#is making me wonder if i should clarify that the post about my dog's passing was not done flippantly

[prismatoxic]

[m-c-s-m]



 Good morning!

 Welcome back to my surrogate livejournal. The kids just ate very well.  I have slept in constantly the past few months.  It has been a good if distracting morning. I am up at the same time as them these days, but that is because I stay up till 1, 2 3am for no good reason… It has been a stretch of stasis which is annoying.  

 I of course spoke too soon because I just broke up a fight over a toy. That’s kids for ya. The dogs are barking their fool heads off outside, the tv is on. The toy is needlessly noisy. As are the kids. Ah well. At least the coffee isn’t shite. I made the coffee. Aldi’s finest.

 Man I need a shower. I need a lot of things. I put on several several pounds the past 2-3 months. Maybe there is a correlation. I am working on it.

 Priorities:

 *Fix keyboard to my laptop.  

 *Clean myself.

 *Get the house in better order–> I have a good thing going finally after 5-6 days of my wife being so sick that we can’t obliterate our lives for the sake of an end-of-year holiday fest.  So I’ve caught up on dishes but not much else. I’m sitting here typing instead of cleaning, but I think that’s okay.  I am claiming my time, I’m claiming my time.

 Fack, so many memese, what the hell was that?

 Anyway, I’m looking around my house at the little discarded things and doghair and pieces of detritus and lint on the corners of the floor. Wondering how to be a passable father, much less a good one. Wishing I had a modicum of self-discipline and organizational skills to pass on to my kids. Part of the reason they have not spent a lot of time outside in the snow, where in my opinion they should be is my own procrastination, reluctannce, and organization. They’ll just get the house wet/muddy when they come back inside, and will they be warm enough? Won’t it just be even more trouble than it’s worth? It won’t buy me time, and anyway these dishes need done! And the table. And the floor. And the kitchen.  

 I took jukai several months ago. I need to remember why. The reason I did it was to sort of arm myself or at least clarify what my life should be about. It is hard to remember, especially when my meds are, uh, variable. Maybe that’s something too.

 I dunno about any of this, but I’m gonna just keep posting/typing through it. I really miss my old crew. Cherie, Rob…where you guys at, man? Rob I know where you at, but Cherie, where’d you go, hon? I miss you.  I need someone to just throw my depression at before getting on with my day. Want to play Soulcalibur?

 I do. I miss games. I saw a meme recently that the reason peopel miss their 20’s is because they sucked but they had no skills and nothing going for them. That’s fine, and I agree, but man that didn’t make staying up till 5am playing video games and going to Waffle House any less fun. That still seems like The Life.  I think my dreams were different. I haven’t dreamt in awhile.  

 I’m okay, but the inertia is enough to power-blog through here and throw out any mememes in my head that are taking up residence.    That’s good for now. Peace

–mcsm

[nejiraez]

one day, you all will know true peace when i stop making bakugou the default character to the maladaptive daydreamz i write. but until then...

get well soon! | bakugou katsuki

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader // 2.9k words

genre: fluff — contains spoilers from mha chap 298; includes kissing, thats it!

summary: free bakugou until it’s backwards!!! but until then, he appreciates having your presence around as he takes the time to properly heal.

the way i haven’t written a full fic since oct </3... but i needed to post this b4 aquarius season ends tmrrw...

He’s never had to stay this long in a hospital before.

Sure, there were minor check-ins that he had to tend to at the clinics every so often from the injuries he’s received, but he never had to stay more than a few days at hand.

“Only a couple more days until you’re discharged…” 

The sound of your voice prompts Bakugou to shift his gaze away from the TV screen stationed at the corner of his hospital room to focus his sights on you. Deep shades of scarlet watch as your hands absent-mindedly pick at the white petals from the bouquet that his mother had gifted him. 

Carnations, a ‘get well soon’ present that would prompt him back to wellness. They were becoming quite the eyesore. The stems were beginning to droop and dull in colour with how poorly maintained they had been kept for the past week.

“That must be exciting for you, yeah?”

Bakugou shrugs, but he’s quick to regret his slight movement due to the small wince that follows shortly after. Despite being placed in the hospital for a little over a week now, a great mass of Bakugou’s body still aches. “It’s whatever,” he mutters, dismissing the subject matter altogether, “I’ll be back to doing the same crap over again anyway, so it’s nothing special.”

Closing your eyes, you sink yourself further down into your seat near his bedside and sigh. The windows a few steps away from Bakugou’s left allow for the sun’s late afternoon glow to beam into his room. You’ve sat here with him for the past two hours and a half from when you first came.

“You’re so pessimistic, you know that?” You announce, resting your arms against the bed’s side rails, which promote access to you, propping your cheek onto your hands with your face turned towards Bakugou. “Always thinking so negatively.”

Choosing not to respond to your comment, Bakugou soaks in the brief silence shared within the confines of his room.

For the past few days, other than his immediate family, who was relentless about visiting him as much as they could- save for the days where work would pull them away- your regular visits were something that became apart of Bakugou’s daily schedule. 

Wake up. Eat whatever shitty food the kitchen staff has to offer for the day. Wait through numerous check-ups and appointments, while the nurses examine the vital state of his internal organs. And then, he has a bit of free time to himself before either you or any visitor arrives at Hosu General hospital.

“I’m just telling it as it is.”

Bakugou would be lying if he said that he didn’t look forward to your visits.

Like Pavlov’s law, he’s grown conditioned upon awaiting your arrival every day, always finding himself sitting a bit straighter in his bed whenever 15:00 rolled around on the clock. 

Growing bored with not much to do, Bakugou allows his eyes to wander the room, skimming each object with little to no thought before his eyes would drop down on your form once again. With your eyes still closed, Bakugou takes this chance to absorb your presence before him fully. Watching the tiny twitches that would happen every now and then on your face out of curiosity.

The amount of fear and dread that washed over you the moment you caught news of how Bakugou jumped in front of his childhood friend, Midoriya, to spare his life, in turn, putting his own on the line had you aching to the bone. 

You were scared and couldn’t bring yourself to the thought that you would lose him, and there wasn’t much that you could do about it since you and a few others were far from where the main fight had gone down.

Regardless of whether Bakugou had a chance of waking up or not, you were still adamant about swinging by his hospital room as often as you could until the second day where he miraculously woke up. And caused an uproar as he did. He had to be restrained as he tried to check up on the others’ wellbeing as he did so.

To be placed inside of a room alone, with no one around to tell him what the fuck exactly went on, Bakugou was on edge. Hands down, that day would take the cake as being the most overwhelming experience he has had at his time here. Where were was Deku, for starters? And where did you disappear off to? 

He really didn’t deserve you.

Pulling himself out from his thoughts, Bakugou breaks the silence to pester you with something. “Pass me that, will you?” He asks, nodding his head over to the sole snack that sat on his bedside table. Something that one of the nurses left behind for him after his physical exam.

You blink, snapping yourself back to reality. You crane your next behind you, following his line of sight to the bright Tarami packaging. “Sure,” you grab and toss it for him to take.

Bakugou grunts out his gratitude. “Getting to eat normal food again will be the pinnacle of my life,” he states, rolling the Tarami around in his hands. “They feed us nothing but literal dog water and bland shit. “

“I’m sure the staff is trying their best. You aren’t the only mouth they feed in here after all,” you say, referencing the fact that your other peers, such as Todoroki and Midoriya to name a few, found themselves in the same situation as he did. 

“I fuckin’ guess,” he mutters in response, his focus shifted onto trying to rip open his snack but to no avail.

“Want me to - ”

“Don’t need it,” he says, cutting your sentence short. His bandaged thumbs are still fumbling to get a good grip on the plastic seal that stood in the way between him and his fruit cup. “This stupid gauze is just - ” The cup tumbles out from his hold and rolls out onto his lap. “Dammit!”

You smile at the display in front of you. Bakugou glaring at the container as if it had crossed him wrong was quite the sight to see. The fact that he has shown no signs of making another attempt at opening the seal gave you an indication that it was your turn to step in.

What a dork.

“Jesus, Katsuki,” you say, shaking your head at his stubborn nature. You take the fruit cup off his lap and, without issue tear the seal off before passing it back to him. He was too headstrong for his own good sometimes. “Nobody’s gonna bite you if you ask for help once in a while.”

Bakugou scoffs - losing steam now, he tips the rim of the cup against his lips, knocking back as many diced peaches he could fit inside of his mouth.

A mix of wonder and admiration suddenly crosses you as you study how quick he is to swallow down his food. Not even bothering to make use of the silver spoon left astray on the stand.

Bakugou silently chews. His cheeks have bulked up in size for the time being until all traces of food have been gone. Cute. “You’re so - ” You start but cut yourself short, wanting to enjoy the serene atmosphere rather than spurring him to the edge towards nagging at you.

You reach your hand out towards Bakugou, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth to clean the small mess he has made, to which he gently swats your hand away. His mannerisms were still the same as ever, never changing.

“I’m so what?” He asks, flicking his attention onto you as he watches the way your eyes linger on his face.

“You’re so amazing, was what I was going to say.” 

“Damn straight.”

You half-heartedly roll your eyes at his narcissistic response and reach for your phone, checking the time. “Wow, it’s now getting to 18:00?” You exclaim, swiftly entering the passcode to your iPhone and so that your fingers could scroll to the Tokyo Train Navigation app to check the times of when you should catch the next ride home.

Bakugou brows bump together in confusion at your surprise. “What about it? That means you’re ditching me already?” 

“Only for today though, the next train is coming in 30 minutes, and I gotta catch it before it gets dark out.”

As much as Bakugou isn’t a big fan of having your time spent together but abruptly short, he understands where you’re coming from, mentally putting himself in your shoes. 

At hours like these, when the begins to sun hide behind the city’s tall, towering buildings, it isn’t an ideal situation to have you walking out alone in the middle of dimly lit streets where villains may lurk at any corner. Especially after the shit show that went down this past week with the jailbreak.

He’d have no problem walking you home at times like this, but he can’t. Not when he’s on a “house arrest” list with the staff of the hospital.

“Fine,” he replies, dropping his head into his hands, which then finds purchase through his hair. Pissed with the cards he’s been dealt with. Feeling like he should clarify about your safety, Bakugou pipes up, “Make sure you ask the front desk to have one of their idiot guards walk you to the station. I hear that they do that.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, collecting your belongings from the ground. “Not trying to be edited in with the clouds.” A remark that was supposed to prompt a lighthearted, humorous feel to the conversation, but Bakugou remains tight-lipped as ever. A fitting expression for your grouch of a boyfriend.

“I’m serious. Text me when you get home too.”

“And so am I! I love my life.”

And he loves you-- was something that Bakugou refrains himself from saying. It was something that he still had trouble saying verbally but had no difficulty expressing.

You walk towards the door, ready to bid your counterpart a farewell, but he beats you to the punch.

“The hell are you doing?” Bakugou’s voice halts you from making your grand exit.

He stares at you sharply from his bed. Glowering with jaw taut as he eyes your hand placed onto the sliding door. “Cut that shit out, come back.”

“For why?”

You hear Bakugou breathe out a hushed hiss, becoming peeved at how evasive you were when he knew for a fact that you were aware of what he wanted you to do for him. “Come and do the thing.”

At his sudden inquiry, you finally turn around to face him. “What thing?” You prod, wanting to hear him say what he wanted out loud. To be straightforward with you for once rather than dancing around the topic like he always does.

Sidestepping the multiple wires and the IV tube that he was hooked up to, at last, you close the distance between you both. Finding yourself back beside Bakugou’s bed, and now settle yourself down onto the small space that he has created for you on his mattress. 

You feel giddy. A hazy warmth exudes from your chest that spreads down to your toes as you watch the slow change of pigmentation in Bakugou’s face. Blotches of a soft, rosy pink littered his exposed neck, indicating the effect that had over him.

Caving in, Bakugou swallows down his pride and utters, “Kiss me…” His tone is wavering in the slightest.

There it was.

Propping your hand near Bakugou’s face to steady yourself, you nod. You’re gentle in the process as you move much closer to Bakugou, attentive as not to brush up against any of his wounds. “Okay,” you murmur. 

You think to yourself about how pretty looks from your point of view. Admiring how Bakugou's plush and soft skin was despite the light bruises and scratches he’s gained from the fight, he looked very well-maintained for a hospital patient.

The more time that you take, you become aware of the fact that Bakugou isn’t above taking a fistful of your shirt and tugging you down so that you could meet his lips. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise you if he were to do so right now.

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he waits. Patiently, for you to make your move and just fucking kiss him already. Though there’s only so much he can take before he breaks.

