticed that. Vega is dark chocolate and spellbooks, old bookstores and flickering chandeliers. 

“Yeah,” I said, my voice as droning as it was tired. “If coffee could power me the way it powered them -” I gestured to the students starting to slowly pack up their laptops and notes, their hours of free wifi, heat, and shitty music coming to an end, “I would have foreseen sleep in my near future.”

Vega cackled. She didn’t have a laugh - she cackled, wheezed, snorted. It was equal parts entertaining and annoying, especially when you were working with scalding-hot espresso and your coworker started honking like a demented goose next to you.

“That was a good one, Quinn-Whitley,” she barked, a gleam in her eyes. She was emotionless when she made coffee, and only talked to me around closing time and during lunch. I liked to think that I was the only one who got to see this side of her - probably high, very very gay, and incredibly enthralling. Vega was a story that I wanted to read.

I half smiled, preemptively untying my coffee shop apron and haphazardly hanging it on a hook. As much as I disliked working at the coffee shop - which had, ironically, been a vaguely romantic, soft sort of fantasy when I was younger - it was comforting, in a way. Comforting in the way the smell of coffee brought you back to when you were nine and your mother had a mug curled in her hands, staring out the window as rain pattered on its panes.

The last of the coffee shop’s patrons gloomily filed out, coats turned up to block out the wind, and Vega and I silently closed up, making coffees for each other, muttering don’t tell Carney - Carney was the shop owner - pressing day-old muffins into each other’s hands, Vega rolling her eyes as I hastily stuffed another bite of pastry into my mouth.

Leaving the coffee shop was routine. I’d scuff my boots along the lightly-snowed-over pavement, Vega would put her headphones on and tune out the world, and I’d drag her out of the way if she veered into some poor unsuspecting soul’s way.

“Vega!” I exclaimed, dragging her across the street. Her eyes were closed, her dark-red lips moving along with the song, completely blissed out. Or maybe she was just that sleep deprived.

Vega and I had the same student housing building, but other than that, I knew nothing about her - not really, but I wasn’t a stalker-watcher-psychopath or anything - yet Vega wasn’t heading to the gothy, romantic brick building. I described too many things as ‘romantic’ nowadays.

Growing up had been romantic, too - the idea of being on my own, making my own decisions, getting taller and more voluptuous, as if my flat-chested boyishness of sixth grade was the root of all my problems. ( Spoiler alert, Younger Emmie - they weren’t. )

“Vega,” I said again, pulling at her coat sleeve. Her eyes were half-closed, her headphones firmly over her ears. I was getting exasperated - every night as we walked back, she zoned the world out. It was admirable - I was paranoid and hyperaware of everything around me, the opposite of slim, petite Vega in every way.

But she opened one of her luminous hazel eyes, lashes dark against her cheeks, and beckoned me forward. Towards the river.

“Come on, Emerson!” she laughed, and I was stunned. Vega Zhao was dark chocolate and mysterious smiles, dark loose dresses and the fringe of a woolen scarf. She didn’t laugh or smile wide or drag me down an icy street to an equally icy river.

“Vega - what?” I said weakly, still holding onto the sleeve of her crowlike coat. She rolled her eyes. Beckoned me again. Didn’t take her headphones off.

She had always been strange - the brooding, emotionless expression. The personality in her clothes and makeup and hair, but not in her unless we were on break. Vega was a mystery, a novel that was still being read.

And I think I had gotten to the plot twist.

She carefully clambered over the low stone wall over to the rocks that made up the riverbank, me a few moments behind her like a beanie-bedecked, anxious shadow. It was late, I was tired, my homework a constant thought in the back of my mind. 

Vega was taking her dark coat off now, revealing an equally dark shift dress over a short-sleeved white shirt. She slid her headphones off now, stuffed them into the coat pocket, reached for my hand. “Come on, Quinn-Whitley!” she repeated, as if she were inviting me to a bakery - or better, an alternate universe where my essays were already written - and not to an icy river.

“Vega,” I said hesitantly, trying not to blush as she took my hand. “What - what’s going on?”

Vega’s eyes only glowed, luminous hazel, like the harvest moon at its peak. 

“You don’t believe in fairy tales, do you, Emerson Quinn-Whitley?” she said, her husky voice taking on a strangely melodic quality.

“What did fairy tales do for me in the end?” I snapped, my voice surprisingly sharp. There was bitterness behind that statement, so much that my tongue could almost taste it. My once-golden dreams crumbling away when Mama left, when Papa’s hand made a claw on my shoulder. When nights reading in bed dissolved into studying in tears, screaming into my textbooks because I wasn’t good enough.

Vega’s eyes darkened, almost sadly. And then she waved her hand over the ice-frozen river and stepped in. Winked at me, held out her slender hand invitingly, and disappeared.

“VEGA!” I screamed, reaching out. But it was like she was there and gone, like she’d slipped away in a moment in time. Somehow, between blinks or heartbeats or breaths, she simply vanished. 

The water still glowed where she stepped in, gold and amber and almost warm. Emerson, Emerson, Emmie! it seemed to call. My mother’s voice on the day of the first frost, Emmie, I can smell the pumpkin spice in the air! My father’s gruff baritone, grudgingly admitting Emerson, you - you did well.

And then Vega. Quinn-Whitley. Step in the goddamn portal. Live a little, Emerson.

I stepped back from the shimmering water, fear holding me back and fatigue making me question everything in front of me. 

Do you believe in magic?

You don’t believe in fairytales, do you?

Soon we’ll be home, Emmie. Soon we’ll be home.

A cacophony of voices. Everyone I had ever loved, gone. All gone. Were they ghosts? Was this river a swirling cumulation of every broken dream, every shattered hope, every happy memory that faded in time like the fading of bright autumn leaves?

Soon we’ll be home.

But where was home, my home? I was Emerson Quinn-Whitley with the divorced parents, the mother who was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and coffee left to go cold, the father who was the smell of brandy and ice-chip eyes and bear hugs that filled you up like hot cocoa. I lived at a gothic-romantic dorm with three roommates and a mountain of homework. Where was home?

I didn’t know that growing up would come and meet me. Wishing on a star, waiting for a glorious daydream to take me away into its world of glittering gowns and sequinned smiles, a world where all my worries melted away.

I crept closer to the patch of water where Vega vanished, and first it was like a mirror - my round face with its worried eyes and smattering of freckles - and then like a birds-eye view of some other place. Vega in her white shirt and black dress, trees with leaves the color of pumpkin and spice. 

Behind me, a group of drunken strangers passed the river, wearing red and green and gold. I wondered what they were waiting for - a shooting star, a cab driver to take them away?

What was I waiting for? I liked to think that I’d grown away from the fairy tales that I had lived by when I was a child. But maybe everyone had to be a child sometimes.

I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, and stepped in. 

Soon we’ll be home. 

[iwhumpyou]

The Cost (Part 5)

Masterlist.  Wergild.

Taglist: @whumps-the-word, @swordkallya, @whumpy-daydreams.

Part 4.

~#~#~#~#~#~

“Peace,” Jayden said again, sitting across from Jace in his office.  His tone was…disbelieving.  Incredulous. Skeptical.

“I know,” Jace smiled wryly, “I had trouble believing it too.”

“How did it happen?” Jayden asked, raising his eyebrows.  He was looking around Jace’s office – Jace had changed it significantly since his father had been clan leader.  “And you said that Clarissa leads the elementalists now?”

“Her father died in a skirmish,” Jace said, his smile freezing on his face.  He’d been invited to the funeral, as Clarissa’s friend, and had watched as her siblings stared, stony-faced, as the man’s ashes were lowered into the ground.  There hadn’t been a tear in sight.

“Ah,” Jayden said.

“Clarissa always wanted peace,” Jace continued, “She called for a summit of the six great clans.  One thing lead to another, so I went.  Peace is difficult, but our people deserve a better future.”

“One thing led to another,” Jayden repeated, as though he was mulling the words over, “The broken curse. The spring.  And you’re hosting elementalists, now?”

“Nerali is a friend,” Jace said easily, “The curse could only be broken by a willing elementalist.”

“And she was willing?” Jayden asked incredulously, “Jace, her wounds stretch up to her shoulder.”

“She almost killed Mirai,” Jace said and, choosing to sidestep the details of the entire series of events, “This was her wergild.”

“Ah,” Jayden said again, something clouding over his expression.  He leaned back, like he was thinking through a realization.

“Well, I suppose one elementalist is fine,” Jayden cracked a smile, though his chuckle died at Jace’s pained expression.  “There’s…more than one elementalist here?”

“Aidan,” Jace said through gritted teeth.  “Clarissa’s brother.”

“The firestarter?” Jayden raised his eyebrows, “Jace, you agreed to host one of the most destructive elementalists in our home?”

“It’s complicated,” Jace waved off his concerns, because explaining it would mean explaining Nerali and why she’d given wergild in the first place and Jayden had fierce opinions on how family should treat each other – it’d been why he’d been quasi-exiled in the first place.

(Jace’s father hadn’t taken kindly to people disagreeing with his methods or questioning his decisions.)

“And his powers are suppressed,” Jace drew out the key around his neck to reassure Jayden, “He won’t be a problem.”

“And easily dealt with, should he decide to become one,” Jayden nodded, his gaze fixed on the key. Then he blinked, and his expression settled on Jace again.  “Congratulations, cousin,” Jayden smiled, “I’m glad that you’ve achieved your dreams. And I’m sorry – about Clarissa, about –”

“The past is the past,” Jace said lightly, “It wasn’t your fault.  And I’m glad you’re home.”

“For family,” Jayden smiled.

“For family,” Jace echoed, wondering why Jayden’s smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

~#~

The newcomers – the warriors of the clan who ranged beyond the forest, led by Jace’s cousin (the dissidents, Aidan knew exile when he saw it) – integrated back into the clan easily. It was clear that none of them had visited after Jace had become clan leader, which had to be at least three years.

Jace had taken control of his clan after a sudden power restructuring caused by the loss of his father and the entire council.  Aidan remembered it well, because Father had decided to take the localized chaos as an opportunity to attack.

Clarissa had ascended to clan leader barely a month after Jace.

So it was Jace’s father that had decided to exile these people. How bad did they have to be that even a power-hungry megalomaniac thought they were too much?

(Aidan knew.  Aidan recognized those cold, ice-blue eyes.  Aidan knew full well.)

He made sure that Nerali was never alone with Jayden.  His skin crawled at being so close to the other man (alone and unprotected and powerless) but he hid fear with sneering derision and biting comments.  It served to keep the newcomers away from him – because Jace had clearly told them something – and Aidan struggled against the urge to grab Nerali and get the hell out of there.

Just a few more days, he told himself.  Nerali’s burns were the last to heal, and he knew from painful experience that burns were the worst.  A few more days, and she wouldn’t need the magic spring water anymore.

A few more days, and he could put clan walls and an inferno between him and the man that still haunted his nightmares.

Mirai gave him odd looks as he suddenly restarted stalking Nerali’s footsteps – looks that were more guilty than confused, as if he cared about their fledgling attraction when a monster was at his door.  Felix had taken to scowling again.  Jace had washed his hands of the whole affair – every time he saw Aidan, his face pinched as he made the deliberate decision to stop caring and headed in a different direction. 

Aidan, in turn, never quite met Jayden’s gaze.  The man looked puzzled whenever he was the target of Aidan’s glare, but thankfully hadn’t seemed to put together any of the pieces.  Aidan needed it to last.  Aidan needed to ignore Jayden until he got his powers back and cocooned himself in flames.

Lunch, therefore, was a trial and a half.

Jace had started holding massive communal meals to celebrate the return of his family and Nerali was obviously always at Mirai’s side.  The problem was that by sitting next to Nerali, Aidan was across from Jayden.

Aidan sat, and glowered, and chewed on food that tasted like sand in his mouth, hyperaware of his sister next to him.  He had already mapped the exits.  He knew the key to his cuffs were around Jace’s neck.

If Jayden made one wrong move, they’d be out of here.

“Is there something on my face, firestarter?” Jayden asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

Aidan narrowed his eyes, “Aside from the obvious?”

“I mean, you’ve been staring at me since I got here,” Jayden shrugged, amusement shifting across his face. “If you have something to say, let’s hear it.”

Mirai rolled his eyes. Jace groaned softly.  Nerali gave him a look that was clearly warning him to behave.

“Just wondering why you’re back,” Aidan said.  The words were harmless, his tone was not.

Jayden’s eyes narrowed. The table fell silent, the quiet a tangible weight.  Jace straightened in his seat, watching them both warily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jayden asked, his tone light.  The amusement was gone from his face.

“It means that Jace has been clan leader for three years.  Why return only now?” Aidan asked.  Only after the curse was broken.  Only after peace was brokered.

(Only after Jace was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt?)

“Watch your tongue, firestarter,” Jayden said quietly, “You’re here as our guest.  Don’t poke your nose into clan business.” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Aidan took on a face of mock surprise, “We have a peace treaty now.  Anything that threatens the stability of your clan is my business.”

“You expect me to believe that Clarissa’s violent little brother is here as a diplomat?” Jayden asked, incredulous, but Jace cut off Aidan’s retort.

“Enough,” he said coldly, glaring at Aidan, “Nothing is threatening the stability of our clan. Careful, firestarter, or I might start taking your words as a threat.”  And then, to Jayden, “The elementalists are our guests, cousin.  Be polite.”

Jayden narrowed his eyes. Aidan didn’t acknowledge Jace’s words. “I am being polite,” Jayden said finally, “I simply want to get to know our new allies better.”

Aidan snorted at that, turning his gaze back to the food he could barely taste.

“Have we met before?” Jayden asked, and Aidan stilled, the pit dropping out of his stomach.  “You really don’t like me, but I don’t think you were old enough to be on the battlefield before I left.”

“You don’t need to take it personally,” Aidan gave him a flat smile, “I really don’t like your entire clan.”

“Are you sure we haven’t met?” Jayden mused, frowning as he stared at Aidan, “Something about your face seems…familiar, I just can’t quite remember where…”

“I try not to make a point of meeting assholes,” Aidan said.

Jace blinked at him. Mirai choked on her drink.  Nerali hissed ‘Aidan!’ under her breath.  Felix almost looked amused.

But Jayden just tilted his head to one side, still frowning.

~#~

Part 6.

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 15

Chapter 18, Pages 83-88

Past two weeks have been... rough isn't the right word, that implies a specific level of hardship. Mismanaged implies that I made management decisions at all. I think "thoroughly paralyzing" and "difficult to manage" were what it was. If I ever mention emails in the preamble again you can be sure there's a 50% chance I'm imminently falling apart and disappearing for a while under the pressure. I still haven't conquered them at the time of writing this, but I've made some progress..

Over the weekend two sets of friends dragged me out, so that's helped a lot in resetting my mind to a less frozen space. I got to see a bird art exhibit and pick up a friendly kitty! I have no idea where yesterday went but I finished DDLC the day before, which was fun and I'd like to write something about.

This week's looking better.

Anyway! Previously, Edward Ferrars has returned, and makes his greatest spoken appearance thus far with all the sisters; and in the comfort of their familiar company he sounds very much at ease and how Elinor would refer to as "as himself." It's very sweet, but it also sounds like he's nursing something broody underneath it all.

Geez it's been almost two weeks.

It took me a good four hours today to get back into reading again, but I'm glad I did. This chapter was so sweet, and I feel like it's helping me get my life rolling again.

Readthrough below.

Chapter 18

Edward Ferrars is doing a good impression of me during social outings. Poor Elinor, he's so despirited she's not able to even read if he still loves her/wants to see her;

and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradicted one moment what a more animated look had intimated the preceding one.

Another for the nice line stack. I really know the feeling though; that you should or even are genuinely happy to be there but something weighs on you in a way that whatever you should naturally feel gets swallowed. Like happiness is a poor signal being intermittently obscured by static and noise. And other people can pick it up easily even if they don't know the cause; poor Elinor is feeling insecure right now being made to guess what it could be.

Edward's behaving oddly, not just in Marianne's opinion but in mine as well I think. Or at least, very detachedly. He skips breakfast with Elinor to go a walk around town to admire the scenery; I have to pause my train of thought for this actually:

"I shall call hills steep, which ought to be bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which out to be irregular and rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be indistinct through the soft medium of hazy atmosphere. [...] I call it a very fine country - the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley looks comfortable and snug - [...] I can easily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me."

When Marianne tries to press Edward for the details of his aethstic opinion after his walk, he gets pre-emptively defensive over his inability to meet her standards of aesthetic appreciation. Asides from illustrating that Edward knows how to describe what he lacks, it's really helpful to me for being an incredibly easy to reference breakdown on the difference between observations made from aesthetics versus utility.

Steep hills, out of sight objects, comfort and resource presence are all practical concerns. Meanwhile, uncouth surfaces imply personality, a hazy distant skyline adds atmosphere, promontories are dramatic and grey moss and brush wood are appealing visual details. I haven't really stopped thinking about narrative voice, so I'm suddenly struck wondering about a detective/reporter dynamic where two characters cover the same scene but one is practical and the other is poetic, and seeing the difference... Well it's probably been done and I should nix this train of thought before it takes me interstate.

Amusingly, Elinor undercuts her beau by explaining to Marianne that Edward is not nearly as exclusively utilitarian-minded as he acts... he just masks the latent poetry within his soul because he holds a slight reactionary bias against aesthetics, because he finds some aesthetic appreciators to be fake and pretentious. Oh dear. :'D

Fortunately for Edward, Marianne agrees that florid language has been done to death. Unfortunately for Elinor, Edward refutes her claim that he has any hidden poetic appeal. He goes as far as to use language like "crooked, twisted, blasted trees" while doing so too, which, I think we can all agree it's a waste that he doesn't employ them more often. :'D

Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her sister. Elinor only laughed.

Same. :'D

Oh, oh no.

Next paragraph Marianne spots that Edward has a new ring and blurts out the observation for a conversation topic. Oh no, no that can't be any kind of good in general. A surprise new ring? In a romance novel? Murder! Bloody murder! It's like finding a bloody handprint in a murder mystery; Edward what have you done??

I might be having a little trouble following what comes now though. So there's a hair inlaid in the ring (what is it with people keeping each other's hair?), which Marianne asks if it's Fanny's. The hair's not the right colour to be Fanny's, but Edward makes an excuse while glancing (guiltily?) at Elinor. So now, both sisters think it's Elinor's hair, and he's lying about the source because he's embarassed? Marianne thinks it Elinor gave to him, but Elinor thinks he secretly stole it from her?

I think that's what happened?

Elinor doesn't even like... particularly mind that her hair might have been stolen to make a ring.

That hair is definitely not Elinor's though, which I think she will mind.

[Elinor] internally resolved henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and satisfying, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the same as her own. [...] how little offense it had given to [Elinor].

Elinor's natural skepticism, at an 11 for Willoughby, is turned down to a 1 for her beau. In fact, her natural skepticism is playing second fiddle to her basking in attention; from the rest of the context it sounds like she's just using it as an excuse to admire her beau apparently wearing her hair. We've seen paranoid hyperaware Elinor, and this is definitely not her. This is a new Elinor, this is aaaaaaaaaa my beau has a secret memento of me aaaaaaaaa i can't betray my secret internal happiness aaaaaaaaaaa Elinor.