Feeling the bed dip beside him, Bakugou could damn near feel his heart hammering against his chest. “Hurry up and get on with it will you,” he chides, his striking features already beginning to twist into an unreadable expression.

You laugh, unable to bite back your giggles as the male fixed you with his signature scowl. “Look at you, being a bully to the person you want a kiss from...” You say, leaning in close, now only hovering a few mere centimetres from his lips, both of you desperate for what would come next.

“You’re so mean, I swear.”

And that’s when you decide to close the distance, pressing your lips together.

It was quite sweet, literally, for his lips tasted of citrus.

Bakugou does a poor job at suppressing down his groan the moment your fingers wind themselves into his hair. The pads of your fingertips adoringly dance across his scalp.

The kiss starts off relatively chaste, both of you relishing in each other’s warmth as you pepper several small kisses against him—your stomach ties into knots as you experience how gentle he was being with you.

Despite the dull aching pains that Bakugou could still perceive whenever he made broad movements with his arm, his hand steadily finds its way to reach up towards your neck, pressing you further against him to deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue upon your lower lip. 

When your tongue comes into contact with his, it’s tentative and quick. And then it happens a few more times before fully feel comfortable enough to full-on kiss Bakugou.

Your thought process was growing muddled. Not a clear premise came to mind as his bandaged hand trails to the small of your back and back up again.

With every sound or hum of approval that you made way past your lips, it fed Bakugou’s desire to satisfy both you and his needs even. His thumb smooths over the curve of your jaw, easing your nerves each time you shyly pull away attributable to the great intimacy that swirled between you both.

He chases your lips, fervent on returning your energy that you were relaying to him, back tenfold. He loves you. So fucking much, and he only hopes that his appreciation and devotion may reach you.

You choke on a tiny gasp. “Katsuki - ” And that’s when he feels it, right in his chest. It’s as if he has been jump-started back to life, his heart quite literally skipping a beat at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips. It was adorable, and he wanted to hear you like that again. Say his name like that again, on loop without end.

Fuck.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, your breathing was starting to grow laboured now, and you decide to break the kiss before things can escalate and before you miss your train.

Pulling away from Bakugou, the traces of confidence that you once had prior to the kiss have all but flung itself out the window, completely gone now. “I’ll, uhm -” You stammer over your words, brain trying to compose a proper sentence in spite of your current dazed state. “I’ll be back to see you again, with the others.”

With how flustered and scatterbrained you were acting, it stroked Bakugou’s ego beyond belief. A wicked smile threatens to split upon his face, but he bites it down along with his greed to ask for one more kiss before you go. “Tomorrow,” he affirms, flicking his eyes back towards the TV—an entirely new show publicized on its screen.

You hoist yourself up from the bed and stand to your feet, ignoring how your knees almost buckle. “Right,” you say. No fucking way were you this beat up over making out with your own boyfriend, for crying out loud- you thought as you wander towards the door, almost taking out one of the monitors in your trail. 

Sliding the door open you step out, but you poke your head back in, stalling a bit so that you could look at the blonde for the last time that day. “But until then, get well soon, okay?” 

Bakugou’s eyes stay glued to the screen, trying to distract himself from how damn sweaty his palms were, that or how he could feel the beat of his heart pick up in tempo. Its incessant pounding was all too much for him.

It’s so stupid how whipped he found himself to be nowadays. “I know,” he dismisses, a bit all too quickly. He wants your ass out before you have a chance to glance at the heart monitor he was wired up to.

Fortunately enough for him, you don’t. You wave and close the door behind you, your smile being the last thing he sees.

With the coast clear, Bakugou throws himself back onto his mountain of pillows. “Shit,” he curses, panting out a sigh of relief seconds after you were gone.

That was amazing, you were amazing, he thought, recounting the kiss. He swipes his palms against his sheets, being sure to get rid of any nitroglycerin that may linger to activate his quirk successfully.

Bakugou can’t stress how much he’s aching for nightfall to come, knowing that he would be one sleep from getting to see you again, and again, and again, until he would finally be let free.

But until then, as you had said, he had to heal.

And with the knowledge of you being around whenever he needed you the most, Bakugou was most definitely on the bright path to a speedy recovery.

[poppysmc]

I Don't Know How You Do It But I'm Forever Ruined

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts for so so long, unfinished with a different song and Im just obsessed with this song right now so I thought I'd go ahead and post it.. sorry for the mistakes I don't have a beta so they're all mine. I'm just slowly getting back to writing again, please be patient with me. ❤️

Song: Off my face - Justin Bieber

(One shot)

Last and certainly not the least…. Ms. Morgan Hughes, she’ll be gracing us with her angelic voice, singing… uhh… Off my face? Thomas reads the cue cards, slightly puzzled, he thought Morgan would be doing stand-up, he and Morgan’s posse endured long nights of practicing her stand-up routine and now she’s just gonna sing, it’s not even vetted on.

He glances to the side, silently confirming if it was right. Morgan nods and smiles nervously. He in turn smiles back, giving an encouraging thumbs up and a whisper of ‘good luck’ as she takes to the stage.

Some of the audience chuckled at the name choice, adding to the ever growing lump lodged in her throat. This is definitely not her best idea and before she could go ranting about the title, some of her friends clapped and cheered, giving her a slight boost of confidence.

She wrote thet a few months ago, absently plucking at the guitar strings. She’s got the same few chords stuck in her head for week. Only god knows how she pulled the lyrics out of her muddled brain.

How does one go about sharing her feelings for someone who has no idea? Said someone sitting front and center with a scowl, sitting next to her parents. She has no idea she wrote it for her, she sighs in relief.

For a split second she could see Poppy’s attention snap up to her, smirking and raising her eyebrow in question. Morgan rolls her eyes at her and settled into her chair and just like Poppy’s face never moved, her scowl was back in place, listening to Chloe rant about her talent to her right.

She starts plucking out the intro, it’s now or never.

One touch and you got me stoned

Higher than I’ve ever known

You call the shots and I’ll follow

Sunrise but the night’s still young

No words but we’re speaking tongues

If you let me I might say too much

Sometimes people just enter your life and burrow themselves so deep into it that for the life of you, you couldn't remember when it all started. This case was different, Morgan could vividly remember a day it all changed, how it became harder for her to even look Poppy in the eye for more than a few seconds. How her warm touch roughly pulling her back to the argument now seemed to burn through her sleeves, pressure slightly softer. She used to meet her hot gaze, faces only inches apart spitting out vicious insults without thinking much, now she didn’t have the same fire in her veins she seemed to have arguing with Poppy.

The need to antagonize her fizzled into something else, a warmth that threatens to overtake her made itself a home in her chest.

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

Morgan wanted to stay home, as much as she enjoyed parties, it wasn’t something she wanted to do regularly. Sometimes it gets a little too much to handle, the music felt too loud, the people got too close, the eyes on her felt stifling. She wanted to be free just this one night out of expectant looks but Zoey is too convincing, her puppy dog eyes are too powerful for a mere mortal like herself. She made a condition to just be at the party no over the top expensive clothes, just herself.

“I’ll come but just to be your glorified chauffer.” She dresses herself in something simple, a pair of black pants and flannel. “I just want to be invisible this one night, Zo.”

“Fine by me, but if your fashion choices end up splashed all over The T tomorrow don’t come crying to me.” Zoey shakes her head, the slight dig on her wardrobe is softened by a thankful grin.

“You get dragged on The T once, and no one lets you live it down.”

“Because I’m pretty certain I said don’t go out in that, it’s suicide. So yeah I would never let it go, you wore socks with your flip-flops and had the audacity to show yourself in public.”

“It’s not even my fault, sunny ran out the door. I had no time to check what I was wearing."

“You’ll never learn. Whatever will you do without me?” Zoey smirks and shakes her head affectionately. "Stop stalling and let’s go. My carriage awaits dear chauffer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Please allow me to escort you down, boss.” Morgan bumps her shoulders with Zoey as she passes by to grab her jacket. She opens the door and offers her arm, Zoey laughs and loops her arms around hers.

The party was already in full swing once they arrived. The music was blaring; the bass makes Morgan’s chest thump along erratically with every beat. “Text me, okay? I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Sure. Thanks for driving.” Zoey winks and beelines for the bar. In a few seconds she loses sight of her.

Morgan trudges through the house, the crowd gradually thins as she makes her way farther to the back. She exhales in relief finally free of the maze of drunk students with no boundaries, nobody seemed to pay attention to her, thank god for the dim lighting. The backdoor swings open, she breathes in the crisp night air. The door shuts and party fades into muffled thumps. She sat on the porch steps, her side leaning against the banister, oblivious to the pair of eyes quietly observing her.

After a minute of silence, Morgan sucked air through her clenched teeth, surprised at hearing someone pointedly clearing their throat behind her. The rate in which her head whipped back almost made her dizzy. When she recognizes who the person was, she could already feel the headache coming through, she almost swallows her tongue in disbelief. Of all the people she didn’t want to see her tonight was Poppy, yet here she was, alone with her.

“What are you doing back here?” Poppy asked, voice devoid of any venom just genuinely curious.

“Do I need permission to be? Who made you queen?” Morgan scoffs, the slight bite in her voice comes through and makes Poppy smirk.

“Belvoire.” Poppy cheekily answers, earning an undignified snort from Morgan. The slight tension momentarily forgotten.

“Should have seen that coming.”

“The party’s raging inside and little miss newbie sits here. What are you doing, really?” Poppy asks not unkindly, voice tinged with concern and curiosity.

“I could ask the same to you.”

“I asked first.” Poppy frowns impatiently.

Morgan sighs, opting to just answer just to avoid trouble. She didn’t have the energy to make up excuses nor to argue. “I don’t feel like partying today. I’m just waiting for Zoey to get flat out drunk and drive her home. My turn.”

“It’s-  It’s overwhelming inside. I just want to be alone for a while.” The honesty in Poppy’s answer momentarily throws her off.

“Do you want me to go?” Morgan asks, feeling like she’s intruding. This must be the longest record they ever had being civil to one another, actually speaking without the sarcastic comments and the insults. It makes her feel out of place and awkward.

“You could do whatever you want. I’m not the queen of anything right now.” Right, cause technically it's Chloe. There’s something in her tone that makes Morgan’s heart clench, yet she shrugs it off as the bass from the party. To Morgan’s never ending surprise, the blonde pats the spot next to her on the bench. “The floor is filthy.” Poppy clarifies when she makes no move to stand. A disarming smile crosses her face, Morgan guessed her hesitation must have been showing.

Morgan stands and dusts herself off. “Who are you and what have you done to Poppy?” She asks with a grateful smile, sitting down the furthest she could from the other girl.

“I have half the mind to kick you off this bench.” Poppy grumbles.

“There she is.”

Poppy huffs out a half laugh and after that there’s just silence. After a while she could see the slight tremble in Poppy’s hand in her periphery. She wordlessly shrugs off the coat she’s wearing and offers it to the other girl.

“What?” Poppy blinks, eying her coat suspiciously, making Morgan chuckle in disbelief.

“You’re cold. Take it or go inside.”

“Fine.” Poppy slips on the offered garment, appreciating the warmth it gave to her cold limbs. She wasn’t thinking while she burrowed herself further, letting Morgan’s scent envelope her. She stared at Morgan, feeling guilty for a moment. She moves closer, Morgan shivers when their shoulders touched. "Thanks." Poppy whispers, if it wasn't for their proximity, Morgan might have missed it. She hoped the shadows hid the small smile spreading to her lips.

“I’m sorry for taking your coat. I just couldn’t go back inside. I-” Poppy trails off, breaking her gaze away and staring farther up the yard.

“It’s okay, I offered. You don’t have to explain anything.” Morgan understood, after today everything changed, she lost her spot to one of her friends. Morgan was somewhat surprised that instead of Poppy's explosive anger, she opted to just sit here and mope.

She jumps a little when her phone vibrates in her pocket, she could see Poppy smirk in the corner of her eye.

"Jumpy."

She reads the text and taps a reply, frowning. She turns to Poppy. She doesn't even know why she's explaining but it felt wrong to just go without saying anything. A part of her wanted to make this moment stretch a little longer, so she hesitates.

“Apparently Zoey doesn’t need me to drive her back. So... I guess I'll head back home." Morgan stands not having an excuse to stay longer and makes her way to the door, hands hovering over the door knob to open it but not before doing something stupid like asking her so called enemy if she wanted to drive around for a while.

“So… Do you still want company? We could drive around for a while?” Morgan mentally chastises herself for the suggestion. Of course Poppy would say no it’s not like she-

Morgan looks back at Poppy, she sees her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. Morgan’s gaze flickers down to her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they looked. The moment passed and she breaks her gaze away just as Poppy decided.

“Sure but let me just get my stuff.” Poppy stands and makes her way to the door, Morgan standing motionless, hand over the handle. She reaches for it, her fingertips grazing Morgan’s, the slight static made her pull her hand away abruptly.

“Sorry.” Morgan breaks through her short circuited brain and moves to hold the door open for Poppy.  “I’ll wait for you out front.” Morgan makes her way back through the crowd, her mind reeling at what happened back there and what mess she got herself into.

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

She continued singing, her eyes accidentally meeting Poppy’s gaze again, her scowl was replaced by an unreadable expression, attention now focused solely on her and Morgan almost faltered. She breaks eye contact and stares at the back wall, ignoring the burning gaze upon her from those familiar eyes.

Your touch blurred my vision

It’s your world and I’m just in it

Even sober I’m not thinking straight

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

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

The sound of the door opening breaks Morgan out of her deep thoughts. She could see Poppy walking towards her with a sour expression, she's still wearing Morgan's coat.

“What happened to you?” Morgan’s warm hands reaching out to her, settling comfortably on her shoulder. Poppy stares at her hands, she pulls it away like she’s been burned.

“Just drive.” Poppy mumbles, trying hard to be composed but failing.

“Where to?” Morgan pretends not to notice Poppy's agitation, barely glancing at her so she won't feel uncomfortable. She unlocks her car slipping inside while Poppy stares at the abomination in front of her.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful but your truck is… I don’t know how to say it without offending you? But maybe it could use a good wash? Like you drove through mud to get here. I don’t know, maybe we could go to a carwash, my treat.”

"That’s about the rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me, and you said a lot of insulting things before." Morgan rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t mean that Betty, you just got a little mud on you.” She murmurs quietly.

“You named your car… Betty?”

“What? No I didn’t.” Morgan could see Poppy’s amused smirk even in her periphery.

“You’re such a dork.” Poppy can’t help but laugh at her mortified expression.

Morgan distracts herself from the rapidly rising heat on her neck by fiddling with the radio before driving off. The sweet sound of the guitar filtered through the car and she smiles triumphantly, previous embarrassment pushed to the back of her mind. She doesn't notice Poppy's expression soften.

Morgan drives her car through the carwash. They watched the water and the soap assault her car, the material of the brushes made a repetitive sound along with one of her favourite songs. Poppy had her seat leaned back, watching the machine rid the car of dust and mud. There was something mildly intimate about it, Morgan could move her right hand then they would be grazing Poppy’s, she could do it, she wanted to do it. But all she could manage was a slight twitch in her pinky, her hand doesn't move any closer.

“Do you ever feel like there’s a hundred people around you in a room, yet you feel alone?” Poppy breaks the silence, tilting her head slightly to the left to look at Morgan.

“Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes people may be looking at you yet feel as if their staring right through you, like your nothing. Oh! Like a ghost.” This makes Poppy chuckle.

“Yeah like that. It would have been easier if we were ghosts at least then you know why.”

“Did you feel like that back at the party?” Morgan wanted to say how that would have been impossible that no one could have seen her, she’s seeing her now. She wondered how could anyone ever take their eyes of her, she always seemed to be the brightest thing in any room she entered and now even in this dingy carwash she looked so radiant. How sometimes she thinks that she picks fights with her just for a chance to be bathed in her light. Thoughts she doesn't think would ever cross her mind trickled slowly and became a raging river. Now that she found herself here with her, without anything familiar to fall back on, anything just to distract herself out of her dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, I don’t know. It was easier to be alone than surrounded but feeling alone. Do you get it? At least I know, I chose to be alone.”

“I get it.” If she had the ability to say more she would have but these few pathetic words are all she could manage. This time her hand reaches to squeeze Poppy’s. A quiet comfort to reinforce her words, she understood.

“Thank you.”

Whatever atmosphere they created in that moment fell apart when Morgan had to move her car forward and exited the wash.

“Where to now?”

“Your turn to choose.” Poppy mumbles, still staring blankly outside.

“Okay, I know a place. You're gonna love it."

“I’m not going to let you pick anymore.” Poppy complains, standing in front a fluorescent lit diner. It almost glowed but in a weird way, like a bat signal for the weary.

“Hey! They make the best food.” Morgan steps forward and drags her companion along when she hesitated.

Warmth and the ambient sound of cutlery grazing the plates makes Morgan smile. She always came here when she’s feeling lonely, missing her parents, their farm or when she’s stressed from school, for trying to fit in like a robot.

“Come. Don’t just stand there.” Morgan looks back at Poppy, her breath caught in her throat. Poppy looked ethereal against the most basic place there ever is. If you said diners were some kind of portal to somewhere else she’d accept it and move on, for she looked like she existed out of place, alien, untouchable as she was beautiful. For the second time this day her gaze flickers to Poppy’s lips, she realizes that she’s saying something and Morgan’s mortified of being caught staring like a fool.

“What? Is something on my face?” Poppy is thankfully oblivious.

“No, it’s perfect.” Morgan quietly whispers while Poppy checks herself in the diner’s window, her words falling into deaf ears.

Morgan balls up pieces of her straw paper places it over some torn up tissues, stacked together. She’s fidgeting under Poppy’s presence; she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She's startled when Poppy lightly grasps her hands stopping it from tearing up another piece of paper. It’s been minutes of watching Morgan tear up even rectangles of several tissues, a girl could only take so much.

“You’re making a mess.” Poppy chastises her like a child. She would have laughed but Poppy still hasn’t let go of her hand, it’s making her blush like an idiot.

“Sorry. It’s just that the food is taking a while huh?” Morgan stealthily tries to take her hand back but Poppy only holds it tighter. When they're not arguing, Morgan found that she doesn't know how else to act around her.

“Stop tearing paper like confetti.”

“Sorry.” Morgan sheepishly apologizes and Poppy lets go of her hand, hiding hers under the table, flexing it, she could still feel the warmth of her hand in hers.

The food arrives and Morgan smiles widely. Poppy stares, pretending she's interested in what food Morgan ordered. She admits to herself that for all the times she stared at her she never noticed how beautiful Morgan’s smile was. Arguing doesn't leave one space to insert a smile. It made her heart skip, imagining how it would be like if it was directed at her.

She almost misses Morgan stealing a fry off her plate. “Hey! If you wanted some you should have bought your own or at least politely asked.” Poppy mock glares at her companion, taking one of the crumpled balls and flicking it, hitting Morgan right between the eyes. They watched as the paper landed right into Morgan’s half empty milkshake glass.

"Your face!" Poppy laughs, wishing she could have captured it on camera.

Morgan found that she liked Poppy's laugh when it was genuine. “You better buy me another. You ruined mine.”

“What? It’s almost all gone anyway. All the needless calories you’re consuming will bite you in the ass someday.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Just have the rest of mine.” Poppy slides over her milkshake, Morgan grins and takes a sip right into Poppy’s straw. Poppy noticed first, eyes widening. Did She just… A revolting question crossed her mind, how would ‘Morgan’s lips feel like pressed to mine.’ Shes never felt jealous of a piece of plastic before in her life.

Morgan freezes when she realized what she’s done. She just had an indirect kiss with Poppy through the straw. “Sorry. I got excited.”

Poppy opens a new straw for her water, blowing the other end right into Morgans face, another bulls eye, she’s killing it. “Don’t overthink it.” She dismisses the act but her brain does summersaults inside her skull.

They finished eating, the last few of Poppy’s fries stolen right under her nose. She pretends she doesn’t see her sneaking a few of the fries away, she just lets her. Mind preoccupied with important things like Morgan’s lips.

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

Can’t sleep ‘cause I’m way too buzzed

Too late now you’re in my blood

I don’t hate the way you keep me up

Your touch blurred my vision

It’s your world and I’m just in it

Even sober I’m not thinking straight

Even if she doesn't look or at least tries her hardest not to, she could feel Poppy's gaze on her, burning, willing her eyes to look back. There's something wildly intimate about singing a song to someone and in the sea of strangers you know it's just for them. No matter how many people sang it, to another, to themselves or just for the heck of it, the song only belongs to the person you made it for. Just for her. They could never feel the way she felt when she wrote it, how her feelings were entwined with every word.

In her periphery she could see Poppy stand and make excuses to her parents. She left, she didn't see where she went, she doesn't dare look anywhere near where she was, she's a coward like that. All she could feel is disappointment. It takes everything in her not to show it on her face. Was it too late to change her talent to stand up?

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

"Come on Poppy, pick a place already. I've been driving around for hours! People will think we're stalking someone around here." Morgan whines in the driver seat taking yet another turn around the block.

"It's been exactly 20 minutes. You're such a baby." Poppy looks at her phone for any places that might still be open around this time. "Turn right, that's not right. Right! Not left."

"Great, now were going in circles. Pull over."  Poppy grumbles.

"What?" Morgan looks confused for a moment but does what she’s told anyway, parking along the street.

"Get out."  Poppy moves to exit the car.

"What are you..?"

"I'm not gonna hijack your car, just let me drive. You suck at following directions."

"...."

They switch seats, Morgan slumps and mopes in hers. Poppy fights back a smile.

“Would you look at that it only took 2 minutes.” Poppy smiles smugly.

“I did all the navigating you only had to turn once.” Morgan complains, getting out of the car and looking around the parking lot. “What the hell Poppy, a 711? You could have told me, I could have turned anywhere and found one.”

“Like hell you could. You don’t even know your left from your right.” Poppy laughs at Morgan’s offended expression. They walked in, shoulders brushing together and Morgan shivers, insisting to herself that it’s because it’s cold.

Poppy smiles, victoriously pulling out what they came here for out of the fridge.

“A freaking capri sun? We drove all the way here for that?” Morgan complains, ready to throttle Poppy. Though there’s something endearing in her expression, that proud smile for finding something she was looking for.

“Just go find something you want.” Poppy shoos her away, grabbing a few more pouches of juice. She shakes her head and walks off in search of snacks.

Morgan comes back with an armful of sweets and chips.

“We just ate. What are you doing? Take these back, I won't buy you all these.”

“You said something I like. I like them all. Come on aren't you rich?” Morgan dumps her haul in the counter, the cashier looking back and forth from them, looking for a sign that it’s okay to scan the items.

“Are you just an overgrown kid or what?”

“Pop, you just bought a juice in a pouch, you have no right to judge me.”

“Fine.”

Morgan carries three bags worth of snacks back to the car, Poppy not attempting to lift a finger just because she paid.

“Your turn. Pick a place.”

Minutes later they're on a cliff overlooking the city. Fading notes from a song playing in Morgan’s car filtered to the back.

“I'm surprised you didn't get lost.”

“I don't suck at directions. You're the one that sucked at giving them.” Morgan says in self-defence. She unlatches the back so they could sit on it, holding Poppy’s waist, helping her up. If Poppy noticed her hands shake, she didn’t say anything. They sat closer together, leaning against the side. She could feel the cold seeping into her shirt, making her shiver. Poppy notices and moves to take Morgan's coat off.

“No. Keep it on.” Morgan stops her, cold hands over equally cold ones.

“But you're cold.”

“I'm not.” Morgan attempts to refute it but her hands are freezing.

“I can see your teeth chattering.”

“I like it on you.” She smiles softly.

“What?”

“I don't want you to be cold. Just take it, don’t be stubborn.”

“If you speak of this to anyone, I would personally kill you in your sleep.”

“Why would you do- oh.” Morgan stared in confusion, then realization.

Poppy moved to sit in the space between her legs, leaning her back into Morgan, taking her hands and wrapping them to her waist. Her hands rubbing over Morgan's freezing ones. To say that she was now warm was an understatement, she was burning from the blush that overtook her body.

“If you wanted to be near me so bad you could've just asked.” Morgan grins, chin propped on Poppy's shoulder.

Poppy huffs and attempts to get up. Morgan's arms stop her, wrapping tighter, keeping her in place. “Don't move, I might freeze to death.”

“That's what I thought.”

They had a toast with the Capri sun pouches, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. They sat there talking for hours, the company was too enjoyable to give in to exhaustion or cold.

From the time they were talking Poppy shifted her position, now sitting on Morgan's lap, staring up at her while she told a story about their farm animals, making her scrunch her nose in disgust at one of her retellings.

They stared at the sky surprised to see the day chasing the night away. How long have they been talking? Morgan looks at her phone and even more surprised that it's nearly 6am. Time went by so fast.

“I always wanted to see the sunrise from here. Thanks for the company.” Morgan smiles softly, running her fingers through her hair to distract herself from Poppy.