I don't even think I'm reading too much into the secret internal happiness thing, girl has feelings and biases. If it were Willoughby with the strange ring of hair she'd be driving herself up the wall with concern, but that it's Edward she's already half-convinced herself of his fidelity. Either it's not her hair, or he stole her hair behind her back, and neither is a good thing! In fact, the latter is quite a stretch, and Edward seems like an awful liar. And even though she assumes the latter option, that he stole her hair without her consent, she's not even upset! That's not just creepy nowadays, Elinor acknowledges in the text that she should be affronted! It's creepy then too! Poor girl has it bad.

Mama Dashwood are you gonna say anything? I don't think Marianne is useful here, she's just happy to see signs of love.

Oh boy, there's not even much of a reprieve before Sir Middleton and Mrs Jennings show up to meet the new lad in town. 0 seconds for Mrs Jennings to figure out Edward is Elinor's secret beau. Poor Elinor is gonna get her match made so hard. I expect exponentially increased amounts of unwanted advice.

Sir Middleton invites them to more parties, as he do, which may or may not be the coming chapters. Marianne is still despirited that Willoughby is absent. Edward catches on to all these mentions of a mysterious Willoughby and Marianne's despondent reactions, and pieces things to together to come out and ask Marianne privately... if Willoughby hunts.

He just made a joke, that cheered Marianne up. That's adorable, I love it so much. Bonding... :')

Not just him too, the entire narrative was setting that one up for the reader, trying to build it up into some kind of serious question or confrontation so that Willoughby could deliver the punchline on Marianne. On a dry technical level it conveys the same bare minimum of information that it otherwise could have (that Edward has figured something out and confronted Marianne about it), but on every other level it's so much more heartwarming and just adds such a fine, tender touch to an interpersonal relationship that really doesn't get all that much positive attention.

And beyond touched, Marianne is all of happy, anxious and certain that Eddie would be great friends with her Willoughby, which, I need many new sentences to express how incredibly meaningful that is.

Marianne's relationship with Eddie up until now has been marked by a frustrated inability to understand him, and mostly held together by the good words and attention of her sister. They're established to be friends and positive, but there's always a fraught element to it, especially since we've seen that she and Willoughby together have had a similar antagonistic relationship towards Brandon, and that doesn't play out well even with Elinor's defense. Given how much she insists that she shares her heart and mind with Willoughby, we can reach the implication that she treats her opinion or place as interchangeable with Willoughby's. If she can confidently opine that Eddie will like Willoughby, then I think this is that tender moment where we can see that, no matter how or if they fight or disagree, Marianne truly believes that Eddie deeply likes and appreciates her, because that's what's necessary to like Willoughby.

And Eddie reciprocates! "I do not doubt it." He has no reason to know that Willoughby and Marianne have appreciably interchangeable level singlemindedness, so he just likes Marianne enough to be ready to accept whoever it is that she loves.

It's such a lovely note to end an otherwise tense chapter on. That interaction alone might have made it one of my favourites so far.

[armsdealing]

@neotropical​ sent: 10, 12, 15, 18, 26, 26 for Shiro | 28, 31, 36, 40 for Fenrir character development questions / inbox cleaning.

SHIRO.

10. what energizes and drains them most? shiro is introverted. heavy social interaction can drain him really fast, especially inane social interaction like small talk. paradoxically, being idle can also drain him. if he's not sleeping or eating, or reading or using his mind in some fashion, he'd rather be out there in the field, investigating cases and trying to solve them. he's a bit workaholic, and feeling like he's doing nothing worthwhile can affect his mood.

12. how are they bodily expressive? how do they use nonverbal cues such as their posture, stance, eyes, eyebrows, mouths, and hands? he's more expressive than he gives himself credit for, though most emotions tend to be negative, like annoyance or irritation or suspicion, if not outright anger cuz he's grumpy as fuck. he has expressive eyes even in wolf form, and since they are devoid of color the dilatation of the pupils is very clearly visible when he's agitated. body wise, he also goes tense, hackles proverbially raised, fists balled up, mouth pinched into a frown (or flashing fangs), standing tall or slightly crouched as if to lunge. his body language is pretty authoritative, typical of his species. and though like i said most of the emotions can be negative, he's not above showing emotional vulnerability. if he feels moved, he can truly start to cry right then and there (albeit stoically) without carinh, and if he's content/pleased/happy he's not above smiles -- though they are rare.

he's also easy to make blush if flirted with too heavily.  :/

15. what kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? calculating and practical? full of doubts and fears? does it find any sort of outlet in their lives? mostly on the practical side, that's for sure. he tends to be motivated toward concrete goals, and is very good at staying focused. of course, he is not above occasionally daydreaming and losing track of things. this happens especially when not engrossed by something; his mind is full with grief regarding his past, as well as wariness toward the future, and that can lead him into brooding. his main outlet for his thoughts is his job as a social worker and private investigator. he finds it very rewarding that he can put his skillset to good use for the benefit of the community.

18. what kind of person could they become in the future? what are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? what paths would you especially like to see, and why? best case scenario shiro becomes a more tolerant person of humans, learning to understand and accept the gradations to their morality and that some humans are okay, while also learning to cope with his trauma in a healthy fashion, growing all around more emotionally open. along those lines he also accepts that he can have romantic feelings for someone without negating his sense of purpose and identity as a vigilante slash undercover god dlfkjdkf.

worst case scenario he distances himself more from the warmer side of him and opts to become a cruel and punitive deity that sees things mostly in black and white terms (something he already does to an extent) and doesn't form actual relationships with anybody, opting instead to dedicate himself to slaughtering humans he deems evil. basically it's a regression: going back to the same place where he was before making it to anima city and turning his life around.

both are likely, but of course the most likely is the former one if things go ideally -- like if he has more positive contacts with humans, and if others manage to get through to him emotionally. basically friendship and love will save him.

i'm good with either path tho of course i want to see him become healthier. i'm not opposed to him getting worse before he gets better, because i do love myself some drama.

26. how do they view and feel about relationships, and how might this manifest in how they handle them, if it does? he doesnt have many of them. most are purely incidental and tho they are positive they're not very deep. it's mostly work related or people that leave in his apartment building that he chats with from time to time or like, the owner of the coffee shop he frequents ddfjh. he thinks they are okay but at the same time he feels awkward and doesn't know how to go about them. he feels distant (his past and status as a god play a role no doubt) and even tho occasionally he wants to be closer to people he doesn't know how to even start. he's also a bit of a jerk and that doesn't help.

27. what do they strongly like and dislike, in any category? why? shiro greatly dislikes humans as a result of his past, being a victim of a massacre where all but himself died (purely on incident, since he was beheaded). he thinks they are all an irredeemable and violent bunch who sees his people as lesser. he also doesn't like beastmen that work with humans, seeing them as just as bad as humans too. in a more casual note he does not like the cult that has formed around his person, he thinks it's all a bunch of scammers trying to make money off his image. he wants to do something about it but isn't yet sure what.

he likes seeing anima city prosper and thrive and see beastmen happy; it genuinely warms his heart. and he likes children a lot. he has worked with the city to find many orphaned children better homes. he also has an affinity for boots and sweaters. 😌

FENRIR.

28. what are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? why? i mean if he had the opportunity resources and time odin would be DEAD already dfjgdhjfg prophecy be damned. he would've already put down a lot of asgardians, if not asgard itself. other than that... he's off and on about the idea of forming a legitimate pack. he could do it but it's a risky move considering gods are always cutting him short whenever they think he's getting 'too powerful'. but those things aside he doesn't want for much and he DOES already have the resources and time to do whatever he wants... to an extent.

31. is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? what makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? why? fenrir has a short fuse and on bad days if you get on his nerves he will kill you. i mean he will really just shoot you dead for annoying him if he doesn't feel like acting civil. disrespecting him is a big no-no, he has a low tolerance for idiocy and people who think they can act all insolent around him. if you think you're close enough to get away with that you need to give yourself and ur relationship with him a long hard look because chances are you're wrong. acting like you're better than him/superior to him? dealbreaker. pitying him in any way? also a big dealbreaker. it truly annoys him. he will sooner stop talking to you than entertain your sympathy, even if what he's going through is worthy of it. he doesn't want anything to do with it. other things that can ruin his day is pain flares due to his bound status -- he deals with chronic pain 24/7, and it's the source of most of his bad moods.

as for things that makes situations go smoothly -- if the pain is unusually mild that given day. nice food or drink, or completed jobs, and presence of people he likes (family, or lovers)

36. how much do they rely on their minds and intellect, versus other approaches like relying on instinct, intuition, faith and spirituality, or emotions? what is their opinion on this? fenrir is more instinct and intuition than intellect, but he is by no means dumb. he is hypersensitive and hyperaware of things and is constantly processing amounts of information that would knock out the average human, and acting accordingly to it all. his hunches are usually correct and he's quite capable of analysis and deductive reasoning when necessary -- take for example when he quite correctly guessed that asgardians where trying to trick him with gleipnir. emotions play less of a role when it comes to serious decision making, tho yeah like anybody sometimes he will act purely on passion if its something that affects him to such a degree. he doesn't feel any particular way about it, and is confident in his decision making (perhaps sometimes overconfident but yh y'know, that happens), since it tends to work for him.

40. what do they wonder about? what sparks their curiosity and imagination, and why? how is this expressed, if it is? for a long long time(pre-binding) midgardian culture truly sparked his curiosity. he wanted to learn about humans and how they operated and the things they liked to do. after this curiosity was satiated he doesn't express wonder over many things. he has unanswered questions about the fate of the world and how fate will play out but virtually everyone does. he would rather spend his time in the present than invest a lot of time simply thinking about the future. simply put, he is not an imaginative person. 

[trylonandperisphere]

ASK POLLY APR. 1, 2020

‘I Don’t Think I Can Handle 18 Months of Isolation’

By Heather Havrilesky

Hi Polly.

So the world’s falling apart. I’m seeing quotes from experts that predict this will go on for 18 months or more. I don’t think I can stand the stress and isolation all that time. I have mental-health challenges, so I think I might crack. And I’m not sure our infrastructure can endure it either. I have a medical condition that’s stable and doesn’t put me in danger of COVID-19. However, I worry the strain on the health-care system will take away my treatment, leading to a slow death. And then there are the usual worries about things like food. Will the supply chains hold up six months or a year from now? How do you see all this happening and not start looking for an exit? I’m willing to admit that I’m weak or entitled. People around the world deal with this all the time. I don’t think I have it in me. How do I find some strength and hope?

Feeling Weak

Dear Feeling Weak,

On any day of your life, a million terrible things could happen. Every morning, you have to force all of the awful possibilities out of your mind. You do this because there is no alternative.

I’ve always been a very fearful person. I’ve always been sensitive to the fragility of the human body and the myriad ways lives can be ripped apart. My dad died when I was 25 years old, and it made me even more fearful. Then I had a baby.

Imagining all of the bad things that could happen to the baby almost sent me over the edge. I felt like someone had removed my liver and now I had to hand my liver over to other people, and ask them not to drop it or neglect it.

One day I came home, and my husband was holding my liver in one hand while stirring a boiling pot with his other hand, all the while talking to my stepson in an animated, cheerful fashion.

I freaked out. “You are going to kill me,” I said. “Calm down,” he said. “Stop being so overdramatic.”

My heart started racing even more (Pro tip: The words “calm down” are never calming!), but I washed my hands and then took the baby away from my husband. And then through gritted teeth, I said something like this: “You are going to listen to me very closely. Don’t talk. Just listen. I am in a very, very particular, unfamiliar, fragile place. I have never felt this way before. I’m going to have to describe it to you. You are going to have to listen. You do not have to understand or believe that I am remotely sane. You can continue to believe that I am irrational. But if you do not listen closely and respect and honor my needs around this fragile feeling, this marriage will end. Period. This is not negotiable.”

I wasn’t someone who threatened to end my marriage, ever, just to be clear about that. I needed to communicate clearly that we were on perilous terrain.

We retreated to the bedroom and talked for a long time. I told him what I needed in order to raise a baby with him. He told me the reasons he thought I was nuts. I told him that I was fine with him thinking I was nuts. He could continue to do that. Of course my views were not utterly rational. Rational was not the point. Calming down was not the point. He needed to understand how high the stakes were for me. Even if there was a .0001 chance that my baby would drop into the boiling water, the stakes were too high for me to endure those odds. He didn’t have to understand my feelings, he just had to operate as if he had the same feelings, for my sake.

It took a lot of persuasive talk, and tears, to get my husband on my side. It was exhausting. But by the end of our talk, my husband got it. He agreed to behave in ways that were guided by high stakes and my irrational feelings and to never say the words “Calm down” to a woman whose liver you’re holding. And if ALL OF THAT sounds nuts to you, that’s okay. These were the conditions I knew I required in order to raise a baby with someone who was more careless than I was in every way. These were the things I needed in order to share a house with this man and trust him to raise a family with me.

After that, I felt better. And my husband never told me to calm down when I described the toddlers who get left in the car or run over by a clueless grandparent backing out of the driveway. He took on the low-odds possibilities until he was worrying about them himself. I turned him into a slightly neurotic, hyperaware parent. I formed him into a seismograph, in my image. Call it twisted, I don’t give a fuck. It worked. We were aligned. We fought less. We kept our kids relatively safe from harm. Maybe we became obnoxious. Maybe we were paranoid. I still don’t care. I didn’t feel alienated and alone in my marriage, because I dared to get very, very specific about my needs.

And once I knew I had someone on my side, I started to calm the fuck down. I made a resolution to keep all of the looming threats in mind without INTERNALIZING and VISUALIZING and LOSING SLEEP OVER the millions of ways a baby could die or become injured. Any time I went from safeguarding my kids to picturing something awful happening to them, I learned to stop myself.

Doing your best to avoid disaster is practical. Repeatedly imagining disaster, on the other hand, is wildly impractical. Once I realized how jittery and anxious I was feeling, I steadfastly refused to indulge my imagination when it came to my baby. I resolved not to become a pile of nerves quivering on the floor. I wanted to breathe and feel happiness and survive parenting without being transformed into a shadow of my former self. I wanted my kids to be aware of danger but not paralyzed by fear at all times.

Mistakes have been made, that goes without saying. But the decision to never fixate on terrifying outcomes when it came to my kids was very important. I could still fixate on bad outcomes FOR ME. But that was (and is) a world apart from doing it about my kids. Eventually I didn’t have to try anymore. The second I pictured something terrible, it was just: NO. CAN’T.

Everyone is different. Everyone experiences different conditions as threatening or scary or paralyzingly awful. We all have to respect these differences while relentlessly standing up for our own needs and asking for exactly what we want from the people who are closest to us. That means becoming a tiny bit shameless, I should add. It took a shameless amount of assertiveness and belief in my own particular sensitivities as a seismograph to ask my husband to behave as if he, too, were a seismograph. I had to get very specific. I also had to let go of the need to be right and seem rational. I had to own my role as the Chicken Little of the family.

“Pretend the sky is falling with me,” I told my husband, and he did. It was an act of love and solidarity. I was so grateful for it. It kept us glued together at a vulnerable time, when we could’ve fallen apart for good. I didn’t have to hate myself for being a chickenshit or a seismograph. I could relax because someone was on my side.

That story probably feels pretty divorced from your circumstances, but it’s not. For you to feel comfortable safeguarding yourself while also refusing to fixate on the millions of horrible outcomes that could befall you specifically and all of us generally, you need to stand up for the particulars of your mental health. You need to look closely at your specific emotional challenges as a human being, and you need to say: This is how it feels for me. I feel like I want to find an exit. I feel like I can’t survive this. I feel like I am not strong enough.

Here’s the suicide hotline for anyone who’s been feeling that way: 1-800-273-8255. Commit to reaching out to someone when you’re feeling bad. Everyone is struggling right now. We’re all in the same boat at some level. It’s important to understand that moments of extreme darkness will come and go, and things could get a million times worse and still be survivable. Put your faith in human connection: It makes all the difference.

If you have close friends or a partner or a family member who can listen to you describe your very specific Chicken Little–flavored needs and desires and align themselves with you, and show solidarity for your (sometimes irrational!) experiences of what this moment means, then call that person or those people. Open up to them, and explain your needs, and get them to understand.

But let’s be clear: Finding people who will join you where you are is very, very hard. It’s hard for all of us, always. If it feels impossible? Guess what? You’re not alone. Try your best. And if/when that fails, I want you to write everything down for you, until you clearly comprehend who you are and where you are and how you’re feeling right now.

This is not about descending into darkness in any permanent way, mind you. This is simply about painting a picture that someone else might understand, a persuasive portrait of how you’re experiencing this moment. This is you saying to yourself: YOU ARE HOLDING MY LIVER OVER A BOILING POT OF WATER. This is you crying and telling yourself: I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN DO THIS. DO YOU FUCKING GET THAT?

This is you making your needs crystal clear. This is you standing up for who you are, without shame. Does that really matter, all alone in your apartment as the world crumbles around you? YES, IT DOES.

This is you saying: I deserve to have my needs met. Think about all of the times you were treated like your needs were irrational, like you needed to calm down and shut the fuck up, like you needed to stop being so in the way, so inconvenient, so absurd, so laughable, such a wreck. I’ll bet you can think of a lot of examples.

Use this moment to get your own back. Take this opportunity to say to yourself: I don’t fucking care if I’m fragile and irrational. I’m going to honor my needs without shame.

Don’t skip this step, even if it seems beside the point. Honor your needs, without shame. That’s number one.

Number two is: Protect yourself. Take very good care of yourself. Feed yourself well, exercise, get plenty of rest. Stay aware of the threats so you can do your best to avoid those threats. Put energy into making yourself feel as healthy and resilient as possible.

Number three is: Resolve not to fixate on the millions of terrifying possibilities you cannot control. You can make this choice now because your peculiar needs matter. Remember? You’re honoring your needs without shame now. One of your needs is this: Avoiding the terror here. You said it to me for a reason: You aren’t strong enough to hold these terrors inside your head for 18 months. So don’t do it.

Are you strong enough to survive for 18 months in isolation? Yes, you are. You’re strong enough as long as you’re honoring even your most irrational needs without shame, being very safe and careful in areas that are within your control, and letting go of all of the circumstances beyond your control, as in banishing them from your fucking head permanently.

Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (Read it if bleakness makes you feel stronger. If not? DO NOT READ.) is about a man who’s struggling to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. As the man and his son travel south toward the ocean, looking for food and shelter, the man tries hard to avoid big questions and unknowns that might threaten his ability to survive. Because he has a boy to take care of, he becomes extremely practical. He protects his boy and he keeps moving forward, no matter what. There’s a sense of calm beauty underneath the horror of every word McCarthy writes. Showing up for whatever comes next is beautiful. You don’t have to be a hero. You just keep moving.

I probably wouldn’t have sat my husband down and insisted that my irrational view was going to need to be honored, back when we first had a baby together, if I weren’t convinced that our ability to raise a baby and stay together depended on it. It took something bigger than myself to force me to finally stand up for my very specific needs and persuade another, very skeptical human being to hear me out and get my back.

Today, you’ve been faced with a challenge that’s much bigger than any challenge you’ve faced before. The stakes are high. This enormous calamity dwarfs you and exists outside your thoughts and feelings completely. You have to treat yourself with extreme care under these conditions. This is an opportunity for you to finally stand up for what you need at every level, in a very concentrated and intense way that is fully justifiable and concrete. This is a chance for you to design a map that you can use to navigate this disaster and every other disaster to follow this one, guided by your very irrational, specific desires. This is your time to learn to blot out the parts of the world that are just too gigantic and out of your control for you to metabolize, and focus on what you can actually control and have influence over instead. You have to avoid big questions and keep moving forward. You’re about to achieve a sense of mastery over your life and your understanding of yourself, while letting go of what you can’t control in a permanent way. These high stakes are a blessing disguised as a curse. Take this blessing.

What sustains you? What can you create, every day, to bring you life, to build up your strength? What beauty is lurking underneath these terrors? As Ranier Maria Rilke wrote, “No feeling is final.”

The path before you is simple. You wake up in the morning and you put Chopin: Nocturnes in your headphones and you look for joy. You embrace every tiny glint of beauty and every scrap of hope hiding in this small, enclosed life. You surrender to the reality of this “borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it,” as Cormac McCarthy put it. You eat this divine silence, this dark longing, this lonely sweetness, this solitary dread. You sit in your quiet garden and welcome the weather, good or bad. No feeling is final. You are strong enough.

Polly

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 7x18 Dirty Girls

aka gotta have faith

We did it, guys! We made it to the last season! Also, hello if you’re new, and stumbled upon this without context. As usual, these impromptu text posts are the product of my fevered mind as I rant about the episode I just watched for an hour (okay, sometimes perhaps two). Anything goes!

And in today’s episode, our secondary villain is finally revealed made of pure misogyny, and Faith is here to make everything better.

So... Dirty Girls. We really are in the finish line of the season now.

This episode opens with two scenes that I’m not sure were intended to have the connection I made, but let’s do it anyway. In the first, we’re introduced to Caleb, a priest with extremely misogynistic views of women, who is revealed to be an agent of the First. And one who’s been pulling a lot of its strings in our world at that, like blowing up the council, or organizing the Bringers.

I guess Caleb hates humanity as a whole - he is aligning himself with the First after all -, but he directs pretty much all of that hatred onto women. He calls the Potential he picks up with his truck a ‘whore’ and ‘dirty’, and from his fantasies of his past, you get the idea that he specifically targeted young women using his authority, seduced them, and then turned it around and punished them for it.

Misogyny as a theme happens a lot on the show of course, Buffy fights the patriarchy after all. But when it comes to overt depictions of it, it’s often a bit… well, overt. You want to cheer Buffy for punching the douchebag in the face, but you’re also aware of how it’s an exaggeration of reality, made to get that fistbump reaction out of you.

And actually, that’s something that I think is worth re-examining too. A few years back, when the Supergirl TV show was about to premiere, there were a lot of discussions around this type of overt feminism. When I watched the pilot, I experienced some of these cringe moments myself. But, despite some of the many actual problems of the show and its feminism at the time, it also got me thinking.

Why? Why do I actually feel cringey about this?

And the answer that I found was that I was imagining watching the show from a perspective other than my own. Kind of like watching the 1992 Buffy movie back in the 90s with my brother made me hyperaware of its many faults, instead of giving me a chance to enjoy its culty ridiculousness.

So, while considering other perspectives can be essential in forming critical thought of your media, there’s a difference in trying to understand a minority perspective for instance, and feeling the need to put yourself in the shoes of the dominant culture, and base your opinions with that in mind.

But that’s a tangent inside a tangent.

Disregarding all that, imo the show’s most successful and impactful depictions of misogyny arguably come from characters who don’t always act like monsters. I actually like the bad guy from Reptile Boy for instance. He acts charming and nice to lure Buffy in, and only reveals his true nature, once he holds all the power.

Caleb in that sense then, is the show’s best and most horrifying example of that type of misogynistic evil.

(And yes, we could also talk about the Trio here, but trying to fold them in would be yet another tangent, and it’s time to talk about the actual episode at this point.)

Caleb says to the First that he doesn’t lie... but that’s a lie. He does lie. By wearing the symbol of authority, of someone you can confide in, he tells you that he can be trusted. And yes, there is very much a commentary here about the evil of religion and Catholicism, but the point being is that for someone in that community, Caleb’s appearance signals no threat. And Caleb uses that assumption to his advantage.

He only gradually reveals his true nature to Shannon at the beginning. First by calling her a whore. Because hat that point, he knows that he holds the power in their interaction and that he doesn’t need to pretend to be anything but the monster he is in order to lure her in. Shannon’s guard is down, and he knows that she can’t escape.

Caleb’s misogyny is disturbing because it’s still believable in all of its overtness. He does what he does because he knows that he can. He has the power, and that power reveals all of his deepest darkest thoughts with nothing to keep him in check.

And right after this scene, you get Xander’s dream. Where he dreams about two Potentials coming onto him in a threesome situation (and specifically with the two women also getting it on with each other in front of him, because I guess fetishizing lesbians is still a thing that Xander hasn’t internalized despite his best friend being one), while the rest of the girls are having some sexy pillow-fight in the other room.

So… I guess we’re pairing up scary misogyny with “”fun”” misogyny?

Of course, since this is a dream, we can argue that Xander can’t really be held responsible for it. We don’t have power over our dreams after all. It’s where our subconscious works through stuff, and that doesn’t reflect our persona wholly.

Except then the question still remains – why is this scene here? Why would someone write this scene in, especially in an episode full of these themes? When Xander wakes up, he’s immediately faced with the reality, where his role is to fix the toilets. It’s supposed to be funny. Look how powerless he actually is, compared to the girls.

But then he also gets the big speech moment in the very same episode, supporting Buffy, and then loses an eye to Caleb. How are these things connected? And if they’re not… why is that scene at the beginning there?

I mean, you could interpret Caleb removing one of Xander’s eyes as a punishment for Xander having these ‘urges’… Except Caleb’s comment before doing that doesn’t reference that. It references Xander’s speech from Potential, where he’s telling Dawn that he sees a lot by being underappreciated.

So, that’s probably not what they were going for. And it’s a stretch of an interpretation. In the end, there’s little to no reason for that scene to be there, and therefore I’m left with the impression, that the writers weren’t even aware of the misogynistic angle of Xander fetishizing all these young women in his dream. They just thought it was funny.

God, I wrote 1k workds already, and I haven’t even got to Buffy’s storyline in this.

This episode is setting up the pre-finale twist of everyone turning against Buffy, which I kinda hate. And that bleeds into my thoughts of Dirty Girls, unfortunately.

Like, I get it. Everyone kept telling Buffy that this was a trap, that it was a bad idea to bring the Potentials to confront Caleb without knowing more, and she ignored them. And that got a whole lot of them injured. At least two of them dead. It was a bad call.

On the other hand, didn’t Giles keep telling her in the last episode that she needed to make these hard decisions? That she needed to think big picture, and accept that there would be losses? And now, when he advises her against action, and she makes the damn ‘hard choice’ and ‘acts like a general’ I guess it’s still her fault, huh.

I swear, nothing Buffy ever does is good for these people. And maybe that’s the point we’re making, that leadership is lonely and hard and whatever the fuck, but I’m tired and I kinda hate it.

Buffy fucked up, yes. Okay. But instead of dealing with that, instead of having an honest conversation where we can explore these things, we just vaguely hint at how this is driving a wedge between her and the rest of the group.

Thanks, I hate it.

But hey, at least Faith’s here! The way Eliza Dushku delivers this line in particular is an absolute highlight:

SPIKE:  “Not all that tension was about you. Giles was a part of a plan to kill me. For Buffy's own good.” FAITH:  “Well, that makes me feel better about me… worse about Giles...kinda shaky about you.”

The show also addresses the fact that no one told Faith about what the fuck was going on. Which… is a bit of a problem, and paints each and every character on Buffy in a pretty bad light? Willow’s whole explanation about how, well, Faith was in prison and they thought she was safe there falls pretty flat (especially since Faith was in fact attacked in prison due to this), and the characters know it. More than anything, it just feels like they all forgot about Faith, and how this whole plan of the First to murder the Slayer line affects her.

And yet, to be honest, I couldn’t help but feel like it was the writers that actually forgot? Or at the very least, thought that it was inconvenient to share this information with Faith, before both shows came to a point where they could integrate her character into the story again?

Anyway, whoever you blame this on, it’s kinda bad.

Overall, Dirty Girls is still chilling and effective, and Faith is a breath of fresh air in this final stretch of the season. I’m just not a big fan of where we’re taking Buffy’s arc here before the big finale, and that shows.

Next up: Wine mom and vodka aunt fight over the kids’ love.

[loxxxlay]

In your BOH series, is there any quirky habit the brothers have that they forget is not a normal thing to do? Something that even made their friends scratch their heads and squint their eyes. Not the abuse that’s too easy, lol. Something a bit more subtle.

Hey, same anon. I just meant that the sex is an obvious weird habit.😂 I was just wondering about maybe some non-sexual habits. But I guess you can add on to that question and talk about the intimacy because I do think that’s interesting to talk about.

I did mostly non-sexual habits, but I also threw in some sexual ones because I am a depraved demon. XD Also, I focused mostly on post-BoH because a lot of these behaviors don’t really start showing til they’re back on talking terms.

In general, I think a lot of Loki’s habits remain the same? He’s been through the wringer in terms of abuse (this is a pro-thanos-tortured-loki blog after all XD), but he’s definitely gained some new ones! As for thor, whose only real trauma until now has been the loss of his family, he’s had a lot more to lose and therefore a lot more quirky habits to gain. XD

but anyway here’s some stuff they do together or in relation to each other

they stick to each other like glue. Esp directly post-BoH, you will rarely see one without the other because they’ve been so emotionally co-dependent on each other. It’s definitely annoying at first for thor’s friends because they can never see him one-on-one anymore? but they accept it because thor seems to be a lot more relaxed when Loki is present. (which I’m sure .. is not a situation Loki enjoys finding himself in again. but thor is a lot more aggressively defensive of Loki now… like his friends are the third wheel… so it’s okay.)

Loki is hyperaware of thor’s presence at all times XD When somebody asks where thor is randomly, Loki will immediately have a location and the activity thor is doing, no matter what. if they’re in the same room, he’ll constantly be looking&checking for thor’s location too. Both of which are kinda creepy to people who don’t understand why. On the flip side, thor doesn’t always know where Loki is because during trauma sometimes it was easier for him not to know… But when somebody asks him directly , he’ll feel an irrational amount of guilt for not being able to answer. :(

If they’re together, thor’ll often seek Loki’s approval/permission to do things–like talking to people or going off alone with people or pretty much anything. It’s subtle (like, thor will glance at Loki before agreeing to anything, and Loki will give a quick nod without thinking to reassure him), but it’s noticeable and def gets the other avengers worried about what’s going on. When thor is without Loki, he’ll deeply struggle with decision-making. this goes for food/drink too. And like, Loki is unlikely to touch anything that wasn’t prepared by him, but thor will, as long as Loki gives his approval (which Loki does, because he can recognize his fears are irrational when applying them to thor… also he wants thor to eat dammit). thor, much to his own chagrin, does not have the same sway in getting Loki to eat though >.> 

if the two have been apart for a while, when they see each other, they’ll immediately check each other for any injuries. Loki will sidle up to thor, saying “how are you?” casually, whilst he checks the undersides of thor’s wrists. thor himself will give loki a quick bodily scan as he responds. and u can imagine everyone is always like wtf lol, but the bros don’t even think about it.

for movie nights, romance scenes are a Hard No. if there’s a kiss scene that lasts longer than 1 second, they’ll either get an instant boner or be exaggeratedly repulsed (loki usually the former, thor usually the latter). once the avengers know about Certain Things, they quickly accommodate this by having a designated “Movie Screener” every week who can keep track of the time stamps for triggering scenes :D

they both absolutely *hate* loud party-like music. if they’re in a situation where it’s unavoidable - loki will be a rising crescendo of anxiety (talking faster and faster, trembling more and more, just overall panicking, which expresses itself in a heightened irritability). He probably gets to the point of almost fainting until he can slip away. thor, on the other hand, just shuts off. Immediately. His face goes slack and he stops speaking  or doing anything really, and it takes a while for him to be coaxed out of it, even once he’s removed from the situation

and a sexual one: sometimes they both straight up accidentally kiss instead of hug. in front of everyone. they never mean to. which doesn’t seem like a big deal post-BoH, but first of all - the avengers don’t know they’re fucking so this is Super Weird lol. and second of all, the bros are both super triggered by PDA. So after kissing in front of ppl, they’ll freak out, probably put a shit ton of distance (if not walls) between them… which…. is frankly even weirder to the Avengers lol. like, okay incestuous kissing, weird, but maybe it can be rationalized as a silly Asgardian custom… at least until Loki is all but sprinting out the door and thor is puking into a stray vase lol

And then here we have some more individual habitsss (and maybe ones that are a little less subtle and a little more sexual):

thor becomes way less physically affectionate. less hugs, less pats on the back, less of all touching. :( he often will go stiff or shy away when other ppl touch him now too

loki was already like ^^^, but now, often when he’s comfortable, off-guard, or maybe intoxicated, he’ll become almost inappropriately sexual (and not only with thor, with anyone). mostly he’ll be verbally flirtatious, but his hugs and shoulder pats will sometimes come with sexual caresses lol #yikes

thor stops drinking. he’ll binge-drink some nights if something triggering has happened, but social drink is a no. when it’s bad, he doesn’t even like to be around other people who are drinking (unless it’s Loki)

Loki will take constant, constant baths. Like bathing 2+ times a day. He feels he needs to scrub the ick off himself. Which is very cliche, but it’s what he does okay so there.

and i already have talked about this, but thor requires constant social interaction. he always wants to be around people (mainly his friends; he might be a little shyer of strangers than usual) at all times. whereas Loki 100% isolates himself when thor is busy. He’ll allow a couple of close friends (i.e. Val) to spend time with him but only every 3-5 business days and they have to initiate. XD

Anyway that’s probably not all I got but that’s all I feel is acceptable to say in one post lmao. thank you so so so much for the ask, this was SO MUCH FUN oh my god. Weird Quirky Habits Spawned From trauma are MY FAVORItE tHING EVER like i’m not even joking. Every time i write a fic about noncon, my brain instantly goes to “yeah but what does it make them do” so this was a great opportunity to be self-indulgent. thank you XD

[haikyuu-imagines-and-others]

I was afraid sth like that might happen bc tumblr kinda always finds a way to fuck up. But thank you so much!! I really appreciate it ♥ My request was a college AU scenario where Iwaizumi has some lectures with the chubby!reader and she has a huge crush on him, but doesn't approach him bc she's too shy & thinks he won't like her anyway bc of her appearance. But they start talking and eat lunch together at some point, and they soon become friends and he asks her on a date and they kiss maybe ?

I couldn’t agree with you more, love haha It tends to eat up a ton of requests :( Even for me for other blogs!! At least we caught it though! :D This was a super cute idea… so I hope you like how I wrote it out! Thanks for requesting! - Admin Satori

Iwaizumi Hajime:

It started with a brief glance - you’d been studying in the library, cracking your head open for the chemistry equations to fit in there properly for your upcoming test. Helium and Hydrogen molecules blending together, you’d looked away to give yourself a chance to relax and not pop out of their sockets from the stress building behind them. An oncoming headache, you knew, but what was more important to you? Your grades or health?

Considering how many headaches you got in the average week, you promised yourself you’d take some time to heal. Evaluate your mental wounds before getting back out there for that well deserved ‘A’.

For now, you stared off at the front doors of the library… Again, you hadn’t meant to catch his eye when he walked in, backpack slung over his shoulder, dark green eyes showing you nothing much past his clear exhaustion.

A single glance, nothing more than a locking of eyes for less than a second.

Yet, there you were… blushing as if he’d just given you the corniest pickup line.

Then he was turning and walking to the coffee shop in the corner of the library, his backpack sliding just the slightest down his shoulder as the smell of the hot bean water infiltrated his still half asleep mind.

You hadn’t seen him walk away. You’d buried your face in your hands, trying to look like you were tired or rubbing your eyes, but internally you felt as if you were on fire. He’d looked at you. He’d locked eyes with you! That beautiful, gorgeously built young man had stared into your eyes and you into his foresty green ones.

This is absolutely ridiculous, you knew, to be so hung up about a single, meaningless glance he’d thrown your way. But how could you not react the way you were? Iwaizumi Hajime was the leading champ in almost all the sports your University provided, and he was a top student! He was practically a celebrity on campus! Of course you’d be honored to be at the receiving end of his gaze.

But now wasn’t the time to fall into another drooling episode. Checking your phone, you hopped out of your singular cubicle seat and grabbed your school work. Your ‘philosophy’ class started in less than five minutes and you were not about to be late. Again.

The next instance of being blessed with his gaze, and this time his actual presence, was that next day. Biology class, required for all students regardless of majors, but ultimately not doing anything for what your dream job would have you be doing. Or at least, the lowest level of bio you might need… You weren’t sure yet. Choosing majors was hard.

You’d been dozing as the professor took their time getting their study lessons in order, making sure their presentation would work properly come action time. You’d crossed your arms in front of you, and as each minute passed you realized you were lowering your head in exhaustion. Who required students to attend class at 6AM? Why? You weren’t even human at 6AM - just some amalgamation of exhaustion, red bull, coffee, and irritation.

You were not a morning person.

“Is this seat taken?” You were waving off the question of the asker - not really in the mind to be kind this morning; You were tired. “Are you sure that… combination is healthy?”

“Look, guy, if I wanted health tips, I would have paid to be in a health cla-“

But the rest of your quip died on your tongue as you went to glare at whoever decided 6AM was a good time to start judging and asking questions.

Because there he was. Wide awake, a little red from what you assumed was his morning practice, but an amused smile pulling the corner of his lips as he saw you flush with embarrassment. ‘Cute’ he couldn’t help but think as you ducked your head with an awkward cough.

You didn’t look at him for long, quickly blinking to break the trance he had you in before you were looking down at your class materials - the lights of the classroom being dimmed just the slightest so the professor could start their presentation for the day.

Bad idea.

With the lights dimmed, there was an electric current running between you and the actual adonis sitting next to you. Every time he inhaled, your stomach clenched - every time you went to take a note, he shifted in his seat. Yin and Yang - though equal in reaction, different in action. Together moving in sync. You’d glance at him when you didn’t think he was looking, enjoying the view he so graciously offered - and he would blatantly stare when you’d turn your head down to focus on your notes.

Needless to say, you were hyperaware the rest of that morning.

He took it upon himself to seek you out the next time you two met. He felt he hadn’t been fully awake enough to enjoy your embarrassed reaction that morning in the library, but regardless of that fact he felt as if he owed you some kind of apology for being rude during class. Who was he to decide if your routine was unhealthy? Sure, he was currently ‘paying for a health class’, as you’d grumbled that morning, and yeah, he did know first hand what red bull did to peoples hearts… But who was he to judge?

Books scattered around your small corner table in the cafe. Your food, cold and forgotten, resting on the very edge of the table as you manuevered books closer and further from you as they gained or lost their necessity value. Studying was a bitch, you’d come to learn - dozens of different studying styles had never fit you.. But of course the one that made you look like an insane person actually stuck.

Just your luck!

Though the table was fairly packed, and your jostling it as you reached and pushed books away or towards you didn’t help.