No one mentioned how one of their hands are still interlaced together or how Morgan's thumb drew circles on the back. Especially not Poppy's lips softly grazing the underside of her jaw.

They watched in silence, both aware that as the night was done, so will this new moment they found together.

“I'll take you to back to your dorm.” Morgan reluctantly says, unwilling to move. It was Poppy who moved off her first.

Morgan slides off the back of her truck smirking at Poppy. “Want a piggy back ride?”

Poppy scoffs. But positions herself anyway, her arms wrapped on Morgan's shoulders, Morgan's hands holding her legs securely as she closes the small distance to the front of her car.

They drove back in silence, neither speaking of the moment, afraid it will be over soon.

Morgan stops her car in front of Poppy’s sorority house, tapping her fingers anxiously against the steering wheel.  No one talked nor moved for a minute or two, they just stared at each other feeling the change in whatever relationship they previously held. Poppy’s alarm goes off, effectively ruining their moment.

“I guess... I'll see you later. Good Morning, Poppy.” Morgan smiles softly, hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles going white, stopping herself from reaching out.

“I’ll… see you later. Thank you for driving me around.” They both know they will see each other but not in the same capacity as tonight, they will be back to being rivals, enemies, whatever the school made them out to be. She could see Poppy fighting a losing battle against herself before she reached out and kissed the corner of Morgan's mouth. She turns away like nothing happened and exits the car without looking back.

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

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

Morgan stands and bows to the applause, yet she felt empty. It all felt useless somehow, she wasn't even there to hear the rest of it. She makes her way backstage, turning the corner as the next talent comes up. She felt like running but before she could turn and walk away, Poppy pushes herself off the wall and approached her. She gulped, unsure of what to do.

“Your voice is very beautiful.” Poppy tells her, voice almost as soft as a whisper. She's searching Morgan’s terrified eyes for something. “The song, did you write it?” She asks all the while moving closer, hands fiddling with the lapel of Morgan’s suit.

All she could do is nod, not trusting her voice at the moment. She takes a step back and another and another until her back is against the wall but Poppy follows her every step. Thank god they seemed alone or she would have burst into flames in embarrassment. Poppy steps closer until their bodies are almost touching.

“Who did you write that song for?”

“I...”

“Tell me.” Poppy looks up almost pleading, wanting to hear what she hoped to.

“It’s for you.” Morgan presses herself even more to the wall, wishing it would just swallow her up. She closes her eyes but it flies open when she heard Poppy gasp. “Are you surprised or?” Morgan trails off, observing Poppy’s expression going from astonished, to happy and outright tearing up.

“I can’t believe you wrote that song for me, I thought that there was someone else.” Poppy breathes in relief, Morgan’s hands wrap around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Just you.” Morgan says breathlessly. Watching her break into a smile made all the nerves she had vanish. She pulls her into a tight hug, smiling when she feels Poppy sink into the embrace. Her head leans on her shoulder and she rests her cheek on her hair. Poppy pulls back and smiles before leanig up and kissing Morgan.

[benhardypout-archive]

004. thank you, alex

a/n: so this is one of my Wonty "comfort fics" - so it's far from canon or never followed the original plot - which i would probably never publish (unless there's one i would like to share), but this time in this fic which i titled "Dirty Little Secret", I'm just going to post some chapters which I enjoyed writing. So the number is the chapter of this fic, and this is the chapter 4, hence, 004. Enjoy reading! 🙈

Perhaps, my crush on Monty was getting out of hand.

I flipped through the Liberty yearbook which Tyler lent me only to feast my eyes over the photos of the guy in Jersey no. 32 through the weekend, as I sat on the floor with my back against the bed.

Montgomery de la Cruz, I chanted in my head, reading his name printed in bold letters.

I stopped by a certain picture of his, running my fingers over the glossy paper, tracing his face. Tyler was lucky to have taken this rare shot of him smiling beautifully like this; those white teeth showing. He was leaning back and wearing a blue tank top. For once, he looked really happy…

I should probably ask Tyler the story behind this shot.

My phone rang a message.

I,  mindlessly, searched for it, not keeping my eyes away from the image. I could feel my heart expanding by this simple picture of him.

Bringing my phone to my face, there’s a  message from Alex: U free this afternoon?

Basically, I'm free for the whole day.

I typed a quick reply: Yes.

And not long after, Alex texted back asking us to meet up at this mall, only a five minute drive.

I wonder if this hang out thing meant anything or just platonic. Anyway, Alex seemed nice. I would love to get to know him more and perhaps get acquainted.

Looking back to the yearbook, I'm so tempted to cut the picture. Or maybe I could just ask Tyler just give me this specific yearbook, like a gift.

* * *

Alex took me bowling. And I'm not so good with the game but so far I'm having fun.

"You're so good at this," I said as Alex hit another strike.

He smiled. "Nah."

"Now, don't be modest on me," I chuckled lightly and took a bowling ball from the rack and positioned it on my hand, adjusting to its weight. Walking by the lane, I put on a stance and ran my tongue over my lower lip, aiming for a strike. Not that I'm expecting to hit one, which of course didn't happen. I looked at Alex, throwing my hands in defeat. "No, not good at this."

Alex went to hit next and of course, another strike. He raises both his arms dramatically and spun around facing me, smiling victoriously, cocking a brow.

"I give up!" I chuckled and sat down by the bench.

"You're named Winston for a reason," Alex commented, sitting beside me.

"What does that mean?"

"Winston, like Winner. Root word, win."

I laughed, throwing my head back a little. "Damn. I think I'm not doing my name justice, then."

"Practice makes perfect."

"Let's just eat. I'm starving."

"Sure."

We walked aimlessly along the mall in silence, with a few side comments about the boutiques or the shops we passed on. Then we saw and spotted some familiar faces. Well, Alex introduced me to some of them, simply pointing from afar and telling their names, since I barely knew anyone from Liberty yet, who also worked here.

Then my stomach decided to embarrass me and did a growl as we reached the food court.

“Someone’s whining,” Alex retorted.

“I know right.”

Since it’s the afternoon, there’s a lot of tables to choose from, not to mention, stalls without queues. A lot of options for us. But we just settled on some corn dogs.

"We should see some movie some time," Alex suggested. "How about tomorrow?"

"Oh, okay." I thought back if I had plans. Is looking at pictures of Monty in the yearbook counted as one?

He smiled and told me the time and rendezvous. And then added, "I-it's a date,"

I blinked. "A d-date?"

"I meant friendly date," he quickly clarified, faking a smile. I could see dejection in his eyes.

I wanted to apologize but perhaps I’m just overthinking the situation and putting meaning on how Alex was acting the past days. I may try to brush it off and act like I’m not noticing anything, but it’s there. Yet, he said so himself ‘friendly date’, maybe he really just meant us to be friendly.

"So you like someone else?" Alex asked after a moment which of course caught me off guard. I should’ve expected that question to come. I almost coughed my Coke out. Good thing, I had swallowed it down. My heart began to skip.

Should I tell him?

I avoided his gaze, and took another sip on my drink. "Uhm… yes," I said in a low voice.

"Oh…. right. Of course."

"Alex-"

"I-I'm just asking," Alex cut me off. Though, I’m afraid I’m already ruining this budding friendship and it’s the last thing I wanted. But, if he ever decides and calls off our little friendly movie date, I'd understand.

"I… Maybe I just need some company," he went on, resting his arms on the table as if for comfort. "And I… I actually like Zach," he glanced at me.

Zach. Oh. I know him.

"I kissed him," he murmured so low I almost didn’t catch it. Then he snorted, lightly. "But… of course he said he's straight."

"I'm sorry," I said in empathy. I wanted to reach for his hands but then decided against it. Then a scenario flashed in my head where I kissed Monty and then he said the same thing-- Ouch!

"It's all right. Thanks for going out with me, and listening." Alex interrupted, saving me from my disastrous thoughts.

I nodded. But then... he asked the question I’m shit scared to answer.

"May I ask who you like?"

Fuck...

I shifted on my seat. "Oh… uhm…It's..." I looked at him, warily. He was indifferent… yet. Wait till you hear this.

With a deep shaky breath I say, "Monty."

* * *

No words had been spoken since, besides the sensational "What the… fuck?" reaction from Alex who wavered before saying the word. And an awkward "Yep" from me, popping the 'p'.

We just went to our own cars and left after.

I'm sure Alex hated me now, or worse, despised me.

I knew it.

Maybe liking Monty would make you lose some friends-- lose some potential friends, rather. We're not even friends.

Was that what Monty meant when he said I got no friends here, as his own experience? Because people didn't like him?

I received a text from Alex later that night, apologizing from how he reacted. Which relieved me a hundred fold. And then he added…

Alex: But… Monty? I just can't believe it! And I think he's as straight as a ruler.

Winston: It's all right. Still a plastic ruler can be bent.

Alex: Correction. Wooden ruler. It just breaks in half, and he'll just break you.

Okay, I couldn't argue with that.

Winston: I guess. But could you keep a promise not to tell anyone?

Alex: Ok

Winston: Thanks.

Alex: So tomorrow. Same time. Same place. And move on from Monty. There's far better guys than that asshole.

Hope it's  that easy…

* * *

I'm glad that Alex didn't change towards me. He still smiled and spoke to me as if I didn't tell him something, which he found horrible.

After buying two movie tickets, we went to the snack bar to buy some popcorn.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me." I heard Alex mutter under his breath, causing me to turn and follow his gaze, only for my world to stop, seeing Monty by the entrance.

I forgot the ability to move until Alex nudged me. I blinked and turned to him. He has this amused smile.

"Seriously, Winston, close your fucking mouth. Some fly would literally rent in there."

I blushed, and sneaked another glance at Monty, longer than necessary, then to the other jocks he’s with. They’re standing by the ticket booth. I shifted closer to Alex and poked his side. "Zach's among them."

"I know. I hate it." Alex then stepped forward as it's our turn. "Two medium-sized popcorn please. Plain... And two cokes?" He told the guy behind the counter and turned to me.

"Coke," I confirmed.

And he went on ordering. But half of my attention was on the noise from the jocks. God… I couldn't believe I would see Monty here.

Oh, fuck.

I desperately searched for any mirror or any surface where I could see my reflection and fixed my hair as I saw them making their way towards us!!!

"Hi, Alex." Zach said beside me. I, discreetly, give Alex another nudge.

Alex barely glanced. "Hi."

"Zachy, I'm gonna have these Hot Tamales," Monty announced, tapping his fingers on the glass display counters, pointing over the Hot Tamales candy bars wrapped in red.

He caught my gaze and it was too late to retrieve my eyes back. So, I threw a soft smile at him, hoping I wasn’t too obvious about my loud attraction.

"Hey, Winston. You and Alex on a date?" he asked instead, and I swore I felt blood rush through my cheeks.

"N-no," I shook my head at once.

"What about you and Zach, Monty? You guys on a date?" Alex cuts in.

"Yeah. Actually it's the four of us, Scott and Charlie."

Scott and Charlie smiled and waved, making Alex roll his eyes.

Zach cleared his throat and looked at Alex. I guessed that maybe he wanted to speak to him… alone, so being a good friend as I am, I stepped aside and took the chance to stand beside Monty. But I made sure to be discreet and just tapped my fingers against the counter, my eyes fixated at the menu posted in front.

Zach whispered something to Alex and I could only catch a few words like 'mad' and 'me', giving me enough hint of what he's saying.

I tensed feeling Monty moved closer to me. "Never thought I'd see you here."

I blushed and glanced at him. "Yeah. Small world."

Then he asked me if we’re going to watch the same movie. A horror one.

“I think we should just sit together, then." Monty suggested, glancing over to Zach and Alex. "Especially, it looks like Zach and Alex have something to talk about."

I chuckled, "Sure." Would love to sit next to you.

"Winston," I heard Alex called and saw that our popcorn was ready. I took one last glance at Monty and uttered a "See you later," before making my way back to Alex.

"What did Zach tell you?" I whispered as we made our way inside the cinema.

"He wants to talk. I said yes."

I just hummed.

"Dammit, Winston. I still like him and I hate it," Alex whined a moment later, making me smile.

We took the seat in the middle section, since it's not too far and not too close, and we could watch properly. Different trailers were being shown and I noticed that there were only a few cinema-goers or maybe only few wanted to see this movie.

Later, I spotted Monty and the group inside looking for a seat, so I gave a secret wave at them, specifically, at Monty. He called his friends after he saw me. Then they made their way to us. I hid a smile. My heart wouldn't shut up about it, and it literally wanted to jump off my chest when Monty took the seat next to me.

Calm down, Winston. I’m afraid he could hear it from here, screaming his name.