Soon enough, as gravity and fate would dictate, your lunch plate was tipping over the edge of the table. You didn’t even have time to react - your eyes watching as it slowly shook further and further towards its demise.

Then it was stopped. A hand swooping down and picking it up before it could tip into the void. And you were confused, for an embarrassingly amount of time, when you didn’t hear the shattering of the plate or feel the amused stares of your classmates judging your clumsiness. But when you finally realized the crash would never come is when you followed the hand that currently held your lunch plate.

Amused forest green eyes stared back at you, his eyebrows raised a bit as he had waited for you to come to your senses. How deep in Study Mode had you been? Had you taken a break yet? Regardless, he set his plate down on the empty table next to yours before coming back to you, closing the books closest to you and setting your lunch on top.

“Eat. Food is brain power.” Then he retrieved his plate before doing the same to the books across from you and taking a seat.

What the hell just happened? You blinked rapidly as you tried to answer that question yourself. Your food was cold, but God did it look good.

But he looked better.

“Uh… Thanks…” Iwaizumi nodded to your appreciation before he started eating his own food, his eyes glancing around at the books nearest him in curiosity. What was your major? What did you want to be? There were a lot of different subjects surrounding him… were you just catching up on homework? Procrastinator until the last minute? “I-“ His eyes met yours again as you spoke, your cheeks blooming a gentle red at how immediately he’d given you his attention. “I’m _______.”

Iwaizumi smiled as he nodded, “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime….” Though your eyes betrayed your meek nod - you knew who he was. The moment you laid eyes on him, you knew exactly who and what kind of Godly person he was. Though your high thoughts of him flew out the window at the sight of his soft blush as he rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously - he was human. Just like you. Just like anyone else. “Uh… I wanted to… apologize… For earlier, in Bio….” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with saying sorry.

“Apologize?” Your voice was quiet as you echoed him, staring blankly at him as you tried to understand what it was he was sorry about. “For what? We just met today…” Though you knew that wasn’t the full truth. Sure, you’d just introduced yourself today - but you’d seen and even snapped at him during class. You’d locked eyes in the library. Not exactly meeting and becoming acquaintances for those two instances.

Anxiety nibbled at the inside of his stomach as you unintentionally dragged out something he didn’t really like doing. Apologizing, even if he was in fault, always took a bit of his pride. “I had no right to judge you the other day in Biology… If you want to mix red bull and coffee, that’s entirely your decision.”

His words didn’t register as serious for the first few seconds after they left his mouth. And for a moment he was worried you hadn’t heard him before he realized you were actually just 3 feet in front of him… there was no way you hadn’t heard him.

Your lips pulled at the corners as you tried to hold back your giggles, your eyes crinkling at why he’d apologized - how goofy. He really thought you’d taken offense to something like that? You went to cover your mouth as you quietly laughed, his eyebrows furrowing as he pouted and looked away from you. “What’s so funny?” Though his tone revealed he didn’t really want to know because he knew it was silly of him to apologize for something like that… too late.

But you shook your head with a wide smile, your hand lowering as you, boldly, reached forward and patted his hand resting on the table. “Don’t you worry your cute little head, Iwaizumi-san… You didn’t hurt my feelings in the least.” His cheeks grew a bit red with you saying his name, even if it was his last. Though you didn’t understand it as that but rather embarrassment of you teasing him for his ‘transgression’.

“Maybe I should have then.” He grumbled, his hand turning on the table top to feel your palm resting against his, your fingertips lightly touching his forearm.

You nearly choked at the feel of his hand against yours - his warm touch sending your stomach twisting into itself. But your confidence was soaring from his gall to apologize for something silly like that, so you merely laughed quietly and patted his hand this time, “I’d like to see you even try.”

His pout turned into a challenging smirk as he caught your hand with his on one of its pattings. “Okay, how about… Over dinner then…” His gaze held yours, and it felt as if your soul were leaving your body at just how… intense the man before you really was. You’d heard stories, and first hand experiences from those around campus, but they paled in comparison to your immediate moment with him.

Heat was all you felt. Heat in your face from your blushing, heat in your chest from your heart slamming against your ribs, and heat in your hand as you held his just as tightly. This was moving much faster than you’d ever experienced before. Where was the chasing? Where was the silly chatting? The friendship that awkwardly made its way into romantic feelings?

Where was the insecure boy you’d usually find yourself dating?

Iwaizumi was different.

Iwaizumi Hajime is a confident man of action.

And winning your attention seemed to be his first and only goal in your budding relationship.

*sniffles* I didn’t get to the kissing TT~TT But I’ll probably do a Part II, whether its requested or not ;D

Tag List:

@this-badass-cutie-patootie @summon-the-stars @mme-hajime @kuroosarium (ah you changed your name love!) @lyra8 

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Penumbra: An Interactive BTS Horror Story Part VII

Premise: Seven friends return to their old high school for one last night of mayhem before the building is condemned. But everything is not as it seems… What will the group do when they find themselves trapped in a warped hellscape with no means of escaping?

That…is up to you.

The Rules: To participate in this story, all you need to do is vote. At the end of each chapter, you will have five hours to make a decision via the poll provided. Do this or do that: you decide. Whichever option receives the majority of the votes is the path we will all follow together so please…choose wisely.

Another prudent decision. You have chosen well once again. Jimin and Jungkook leave room 104 to find the others.

Now what will the boys do? Your final decision is here. Want to know more about the characters before you vote? Read this.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Masterlist

WARNING: This story contains material that some readers may find frightening, disturbing, or unsettling. If you are sensitive to graphic imagery or dark situations, proceed with caution. Please read at your own risk.

Seokjin runs a hand along the warped wallpaper, tracing it with his fingers. The three boys had been wandering for a while, searching for any familiar corner or corridor that could lead them to their friends. Armed with the bloody, ripped papers and not much else, they decided to at least try to figure out the newspaper clippings. But even though they’d encountered plenty of bulletin boards in all their endless walking, it yielded little in the way of information.

“After a series of mysterious structural malfunctions, the building has been condemned indefinitely. Local rumors speculate that the contracting company plans on building a new high school on the grounds, but this has yet to be confirmed. Yoojin Han, theater teacher at Haneul Academy of the Arts, says he would be happy to donate to the construction of a new school.”

And that’s all they could find. Printed several times on each bulletin board they passed, this seems to be the most important article. None of the newspapers mentioned Minnie. The only trace of evidence Seokjin could glean from the stained old papers tacked on the boards was the mention of an ‘accident’. Nameless, without so much as a detailed description, there’s not much to the accounts. Truthfully, he’s had a bad feeling about the clippings from the beginning, and he’s managed to convince Taehyung not to go grabbing them for the moment. But after what he pulled with that tongue…

Seokjin isn’t so certain that Taehyung won’t do something reckless again.

Taehyung walks behind Seokjin while Namjoon leads the charge as per usual. Seokjin tries to read his expression but can’t quite place the cocktail of emotions that he finds there. Or perhaps it’s the lack of emotions in Taehyung’s eyes that sets Seokjin on edge. He turns back to the wallpaper, dragging his hand along it with a sigh. He vomited any food he had been storing in his stomach back in the auditorium, and now his gut is grumbling with waves of hunger pangs. Seokjin’s mind keeps wandering and that’s no good for him.

This whole place, all these spirits, all this roiling energy…it reminds him of Eunjin. She would have found this building fascinating. She might have even sickly enjoyed it somehow. Back then, he might have thought the same himself.

Not now. Not after everything that happened.

Seokjin shakes his head to clear it and takes a bracing breath of chilly air. He watched Namjoon’s back, his flashlight fading in and out of life as its beam sweeps around the unfamiliar corners and glints on the foreign class number placards.

“I think we should go back and collect the clippings,” says Taehyung.

Here we go, thinks Seokjin as he pauses mid-step. He turns to Taehyung and raises his brows. “Haven’t we collected enough?” he asks, gesturing with his eyes to Taehyung’s full pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Taehyung’s back stiffens a little and his Adam’s apple bobs with a measured swallow. “We need information. Know your enemy-,”

“Who cares if we know the enemy or not? Clearly, learning more hasn’t exactly been our golden ticket out so far!” Seokjin exclaims, remembering that horrible, mangles tongue from before. His painfully empty stomach churns again.

“What if it has to do with that man that Hoseok saw? Or the man in the diary entries?” asks Taehyung with a charged glance at Seokjin.

The two share a brief exchange, neither speaking for a long moment, until Namjoon clears his throat and plants a hand on the bulletin board beside him. He stares at it for a long moment then glances over his shoulder at the boys. Ever since the auditorium, Namjoon has been strange. Like the thin threads holding him together are beginning to unravel, like the very fabric of him is beginning to fray at the edges. Seokjin is hyperaware of this shift. He can see it even in the set of his friend’s jaw.

“How much worse can it really get?” asks Namjoon, his hand seizing on one of the clippings and ripping it off the board.

Seokjin’s heart races and he lurches forward, reaching out for Namjoon’s arms. “No!” he shouts, but it’s far too late.

Namjoon pockets the clipping and the building shakes, rumbling as if it may collapse and rearrange once again. The lights overhead flicker and in the darkness, Seokjin catches the brief glimmer of something. A specter or maybe an orb. But the thing is gone as soon as the lights return and Namjoon stares at him with wide eyes.

“I told you,” says Seokjin under his breath, gripping the bridge of his nose.

“What’s going on?” asks a familiar voice.

“Let’s go,” says Jungkook, looking at Jimin seriously as he two stand breathless in room 104. “That guy could come back any time. Staying here…,” he begins, but stops when he realizes how much his voice is wavering.

He clears his throat and watched Jimin furrow his brow. He’s worse for the wear. Blood spotting on his shirt where he was hit, his skin splotched with dirt and sweat, his hair clumping here and there. His eyes are feral as he looks back at Jungkook. There’s something in his expression that Jungkook never noticed before. Something…strong.

“You’re right,” he says, then levels his wild eyes with his. “Are you sure you’re not scared?”

Jungkook swallows hard and rubs his hands together, watching the ground for a moment. So much has happened, it’s impossible for Jungkook to lie and say he’s not. Besides, Jimin’s always been the sort of person who can pick up on people’s moods. There’s no use playing tough with him.

But something in Jungkook outweighs his fear of dying.

And it hits him like a ton of bricks as he looks at Jimin by the doorway, still panting from the exertion of fighting that man.

He stiffens and nods his head. “I’m scared,” he says. “But if the others are out there right now, and if they’re scared too…we have to find them.”

Jimin’s stoic expression breaks into a soft, tired smile and he nods his head once. “Okay,” he says gently. He places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “This is really brave, Jungkook,” he says.

Jungkook nods and clears his throat. “Let’s go,” he says, maneuvering around Jimin and walking carefully out into the hallway. “Maybe we can try checking the entryway or something.”

Immediately, he hears a groan that makes him jump a little. But the memory resurfaced of Jimin shielding him from that shadowy man, his arms wide, protecting him with all the force his body had. And he found the strength to keep going. He squeezes his eyes shut and angles past a corpse lying on its stomach, arms reaching out into the hallway, deteriorating ankles crusted with long-dried blood.

Jimin winces beside him. “Looks like his Achilles tendon was cut,” he says.

Jungkook scowls. “How do you know?”

Jimin jerks his head toward the body. “You can tell from the wounds on the backs of the ankles. Makes it impossible to walk.”

“Where did you learn that, Jimin?” he asks, peering down at his friend.

“I…I read a lot of scary shit online, alright?” he says before sighing and waving his hands. “Forget it. Point is, that must’ve hurt a lot.”

Jungkook glances back at the corpse splayed out on the rotting ground and surpasses a shiver. “This place…it really is merciless isn’t it?” he asks.

Jimin is quiet for a moment as the two walk through the darkness. “I guess so.”

“Doesn’t this hallway look a little weird?” asks Jungkook carefully as he glances around the corridor.

Without Namjoon’s flashlight, the place is too dim to make out any concrete details. But certain things stand out. Doors and windows, vending machines, sharp turns down undiscovered hallways. And from those things alone, Jungkook can say with relative certainty that this place is new.

“We must’ve taken a wrong turn,” says Jimin. “I didn’t recognize that corpse earlier either.”

Jungkook sighs. “Of course,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “Well, maybe if we retrace our steps we can get back.”

The two turn to look back behind them and are greeted with what looks like an endless stretch of hallway, curving into dark nothingness. Surely, they haven’t walked that far. No words are exchanged between the two, but there’s an unspoken understanding that something is wrong. Not only that, but with one frightened look, Jungkook knows that Jimin sees what he’s seeing. There’s no way to go back.

“I…I guess…um…maybe we should just f-follow this hallway?” asks Jimin. His tone and body language have both shifted back to how they were when Jungkook first saw him in this twisted building. Timid, scared, thrown off.

Jungkook quickly places a hand on his shoulder and meets his wavering brown eyes. “Maybe the building is leading us somewhere,” he says quietly. “Maybe this is where the others went.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment before swallowing hard and offering a curt nod. He takes a steadying breath and nods again. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re probably right. Let’s just…keep going then.”

Jungkook nods and pats Jimin’s back before turning on his heel and leading the way down the corridor. He’s sick of Jimin and the others taking care of him. The image of Jimin with his arms splayed out, gaze steely, ready to greet death for his sake, is burned in Jungkook’s mind. He wants to be someone worthy of that effort.

Minutes pass of mindless, silent walking in the dark when the lights overhead begin to flicker, fading in and out. The building rumbles and seems to shake with the force of another earthquake. Jimin and Jungkook grab one another and Jungkook pulls the two into a crouch. A few ceiling panels crash to the ground with a clatter, sending plumes of dust into the air.

“What is this?” asks Jimin, eyes wide.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Let’s wait it out!” he shouts over the clamor.

It takes only moments for the building to settle once again and Jungkook peels his eyes open, staring down the hallway once more. This time, the lights seem slightly brighter, less unsteady. Slowly, he eases himself back to standing and Jimin follows suit. The two stand side by side before Jungkook steps down the hallway. Because, standing just a few feet away are his friends.

Namjoon stands rigidly with his back to Jungkook, clutching a crumpled piece of newspaper in his hand while Seokjin rubs his face in distress. Taehyung watches with wide eyes and parted lips.

Quietly, Jungkook approaches from behind and asks, “What’s going on?”

“Jungkook?” asks Seokjin in a whisper before his whole chest collapses and he runs toward Jungkook, throwing his arms around the boy’s shoulders and pulling him close in a crushing hug. “Oh my God,” he whispers, his voice cracking with tears.

Taehyung and Namjoon approach as well, and no sooner has Jin released Jungkook than he is swept up in another hug. Embraces are exchanged all around, and the awkward atmosphere from before Jimin and Jungkook found the others has all but dissipated. Jungkook doesn’t stop to wonder what the three were arguing about or why they seem so tense. All he can think of is how relieved he is to be able to see them again, to hug them tightly and know they’re here, they’re breathing.

It’s a nameless fear he never thought he’d experience.

Jungkook leans away from Taehyung, his final embrace, and examines him. His eyes look tired, purplish bags hanging from them, and his expression has been poor since Jungkook approached. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Taehyung stiffens and his eyes shift. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook knows better. He inhales slowly and nods his head nonetheless. “I’m just glad you guys aren’t hurt,” he says softly, then glances over Taehyung’s shoulder at the hallway. “What’s down that way?” he asks.

Taehyung turns and raises his brows. “I…it’s not supposed to be like that…”

Jungkook blinks. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung begin looking about themselves frantically. Namjoon flashes his light down the hallway in the direction they’d come and his beam catches on a placard. Namjoon’s eyes go wide as he looks at it. The color drains from his face. He quickly guides the flashlight toward the end of the hallway and stops on two large, beautifully-decorated doors.

“What’s that?” asks Jimin.

Namjoon turns over his shoulder and stared at the two newcomers. There’s something in his eyes that frightens Jungkook. “It’s the auditorium…”

“What-what is that?” asks Hoseok in a whisper. Yoongi is stiff beside him, and Hoseok can’t get him to budge.

Below them, crouched on the landing, is a young girl, black hair draped over her translucently pale skin, her body contorted. Her arms are bent awkwardly and all of her joints seem to be stitched together. Her head twitches a little as she lifts her gaze to look at them. Hollow, black eyes. Her fingernails are long and scratching against the cement landing. She seems to glow slightly, an unearthly, sickly yellow light. She’s sustained wounds on all of her limbs, and in her crouched position Hoseok can see the beginnings of where her stitched-together body parts are coming loose at the seams. White spots of bone poke through. She’s small, but her presence is loud and Hoseok can feel something malignant in her. She opens her mouth and releases a high-pitched, blood-curdling wail. As her blue lips part, Hoseok notices something is missing in her mouth.

This girl doesn’t have a tongue.

“Yoongi!” Hoseok shouts over the screaming.

Yoongi slowly turns his eyes to Hoseok and for the first time, Hoseok sees fear there. His heart begins to race. Without so much as a second’s pause, the girl begins scaling the stairs on all fours, horrifyingly fast. Her every move is accompanied by a disgusting clicking, like her bones aren’t quite in the right places. She crawls toward them so quickly Hoseok is nearly dizzied by the flash of white. Before he can react, the girl is upon him, taking him to the ground. Her touch burns like fire and Hoseok screams in pain as she digs her long nails into the flesh of his legs. He scurries out of her grip, but she’s relentless and terrifyingly strong. As soon as he is back on his feet, the girl has already begun sprinting toward him again. This time, he dodges her attack. But she’s wild and she has her sights set on him. She clings to the wall and, despite the very laws of physics, begins climbing it. Her hair hangs in long black tendrils around her face and torso, and as she pauses on the wall, she turns her head at a disturbing angle to stare down at Hoseok. She parts her lips in a smile that’s far too wide and a giggle echoes through the stairwell.

“Run!” Hoseok screams, but Yoongi seems to be in shock.

He grabs Yoongi’s hand and begins dashing madly down the stairs. Hoseok’s speed is affected severely by the attack and by his previous injury. He’s no match for this wild girl. She is quickly behind them, still running on hands and knees, screams intermixing with laughs that bounce off the walls. She reaches her clawed fingers out and rips the fabric of Yoongi’s jeans. Hoseok doesn’t have time to wonder if she drew blood. He tears around the corner out into the hallway of the second floor. They haven’t spent much time up here, and the whole place is foreign.

Without thinking, he sprints with Yoongi beside him down the corridor. He turns to see the girl is right behind them, her unnatural smile even wider now as she runs like an animal. Hoseok can’t fight the guttural scream that escapes him. He sobs as he drags Yoongi along. The girl shouts something garbled after them before Hoseok takes a sharp left down a hallway. She is quick to follow, but she can’t quite reach them in time. Because just as she rounds the corner, the building begins to shake and tremble.

“Another earthquake?” asks Yoongi, his eyes flashing around and his hand shaking in Hoseok’s.

Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t know!” he calls over the racket.

The girl seems stunned into stillness, pausing mid-step on the ground. The lights flicker, launching the second floor into darkness for a moment. Panic seizes Hoseok’s heart. Fuck. If he can’t see her, he’s dead. She won’t stop this time.

But as the lights return, he sees that the girl is no longer there. In her place is a pool of what appears to be fresh black blood. Hoseok swallows hard and stares at Yoongi. The two stand perfectly still for a moment as the building stops rumbling. Neither of them says a single word. They simply stand panting, Hoseok’s heart racing and his pulse drowning out any sound.

Taehyung sits on one of the old auditorium chairs, nestled between Jimin and Jungkook. Namjoon and Seokjin are still treating him strangely, and the papers feel like they’re burning a hole through his pocket. He shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat.

The group decided it would be best to take a moment to reconvene in the auditorium, and with the way the building keeps shifting to bring them back it seems that they’re exactly where this place wants them to be. Taehyung glances around. Seokjin and Namjoon sit a row below, twisted around in their seats to listen as Jimin begins detailing what happened in their absence.

“Hoseok ran off and Yoongi followed after him,” says Jimin quietly.

Namjoon stiffens. “I told him to stay with you guys?”

“Would you rather he let Hoseok go off on his own?” asks Jimin. He raises his brows and Namjoon quiets down. “We don't know where they went, but they haven’t been back.”

Seokjin stiffens. “So that means…”

“They’re missing,” supplies Jimin with a set jaw. “After they left, that man came. The one Hoseok saw. I think he preys on vulnerable people.”

Namjoon peers at Jimin for a long moment. “And you got away?” he asks.

Jimin produces the knife Jungkook had found and holds it in his palm, which now is stained with black liquid. “It looks like we can hurt him,” he says. “Not much, but enough to scare him off.”

“We can fight him…,” says Namjoon.

Seokjin rubs his jaw. “Doesn’t mean much if we don’t have food or water. How much longer can any of us really last?”

Namjoon gives Seokjin’s arm a pinch and offers a stern look. “Jin,” he says.

“He’s being realistic,” Taehyung says softly with a shrug. “We’re getting weaker by the hour.”

“Regardless,” says Jimin with a shrug, “we fought him off but he did a number on the classroom. We didn’t think it was safe to wait there anymore so we left to find you guys.”

“And Hoseok and Yoongi…?” asks Seokjin, a quiet hopefulness in his eyes.

Jimin shakes his head. “We couldn’t leave a note or anything telling them where we were going. I just hope they don’t stay in room 104,” he says. “That man…he was pretty mad when he left.”

Namjoon swallows. “I…have a theory,” he says.

All eyes point to the leader. “What theory?” asks Jungkook.

“We…well, there’s no delicate way to say it, but we found…a human tongue in this auditorium,” he says.

Taehyung fishes around in his pocket and pulls the papers from inside. “These were underneath it.”

Jungkook recoils and stares at the papers with a horrified look. “You took them?”

Taehyung nods. “It could help us.”

“My theory is that the man is the same man Minnie mentioned in her diary,” says Namjoon. “Mr. H,” says Namjoon, then shakes his head. “Yoojin Han.”

“How do you know his full name? Wasn’t it crossed out?” asks Jimin.

Namjoon nods. “It was,” he says, then produces the newspaper in his palm. “In the diary. But on here, it says the theater teacher was willing to donate to the construction of a new school on these grounds.”

The auditorium grows cold.

“He was wealthy…,” says Seokjin, eyes growing distant. “Which means that whatever he did to Minnie…what if it was covered up?”

Namjoon is quiet for a moment. He swallows visibly before nodding. “That’s what I wonder too.”

“And the newspapers, the diary…,” begins Seokjin.

“Are her way of telling her story,” Taehyung adds with a nod. Silently, he unfolds the papers and stares at them. They’re horribly damaged and bloodied, and the words are difficult to decipher. But with a little squinting, Taehyung and the boys can discern it.

mr. h - - is a b - - man i don’t know why he did that after my performa - - - - i’m sc - - red of him now i don’t know wh - - he wants to d - he said i was smart and i am i k - - - he’s gonna do so - - - - - - - he said he knows Mins - - - and that if i say any - - - - - he’s gonna k - - - hi - i don’t k - - - what to do

i went to mr. h - - - office today and he sat beside me it scared me i thought he might do some - - - - - but he didn’t i got scared anyway and i sh - - - - - i shouldn't have done that i shouldn’t have done that i shouldn’t have done that i shouldn’t have - - - -  - - - -

Two entries. Barely legible past the blood and the handwriting. She was scared. She was scared of Mr. Han. Taehyung looks up at the group and his heart pounds. He doesn’t know what this means, or what that man did to make Minnie so scared, but one thing he knows for certain: Mr. Han is a dangerous man.

And he’s somewhere out there with Hoseok and Yoongi.

“We’ve gotta get the others,” says Taehyung, shaking his head.

Namjoon’s eyes are wide and frightened and he looks at Taehyung with only fear. “How?”

Taehyung wrings his hands and stares at the rest of the group. He knows Seokjin and Namjoon don’t trust him now, that they think he’s losing his grip. He knows they’re worried about his mental state, or worse that they’re worried that he might be dangerous too. But the thought of his friends being stuck out there is almost too much for him to bear. He stands up.

“Maybe the intercom still works,” he says.

Namjoon stands too. “No, you can’t go out there now-,”

“They’ll die!” he shouts, tears in his eyes. His composure is slipping. His heart is aching with fear. “Namjoon, we’ve gotta try!”

Seokjin stands and stares at Taehyung, his own eyes welling with tears. “We can’t leave them out there,” he says with a nod. “I’ll go with you.”

“Me too,” says Jungkook, standing. His jaw is set staunchly and his gaze is hard like glass. “I won’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.”

The three of them stand together, resolute, for a long moment. But Namjoon’s pleading gaze beseeches Taehyung’s heart. There’s something genuine there, something terrified. Taehyung stiffens. If he and the boys go out there, they really might not come back. And this gamble, this unspoken prayer that the intercom will not only work but they’ll be able to find it at all, isn’t certain. Isn’t guaranteed.

“Please…,” says Namjoon. Jimin stands up too and grabs Taehyung’s hand tightly. His eyes are watery. The two of them stand paralyzed by fear.

And Taehyung is beginning to feel that fear too…

[cleverbroadwayurl]

All I Do is Dream (Jeremy Heere x Reader Pt 8)

Song: All I Do is Dream by The Everly Brothers

Need to Catch Up? PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

Want More? PART 9 PART 10 PART 11 PART 12 PART 13 PART 14 PART 15 PART 16  PART 17 PART 18  PART 19

Word Count: 4579

A/N: Okay I know this is a happy song,,, but I love irony so I put it in with a darker part. Also! This song was sent to me by someone who really likes this particular fic (thank you so much by the way wowser I can’t believe someone likes it so much), and they said that it reminded them of the first few parts. Because of that, I wanted to incorporate it into the one part that would review most of the series but from a new perspective. Another thing about this fic: I did use actual texts, but I changed the names to BMC characters! I wanted to incorporate them instead of mentioning people that you all have no idea about. I also have opened requests, so feel free to send them in! I’m in the process of typing up the rules, but the only thing that comes to mind right now is no smut/nsfw content please! I also need to know if you want me to do commentary on this entire fic, or just one part, so feel free to let me know at any point! 

Trigger Warnings: abusive boyfriend, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of depression, mentions of anxiety, mentions of an eating disorder, a little bit of implied self harm (it’s literally only one sentence about long sleeves, nothing more I promise!), mentions of lack of sleep, a bad time at prom, mentions of vomit (only in the hypothetical sense) (if I missed something please contact me immediately so I can change it)

Taglist: @retrogarden @scarsonthecuffsofyourjeans @be-more-heidi-hansen @bluhimaweirdo

God you didn’t deserve this. Any of it. And in that moment, Jeremy made a promise to himself. He was going to help you in whatever way he could, and never ever let your boyfriend get away with this.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you smiled at Jeremy, sipping your drip coffee with a light smile, “I know I said that over text when I invited you here, but I felt like I also needed to say it in person.”

Your sweet smile didn’t move and your eyes remained shining bright as they had last night. As you held your coffee, there were no white knuckles, no worry, just utter calmness and wonder. It was a relaxing sight to Jeremy, almost as if last night hadn’t happened. But it did, didn’t it? Jeremy needed a reality check.

His mind went over every event since last night as he tugged on the sweater that Brooke had picked out for him that morning. He dropped you off, vowed to somehow get revenge on your boyfriend, fell asleep on his bed out of exhaustion, woke up to a text from you inviting him to some hole in the wall diner on the opposite side of town to apologize in person, he took a shower, called Brooke to help him figure out what the hell he should wear, she gossiped basically the whole time, only telling Jeremy ‘it doesn’t matter if it’s a date or not, just be yourself, you’re great all on your own!!’ while he got ready, drove across town, and now he was here. Jeremy checked his phone once again. There were the texts from you, asking him to meet you here. And then of course, you were sitting across from him, smiling and being all adorable as always.

Jeremy realized how deep in thought he was before mirroring your smile. How could he forget how attractive and amazing you were when you were happy and comfortable with yourself? His heart fluttered as your ears turned pink. He wished you could look at him like that all the time and in different circumstances.

“It was no problem. I’m glad you were able to stay safe,” he finally responded. Jeremy almost felt hyperaware of himself, feeling like you were watching his every move as if you’d judge him for making even the smallest wrong move. He felt like a deer in the headlights, unsure of how to act or what to do. It had been forever since he’d been on a date—or whatever this was.

But you wouldn’t judge him for making a mistake. There’s no way, even if he dropped his plate of food on the ground and then threw up. You had broken down your walls last night and somehow Jeremy could feel that you two had something special going on. Although, maybe it was just wishful thinking. But one thing was for sure: boundaries between you two were almost nonexistent. Emotionally, at the very least.

That didn’t stop Jeremy’s mind from buzzing with question after question. He looked down at the brown table in the diner. What compelled you to leave your boyfriend’s house last night, other than the physical harm? It was clear that things had happened between you two before that night. You’d been conditioned, almost like a lost puppy, to apologize, constantly double check with people, have the inability to make decisions, and so much more. Hell, you barely talked about yourself and how you were doing, even when you were prompted. So why try to escape last night? And why go to his house? Jeremy wasn’t anything special, especially in his eyes. He was just a lanky and below average teenage boy. He could barely get Christine to even talk to him, so why did you choose him to confide in? And how long had your mistreatment been happening to make you desperate enough to go to him? It bad to be, jeez—

“Jeremy?” You asked sweetly, keeping your voice soft and light.

He could feel his head snap up at your call to attention, eyes immediately finding yours. Your face drained of color and your fingers started to fidget more than they normally did. “Sorry, I uhh, you just looked like you wanted to ask something. Sorry, I should’ve like waited for you to speak, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that or make you jump, it was an accident—”

“It’s okay, I was just zoning out for a second, you’re fine,” Jeremy reassured, his eyes becoming soft at your crumbling composure.

You were quiet for a second, almost contemplating your next move, “So, we’re okay?” You asked, your eyes growing wider by the second.

“We’re great.”

You calmed down, your back hitting the other side of the booth. You smiled back at Jeremy, unease creeping into your features. He didn’t mean to make you nervous at all. Jeremy was being truthful; everything was great between you two. Why had you become so nervous? Were you really that worried that he was lying to you?

Maybe your boyfriend lied to you often. Maybe in public, he would say that you were fine but the minute that you got home that’s when hell would break loose. As much as Jeremy wanted to do something, there really wasn’t anything that he could do. He couldn’t just change how you thought and what you believed. So he decided the best thing to do was to maybe just move on. That way, you could focus on something else. “Actually,” he began, “I did want to ask you something.”

You came back into reality, immediately waving your hand as if to wave away his statement. “Of course. I’m sorry, I totally forgot that you really only have the bare essentials of what’s going on. What do you want to ask?”

Jeremy held his own for what felt like the first time in his life. He fidgeted with the straw wrapper that had been discarded mere minutes ago. “I don’t mean to pry, but,” his mind went over all of the questions and he decided to ask the most sugar coated question he could, “why did you choose to go to my house last night? Why not your best friend’s house?”

You sighed and stared down at the table before answering his question. “You were the perfect candidate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Normally, I would go to my best friend’s house. However, they are, or I suppose were, friends with my boyfriend. They’ve been friends for god, 12 years? He knows where they live, and therefore, could find me there. It would be dangerous for both me and my best friend.”

Your best friend knew your boyfriend for 12 years?? That’s how long Jeremy knew Michael. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if Michael suddenly started hurting someone else he liked? What if Michael started hitting Christine? Could he even forgive him for that? Jeremy knew for a fact that Michael would never take a SQUIP, so that excuse was out of the picture. He was glad that you corrected yourself; your best friend should not be friends with your abuser.

Jeremy silently urged you to keep going, eyes watching you as carefully as they could. He hoped you’d keep going because while your answer was satisfying, it didn’t fully answer his question. You took a sip of your coffee before continuing.

“I was thinking about a hotel, but I wasn’t sure if they would allow me to check in as unlisted and I didn’t have any cash on me. My debit card could be traced. And my mom would know that something was up.”

Surprisingly, Jeremy had never thought about checking into a hotel. You must’ve been planning an escape for a long time if you’d thought about multiple places to go. And if that were the case, what happened last night must’ve been happening for—Jeremy didn’t even know how long.

“A few weeks ago, when we ran into each other at Wawa’s, I remembered that we were in a group project together, meaning I had your address. I mapped it from my boyfriend’s house, and you were less than 10 minutes away, which is perfect for an escape route. He also doesn’t know where you live, which makes your house a better option than my best friend’s. I wouldn’t have to use my debit card, and because of that, I couldn’t be traced. I could also easily make it home from your house and my mom wouldn’t have to know anything. Plus, I knew you were a good person and an even sweeter friend. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to help me,” you finished while blushing during the last sentence.

Jeremy’s ears turned pink at your blush but immediately dismissed it. The blush meant nothing; it couldn’t mean anything. Although, you did kiss him last night. You did initiate it. Maybe you did like him back. But the more Jeremy thought about it, the more he believed it wasn’t true. Last night was just a moment of rebellion, like he’d seen at Rich’s bonfire. Nothing more.

You must’ve caught Jeremy being lost in thought because you spoke up just seconds after he’d finished his train of thought. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You shifted in your seat for a second before looking back up at the lanky boy. “Anything else you want to know?”

YES. Jeremy wanted to know so much more, so many questions buzzed in his mind, but maybe now was not the time to have them answered. He knew that this whole relationship took a toll on you. Jeremy recalled when he’d first noticed that something was really wrong. But had this relationship really been that bad since January? It couldn’t be that, right? He decided that it would be better to ask than to assume the worst. “You literally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but,” Jeremy started, “How long has this whole mistreatment thing been going on?”

You sighed, eyes darting for the table. It was almost like you were ashamed of yourself, of your answer. “I don’t even know,” you muttered. You moved the hair out of your face before sighing and looing at Jeremy once again. “For most of the relationship, I guess.

“We started out great, everything was just…wonderful. And then, sometime I think during Winter Break, god is that right?, it was like something came alive or like something died. He was controlling, rude, made sure I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without him or his permission. Sometimes I needed both. I thought things would get better with time. I was waiting for them to get better. I thought by prom everything would be great. Instead, he started saying things to me that I can’t even bare to repeat. And then last night he—” You took a shaky breath, attempting not to cry in the diner. “So, to answer your question, I guess since Winter Break.”

Winter Break? That had been, jeez, months. That was almost your entire relationship as far as he was concerned. Jeremy knew something was up with you when Winter Break ended. He could tell based off of the ways your eyes sunk into your head, the way you always tried to sleep, how nice you were to other people, but most importantly, how miserable you were. He remembered how stupid he was, seeing how your boyfriend kept you from your friends and why your social media pages looked those of a perfect couple. It was a front. It was a way that no one would notice what you were going through and a way for your boyfriend to get away with his abuse.

And at prom, when you were so upset and nervous. You looked so stunning and you’d spoken to Jeremy, but immediately after your boyfriend whisked you away. He did control you, he did isolate you, and Jeremy completely missed the signs.

. You were being controlled, and he knew exactly what that felt like. Asking for permission, getting nervous about doing things, not ever being sure of yourself or confident; it wasn’t anything he’d wish on anyone. And now it happened to someone who didn’t deserve it.

At least with Jeremy, he’d at least kind of chosen to be controlled. He made the choice to keep going with the SQUIP all because he wanted to be cool. But you didn’t choose this, no, you chose a happy life with someone who you thought would be kind and sweet.

He could feel his blood start to boil and his hands start to grip the sides of his sweater. Your boyfriend hurt you in more ways than Jeremy could imagine. He thought it was bad last night, but boy was he wrong. This wasn’t one therapy session worth of shit, it was years. This would follow you around every time you wanted to date anybody, or hell even on an off day. The things your boyfriend said to you would come back and haunt you, Jeremy was sure of it. Hell, the SQUIP was only around in his head for only a few weeks and he still had mental health problems from it.

Jeremy had to do whatever he could until you were happy again. If that meant going after your boyfriend and giving him hell, he’d do it. If that meant going to court with you, he’d do it. If that meant talking every night and helping you fall asleep soundly, he’d do it.

As for the prick that you were still with, you had to break up with him. You could do it in public, eyes on you just in case things went south. He could get Rich, Jake, and Michael to help out. Rich could be the eyes and the muscle, Jake could be back up, Michael could be your get away, and Jeremy could keep eyes on you, notifying the others on what to do via walkie or phone. Yeah, that sounded good as long as he could—

“Can I ask you something?”

Jeremy froze in his tracks. Shit, he’d gotten so caught up in his revenge party that he’d almost forgotten that you were still here and still hurting. Your eyes were wide and stared at him with a desperation that could only be described as similar to begging for your life back. He gulped, and then nodded while softly replying “Yeah, of course.”

“You,” taking a breath you started again, “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“What?” That was not the question he was anticipating. He was thinking you were going to ask about last night’s kiss. It was weird, like he couldn’t get that singular event out of his head. Just the way you were so…indescribable. Jeremy could only compare it to—

“I probably am,” your fingers started messing with your mug, “I mean, you probably assume my boyfriend is great and I’m lying. Like this is a front to just get sympathy, right? And maybe I am crazy. Maybe people just say stuff like that and I’m too sensitive or something, I don’t know.”

“Wait a second before continuing, okay?” Jeremy put his hand out to physically stop you. He didn’t want to hear you explain why you thought you were insane. Because if anything, you weren’t crazy, your boyfriend was. “You’re not crazy. I totally believe you, especially after last night. Your struggle is valid, I promise.”

You nodded your head before looking out the window for a second. “Can you just like, look at the texts? I just want to be positive, you know?”

“Sure, of course.”

Pulling out your phone, you quickly unlocked it and began scrolling. You eventually handed it to the boy who sat across from you. Jeremy took it gingerly, making sure not to close it or scroll away from the thing you wanted him to see. His eyes focused on the smaller text in front of him and began to read.

Him: My whole day is ruined because I can’t see you

Him: I can’t imagine life without you in it

Jeremy had seen that phrase before, it was in a game that he had watched other people play. The game was Emily is Away Too, and the character who said it was Emily’s shitty boyfriend Jeff. Yeah, there’s no way that you’re crazy. He looked at the time stamp. You two had been dating for barely 3 months, give or take a week or two. That was not something you usually told your not-yet-long-term significant other. No, that was something you said to scare them off.

Him: I wish someone was here for me. Him: Or anyone else, on top of you. Him: Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate you, but you’re barely here. I don’t have other people here.