Zach tried and asked Alex if he could sit beside him, only receiving a nod from Alex. But I could practically read his mind regretting taking the middle seats, when we could just take the space on either right or left wing, and have all the spaces on our own.

"Are you following me?" I heard Alex mumble to Zach.

"No. I… Monty pointed us here and…maybe I did, by deciding to sit next to you," Zach admitted.

I decided and just diverted my attention to Monty and his Hot Tamales. "Does that taste good?"

"You wanna taste?" He gestured one to my direction. I swallowed, not expecting his sudden offer. Or maybe it's because his shoulder brushed against mine.

"N-no. Thanks."

"Come on," Monty began tearing one package open and handed it to me, "Have some."

I glanced at him and reluctantly reached, staring intently at his hand, tempting to hold it.

"No, don't taste that." One of the jocks interrupted. I stopped. "You will get addicted," he added, grinning.

"Oh, fuck off, Charlie," Monty waved. "Come on. Gimme your hand."

"You're not trying to poison me, are you?" I tried to joke.

And I blushed seeing his boyish smile. "Oh no. It's a love potion," he winked.

Now that sent me. If I happen to be an ice, I've melted by now.

You don't need to give me any love potion, Monty. I wanted to say.

With a trembling hand, I held my palm out and he poured some on it. I uttered a thanks and put everything in my mouth, letting it melt in my tongue.

Charlie was right, it's kind of addicting.

"So?"

"I think I'm in love," I blurted, not breaking eye contact.

He looked away.

Oh no! Wrong move, Winston.

"I mean your friend's right. It's addicting."

He turned back to me and smiled. "I know right." He, then, handed me the Hot Tamales. “Here, have it.”

It would be a shame to take his offer down, so I just took it, our fingers brushing; enough to send electricity down my body. I wondered if he felt it too.

Wishful thinking, Winston.

"Why are you taking Monty's food? It might be contaminated," Alex whispered.

I shrugged him off and offered it to him. "You should try."

"No thanks."

I couldn't help but find Alex's distaste towards Monty, funny. Even though I shouldn't. But I'm afraid I might continue teasing him about it.

The movie finally started. And it's supposed to be scary as it's a horror film. But I'm not a bit scared. However, I'm tempted to hold Monty's hand that was on the armrest between us. But more tempted to pull the armrest up and just lean onto him. Maybe act scared?

As he took his hand away to get some popcorn - since I decided to share my popcorn with him and his friends, who I now know the names of: Charlie and Scott - I, sneakily, placed my hand on the armrest in hopes to be held by him.

Sadly, after he took a handful of popcorn he didn't put his hand back, but my hand stayed where it was. And I just forgot all my attempts on flirting.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed.

And I tensed not because the scene was scary but because his hand, finally, landed on mine. I hid a smile. And when I thought he would notice and take it away, he didn't, and just stayed there. Though, I wasn't sure if he was ever aware of our hands, or he's too focused on the movie to even notice.

My heart pounded so loud, I could barely hear the show, and could hardly concentrate on it, blocking everything around me but only his presence. I’m only aware of the warmth and the weight of his hand on mine, making my throat dry. I just dreamt of kissing him, or simply lean on him, and embrace more of his scent.

Ugh! Shut it, Winston. Try and hold yourself together.

But how, when he’s close like this? Needless to say, his hand on mine?

The movie just ended without me really understanding everything that happened.

Monty made some comments about it, asking me some of it as soon as we got out to the lobby. I just nodded along, agreeing with everything he said. But Charlie argued with him and they went on, leaving me completely clueless, even though we all watched it together. I should've tried and focused on the show, so I could have a proper conversation with him. But until now, the heat of his hand pricked on my skin.

"Winston," Alex called, and began to walk. I hesitated and followed him outside, not giving me the chance to say goodbye to Monty and his friends.

"Are you alright on your own?" he asked

I frowned, blinking once. "Y-yeah."

"I need to go with Zach," he glanced at Zach, who’s busy chatting or probably saying parting words with his buddies, and rolled his eyes back to me. "Said he wants to talk."

"Oh. Sure."

"Again, beware of Monty. Don't be fooled by his good looks."

"So, you admit he looks good."

Alex stammered but soon gave up, sighing. "Whatever Winston. Don't say, I didn't warn you."

"Okay. Have fun with Zach." I gave his shoulder a pat. "And thanks for inviting me. I really had fun," I smiled.

Alex had to roll his eyes again. "I think I know why."

[beetlelands]

im just gonna post some of these back to back bc why not. this draft is from october 2019 and is aptly titled “ruh roh ghost lad." but this is the one where beej gets stuck as a ghost in the maitland-deetz house

-

-

With a poof, Beetlejuice was on the roof of the Maitland-Deetz house. He groaned, opening his eyes. “Where am I?” He questioned quietly, looking around the area. He was quick to recognize his destination. “Wait what no, how did I get here? God/Satan please send me back,” he muttered to himself. He tried his best to teleport himself away, but he couldn’t go anywhere. He tried to fly away but ended up on Saturn so he was quick to fly back to the roof.

Beetlejuice sunk down to his knees, begging to god/satan- or perhaps the person who sent him there in the first place.

“Dammit!” he shouted in frustration, slamming his hand down on the tiling of the roof.

He heard the window begin to rattle as it was being opened. Muttering a string of curses to himself, Beetlejuice teleported himself to the other side of the roof, hiding. He heard the familiar voice of Barbara Maitland say “I told you there’s nothing out here honey, stop being so paranoid.” With that the window shut once more.

Beetlejuice sighed, slumping down the side of the chimney. He was trapped in the plane of the Maitland/Deetz house. The place he was killed- not that he was still salty about that or anything. He refused to believe he was a simple ghost. He was still a demon- he had to be- maybe he was just trapped.

That’s when an idea struck him- he needed to see Lydia. If she said his name three times, he could return to the living plane like before. Sure, it might be hard to get her to say his name, but the two of them were BFFFFs forever. She had to help him, it was his only choice. He needed to get out of there and Lydia was his ticket home.

Begrudgingly, Beetlejuice floated down to Lydia’s room. The blinds were closed, so he knocked on the window. When she opened the blinds, he was out of sight. He phased through the wall and took a seat at the end of the bed. Beetlejuice watched as the girl narrowed her eyes, peering out the window. “Must’ve been a bird,” she shrugged before turning around to see none other than Lawrence Beetlejuice Shoggoth.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh c’mon Lyds, I know you missed me.” Beetlejuice teased, but the girl merely rolled her eyes, giving him a stern look. “Fine, I missed you- no okay even I didn’t believe that.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little at that, “You love me, don’t try to deny it.” The demon pretended to throw up, which caused Lydia to laugh but she was quick to stop herself. She regained the same serious tone she had earlier, “You know my family isn’t going to want you here.”

“But do you?” He asked, earning a confused look in return. “Lydia, do you want me to leave?”

“I don’t know, Beej. If I say, yes will you go?” The teen asked playfully.

“Nope! But get this- I won’t leave, because I can’t.”

“Wait what?” Lydia’s smug expression fell.

“I am trapped here just like dear old Adam and Barbara. You may wonder ‘how?’ and to that I say- I don't know! But I have an idea on how I might be able to leave, and that involves you, scarecrow. I need you to say my name three times and maybe, just maybe, I can get out of here.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Well then, we just have to test it to find out.”

“Beetlejuice,” the demon clenched his fists in anticipation. “Beetlejuice,” he closed his eyes, preparing himself. “Beetlejuice,” Lydia finished off, watching intently to see what would happen.

The bio-exorcist stayed quiet for a little bit before opening one eye to examine if anything had happened. Groaning, he opened his other eye. “I don’t feel any different.” He tried using his demonic powers but nothing happened, well there were a bit of sparks (which caused Lydia to giggle a little at his failure). He tried teleporting but that was to no avail. “I don’t have my demon powers. I’m… not a demon.” Lydia was understandably shocked. For as long as she knew Beetlejuice he was a demon, she couldn’t even picture him as anything else. “I’m a ghost, Lydia! A fucking ghost!” He shouted angrily, slamming his fist down on her bed post. She shushed him, causing him to take a few deep breaths, “Okay, sorry, sorry. Gotta keep quiet so the fam doesn’t find me, I know.”

Lydia scrunched her nose in disgust at the word ‘fam’ but knew that wasn’t nearly as important as what Beetlejuice just revealed about himself. “How can you no longer be a demon? Is that even possible? And you said you’re trapped here? In that case, it doesn’t matter if you’re quiet or not. It’s not like you can hide forever. Plus, maybe Adam and Barbara can help get you back to normal. Is there a way to get you back to normal? What if-”

The ex-demon placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, causing her to look up at him. “I’ll be honest with you, I zoned out until you said Adam.”

The girl pushed his hand off her shoulder, “This is serious Beej. What if you’re trapped here forever like the Maitlands?”

“Then I’m trapped here forever with the Maitlands” he smirked.

Lydia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “There’s gotta be some reason you’re like this, and there has to be some way to get you back to the way you were.” Beetlejuice nodded in agreement. “First step to figuring this all out is to let everyone know what’s happening.”

She motioned for him to follow her. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Nope but it’s all we got.” She shrugged and he copied the action.

Beetlejuice put his hand on the door before she could open it. “Okay but what if we prank them?”

“You know I’m always down to spook my family, but they’re not gonna be happy that you’re here to begin with. So we should take things easy, don’t overwhelm them, y’know?” He groaned and muttered complaints under his breath as he moved his hand from the door.

Lydia led Beetlejuice downstairs. No one was in the living room, so she loudly screamed for a family meeting.

Charles bolted into the room, Delia excitedly following him. The Maitlands sank down from the ceiling, clearly stressed by the teen’s yelling.

“I can’t believe you called a family meeting, Lydia!” Delia said cheerfully, not noticing the ex-demon standing behind Lydia.

“Get away from her” Charles commanded, glaring angrily at Beetlejuice. Sure, they didn’t leave off on a bad foot, but he was not going to let history repeat itself. Delia flinched at his shouting before seeing who he was talking to.

“Oh c’mon, Chuck. Aren’t you happy to see your son-in-law?” Beej teased, earning death glares from all of the adults in the room. “Too soon?” He asked, feigning innocence. Lydia laughed at the inappropriate joke. “See this guy gets it” Beetlejuice smiled, nudging the teen.

Delia placed a hand on Charles’ arm, a silent plea for him to remain calm. Adam placed his arm out in front of Barbara. She looked to him and he shook his head. With a sigh, she backed down, holding onto her husband’s hand for her emotional stability.

“Beetlejuice is trapped here as a ghost like Barbara and Adam.” Lydia states, breaking the tension in the room. Confusion was plastered on the adults’ features.

“How?” Adam asked slowly, hesitantly.

“Good question, really good question. However, we don’t have a really good answer.” Beetlejuice verbally danced around the answer.

“What does that mean?” Charles furrowed his eyebrows.

“He doesn’t know how this all happened.” The teen clarified with a shrug. “I thought that maybe my resident ghost parents could help us figure out what happened to him.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes at the ex-demon, not buying his act. Adam, however, smiled softly and said, “Of course we’ll help, Lydia.”

“If you’re staying here, we’re gonna need to lay down some ground rules.” Charles stated, eyes locked on Beetlejuice.

He met his eyes with an almost wicked smile, “Of course, Chuck.”

Lydia groaned dramatically, “it’s not like he can do much. He’s a ghost now, not a demon.”

“Ghosts need boundaries too” Barbara retorted.

“I think the most obvious rule is that you cannot marry Lydia again.” Delia said, earning nods from the adults in the room.

Beetlejuice groaned, “how many times do I have to say that it was a green card thing!?! Even I’m not creepy enough to actually try to marry Lydia. She’s like 3!”

“I’m almost 16, Beej.” She rolled her eyes.

“Exactly you’re 3. Now quiet down tot, the grown ups are talking.” He teased. She stuck her tongue out at him and he stuck his out at her.

“You’re not one to talk about age Beetlejuice. You may be extremely old, but you’re less mature than Lydia.” Charles spoke snidely. Both the ex-demon and his daughter seemed offended by the statement.

“Rule number two: no pranks.” Adam spoke up, trying to change the subject.

“What? That’s not fair!” Beej protested at the same time Lydia asked “Have you met us?”

“The last time you two pulled pranks, you scared people to the point that the passed out!” Barbara explained.

“Just because a couple of cowards couldn’t take a scare, doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be able to prank. Plus, That Beautiful Sound was a whole bop and our dance sequence was phenomenal.” Beetlejuice said defensively. Everyone except for Lydia gave him a confused look.