Jeremy was confused. You two didn’t spend time apart, ever. He looked back at the time of this text. February 14, 12:13 PM. That was right smack in the middle of you two spending time together and only together.

The last five texts he read were repeated over and over again, until even he got tired of reading it. Jeremy’s eyes stopped at several texts you messaged your boyfriend. All the long ones were explanations of what you were doing and why your boyfriend should get help with a professional instead of you. A few words caught his eye: “Eating disorder”, “not sleeping”, “anxiety”, and “depression”. Damn it, he knew, Jeremy knew you weren’t just tired like Brooke had once said. Something told him that you weren’t eating. You always wore sweaters and long sleeves. You always had caffeine on hand. Your boyfriend missed the signs (or just chose to straight up ignore them and make his problems the bigger ones), but the lovesick boy who admired you from afar noticed them in 2 weeks.

He scrolled down a little further:

Him: Okay I’m gonna be real with you. I have exactly 0 ideas for prom and I haven’t slept in like 2 days and I might have a meltdown.

How was this even a text? April 17 6:14 AM. Shouldn’t you know how to ask your significant other to prom by that time? Prom was May 6th. This text was long overdue. And wasn’t your boyfriend supposed to know what you liked enough to know how to ask you to prom? This wasn’t right. Your boyfriend wasn’t even doing the bare minimum while you put in every ounce that you had.

He continued scrolling down, only getting more and more sick from how many times your boyfriend asked you ideas on how to ask you to prom. He’d lost count, honestly. You’d give your boyfriend ideas, and he’d just dismiss them, as if they were nothing. As if you were nothing.

It wasn’t long before Jeremy found blatant sexual harassment. You had requested (very stealthily, but it was there) that he stop, but he just continued. Did that count as assault? Did Jeremy just witness your boyfriend sexually assault you? If it wasn’t assault, it was definitely harassment. That was the last straw. Your boyfriend was going down in flames with everybody watching.

Him: But I’m a piece of shit. (Jeremy nodded at that) Idk if I’m above sleeping with Chloe. I try my hardest not to, but with you not here, I don’t know what will happen. Him: I think I’m above it but who knows.

May 1, 12:14 AM. Alright, so your boyfriend is gaslighting you into believing that if you leave to do anything without him, he might cheat on you with Chloe? And was this Chloe Valentine, right? Jeremy knew that Chloe just kinda flirts with people but is committed in a relationship right now. So, basically your boyfriend lied to you to get a rise out of you. What kind of fuckery is that? Not okay fuckery, at the very least. And now Jeremy was already planning a witch hunt. The witch? Your boyfriend. Before he planned any further than he had before (this time Jeremy would have the eyes and ears on you, not Rich) he scrolled down.

Him: So I stopped by the cafeteria…

You: Sorry! I overslept.

Him: Whatever Him: I was late anyways because I didn’t sleep last night.

May 1, 7:30 AM. Jeremy could remember this day. It was near the end of the school year, and you didn’t show up to school that morning. He’d worried that something had happened to you, something bad. His friends said you were probably just sick or maybe you’d overslept a little bit. ‘It happens to everyone at some point,’ they’d said. But in this circumstance, Jeremy was right on the money.

Him: I hope that was a nice conversation you had with Rich.

You: We were just talking, it was innocent.

Him: Yeah, so much so that you kicked me to the curb.

You: I’m sorry, was I just supposed to stand there and listen to you talk to your friends? I started talked to Rich because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do. You didn’t really seem to want to talk to me. (Jeremy silently cheered for you standing up for yourself)

Him: Whatever. I’m sorry that Dustin asked me to go in there to help with some stuff. I guess I should have left when it was just me, you, and Rich, so that you guys could have had your 1 on 1 chat or whatever. Him: Anybody would have assumed you like Rich more than me.

You: You don’t honestly believe that, do you?

Him: It sure seemed like it

So that’s how Rich knew something was wrong! He knew all the way back since May 3rd? Why didn’t he say something sooner? And why didn’t he convince Jeremy to try and talk to you before the summer? They could’ve done something months before this got out of hand. However, something told Jeremy that this was your last full (if that) conversation with Rich, or really any of your friends for that matter. The consequences were too great for you to have friends outside of your boyfriend, which shouldn’t be the case. When he and Christine were dating, Christine would go to her friends for certain things that Jeremy couldn’t give her. You didn’t have that luxury, and Jeremy wanted to give it to you so badly.

Jeremy continued scrolling so you wouldn’t have to wait for him to read everything. He knew that there was too much content for him to get through in one go. But something caught his eye, and something told him that out of everything Jeremy read, this was the one text you needed him to read.

Him: I’m just telling you what it comes off as. And the times where I have to ask you if you’re not going to be able to make it over rather than knowing beforehand, coupled with the lack of time we get to be together, honestly, it makes it hard for me to stay in love with you.

In that moment, Jeremy’s breath hitched. He did not say that to you. Your boyfriend was the definition of the SQUIP: controlling, isolating, and even severely emotionally and verbally abusing his victim. You were now officially part of the SQUIP Squad, whether or not you counted Jeremy as a friend or whatever. This situation definitely counted as a SQUIP.

And another thing: if anything, you were easy to love. It was so simple to get lost in your eyes, the loop of your handwriting, the sweet tone of your voice, the way that your giggles and chuckles lit up rooms, how gentle you became late at night, the elegant way you walked, where even in times of suffering, you looked like you were walking on air. You were uniquely you, and Jeremy could not think of anyone more perfect and magical to love—platonically at the very least.

“You got there, didn’t you?”

That tore Jeremy from his thoughts, eyes shooting back at you. “W-What?”

“May 8th. 7:26 PM. The Monday after prom, aka Senior Skip Day.”

All he could muster was a nod. This one text had to be significant to you. You had memorized the date and time of it. Something happened at this time.

“That was the beginning of most of the verbal abuse,” you muttered. “It really only gets worse or stays the same from there out.”

Jeremy clutched your phone, feeling himself loosing control. He wanted to throw your phone and track your boyfriend down. He even went through the motions in his head to call Rich and get his team assembled. He’d call Rich, then call the police to keep you safe while they went and took care of your boyfriend. He could even just call Christine, or hell, Brooke, to keep you safe while they dealt with the piece of shit that called himself your boyfriend. Just as Jeremy was feeling for his wallet and preparing to go and inflict pain on your boyfriend, your phone vibrated.

Him: I want to keep going. Him: I don’t want to lose you. Him: I love you so so much. Him: I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.

The lanky boy calmed down almost instantly and handed your phone back to you, waiting for you to make your response. He hoped that you wouldn’t accept that apology. It wasn’t real; everything he said wasn’t real. You can’t apologize to someone while insulting yourself. That’s not okay. The person you’re apologizing to should not have to compliment you while you’re expressing how sorry and regretful you are. That’s manipulative as fuck.

But Jeremy missed your response to the four texts because his own phone went off.

Michael: Hey dude! You finally beat that Bioshock level? You called me at a weird time last night.

Fuck, Jeremy forgot he’d called Michael last night in a rush to help you. He quickly typed out a response, making sure to check in on you every few seconds. He was worried that you might need some more help steadying yourself.

Jeremy: Not exactly. I’ll tell you about it later, okay? Jeremy: What time do you get home tonight?

It was a few seconds before Michael responded again. Jeremy glanced up at you for a second, making sure that you were calm, cool, and collected.

Michael: I don’t mean to pry, but like, did you end up like getting laid? Did you just use my text as a euphemism? Because gross dude

Jeremy: What? No. Not even a little. Look, I’ll just… Jeremy: Just come over later, alright?

Michael: Sure. I’ll be there tonight. We smokin?

Jeremy: It’s up to you. It’s your weed, not mine.

Michael: Alright. I’ll see you tonight.

As soon as he looked up, you were already packing up your stuff. “Sorry, my boyfriend texting me is kind of my cue to go. That’s why I wanted to meet so early. I wanted us to get some time alone, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy smiled at you.

“I’ve got the bill covered, it’s my thanks to you. Have a great day, okay Jeremy? I’ll see you around.”

With that, he got his keys out and began to make sure he had his wallet and phone. Usually, a reunion with you was a happy event, but Jeremy wasn’t smiling as he left this time. He just had one question rattling around in his mind, similar to a game of old school Pong. How can you say that stuff to someone you claim to love?

[thetenthdoctorscompanion]

A One Shot Series - Peter Parker/OC

Word Count: 3285

Warnings: Idk language? Teens being awkward and fluffy.

A/N: Do you like how every time I post a ‘one shot’ I add another eight hundred words? Eventually these won’t even be one shots lmao.

MASTERLIST | PREV | Three

The full magnitude of what he had done didn’t hit him until the next morning. Peter woke with a start, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a half-formed haze. 

“I tol’ ‘er em Spid-man!” 

“What was that, Pete?” asked Aunt May, who was unloading a basket of laundry onto his dresser. 

“Uh—nothing! Sorry, um…morning, May.” 

“You too, sleepy head. Get going, will you? I don’t want you to be late again.” 

Peter was anxious all morning. He sprinted to the train, to school, to class. Even when he was safely in his seat, five minutes before the bell, he couldn’t stop himself from twitching. What if she told someone? Would it matter? What if someone followed him back to his apartment one day? What if they found out who he was? What if May found out what he was doing? Shit, if May found out what he was doing he was so, so, so dead. No one could know what he was doing. 

The whole day, Peter kept expecting someone to point at him and say, “Look!” But no one did. He told himself he was being irrational. He hadn’t even told Yasmin who he was, just the name of the mask. There was no way she’d be able to recognize him. They weren’t even really friends. 

He kept an eye on the news as well, just in case there was any gossip. One of the local channels covered the break-in the next morning, but it was a short piece. There were a couple shots of the store, one or two of Mr. Delmar talking to the police, but it was all swept under a tight voiceover. Two robbers, one gun, apprehended by a masked individual before the police could arrive. No name, no sketch, and no mention of spider-webs. For the most part, he seemed to be in the clear. 

Still, Peter decided it was better safe than sorry. He skipped out on his trips to the Delmar’s bodega for the next week or so. It didn’t look like they were losing patronage anyway. Any time he dared to pass on the corner, the place was packed with customers. Mr. Delmar had the front door replaced the afternoon after the robbery, and the new metal stood out against the window frames. Peter could only imagine that he’d been explaining what happened all week. Everyone wanted to hear the story for themselves. 

Or maybe they just really liked Milo’s sandwiches. Peter didn’t want to be self-absorbed. 

The curiosity was eating at him, but he stuck to his decision to keep his distance. It wasn’t until one day when he was helping Aunt May with the grocery shopping that she made the decision to swing by. 

“I just want to get some ham,” she said pulling him into the store. “I know you usually eat at school, but just in case you want a sandwich or something…” 

“Ay, Ms. Parker!” 

Mr. Delmar was beaming behind the counter. He’d never bothered to hide his shameless flirting with Aunt May. May always brushed it off, saying that was just the way he was with people, but Peter had never seen him flirt with any of his other customers. Customers, Peter noticed, that were not flooding the store for the first time in days. It seemed like the crowds were finally starting to thin out. 

“Hi, Ricky,” Aunt Mat said with a smile. “How are you doing?” 

“No, no, no. More important question is how are you doing, bonita?” 

“Oh, stop. I’m good. I’ve been good.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, going to grab a bag of chips from the rack. He eyed the jalapeño flavor longingly, but stuck with sour cream and onion. 

“Now, this might be a silly question,” Aunt May started as Mr. Delmar wrapped her purchase, “but didn’t your front door used to open the other way?” 

“Yup,” he answered, irritation clear in his voice. “That’s what I get for hiring a rush job, I guess. Had to replace it last Sunday.” 

“Oh no! Why?��� 

“Why? Didn’t you see on the news?” He gaped at her, almost affronted when she shook her head. “Well, someone tried to break in. Did break in, actually.” 

“Oh my God!” 

“That’s awful,” Peter chimed in, nodding. 

 “Well is everything okay? What happened?” 

Mr. Delmar leaned forward over the counter. He clasped his hands in preparation for his story. 

“So, Saturday night we’re closing a little later than usual, and I ask Yasmin to finish up for me—she’s fine,” he added at May’s gasp, “really, she’s fine. I get her set up, go upstairs to help Abuela, and then I hear this crash. Loud. So I call downstairs to her but she says she’s fine. Now, I knew she sounded worried—stressed—but I figure, you know, maybe she broke something. I’ll give her a minute or two to fix it before I go down and find her. And that’s when I hear the gunshot.” 

“They had guns?” May asked, horrified. “Oh no, Ricky…” 

“I go running downstairs. I grab my bat, I’m ready to go, but by the time I get down there, everything’s stopped. Yazzy’s behind the counter, temblorosa, and there’s three guys. One’s all red and blue—he’s got the mask, he’s got the gun—and the other two are in black, strung up in these spider-webs. And I mean up, like cocooned three feet off the ground.” 

“What?” 

“Exactly what I’m thinking. So, of course, I go to take out the guy with the gun, and Yaz runs up waving her hands. ‘No, Dad! He saved me! He saved me!’ Apparently he came out in the middle of the robbery, shot out these webs, climbing up the walls. Stopped the whole thing before I could even hit the stairs. Another one of those enhanced people, you know? Saved Yasmin’s life.” 

“Oh my goodness,” Aunt May sighed, hand on her chest. “Ricardo, I am so sorry. How’s she doing? Is she alright?” 

“She’s doing okay,” said Mr. Delmar, nodding solemnly. “I think she’d having trouble sleeping, but you know kids. She doesn’t want to tell me that. And when she’s awake she just won’t stop talking about this Spider-Guy.” 

“Well, he saved her life,” said May. “I don’t blame her.” 

“Y-You know that’s really crazy, Mr. Delmar,” Peter piped up. “I didn’t see anything about that on the news. Wouldn’t that, you know, be…news?” 

“You’d think,” he said, and jabbed a finger at Peter’s chest. “Everyone’s been coming in here, wondering what really happened. Not a peep on any of the reports. And you know what I think? It’s the cops.” 

“The police?” asked May. “They wouldn’t do something like that, would they?” 

“Course they would. After all that shit in Manhattan? That Devil guy, the Punisher? All makes people think they can’t trust the police. Like they don’t do a good enough job. Last thing they want is more people in masks.” 

“But—But this guy was just helping, right?” Peter asked persistently. “I mean, he—uh—it sounds like he just caught the guys. You still called the police, right?” 

“Yeah, I called the police. The Spider-Guy, he was…I don’t know. He was a little weird.” 

“Bad weird or just weird weird?” asked Aunt May. 

“Nah, nothing bad. But he didn’t seem like the big ones, you know. Sounded like he didn’t really know what he was doing either. He didn’t have a supersuit or anything, just like a little track suit with the face covered up. Wouldn’t take any kind of reward, didn’t want to stick around for the cops or help get rid of the robbers. Just took a bag of chips and skipped out.” 

“That’s totally weird,” Peter agreed, nodding sagely. 

“Hey,” Mr. Delmar said with a shrug. “Guy could wear a tutu if he wants, for all I care. Long as Yasmin’s alright and my store’s still upright. Hell’s Kitchen’s got their masked guy, and now it looks like Queens has got our own.” 

“God, I couldn’t even imagine,” said May, still shaking her head. “Peter Benjamin Parker, if you ever see anything like that, I want you to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, do you understand? The last thing I need is to worry about you getting caught up in some robbery or vigilante or conspiracy plot or…” 

“No worries, Aunt May,” he promised. “I have no desire to be anywhere near a gun.” 

Again, he added to himself silently. At least any time soon.

They left shortly after that, heading home so they could put the groceries away and Peter could finish his work. The whole time, he kept playing the conversation over in his head, different parts sticking out to him at different times. Was he really making life harder for the police? Was Yasmin having nightmares? Was he doing more harm than good as Spider-Man? Was she really talking about him non-stop? 

It wasn’t a conscious decision. At the same time, Peter wasn’t surprised to find himself out that night, perched on the snow-capped building opposite the bodega. The lights were on in the apartment upstairs. Blue lights flickered through the cracks in the blinds, someone watching TV on the other side. A set of pink curtains glowed with lamp light, the yellow bulb making them red in the darkness. As Peter watched, someone pushed them apart, a silhouette with elbows propped on the window sill. 

A car passed, and for a moment, Peter could just make out her face. He could see what Mr. Delmar meant. He hadn’t seen Yasmin in days, but she looked tired. Peter wasn’t even sure what time it was. She just sat there, staring listlessly out the window. The only time she moved was when some kind of noise echoed down the street—a car horn too close, the slam of a dumpster in another alley, a cat’s yowl. Every sound made her jump a bit. Peter could sympathize with that, at least. It wasn’t always fun, being hyperaware of everything around you. With him it had been involuntary, a side effect of his powers. But after what happened to Yasmin, he couldn’t blame her. Slight paranoia was probably part of the reason she was having so much trouble sleeping. 

Beneath him, someone slammed their window shut. Yasmin flinched, and ran her hands through her hair. Then she froze. Peter looked around, trying to find the focus of her attention. Until she raised a hesitant hand and waved. 

“Oh, shit, shit, shit!” 

He considered ducking, considered sprinting off the other end of the roof and bolting it all the way home. But that wasn’t exactly going to change anything. He’d already been caught. It would look just as bad if he ran away after being caught, if not make it look worse. Besides, he reminded himself, his face was covered. He was Spider-Man, the crime-stopper, not Peter Parker, the awkward nerd. 

Uncertainly, he raised one of his hands to her as well. Any doubt faded away instantly as another car passed by, lighting up the smile on her face. 

Peter took a running jump, and flipped across the street. He landed on the wall just beneath her window. There was a metal grate on the street side—an empty flower bed that had never been filled—and he scooted up to fold his arms on it, his feet sticking to the bricks below. 

“Uh…hey there.” 

“Hi,” Yasmin managed. She’d clapped her hands over her mouth when he jumped, and had to lower them before she continued. “You kind of scared the crap out of me for a second.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—you know, I wasn’t trying to be creepy by watching you. Not that I was watching you! Just that I was sitting across the street watching…the street…” 

“It’s fine! I guess that’s what you do, right? Go out at night and keep an eye out for trouble?” 

“Well, yeah. Sometimes.” 

“Actually, it uh…kind of makes me feel better. Safer.” She bit her lip, nervously winding the ends of her dark curls around her finger. “Sorry. That probably sounded weird.” 

“No, not at all. I mean, there’s a guy hanging from your window in sweatpants, so…I don’t think I’ve got any room to decide what’s weird here.” 

She grinned and relaxed a bit. Peter tried to keep his eyes from wandering into the room behind her. Her walls were a light blue, clothes and books scattered around the floor. There were a few band posters around the walls, and the yellow lamp that was still shining on her desk. When she leaned back from the window, he could hear the squeak of bedsprings. Her bed must’ve been pressed up against the other side of the wall. 

“I’m Yasmin, by the way.” Peter blinked at her as she continued toying with her hair. “I didn’t get the chance to say that the other day, with all the…guns and stuff.” 

“Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Yasmin. Officially. And um, like I said—I’m Spider-Man.” 

He was not expecting her to smirk at that. 

“Well, Spider-Man, I think you kind of lied to me the other day.” 

“I…did?” 