“Please don’t take away our pranks! We’ll tone them down, I promise.” Lydia bartered, giving both sets of parents puppy dog eyes.

Adam cracked first, then Delia, then Barbara. Charles didn’t crack until, with a frown, she muttered a quiet “please dad.”

“Okay fine. Rule number two is no big pranks. Just try not to do anything that will put yourself or others into harm’s way.” Charles amended.

“Rule three: don’t physically harass us, Beetlejuice.” Barbara said, crossing her arms sternly.

“Define physically harass…” BJ said furrowing his brows.

“Don’t grope or touch either of us inappropriately, don’t kiss us, and don’t make inappropriate jokes at our expense. I’m not just gonna take it this time.” Barbara said. Maitlands 2.0!

“Fair enough, Babs. But don’t pretend you didn’t like it.” He joked, earning the most terrifying look from Barbara. “Okay okay sorry, I was just kidding.”

Adam lightly rubbed his thumb in circles on Barbara’s hand, causing her to relax and saving Beetlejuice from her wrath.

“Rule four: no lashing out. In this house we try to maintain a calming aura, all matters can be solved through (calm) communication.” Delia smiled. Beetlejuice resisted to roll his eyes.

“I’d say the final rule is to not go into anyone’s bedroom unless you’re invited in. Snooping or just disturbing the peace is highly frowned upon, so just watch yourself. If any more rules are to be added in the future, you are expected to follow them as well.” Charles concluded.

“As you wish, Chuckles.” Beej said with a posh accent, bowing dramatically. Lydia giggled at his antics, but as usual, she was the only one to appreciate his jokes.

“We will leave you to figure out how all of this happened.” Delia stated with a soft smile, she lead Charles out of the room, and motioning for Lydia to follow. Hesitantly, she did. She mouthed to BJ that she’d be back in a bit.

“I don’t believe you.” Barbara said as soon as she heard the door down the hall close.

“What? What’s there to not believe? Wouldn’t you think I’d prefer to leave than stay somewhere where I’m clearly not wanted?”

“Well you weren’t exactly wanted the first time-“ Adam started, but was cut off by the ex-demon.

“I was selfish then. Goal oriented, if you will. I just wanted to be alive! But I’ve been down that track and seems like life just wasn’t meant for me. But here we are now, and I’m trapped with my killers.”

“Lydia is the one who stabbed you with bad art.” Adam stayed matter-of-factly.

“But you convinced me I was wanted. You kissed me.” He accused Adam. “And you flirted with me.” He pointed at Barbara. “You played to my senses to emotionally manipulate me! And you think I’m here by choice?”

Barbara frowned. He had left so confidently. There didn’t seem to be any hard feelings. But here they were. “Beetlejuice, I believe that you’re stuck here. I just meant that I didn’t believe you were telling the whole truth. But I’m sorry for what we did, we just wanted what was best for Lydia and that seemed like the only option.”

Beej took a breath, remembering Delia’s dumb rule. “What do you mean by you don’t believe I’m telling the whole truth?”

“You have to know how you got here.” Barbara said.

“Okay yeah fair enough. I’m pretty sure I know how and why I’m here but not how I can leave.”

“Wh- it was just that easy?” Adam asked. “All Barbara had to do was call you out?”

“The netherworld is full of paperwork

-

-

and again, an abrupt ending! because past me sucked <3

[llendrinall]

That ask about Ministry Spy Percy, do you think you could write it in the Pov of the British wizarding world please? Im curious how it all goes down.

I’m not sure about British wizarding world but I can tell you it goes down with Bertha Harrendal thinking about murdering Percy Weasley herself.

Not that she is much of a danger. Bertha was never good enough with charms to qualify as an Auror. Instead she entered the Winzegamot Administrative services, one of the many peons needed after the war to put the country back in order, at least the wizarding part. It is gruesome, tiring and necessary work. They can’t afford to make the same mistakes of the past, the people sent to Azkaban without trial, innocent people, while many guilty ones walked free claiming imperius. This time they are doing things right. They owe it to themselves and to the country. They can’t have another war in twenty years. They are going to be better and they are starting now.

Also, bloody Harry Potter, hero extraordinaire, comes every single day to the Wizengamot, every day, even on weekends, to tell them about Sirius Black.

(They are not supposed to work on weekends but they are all coming anyway because the work is immense and it keeps growing, lines and lines of names and heinous acts, people disappeared and murdered and people who did the disappearing and the murdering and it is only them to tell who is who).

Eventually Irene Necker who, legend says, fought a Death Eater with a stapler, snarls at Potter that Sirius Black is dead but the people in her considerable pile of files are not so she will bloody see to them first and isn’t that what Potter wants? To ensure that every file is reviewed, every person given a chance to talk?

It is, and Potter looks adequately taken aback at Irene’s fury and exhaustion. He keeps coming every day because Potter is punishment incarnate, but at least he brings chocolate flapjacks with him. From time to time he has some useful comment like “Malfoy says the Ipswitch attack was Bella Lestrange” or “Malfoy says Gibson is too stupid to be imperiused.” Always Malfoy this and Malfoy that until, finally, he brings with him Malfoy himself, looking insultingly beautiful in his healer’s robe. Malfoy answers all their questions and they even get him to agree to testify under oath and veritaserum once Irene offers him a full tray of flapjacks and Thomas, who hasn’t left the Ministry in three weeks, has a small breakdown that ends with him sobbing on Malfoy’s robe and mumbling incoherently that his hair is very shiny.

There are times when Bertha wants to do like their predecessors, draw a quick line of guilty and not guilty and be done. When she started in the Wizengamot she was horrified by Crouch’s cruel disregard. Now she is horrified by her understanding and almost sympathy. People demand justice and revenge and answers and reparations and none of that can be done quickly. It can’t. Rushing is dangerous.

There are two new newspapers now, in addition to The Prophet and The Quibbler. Even though The Prophet tries to take itself seriously, their reputation is too damaged. The Quibbler was the herald of truth during the war, but it is still The Quibbler. Last week they had an article on wendsing sightings on the Ministry and they all know that was just Rupert leaving the gen’s loo. There is a need for proper reporting, so new media has sprouted. This is good, except for how the journalist are camped by the Winzegamot’s door pestering all of them.

Irene has been wearing the same robes for the last three weeks. They know because someone in The Albion Post pointed it quite rudely. Thomas is working diligently from the nest he has built under his table and refuses to come out. He has a lock of Malfoy’s hair pinned on a drawer. Bertha doesn’t want to know what kind of oddity she has, but she is sure she is not unscathed. She might have chewed half of her wand, she is not sure.

Then on August, 20th, Bertha will remember the day the rest of her life, Potter comes with Granger bringing a clay pot full of silver mist. Dumbledore’s memories, he says. If Malfoy can help them find the guilty, Dumbledore will help them find the innocent.

On Thursday, Anna McAllister notices that most of the innocent (like Black and Snape and Lupin who was under Ministry surveillance for helping Black) are dead. The whole office begins to cry spontaneously and can’t do anything else for the next three hours. The war has ended but not for them. They are living in it every day, going after every atrocious act, every tragedy. At some point Malfoy come around, still in his undeservingly well—fitting healers robe, casting cheering charms and giving them calming potions. Thomas grabs him by the neck of his robes and plants a big sloppy kiss on his mouth. Malfoy’s look of utter, dumbfounded, confusion together with his posh “there, there, man, put yourself together” does wonders for Bertha’s mood.

And then they get to Percy Weasley, loyal collaborator of Thicknesse’s Ministry, suspected Death Eater, BLOODY UNDERCOVER SPY FOR DUMBLEDORE WHAT? Bertha goes all the way to the top floor of the Ministry, goes outside, and screams for a full minute (scaring a couple of pigeons). Then she realizes that she can’t remember when was the last time she was outside, so she goes home walking slowly and blinking at the white sky.

The next day, Anna McAllister tells her that she, Bertha and Thomas have been put in charge of the Weaesley Investigation (it is written like that on the blackboard, with far too many es), and that it is even worse than they thought because apparently Percy Weasley wasn’t just a spy, he was the spy and he was involved in everything. And they are the unfortunate sods that have to make some sense out of it.

Saturday is Percy Weasley came with the idea of Snape assassinating Dumbledore.

Sunday is Percy Weasley side apparating a whole family, including the dog, right when Dolohov was casting a killing curse.

Monday is Percy Weasley contacting the goblin London clan and saving them from being rounded up and killed.

Tuesday is selkie day. Apparently the selkies were very grateful that Percival Weasley had saved two dozens of their kind (when? They can’t find any mention of it) and they offered their services to pass information to the continent.

Wednesday is Percy Weasley telling Dumbledore off for raising Potter for the slaughter. This had nothing to do with any of the open investigations, but they all like to watch it.

Thursday is Percy Weasley finding MacNair, duelling him, disarming him, causing a permanent injury to his right arm, evacuating a family of goblins and then returning to MacNair, blurring his memories and implanting a spying charm on him before sending him back to Voldemort. The spying charm seems to be an adaptation of one of Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes products.

Friday, they have Fred and George Weasley down to ask them about the products, their involvement in the war and their brother Percy. Their presence puts everybody in a good mood. Then they say they don’t know where Percy is, he disappeared right after the Battle of Hogwarts and hadn’t been in touch since then. Thomas grabs George Weasley by the front of his robes and screams “I will eat your face” at the top of his lungs.

Suddenly it’s September and Bertha has not been to her house since the Percy Weasley reveal. She is crying on Rita Skeeter’s lap, saying that if Rita and all her ilk like questions so much they should ask themselves where the bloody hell is bloody Percival Ignatius Weasley, one eighty centimetres, blue eyes, red hair, glasses, no recognizable marks or scars. Please. It is not fair that bloody Rita and Reggy and, sorry, I don’t know your name Magical Times girl, they all keep asking her questions, but Bertha has questions of her own. The Ministry is looking for Percy Weasley in relation to 56 open investigations.

Bertha takes back every unkind thing she had ever said about Harry bloody Potter. Potter comes to them with a tub of ice-cream and the suggestion that perhaps the press could render the Ministry a service by helping them locate war hero Percy Weasley. The world deserves to know Percy’s story, and this is a great chance for people to see how the diligent Wizengamot clerks are working tirelessly in their quest for justice and reparations. He actually says “diligent” and “quest”. He has such a heroic aura that Reggie, from the Albion Post offers to swear an unbreakable vow right there and then to share with Bertha Weasley’s whereabouts and any and all information gathered about him just as soon as it has gone to the press. The others follow suit and Potter says magnanimously that he bears witness and their word is enough for him so they don’t actually swear an Unbreakable Vow.

Thus begins the hunt for Percy Weasley, which is an absolute failure because the power of the press amounts to nothing. They ask and ask and Bertha shares all she knows and every day they print a full page about Percy’s exploits, but they give back nothing.

In early October, George Weasley comes to the Winzengamot and informs them from the door that Percy Weasley is in a Greek island and doesn’t want to be contacted, further inquiries should be directed to Oliver Wood, the one found Percy.

But Oliver Wood is a very successful quidditch player and his coach protects him and the rest of the team like a mother dragon. No one is to bother his delicate players, not even Ministry officials doing official business.

They have to sic Thomas at the coach (“give me answers or I will pluck my own eyes!”) while Anna pretends to ineffectually contain him so Bertha can sneak into the locker room and talk to Oliver Wood.

It is a testament to how tired Bertha is that she doesn’t register that she is in a locker room with four handsome, very handsome, men in different states of undress. She doesn’t care about their chiselled abs. She just wants to find Percy Weasley so he can clarify his involvement in the Eynsham incident.

(Five hundred lives saved that day by their most careful estimations. Five hundred. And neither Thickness nor Voldemort realized a thing).

“I understand you are tired,” Oliver Wood says. Nice man. Seems very supportive. “So is Percy. He needs some rest.”

“I just want to close one file,” Betha begs, sitting on the floor. “We have 78 open investigations and they all involve him.”

She has personally written seventy-eight formal letters requiring Percy’s assistance and testimony. Seventy-eight, like that, 78 looks too short. It’s seventy-eight.

In fact, Bertha has actually written eighty-five letters. There are the seventy-eight formal ones and the seven demented informal letters in which Bertha let out all her frustration and exhaustion in the form of increasingly bizarre threats. It was very therapeutic. It is obvious Weasley is not reading any of them so he doesn’t know about Bertha’s promise to take the Order of Merlin, first class, and personally shove it through one of his orifices. The man has saved over a thousand lives. He shouldn’t have to read that kind of abuse.

“There, there,” says Oliver Wood, patting her on the head. He smells like a summer day.

XXX

On January, Potter drops by the Wizengamot, as always, and Irene screams at him as soon as she sees him, as always, because Potter is awful. As soon as Irene had closed the file on Severus Snape (acquitted of all charges and posthumous Order of Merlin awarded) Potter had coughed and said “So, Regulus Black,” and Irene had come close to achieving what the Dark Lord couldn’t.

Potter comes bearing donuts and some leftovers from Mrs Weasley’s famous fruit cake. He also comes with a present: a piece of one of Mrs Weasley’s tablecloths with a signed account of what happened in the Eynsham incident.

“Ron’s birthday is in March,” Potter says. “I can get you another piece of testimony then. Do share this with the press, will you? There is a dear. I saved this piece of fruit cake just for you.”

It takes Bertha eight years and ten months to close all the files. She hopes the press makes Percy’s life unbearable for just as long.

[mrlnsfrt]

Watching, Waiting, Ready

When you were in school, did you ever have a teacher give you a “pop-quiz?” That is what my teachers called a surprise exam. Suddenly the teacher would announce remove all books and papers from your desk except for a pen or pencil. At that point I would swallow hard, my heart would skip a beat, and I would desperately try to review in my mind what had just been taught. My teacher wanted us to always be ready, she wanted us to not cut corners, to do our homework and learn the material and ask questions. Every now and again she would announce “remove all books and papers from your desk except for something to write with.” She tended to do this when we were distracted, after all, if we were not paying attention it must be because we already know the subject.

At the time I did not appreciate this practice, but eventually, I learned that it was easier to learn the material as the days went by than to try to memorize everything the day before the examination. Also, did you ever meet those students who would ask “will this be on the test/quiz?” If anyone reading this is that student, please never ask that, teachers do not like those students. Every teacher I have met wants the students to learn because they value learning and they want to improve, develop, grow, push the limits of their knowledge, and not because of the score they will receive in an evaluation.

I wonder if there is a spiritual equivalent for those who try to set dates for the second coming of Jesus. I say this because I get the feeling that they want to know when He is coming so they can get their lives in order. To me, it seems like the student who wants to study just before the exam and only what will be on the exam. Like the student who does not seem interested in learning the material but only in passing the exam, I feel like those obsessed with setting a date for the second coming are not really interested in walking with Jesus while here on earth, just want to make sure they avoid hellfire in the day of judgment.

So, how should we approach or relate to the second coming of Jesus?

This is an important question and I believe the best place to begin is the study of Matthew 24-25 where Jesus talks about His second coming and the judgment and the “end of the age.”

You can find the audio of a longer study focusing on the first half of Matthew 24 in “Seeing the Signs,” and also in “How Long Oh Lord?” and in more general terms in “I Will Come Again.” In this post, I will be focusing on the latter part of the chapter, beginning with Matthew 24:36 and going to the end of the chapter.

No One Knows the Day or Hour

I want to start by highlighting the words of Jesus found in Matthew 24:36.

“But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, but My Father only.” -Matthew 24L36 NKJV

The words of Jesus recorded in Matthew 24-25 and the contents of the entire Bible, including Daniel and Revelation and all the prophetic books, are not meant to set the date of the second coming of Jesus. I have heard someone say that Jesus didn’t say anything about the year or month, but I believe to try to set a year and month would be to miss the point of what Jesus is trying to tell us. I hope that by the end of our study you will agree with me, and if not feel free to leave a comment on this post and I would love to talk with you about this topic.

The Days of Noah

“But as the days of Noah were, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be. For as in the days before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered the ark, and did not know until the flood came and took them all away, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be.” -Matthew 24:37-39 NKJV

I hear many people take this verse and then flip to Genesis 6:5 and read the description of how wicked the people were at that time.

“Then the Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intent of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. ” - Genesis 6:5NKJV

I don’t think this is wrong, it is a valid point. However, I believe that the point Jesus wants to make here is a different one. Jesus does not highlight the wickedness of the people but rather everyday activities that are necessary for life to go on, such as eating, drinking, and marriage. Without these activities, humanity would become extinct. So the activities are no evil in and of themselves. The problem is that the cares of the world caused them to disregard God.

“Now he who received seed among the thorns is he who hears the word, and the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and he becomes unfruitful.” - Matthew 13:22 NKJV

The second coming of Jesus will take by surprise all who are not paying attention and it is not enough to be in the company of a spiritual person. Salvation is about your personal relationship with God. It is good to work with, live with, and be around people who love God but their salvation is not transferred to you due to your proximity to them.

Salvation is a personal matter

“Then two men will be in the field: one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding at the mill: one will be taken and the other left. Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming.” - Matthew 24:40-42 NKJV

Some interpret this passage as a description of a secret rapture. I believe that the emphasis is on the individuality of salvation. Two people can be co-workers and one is saved and the other lost. I believe that the words of Jesus earlier in this same chapter help clarify the issue regarding a secret rapture.

“Then the sign of the Son of Man will appear in heaven, and then all the tribes of the earth will mourn, and they will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And He will send His angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they will gather together His elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.” - Matthew 24:30-31 NKJV

The second coming of Jesus is described as a glorious event and then, in that context of power and glory, His angels go and gather His elect. Therefore I believe that the vital point Jesus is making in mentioning two people working together and one being saved and the other lost is about salvation being a personal matter. I must invite Jesus into my heart and accept His salvation. I must love Him, and not merely be near someone who does.

Watch therefore,

“Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming. But know this, that if the master of the house had known what hour the thief would come, he would have watched and not allowed his house to be broken into. Therefore you also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.” - Matthew 24:42-44 NKJV (bold mine)

The main point of Jesus’ message is that we must watch, exactly because we do not know the hour. We are not encouraged to study and do obscure math and set a date, rather we are told to watch, to be ready! Jesus drives the point home with a story about a homeowner who must watch his home because a thief does not announce his coming, so every night he must prepare, lock the doors and windows, set the alarm system, buy a dog, a parrot, whatever will help protect the home from the thief who will try to break in when he is least expected.

Remember what I said about the pop-quiz? The only way to prepare for a surprise quiz is to always be ready. If you don’t know when Jesus will come, you must be ready every day.

In case you are still not sure that this is the main point Jesus is making, He tells another parable.

Faithful and Wise Servant

“Who then is a faithful and wise servant, whom his master made ruler over his household, to give them food in due season? Blessed is that servant whom his master, when he comes, will find so doing. Assuredly, I say to you that he will make him ruler over all his goods. - Matthew 24:45-47 NKJV

The story begins with the question “Who then is a faithful and wise servant…?” It is worth noting that the question is not answered at the time of asking, but rather over time according to the actions of the servant. The actions of the servant reveal his character. Anyone can say “I am the faithful and wise servant” but what do your actions reveal?

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles? Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Therefore by their fruits you will know them. - Matthew 7:15-20 NKJV (bold mine)

Religiosity can be confused for spirituality. Someone can be very disciplined and used religion as a means for personal gain, power, influence, etc. But spirituality is about your personal connection with God. True religion helps you connect with God, but not all practices that are part of various religions are conducive for true spiritual growth and this is something we must always be aware of.

Here we see that true relationship with Jesus goes beyond just claiming to be a true and faithful servant, but must be lived out. The good and faithful servant is the person who does what the Master asked her to do. It is also worth noting that the reward of the wise and faithful servant is a greater degree of responsibility.

When Jesus comes again will He find you providing for the needs of those under your charge? (Matthew 24:45b) This is not a task that begins once you know the time of the Master’s return, but rather it is a task that begins when the master appoints you. In case you are wondering when or if Jesus has appointed you, He has, the moment you accepted Him as Lord and Savior.

And Jesus came and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” - Matthew 28:18-20 NKJV (bold mine)

(more on discipleship here and here)

“For leaders and followers alike, the best possible preparation for Christ’s return is steadfast obedience to his revealed will.” - Chamblin, J. K. (2010). Matthew: A Mentor Commentary (p. 1219). Ross-shire, Great Britain: Mentor.

Here are some other things Jesus has to say about our mission.

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. - Matthew 6:33-34 NKJV (bold mine)

Jesus said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.” - Matthew 22:37-40 NKJV (bold mine)

We are called not only to love our Master but also our fellow servants. Jesus says “Blessed is that servant whom his master, when he comes, will find so doing.” (Matthew 24:46) and this reminds us of the beatitudes recorded in Matthew 5:3-12. Only when Jesus comes again in the clouds of heaven will these blessings be fully experienced as a present reality.

The Evil Servant

But if that evil servant says in his heart, ‘My master is delaying his coming,’ and begins to beat his fellow servants, and to eat and drink with the drunkards, the master of that servant will come on a day when he is not looking for him and at an hour that he is not aware of, and will cut him in two and appoint him his portion with the hypocrites. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. - Matthew 24:48-51 NKJV

By contrast, the evil servant decides to behave as if the master will not return any time soon. The evil servant does not care about others, only about himself. His only motivation to behave well is the coming of the master, and since the master is delaying the servant reveals his true character.

It is worth noting that the evil servant’s heart reasons that his master’s arrival will be later than expected. It is out of his heart that the wicked behavior originates. Jesus addresses this in Matthew 15:10-20 where he clarifies that what is in the heart is much more important than whether or not someone washes their hands ceremonially.

The evil servant disregards the will of his master, he also disregards the wellbeing of his fellow servants. This servant behaves not as a servant but as a master, doing his own will instead of the will of the master. This servant fails to follow the example Jesus left us.

But Jesus called them to Himself and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and those who are great exercise authority over them. Yet it shall not be so among you; but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.” - Matthew 20:25-28 NKJV

1 Peter clarifies this nicely in the following words.

The elders who are among you I exhort, I who am a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, and also a partaker of the glory that will be revealed: Shepherd the flock of God which is among you, serving as overseers, not by compulsion but willingly, not for dishonest gain but eagerly; nor as being lords over those entrusted to you, but being examples to the flock; and when the Chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the crown of glory that does not fade away. - 1 Peter 5:1-4 NKJV

The evil servant is self-indulgent, he lacks self-control, he neglects his duty.

Do you want to have a positive impact on the world? Take on more responsibility.

The behavior of the evil servant reminds us of the behavior described in Matthew 24:38 of those in Noah’s day who went on with life as if no flood was coming, despite being warned by Noah and witnessing the building of the ark. The evil servant and the lost in Noah’s day were so engrossed in their pursuits they ignored the revealed will of God.

Matthew 24:46 emphasizes the faithful behavior of the servant. In that story, the time of the coming of the master is of little importance since the servant will be found doing what she was asked to do. By contrast in Matthew 24:48-51, the time of the return of the master is highlighted “the master of that servant will come on a day when he is not looking for him and at an hour that he is not aware of,” (Matthew 24:50 NKJV bold mine). In the case of the evil servant, the return of the master is a surprise! He was not expecting the master to return and was caught by surprise.

A portion with the hypocrites

“…appoint him his portion with the hypocrites. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” - Matthew 24:51b NKJV

The evil servant did not have a real relationship with the master. There was no love, no willingness to serve, only selfish interest. The evil servant was all about appearances, he was fake.

Jesus makes it clear that there are false followers, fake disciples, Christians who are not genuine.

Hypocrites! Well did Isaiah prophesy about you, saying:

‘These people draw near to Me with their mouth, And honor Me with their lips, But their heart is far from Me. And in vain they worship Me, Teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’ ” Matthew 15:7-8 NKJV

In Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43 Jesus tells the parable of the tares. And on Matthew 13:47-50 He tells the parable of the dragnet which has a similar lesson.

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a dragnet that was cast into the sea and gathered some of every kind, which, when it was full, they drew to shore; and they sat down and gathered the good into vessels, but threw the bad away. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come forth, separate the wicked from among the just, and cast them into the furnace of fire. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth.” - Matthew 13:47-50 NKJV (bold mine)

At the end of time, Jesus will separate the wicked from the just. Ultimately the date of His coming matters less than how you live your life. If you seek to do His will daily, you do not have to concern yourself with when He will return. Especially since the longest period you can wait is one lifetime and we have no idea how long we will live, so let us live a meaningful life, one of service.

This is the first post on a new series, check back here for further studies on this topic.

For now, seek God with all your heart and minister to those He sends your way. He has called you and He will equip you. As we await His return, let us not tire of doing good, of living a life that brings honor and glory to His name.

[jksangelic]

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

           “You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

           “1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

 You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

 “u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

 You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

 To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

��Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

“You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 3

 Thanks, I Hate It!