“Well, you told me you were nobody, but as it turns out, you are all over the internet. I found like six different videos of you on YouTube—backflipping off buildings, stopping car crashes, saving cats from trees. And there’s a whole thread of tweets with people talking about this crazy guy that’s been doing parkour all over Queens in a red and blue sweat suit. Like, jumping-off-buildings and flying-through-traffic parkour. I even found a blog post where someone cut down the webs you left behind and they saved them. There were pictures and everything. Kind of crazy.” 

This was all news to Peter. Sure, he’d kept an eye on the news, on the trending topics, but seeing as nothing had gone viral, he’d thought he was in the clear. He hadn’t heard anyone talking about it at school, and he figured hallway gossip would be his first sign of trouble. Despite this, only one part of the conversation seemed to stick with him. 

“You Googled me?” 

Yasmin flushed. 

“Hey, a mysterious stranger in a onesie saved my life. I’m allowed to be curious.” 

“No, totally. I just didn’t realize you were running a background check.” 

“Shut up.” Her eyes popped wide and a hand clapped right back over her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That sounded so rude. I just meant…” 

“Yasmin, it’s okay,” he chuckled. “You are definitely allowed to tell me to shut up.” 

“Right.” She shifted again, hugging her knees up to her chest. “So uh…what brings you back to the neighborhood?” 

“Well, I wanted to check on the store. Make sure those guys didn’t have any ideas about coming back with reinforcements. But uh…I also guess…I wanted to see how you were doing. Most people wouldn’t be great after something like that.” 

“I’m fine.” 

Peter hoped that his disbelieving expression could still be read through his mask. Yasmin must have gotten the message, because she sighed and pulled her legs closer. 

“I will be fine. As soon as I start sleeping again and Dad learns to trust me and things go back to normal.” 

“What do you mean trust you?” 

“Just that he won’t leave me alone anymore. I can’t open the store. I can’t close. I can’t run the register if there’s not at least one other employee in the room with me. And I get it. I don’t think I’m ready to be alone there either, but it’s—it’s everything else. I have to text him when I get to class and when I leave practice. Call with every change of plans if I’m going to a friend’s house. He’s even on my back about walking to school.” 

“Well it sounds like he’s just worried,” Peter reasoned. 

“I know he’s worried. I’m worried too. That doesn’t mean he has to coddle me every second of the day. Bad things happen sometimes. It’s not like getting robbed increases the chance I’m gonna get snatched off the subway.” 

Yasmin shut her mouth abruptly. Eyes squeezed shut, she forced a deep breath in and out of her chest. 

“Sorry. You don’t need to hear this.” 

“Hey, I asked. If talking about it makes you feel better, then I’m all ears.” 

“Oh really?” Yasmin peered down at him in amusement. “I didn’t realize therapy was on the superhero agenda.” 

“You didn’t? Shit. I guess I can’t charge you for this, then. Normally, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.” 

Yasmin laughed again, the sound too loud at first. She frantically looked at her bedroom door, as if expecting someone to come barging in. But there was no movement in the rest of the house. Another thought seemed to occur to her. 

“Actually, that reminds me.” 

She rolled off of her bed, moving to grab something in a corner Peter couldn’t see. When she came back, she was blushing again, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” she warned. 

Peter was about to ask why when she handed him a brown paper bag. The top was rolled down like an old-school lunch bag, and there was a poorly doodled spider on the front. 

“Aw, no way! Is this what I think it is?” 

He scrambled up the wall, moving to sit on the iron flower bed without invitation. He ripped the bag open, and inside was a pile of snacks—water bottle, apple, granola bars, gummy worms, jalapeño chips, even a few lotto tickets. 

 “I was gonna make you a sandwich or something,” she explained, “but I didn’t want it to spoil with the meat and everything, or if you even eat meat, or if I was even gonna see you again. And—wow, now that I said that out loud this whole thing just got even more awkward. Please pretend I didn’t say any of that.” 

“I don’t think I wanna do that,” Peter said smugly. “I think I’m gonna remember that.” 

“Smart-Ass.” 

“Yeah.” He rolled the bag up again, swinging his legs idly over the street. “Really, though. Thank you for this. I’ll probably stash it up on some rooftop for emergencies. Last minute snack reserve. Except the apple, obviously. But man, I love these chips now. I kinda just grabbed them on a whim, you know? I’d never tried them before, but they’re crazy good.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. And if you ever want some more, um…you know where to find me.” 

Another car drove by, and Peter tensed. 

“Ah, I—you know, I probably shouldn’t. If I’m hanging out of your window all the time asking for potato chips, people are probably gonna start to notice. Then they know where to find me, and…” 

“Right! Oh my God, totally. I get it. You’ve got to stay undercover.” 

“Exactly, yeah.” He forced himself to climb off of the grate and back onto the wall. “I should probably get going. Try and get some sleep tonight, okay?” 

“Yeah, I will,” she promised. “And…thanks for listening, Spider-Man.” 

“You got it, Yasmin.” 

She beamed at him, and Peter quickly jumped off the wall before he could change his mind. He’d stopped by to make her feel better, and he had. Job complete. If he was going to keep being Spider-Man, he had to be smart about it. Don’t give away your identity. Don’t take the same patrol route every day. Don’t stay in one place for too long. Simple stuff. 

He just had to stay smart. 

FOUR

[littlespoonevan]

14 for the cuddle prompt! 🌸❤

anon said:14!!!!!💕💜💕💜💕 ily Ciara!!!!

anon said:13 plz plz plz u rock I love u

this is inspired by someone who fell asleep next to me on the bus. unfortunately it was a middle-aged woman and not a cute boy who i could’ve had the potential to cuddle with but, y’know, i gave that glory to evak instead lmao 

i hope you like it!!!!

14. In public + 13. Falling asleep

*

Isak slips onto the tram seconds before the doorsclose, huffing out a breath and gripping the pole to keep his balance as thetram takes off. Shifting his bag on his back, Isak glances around the car in avain attempt to find a vacant seat.

He silently curses the people who hoard seats whenthe tram is busy by purposefully sitting on the outside or using their bags totake up the extra space. He gets it, okay? If given the option, he doesn’t likesitting next to people on the tram either but he’s been up since 7:00 and he barelyslept last night and he just really wants to sit down.

Just as he’s about to accept his fate and sag againstthe pole in defeat, he notices someone moving their bag out of the corner ofhis eye. Looking up, he locks eyes with a boy who offers him a shrug andhalf-hearted smile that has Isak’s heart tripping over in his chest.

Because holy shit that boy is cute.

Squeezing the straps of his backpack between hisfingers he shuffles forward, taking a seat beside the boy with a quiet, “Takk.”

“There’s nothing worse than standing on the tram atthe end of a long day,” the boy says easily. “Especially when it’s busy.”

Isak smiles nervously, wracking his brain for somethingmildly charming to say but he takes too long and has to settle for awkwardsilence instead. He’s both relieved and annoyed at himself when the boy puts inhis earphones a moment later, effectively ending any attempts at conversation.

While the boy busies himself with staring out thewindow Isak gets comfortable in his chair, letting his bag drop to the floor tosit between his legs.

The thing about seats on trams is that, very often,you and the other person end up sitting with some part of your body touching.There’s simply not enough room for you to be concerned about your personalspace bubble. So Isak’s not all that surprised that he and the boy have to sitwith their arms and thighs pressed right up against each other. He expects that.

What he doesn’t expect is how nice it feels.

It’s just- he feels warm like this and the boy’s coatis big and feels a little bit like a pillow with the way it sinks under theweight of Isak’s shoulder. And Isak feels kind of hazy, mind going fuzzy fromthe heat of the tram and how little sleep he’s running on. He can’t help restinghis head against the backrest and it doesn’t take long for his eyes to start todroop. After an internal battle with himself he decides it can’t hurt to closehis eyes until his stop is announced.

Just for a few minutes.

*

Isak slowly drifts back into consciousness to thefeel of a hand jostling his arm. Blinking his eyes open, he shifts and takes asecond to bury his face deeper in his pillow before he can convince himself toget up except- that’s not his pillow.

Eyes widening in horror, Isak suddenly remembers he’son the tram and promptly launcheshimself upright. Still sitting beside him is the boy. The really pretty boywith the quiff and the comfy jacket and the little bemused smile.

The boy who Isak just fell asleep on.

Isak wants to die.

Before he can even find his voice to stammer out onapology the boy starts speaking. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you but I thinkyour stop is coming up.”

And that’s. What.

Isak gapes a little, grasping for a response that’sjust out of his reach. “I- what?”

The boy actually looks sheepish at that, glancingtowards the door before looking back to Isak. “I just- we usually get the sametram home and I noticed you always tend to get off the stop just before me.”

This…this boy has been on the tram with him before?

…Is Isak blind?

How the hell did he never notice him?

Isak is about to reply but then the tram crawls to a haltand, sure enough, announces his stop. “I’m- you’re right, this is my stop.” Hegathers up a bag and pushes himself to stand, hovering for a second and tryingto fight down the desire to just stay on the tram with the boy. “Thanks, um…”

“Even,” the boy supplies with a soft smile.

Isak returns it with his heart skipping a beat,hiking his bag up on his shoulder. “Thanks, Even.”

With that, he hurries off the tram just as the doorsare about to close.

*

The next day when Isak steps onto the tram he feels alittle thrill run through him at the sight of Even with an empty seat next tohim. Clinging to his courage with everything he has, Isak makes his way over.

“If I apologise for falling asleep on you yesterdaycan I sit down?”

Even’s face lights up right as he lets out a laughthat makes Isak’s insides melt. “Of course you can sit down.

“And I really don’t mind that you fell asleep,” hecontinues once Isak’s settled beside him. “You looked tired.”

Isak flushes at that, clearing his throatself-consciously. “Uh, yeah. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before so…”

Even nods in understanding before he nudges Isak’sside. “You know you still haven’t told me your name? I usually have a rule thatI know someone’s name before I let them fall asleep on me.”

Isak groans, burying his face in his hands. Hisinsomnia has made him do some dumb shit but falling asleep on a hot strangerhas to be the dumbest. “Please stop talking,” he begs, slowly lowering hishands when he hears Even laugh. His embarrassment is almost worth it to see theway Even’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. “And it’s Isak,” headds. “My name.”

“Isak,” Even repeats with a certain something in hisvoice that Isak can’t quite parse. “Well, Isak, do you feel like listening tosome music?” he asks, offering Isak one of his earbuds.

Isak takes it with a tentative smile, not quite surewhat’s happening right now but also not wanting to stop it. It’s only when he’sactually got the bud in his ear that Even stage-whispers, “I’ll even let youuse me as a pillow.”

Isak huffs and rolls his eyes to hide the fact hischeeks are still stained red but he might slouch down a little more in his seatat Even’s words. (He didn’t sleep last night either, okay?)

And it’s really nice. Whatever playlist Even has onis quiet – mostly acoustic songs that go easy on Isak’s ears after a long day –and the tram is warm but not the stuffy, sickly kind. Even doesn’t speak but he’sa comfortable weight beside Isak and he- he just-

Basically, it happens again.

One minute Isak is subtly leaning against Even’sside, the next he’s slowly being woken up to the sound of Even murmuring hisname and Even’s hand squeezing his arm.

Isak scrubs at his eyes with his left hand and raiseshis head off Even’s shoulder, meeting his gaze with an embarrassed smile andflushed cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Do you do this with every random stranger you meeton the tram or is it just me?” Even asks, voice soft and laced with quietamusement.

“Just you,” Isak admits and it feels like a muchgreater confession than it is.

Even eyes him for a moment, expression inscrutable,but then he smiles. “In that case I should probably start bringing a pillowwith me.”

“Your shoulder’s comfortable enough,” Isak’s stupid,sleep-muddled brain blurts out before he can stop himself. “I mean-“

“I’m flattered,” Even chuckles. “But I think we’re atyour stop now.”

With a jolt, Isak realises they are. He hadn’t evennoticed the tram slowing down.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Isak,” Even says, squeezinghis arm once more before letting go.

Isak has never hoped for a sleepless night more thanhe does right now.

*

It happens again the next day. And the day afterthat. And the day after that.

Isak spends the first half of his journey talking toEven and laughing at his jokes and trying to psych himself up to actuallyfucking ask him out before spending the rest of his journey asleep on Even’sshoulder until they get to his stop.

Honestly it’s a pretty good arrangement.

It’s been over a week of Isak’s poor attempts atflirting and needy cuddling when he finds himself on the tram once again withEven but there’s just one problem.

He’s not tired.

He had a good night’s sleep last night and he’s nottired and he only gets to cuddle Even when he’s asleep.

He’s having a crisis.

Their conversation has petered off by now and insteadthey’re sharing Even’s earphones while Even rhythmically bumps his knee againstIsak’s and this would be right around the time Isak normally drifts off. But he’swide awake today and hyperaware of crossing some weird boundary if he were tolean into Even right now without the excuse of sleep.

But he wantsto.

He wants to reach out and bridge the barely-there gapbetween them so bad.

Maybe…maybe he could just pretend to sleep? Just thisonce and then tomorrow he’ll actually get his act together and ask Even out.But right now he just slouches in his seat, letting his head drop onto Even’sshoulder and releasing a slow breath.

The thing about not actually being asleep for once isthat Isak gets to see what Even normally does while he is. That, apparently,involves Even resting his own head against the top of Isak’s and tracingpatterns over Isak’s arm – the sweetest, softest gestures that have Isak feelingclose to hyperventilating.

He holds his breath and holds himself still, afraidthat if he makes even the slightest movement that Even might stop touching him.

What he doesn’t anticipate is Even mumbling, “Isak,are you awake?”

Isak freezes, closing his eyes and swallowing hardbefore he makes a decision and catches Even’s hand, lacing their fingerstogether. “How’d you know?”

“You’re usually a dead weight when you sleep,” Eventells him. “And your breathing’s deeper.”

“I’m not tired today,” Isak murmurs, breath hitchingat Even’s thumb sweeping over the back of his hand.

“That’s okay,” Even replies quietly. “I guess myshoulder’s still irresistible?”

Isak huffs a laugh, turning his face into saidshoulder to hide his bashful smile. Even squeezes his hand and Isak’s heart isin his throat.

“Hey,” Even says, touching the fingers of his freehand to Isak’s jaw to make him look up. Their faces are only an inch apart andIsak can’t help the way his gaze drags down to Even’s lips.

“I know we’re kind of doing things backwards with thewhole comfortable intimacy thing but do you maybe want to get something to eat?”

Isak grins, butterflies erupting in his stomach as henods. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Even says, mouth turning up at the corners ashe gently bumps his forehead against Isak’s. “We can stay like this until mystop then.”

They stay like that long beyond the journey to Even’sstop.

*

[him-e]

It bothers me people complaining about Luke in tlj, I know int the ot he's this hopeful hero and I know the character is iconic but you can't expect Luke to be the same before and after rotj, I mean, Vader death and redemption affected him, becoming a master affected him, Ben and the rise of the first order affected him. If they have put a Luke that was the same than in ep iv it wouldn't be realistic, Luke has grown, it's not the same 19 years old boy

Sometimes growth weighs you down, instead than lifting you up. Also, I feel like this sort of (not really) antiheroic-anticlimatic approach is just par for the course with the setup for this new trilogy. The OT’s curtains closed on such a finite, unequivocal happy ending that a sequel trilogy couldn’t be anything but disruptive of this happiness and fulfillment not only on a galactic scale, but on a personal level too. (after all, the “star wars” in star wars are all but a backdrop to this huge familial drama, aren’t they?)

You have what’s basically a carbon copy of the old Empire on the rise, and this happens despite the fact that our heroes have been in charge of the galaxy for all these years. So what went wrong this time? Because, obviously, something DID go wrong. And this time you no longer have the Jedi Order or the corrupted Republic of the prequels to blame. By signing up to the entire premise that kickstarts TFA, you must know you’re going to be faced with some hard truths, uncomfortable truths about your heroes, sooner or later.

and like, I’m a major Kylo/Ben stan and even I don’t think that Luke’s misstep destroys his characterization. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t devastating from Ben’s perspective, because it was—waking up to your uncle and most powerful jedi in the galaxy hovering on you with his lightsaber ignited because he’s afraid of you? TERRIFYING. Twice as traumatizing if you consider that Ben’s parents (from his perspective) gave up on him and passed him off to Luke, so the moment when Luke, the last person entrusted with his *soul*, no longer thinks he can be saved, is the moment when Ben just stops fighting and lets his shadow loose (and for god’s sake, I can’t stop thinking about this, it’s haunting me. when did this account become so deep).

But on Luke’s part, it’s just human. A human error. 

And to be clear I think there’s a fundamental difference between the joyous, abstract idea that “everyone can be saved”—and getting to actually save in a blaze of glory, age 24, your absentee murderous father whom you have never spent more than 3 hours in total with—versus living every day, every hour of your life with someone who is practically your own child and pouring in him all your love and your wisdom AND YET. The darkness continues to only grow and grow in this kid, and it seems that whatever worked on your father isn’t working on him for some reason and maybe you’ve grown old and the Light has dimmed in you and maybe you were wrong and some people are just too dark to be saved and maybe…. Luke doesn’t outright say it, but I think these thoughts were the dark side tugging at him without he realizing it. Not Snoke, just Luke’s own dark side that has always been there. It tugged and tugged until something snapped. And you know the rest.

So what is that destroys Luke’s character? This one moment in which he thought he could save a million lives by killing one à la Stannis (or, like any parent of a problematic child knows, has a fleeting “I wish you were never born” thought and instantly regrets it)? The fact that he didn’t try to fix it immediately later? The fact that maybe he felt so ashamed and guilty and devastated that he had to literally cancel himself from existence, not even telling Leia? (he still can’t tell the truth to Rey, a perfect stranger who has almost no dog in this fight, six years later, so it’s clearly something that ripped him apart)

Oh, okay, Luke isn’t hopeful anymore. And? I will always scoff at the idea that once people subscribe to a happy, bright, optimistic version of yourself, you are forever obligated to perform that character even if it doesn’t represent the real you anymore, and you’re not allowed to show your scars. Life has a tendency to break you. Especially as you grow old.

But what prevents it from being a bleak narrative is that Luke actually has his own [ redemption ] arc in this movie and reacts. He reacts because Rey makes him react, she violently calls him out on his apathetic bullshit and leaves with so much of his old stubborn hopefulness that it reminded of who he STILL is (so much for *Rey only revolves around Kylo*—Rey is MUCH more proactive and assertive of her own agency in this film than in TFA, where she just reacted to what happened to her. In this movie? She’s deliberately the catalyst for MANY things. She actively makes choices. On her own). 

It’s like he suddenly wakes up.And what he does is going to confront Kylo, who is entirely his demon, his own Frankenstein’s monster, created by his hubris (so much of TLJ is about hubris and its natural consequence, failure), and ask Ben forgiveness. This is truly the most heroic thing to do, for someone who spent years wrapped up in his own guilt and unable to process it and believing the only way to atone was to die like a hermit. I was actually surprised they gave the climatic Jedi vs Sith lightsaber battle to Luke (I was expecting Rey), and I’m still shaking for how beautiful and poignant that scene is. “See you around, kid”.

That’s a lot like Obi Wan in ANH but also… much more complex than Obi Wan in ANH. While Obi Wan was guilty of seeing the darkness too late, Luke is guilty of being hyperaware (perhaps, it’s precisely Anakin & Obi Wan’s cautionary tale that made him paranoid about Ben’s darkness, effectively turning his legitimate concerns into a self fulfilled prophecy). In the end, the stakes of Luke’s sacrifice are even higher than they were for Obi Wan in the OT, because a) that’s literally all that’s left of the Resistance that he’s dying to save, and b) we know that the root of Ben’s wrath is precisely his relationship with his family and specifically with Luke. Luke who failed Ben so BAD because it was a relationship that involved trust, parental care, and power imbalance. Luke who still loves Ben so much. Luke who was probably (at some point) Ben’s one true hero, even more than Han. We already have the backstory at this point in a way that we didn’t when we saw Vader strike Obi Wan down—but Ben/Luke is much more visceral, much more painfully the decisive factor in Kylo Ren’s villain origin story than Obikin ever was in the creation of Darth Vader. So the last duel is emotionally charged in a way that the OT’s Vader/Obi Wan one wasn’t, because we have taken young Luke’s place in watching his mentor (and hero) sacrifice himself for him (for us) and it’s much clearer that he’s also sacrificing himself for the villain, too.

[auggie-hunter]

hell was the journey...

...but it brought me heaven;

“i’m done.”

there was a finality to his tone, one he’d never had before when talking to her, and for a second auggie’s heart squeezed at how harsh he felt he was being.

because none of this was her fault. none of this was anything she’d done. not on purpose, anyway. everything that had ever gone wrong between them had been a matter of circumstance. circumstance of time, of their ages, of who they were in the world... all of it... getting in the way of them and what they wanted for themselves and who they wanted to be.

but it had come to a point where he realized he couldn’t do this anymore. he didn’t want to do this anymore. and as he did, he had to replay every moment he’d ever shared with her, every moment that made them become who they were. he had to face everything that would propel him to make such a decision that could mean the end of everything.

-

[i’ll be there if you’re the toast of the town, babe...]

the wig had been so itchy, and the cap wasn’t helping. he was so worried about it, he was too afraid to scratch and give himself away. his glasses combined with the fake mustache he was wearing were probably already doing a decent job of hiding his face, but he was 22 and kind of stupid. that, and maybe her flare for the dramatic was rubbing off on him.

john f. kennedy airport wasn’t exactly full to begin with at eleven o’clock at night on a thursday, and people seemed to be tired and hell bent on getting home. nobody was necessarily paying attention to anything out of place, let alone the tall, lanky kid in a wig and bad mustache. but he was nervous, and so he felt slightly hyperaware of everything. staring down at his phone wasn’t doing anything to help, either.

truth of the matter is they were probably being overcautious.

taking a few slow, deep breaths, he tried to settle himself, realizing he should probably chill so he didn’t look too sketchy and alert airport security. he glanced up at the screen, seeing her flight had, in fact, landed, and felt his stomach churn.

the problem was they’d never done this before. he’d never had to be this strategic for anything. and on top of that, he hadn’t seen her in years! not since they tried to date for like five whole minutes, and everything got messed up thanks to schedules, of all things. at the time, they’d thought to put a pin in it, until they could meet somewhere in the middle. but her world started to grow, and grow further apart from his, and that pin turned into three whole years and no contact.

but then he’d texted her one day in december, on pure impulse, completely unsure of whether or not she still had the same number. but it was her birthday, and he’d been thinking about her, as he tended to do when the date rolled around. and it wasn’t an obsessive kind of thinking, either, just a passing thought to the girl he’d liked so much way back when.

he’d taken a chance and sent the message with a birthday wish, and a six second vine with a ridiculous dance to stevie wonder’s happy birthday. he didn’t think she’d even get it, but for some reason, that felt more personal than… twitter of all places.

but then she answered. amused, and endeared, and grateful for his message.

and then they didn’t stop talking.

it was as if no time had passed.

and at first it was casual here and there conversations, catching up on the last three years. she told him she’d found his vine and two youtube channels, and liked to have the vlogs up in the background while she did other things.

teddy: which i realize sounds super creepy.

teddy: what i mean is they’re edited super well. and not too chaotic that they’re distracting.

auggie: well thanks. happy to be your background noise.

teddy: you and leo are very cute too. you look happy!

auggie: ha! thank you. he’s great!

she noted he hadn’t changed a bit, “in a good way!” and that he needed to be nicer to allie in his videos, even if she wasn’t always very nice to him. he’d told her he’d heard her last two albums and told her how great they were.

auggie: your voice is beautiful.

teddy: i’m cringing to an almost awful degree.

auggie: i mean it. you should be proud.

teddy: thank you. that means a lot.

it could’ve all been more awkward. it should’ve been, but somehow, it wasn’t.

they’d talk here and there, every few days about something random the other had seen online, or something that had happened in their lives. he’d seen she was alleged to be dating somebody, but he never asked. it just seemed like the sort of thing that truly wasn’t any of his business.

he’d send her photos of foods and desserts he’d test for videos for his main channel.

teddy: okay, listen. you need to make those cheesecake cupcakes for a video. i need the recipe and a guide. i don’t have a lot of time on tour, but for this? i’ll make time. please and thank you.

(he made the video, and wore a TEDDYFRESH sweatshirt as a shoutout. mostly because he was excessive. he did get a sponsorship after that, and sends a sweater to her p.o box and a sticker of his logo)

she sent pictures of her brand-new baby nephew, and told him about each of her siblings, and he did the same, as well as his three best friends. he told her he loved allie almost too much, but that being outright terrible to one another was their thing.

auggie: she’s a dick though.

teddy: auggie! that’s so mean.

auggie: it’s not mean if it’s true!

and then the conversations got deeper, less about the superficial stuff like the little careers they were building for themselves, and more about how she hated los angeles and felt lonely. she admitted how if it hadn’t been for her sister, daily, and her best friend, olive, she’d have quit and gone home by now.

he’d admitted he’d been getting ready to break up with leo, who’d become way less kind to him than he appeared to be on camera, and that the fighting had become too much.

auggie: he’s… just gotten so awful. i feel terrible for even saying that.

teddy: i don’t think you’re terrible for saying that. especially if things are happening that confirm that observation.

auggie: i don’t know what happened. one day we were fine and the next we weren’t. and everything started to become a problem.

not even his siblings knew that.

auggie: it isn’t like that. not like how you’re imagining.

auggie: he’s just quick to anger now. there isn’t a day we go through without fighting.

teddy: it’s not making you happy anymore. that’s enough for me.

there was a trust built between them, and a friendship that slowly made him wonder if they could’ve made it work three years earlier.

he didn’t like to dive into those thoughts. not really, not when said thoughts could throw a wrench in all this new whatever they were creating. no reason to try and fix what wasn’t broken with wondering.

and things with leo had just ended a few months earlier. he’d come out unscathed, and it hadn’t gotten as horrible as they could have. and they managed to have a fairly private breakup. no dramatic video necessarily.

she hadn’t been as lucky.

as it turned out, she’d been dating someone, too. someone who wasn’t as quiet as leo had been, and aired out all of their dirty laundry. there were things she hadn’t even told him. not that he’d ever expect her to, but things that clearly weren’t meant to get out to anyone.

her very public breakup that painted her in the shittiest of lights, quite nearly broke her.

he hadn’t heard from her for weeks after that, and outside of a few messages here and there to let him know he was thinking of her, they don’t speak.

until she resurfaced nearly two months later.

teddy: hey.

auggie: teddy. whoa.

teddy: i know.

auggie: hi.

teddy: um. sorry for falling off. this was just... a lot.

auggie: don’t be sorry for that. ever.

teddy: yeah.

teddy: this might be a huge ask but...

and on that day, they talked over facetime for the first time since he’d reached out to her with that silly birthday message nearly a year prior. it had been awkward for the first bit of it as they took each other in and the initial jitters took over. but then her eyes watered, and the near literal floodgates opened up.

they talked for six hours that night, until he’d seen the sun come up in new york.

the conversation ended with a question. “what if... i came to new york for a bit?”

and that was how he found himself at jfk in an itchy wig and mustache combo, hiding in plain sight, to meet his (barely) ex and sorta new best friend. they’d worked out logistics about how she probably wouldn’t be able to make it in without a crowd. the disguises were a joke he made in passing, but she latched on so they could hide in plain sight.

(he didn’t know then it’d become a theme for them, or that they’d love it)

“hey you,” her voice draws his attention, up and away from his phone and he has to smile at the sight of her, short dark wig, glasses of her own. she barely looks like herself, but he’d know that smile anywhere.

it takes him a second to push off the wall, just taking her in after three years without properly seeing her outside of a photo or a phone screen.

“hey ted.”

they didn’t know it then, not as her eyes welled up just as they had on that call, or as he pulled her into a hug that felt like it lasted a lifetime, but they’d created home on that spot in the middle of the airport.

[...or if you strike out and you’re crawling home]

-

they had been so naive back then. so innocent to think they could ever pull off keeping what they’d created. he could almost laugh about it now. they’d spent that week in new york together, as he offered her a safe haven away from LA and the curse that was hollywood. and she came out feeling brand new.

he’d been living with ravi at the time, who’d been upstate visiting his parents, and when he walked into the apartment and ran into him, stopped short with such a force he nearly tipped over.

“aug, why is teddy bea in my apartment?” his eyes were wid like saucers as he eyed them both on the sofa in sweatpants and surrounded by snacks.

“did i forget to tell you we were friends?”

ravi blinked over at them. “um, yes.”

teddy smiled at him, like she knew she’d like him. “so you’re ravi, huh? nice to finally meet you,” she’d said brightly, as if she could’ve known then how much she’d grow to love him.

“auggie, why does teddy bea know about me, and why do i not know about her?”

auggie snorted, sipping his drink. “it might help if you stop talking about her like she’s not in the room, dude.”

ravi coughed, his cheeks going red as he realized his own blunder. he stepped farther into the living room. “sorry, teddy. yes, i’m ravi. nice to meet you?”

she giggled. “you sure about that?” she looked to auggie almost knowingly. “i promise i’m just a girl in sweatpants like everyone else.”

and though it had taken ravi a solid 10 minutes to get over being star struck, he found he liked her. a lot. and when she was gone at the end of the week, less heartbroken than she’d been when she came in, ravi had turned to auggie, his tone as serious as it’d been when they were five and evenly dividing gummy worms.

“you love her.”

auggie nearly spit out his coffee all over the floor of the A train. “don’t dude, don’t even go there.”

ravi looked almost insulted. “i won’t bet money because that feels rather gross, but the ‘i told you so’ will be so sweet.

-

auggie put a crisp hundred dollar bill in a birthday card for ravi the following summer when teddy kissed him on the rooftop of his apartment, both of them a little less than sober.

‘you were right.’

he never knew someone could become your everything that quickly. it’d been like she’d embedded herself underneath his skin, and he’d been certain he’d never get her out.

but he also quickly figured out that he didn’t want to. it wasn’t about anything she’d done, she’d never asked anything of him. it was more so the fact that he wholeheartedly refused to be in a world she wasn’t a part of.

-

[...and i can see us twisted in bedsheets august slipped away... like a bottle of wine, cause he was never mine;]

she dragged him to a house in rhode island that summer. the most stunning place auggie was sure he’d ever been to. a massive place she called the holiday house. “it was a gift for mom and dad’s thirtieth anniversary,” she’d explained once they were inside the front door. “i brought everyone here to celebrate.”

“graham style?” he’d teased, but she kissed him before it could be anything more than that, and led him up the stairs into her room.

he couldn’t place it then in the moment, but there was something so final about the whole thing.

“i’m going on tour in a month,” teddy had whispered in the quiet of the bedroom. the sun was starting to set, and they’d spent most of that day in bed, learning about one another in ways they’d never thought they would. not in the beginning, and certainly not in the last year.

“i know,” auggie nodded, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade, and running up the soft skin of her back.

she leaned into his touch and turned to face him, lips finding his for a long, lingering moment before pulling back. “auggie, this...” she sighed, and bowed her head.

“what, ted?” he asked. he raised his hand to cup her jaw, gently lifting her face so she’d look at him.

“i don’t know if we can... do this,” she said softly. “i’m booked for almost the entirety of the next year, and i don’t.” she sighed. “i know we just started, but.”

auggie pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words to say to her. but what could he say? it wasn’t her fault she had commitments. he had them, too, even if his were way less constrained than hers were (by a landslide). he wanted to say no. to hang on for dear life and have them figure out the rest later, but that felt like a big ask, especially when their worlds looked like they did.

she sat up in the bed, hugging her knees to her chest still wrapped in sheets. “you surprised me, you know.”

he stayed back, giving her the space she seemed to be searching for when she pulled away.

“i almost didn’t answer your text,” she laughed and sniffled, looking slightly surprised by her tears. “on my birthday, i almost...” she shook her head. “we were growing a lot back then. and olive made a huge deal about people from my past coming to ‘take a piece of the pie’ or whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “i know what she meant, but i don’t know when i saw your message, i didn’t. that didn’t even cross my mind.”

auggie smiled up at her. “i’m glad i inspired some lack of... gold digger-ism,” he snorted, and she shoved him, laughter bubbling from both of them.

“i’m serious! you were just. i don’t know.” teddy grinned and wiped at her eyes. “my point is, i didn’t expect to get here. with you.”

he sat up then, scooting close as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “i didn’t expect it either, you know.” he touched his forehead to hers. “i had a boyfriend and everything.”

teddy pressed her fingers to his cheek. “now look at us.”

“now look at us.”

auggie looked at her for a moment, trying to take her in. it was a lot, for a second, a lot of emotion to take in, especially in such a heavy moment. he decided to kiss her then, soft, and slower than he hand all day. tender and grounding, like he felt she needed in that moment. like maybe he needed in that moment

and with a few words, he tried to ease her worries, and his own in the process. “what if... we hold on to right now,” he offered. “focus on here, and this time, and... hope for more later.”

“hope?”

“hope we can have more later. soon? eventually? i’m okay to hope for you, i think i’ve hoped for you for four years without even knowing it.”

he could almost see in her eyes the moment her heart burst at his words. and he wasn’t even sure if he believed the words himself, but he had to hold onto some version of the story in which he wouldn’t have to let her go.

“okay. we’ll hope.”

[back when we were living for the hope of it all...]

-

they put a pin in it again, leaving things open ended while she went off to make magic across the globe with her music, while life kept going for him. youtube, the death of vine, the move to twitch, the gaming, the sponsorships, the birth of fortnite, and ridiculous amounts of money. their lives go on, and they lightly keep in touch, tethered whether they wanted to be or not.

teddy’s career had skyrocketed with the release of her next album, a transition to more pop music that put her on the map with a different audience and tugged her in all different directions, further and further away from auggie and the little bubble they thought they could manage.

auggie: msg never shined so bright.

teddy: wish i could’ve seen you.

auggie: come over. or i’ll come to you.

they spent more time apart than they ever did together, but whenever she was in new york, they carved a space. when he was in california, she’d find him in san diego. twitch con and comic con made it so easy to hide (even if the captain marvel costume and wig she managed to hide in did a real number on him).

when they managed to steal a moment, it would be the world’s most earth-shattering moment.

they made time. they made it work. without a label because labeling it was what started all the trouble. throwing permanence into two impermanent lives would be their downfall.

it was stolen glances across venues, hurried kisses and more in dressing rooms, hotel rooms, and cars. it was whispered phone calls and falling asleep on facetime. it was texts about little, dumb things, because every time they got into more, it was just more heartbreak. it was promises of somedays and forevermores.

months turned into years, and they thought this was doable. it worked.

at least, it was what he told himself. it worked to get to have her when he could, when her life wasn’t pulling her in all sorts of directions. he could hide in plain sight with her.

it worked when he properly met her brothers and sisters, and her parents. it worked when she met allie, who loved to barge in without knocking on a day she had fiona and freddie in tow for a sunday brunch after teddy had slept over and was bouncing around his kitchen in one of his flannels.

it worked when ravi insisted she meet ben and leslie, and leslie fell all the way in love with her. it worked when he met olive and eliza, and olive told him he wasn’t even a little bit good enough for teddy.

it worked when people in their world knew, even if the outside world didn’t know.

but then they tied her to someone at one point, and there were pictures and videos, and a shit-ton of starry-eyed fans around the world talking about teddy bea and her new love. and his stomach churned at the headline because this is where the impermanence and lack of a label didn’t work.

teddy: i’m sorry.

he didn’t answer.

(she was back in new york, two nights later, and he was fucking her in an elevator.)

but he got the same treatment, and way less notoriety, unless you knew what to look for. (and teddy knew what to look for.)

her name was blake, they gamed together all the time, and blauggie was born on the internet somewhere. she’s lovely, and he does like her, but it ultimately doesn’t go anywhere. she’s somewhere in texas, and he’s still not moving from new york, and long distances were really going to be the death of him.

teddy doesn’t know that though. and she showed up at his apartment in a trench coat with nothing underneath, coated in anger and jealousy. it was angry that night. for both of them.

[...and you know damn well, for you i would ruin myself...]

“i’m done.”

she was doing a secret show in paris at the end of february. a lover show. an extension of valentine’s day. and he only knew because she made it a point to stop in new york before she left to celebrate a delayed version of his twenty-eighth birthday.

except she left in the morning before he could say goodbye. and on the one hand, it hadn’t been the first time she ever had. she moved at such a rapid pace, that it lent itself to that kind of irish exit.

but he wasn’t having it this time. that one stung. before he could even comprehend it, he’d grabbed a backpack and bought a flight on the train ride to jfk.

(his bank called twice)

he texted daily. a hail mary. because if he texted teddy, he thought she might find a way to convince him they could keep doing it like this. that they could keep making it work from a distance.

nothing happened for the first two hours, he sat at the gate, resigned to having to guess and find her by some miracle.

and then, when they called his section to board, his phone buzzed.

daily: i was wondering how much longer was it gonna take you to do this. my god.

he found her.

“auggie, what are you...” her jaw had dropped and her eyes were like saucers. he was jet lagged as fuck after his flight, but had enough sense to gather that she had a show in a few hours. “how did you--”

“i’m not doing this with you anymore, teddy,” he interrupts, tone blunt. for all his exhaustion, he’s incredibly clearheaded about this. “i can’t keep doing this half in, half out thing with you.”

and auggie could gather how insane he must’ve sounded to her in that moment, how he’d jumped out of bed hours after teddy had left and followed her. to fucking paris. in his right mind, he would probably shake himself.

“i love you,” he said softly. “i love you, and i wanna be with you. fuck the long distance, fuck the messes we’ve made. i’ll follow you anywhere if i have to, i just... i’m done, ted.”

it was the most firm, steadfast decision he had ever made. and the weight of the silence and the shock on her face would weigh on his spirit for a little while after that. it was almost too heavy.

“then we’re done, auggie,” teddy said softly, eyes glassy, and voice loaded with emotion. “we’re done with the hiding. we’re done with treating this like anything other than what it is.”

“fuck it.” it’s the most certain he’s ever felt in his entire life, in an apartment in paris that screamed teddy graham and all that she was. “none of it matters anymore, ted. i don’t care about any of it if it means i don’t get to have you.”

she grabbed both his hands and drew him inside, pushing him back against the closed door and pressed her lips. “i love you,” she murmured against his mouth. “i love you.”

they’re married by the end of the week.

[...a million little times]