This week, we move forward by first jumping backwards. Last episode, the Bad Kids found that Riz and Fig were missing. Now, we get to see what happened in the meantime. Riz was in his office, trying to put together anything new on the Nightmare King. We’re reminded that his sword--the Sword of Shadows which he got from the arcade and lets him misty step (also, which he used to kill Kalvaxus)--was made by Tabaxi ninjas (seemingly relevant considering the whole Shadowcat thing). He notices that, in his photo, Kalina’s image doesn’t look as time-worn as the rest of it, as if only the part where she appears was protected. He hears a noise and goes to investigate. What he finds, is a creepy-ass nightmare skeleton person in the mirror claiming to be Baron, from the Baronees (the person he on the fly lied--poorly--that he was dating in ep 1). Respecting the fact that Murph never clarified whether Baron was a guy or a girl, Brennan has Baron exclusively refer to themselves as Riz’s R̵̪̹̄o̸̱͝m̸͔͔̂̽a̴͕̾̈́n̵͙̬͒c̸̣̏͠ḙ̸̃̓ ̶̞̇̕P̸̞͚̈́a̸͉͒͝r̴̛͈͈t̷͓͇̋͒n̸̬͛̈́e̴̮̒r̴̝̃̓ in this mega-cursed, fake Swedish(?) accent.

Thanks, I hate it. 

Riz, faced with his lie brought to life, is pretty freaked and tries to shoot it but he’s quickly subdued and dragged into the mirror. Luckily, he’s able to leave the photo for his friends to find. 

Meanwhile, Fig spent the night in a weird fugue state--almost like an enjoyable nightmare. Most of her focus is on this feeling of isolation, fame, and power--but in a good way. In the background, she’s doing some unimportant stuff. You know, packing her stuff, stealing a gem, trapping Gorthalax in it, and going to Bastion City. No big deal. Anyway, that brings us back to the present with the rest of our party.

They make it to Bastion City and, more importantly, the hotel where Fig is supposed to be. On the way, Adaine tries to detect magic on Sandra-Lynn to try and figure out why she can see the photograph but nothing comes up. At the hotel, they unsuccessfully try to get the concierge to tell them where Fig’s room is. Adaine detects that the receptionist has some kind of transmutation on them and her first thought is, “Magic plastic surgery.” She dispels it. Not magic plastic surgery. The concierge is a demon--which is different and worse than devils who are at least lawful and, like, part of the bureaucracy of punishing people who deserve it.

Anyway, fight time! A lot happens during this fight so I’m going to try and highlight the most important parts:

All the employees in the immediate area turn into various demons to fight the party.

Adaine and Kristen catch sight of Fig’s room number (downstairs penthouse) right before the fight starts and, at the top of the initiative, Adaine goes invisible and runs for the elevator. 

Fabian vaults of Gilear’s face--unnecessarily--and rolls a nat 20.

Gilear (who has FIVE hit points) ducks and covers because of course he does. That doesn’t stop him from being completely obliterated by one punch from one of the huge gorilla demons. He freaking DIES. Thanks, I hate it.

Downstairs, Adaine finds a bunch more demons who are with Fig who is clearly being mind controlled. They have Riz strapped to a table and Fig’s about to stab him with a ritualistic knife. Adaine goes for a dispel magic and gets advantage because of Boggy which leads to her rolling *two nat 20s* and snapping her out of it immediately. 

In a very boss move, Fig immediately grabs Riz and dimension doors him out of his restraints and them both to the coat check where she left the ruby with Gorthalax. Before they poof out, Riz sees yellow eyes in the shadows. Familiar tabaxi eyes. Seemed like she was calling shots. 

Riz gets in a very cool kill with the line, “Tell Daybreak I said hi.”

Fig finds out Gilear is dead and grabs his soul. Kristen heals him up.

Fabian vaults off of Gilear a second time and rolls a nat 1, sending him back into death saves. 

Kristen tosses a spare the dying at Gilear and then kisses full wolfed out Tracker because time isn’t of the essence or anything.

Fig grabs the ruby Gorthalax is in and sees that it’s cloudy--cursed somehow to keep them from breaking him out. Not good. She also finds a bunch of other gems which she also grabs.

We meet Kristen’s new spirit guardians which are now hipster Post-Grad philosophy students in a full spectral coffee shop. She finds them insufferable but is also kind of into it. 

They clean up the rest of the demons and then Fabian does donuts on the Hangman. And we are out of combat.

Fig is a little distraught about having almost killed Riz and brought them all into this dangerous situation which literally killed Gilear--even though no one else blames her even a little. Gilear has a bit of a breakdown which is fair. The man died. They try to send him home--Fig wants to give him 10k gold and send him on vacation--but he is determined to stay and experience things and be useful. Also, Fabian has it in his (and Gorgug’s) head that Gilear must be some kind of chosen one since one of the demons in the fight chose to attack Gilear over him. 

Fig looks through the other gems she got and only one--a Celestial Sapphire--is similar to size to Gorthalax’s. When they bring it out, a slot in Gorgug’s van pops open. They slot the Sapphire in and, through the radio, an Angelic voice speaks to them. He sounds like Owen Wilson and he doesn’t remember his name. The Hangman hates him immediately. Fig pretends to be a cop to get info from the cops that arrive on the scene, doesn’t find out anything useful, but does roll a nat 20 on her deception (come on) and briefly turns the game into the sister, cop-drama show set in the same universe as the Grey’s Anatomy sham-life she’s living, kissing another full adult man. Incredible. 

They regroup at a posh restaurant/cafe called The Swan’s Little Parade. Sklonda calls and, after she and Sandra-Lynn do the mom-catch up thing, she has a quick talk with Riz where we find out a few things about Kalina:

She only worked with Pok on missions between Falinel and Solace.

She was great at going invisible and other infiltration things.

(Note: We actually learned this earlier but I wanted to keep this info together)She looks more like a traditional housecat than a big cat like some other tabaxi.

It’s extremely hard to scry on her. 

She didn’t attend Pok’s funeral.

The last time Sklonda heard from her was 12ish years ago.

Riz only encountered her a few times as a kid. 

Last Sklonda remembers, she reached out to Pok it was something to do with the ship the Oracle sank on. 

They pass around the picture to see who can see it and not only does it appear that Ragh can see her (oh, kinda implied this before but Riz can too) he also seemed really bugged out. Tracker says she can use her cleric mojo to put up some wards to (1) keep them from getting mind whammied like Fig did overnight and (2) maybe make Ragh feel safe enough to talk. She also suggests they all sleep in a huge dog pile for safety which I think is great and someone should draw that.

Gorgug gets a text. It’s Zelda. She can’t believe he left without saying goodbye.

Thanks, I hate it. 

Detention

Fabian for Using Gilear as a Launch Pad Two (2) Times

This was a top contender for this spot, even before Fabian did this a second time and screwed up so bad (nat 1!) that Gilear dropped to zero again and had to make death saving throws.    

Honor Roll

Adaine for Freeing Fig 

Listen, I will freely admit that I have a clear bias towards Adaine. You got me. She’s my favorite. HOWEVER, you cannot tell me that going invisible, rushing straight to the elevator, then rolling double nat 20s (a 1/400 chance) to release Fig from domination right before she plunged a knife into Riz’s heart wasn’t the sickest series of events that happened during this ep. What could possibly compete? 

Random Thoughts

I’ve been trying to figure out the rhyme or reason to who can see the full photo but I haven’t figured out a pattern yet. It’s not that only people who have seen her before can see her because Sandra-Lynn can see it and she said she’s never met her--although I guess it’s possible that she has and she didn’t recognize her since she’s a super spy. And it’s not a blanket thing on the Bad Kids specifically because Riz can see her. I was hoping they’d show it to more people so we could get a better idea of the rules. Maybe it’s based entirely on if she wants to be seen by that specific person? But then why wouldn’t it default to the blank image. It seems (from our limited POV) that most people can see her. Maybe for most people a blank space would be more suspicious than a random tabaxi? Idk.  

Riz forcibly installing himself as Fabian’s best friend and it working is low key the funniest relationship development in FH. I’m so glad Murph and Lou ran with that. Also, the fact that he’s basically accepted that Riz is his best friend but the Hangman hasn’t at all is so good. 

Brennan really just shot Zac in the head at point blank range at the end of the episode, huh? He really just did that to our boy. What’s also funny is that, unlike--say--CR where there’s usually at least a good minute of decompression and goodbyes, Brennan just goes for the kill shot and then peaces out immediately. What a power move. 

Also, poor Zelda! She’s already so insecure, this isn’t gonna be good for her self esteem. Arguably, there were extenuating circumstances Gorgug can claim but you know that’s only gonna help so much since he def could have at least called/texted her to let her know he had to leave in a hurry because Fig/Riz were missing. I wonder if there’s a section of the binder on this. 

For reference, the demons they fight in the hotel lobby are a Cambion, and then several barlgura and skeksis.

“He’s just a guy!” He certainly is. Check out his stats. Hilarious but also, I can’t act like my stats would look that much different. 

I truly, truly cannot believe that Emily pulled the exact same hospital stunt again and it resolved in exactly the same way. This is like when I played blackjack with my brother when I was a teenager to teach him that the house always wins and he hit 21 twice in a row. 

Also on the topic of Fig, her coming down from her mind control was my favorite part of this episode, for a couple of reasons. I love how sincerely Emily played the immediate shock and horror at what she almost did (closed book my ass). I love how every other person was so happy to get her back. I love that none of them even entertained the thought that she might be dangerous or untrustworthy now. Relationships at the intersection of constant bullying and ride or die are my favorite. 

While we’re on the topic of emotional scenes, Gilear full breaking down in the van post-fight was very funny but you also genuinely felt for the guy. It’s been a really long day for the guy and he died like one and a half times. His, “I haven’t experienced anything before this moment,” line really hit me hard. And I think it’s very wild that Brennan set the DC for convincing him to go home at 25 (which Fig did not pass with a 21). It’s very interesting that Gilear’s reaction to this series of events was to double down and be like, I *need* to be here. Seems like this could be a set up for some interesting Gilear development. 

The amount of times I have almost typed Balnor is unreal. My brain stores all the middle aged men hanging out with people too young for him to be hanging out with in the same folder.  

I can’t believe Adaine just went for that dispel except that I can because she did the exact thing with Iris’ wig at the NY live show and I couldn’t believe that either! I really did not think (1) that was a good move or (2) gonna lead to combat (except for the kind that gets you banned from a hotel). I completely misread that situation. Like, it’s a world full of magic. It’s not that weird that a random person would have a spell on them. Anyway, this is why she’s the oracle and I’m not. 

The Barlgura needed a 3 or higher to hit Gilear. He got a 19. Yikes.

“I had to ask.”/ “No you didn’t.” (The crew explodes into laughter.)

Riz tells the whole gang about the Baron thing and tells everyone that they need to stop lying in case all their lies are gonna pop out and attack them. Gorgug admits that he’s kissed the Hangman. Kristen confesses to a group of her closest friends and girlfriend that she is gay. Tracker is like, “Babe, what?” Tracker (and the Bad Kids but in a different way) must really love Kristen because she is just so much all the time. 

Fabian: Who are you seeing then?/Riz:...................No one. 

Ally Middle Name Beardsly wtf is a paranoia check? 

The comedic rhythm of Fabian vaulting off of Gilear’s face with a nat 20, him dying, being resurrected, and the Fabian trying to do it again with a nat 1 and knocking him near death is so perfect that it’s wild that it was totally random. This is the kind of thing that makes you get superstitious about dice. 

We’re introduced to Boggy’s second mood this ep which is Boggy’s mood which is a slightly squinted, “Hmm...I don’t know about this.” Thanks, I love it. 

In addition to considering Gilear might be the chosen one (by who? Of what? They don’t know and neither do I) the half of the group entertaining this theory also considers Gilear might be the Nightmare King (”If you are you have to tell me. I’m your daughter.”). I don’t know if the NK does possession but please have the NK possess Gilear at some point. If the theme of this season is carefully filing away random off the cuff gags and making them plot relevant, please let this be one of them. Also, lol at Murph trying to roll high enough so that Riz has the knowledge to stop the shenanigans before it derails the whole campaign.  

The group bestows upon Gilear the positions of Tour Manager, Social Media Manager, and Honorary Bad Kid (listed last of course).

Fig grabbed a lanyard of out Adaine’s jacket and I remembered, oh yeah, she has a very magical jacket that is only ever used for shenanigans, if at all. Imagine being so magic that you have a magic jacket that you’re always wearing that can summon anything (w/i reason) and you just kinda...forget about it most of the time. 

Curious about why Fig specifically was called in to do the sacrifice and why Riz was the one who had to be sacrificed. 

I hope Adaine just continues to loan out Boggy to anyone having a bad day. I love that.

“Maybe this is one of those massages that hurt.”

Really wanted Hilariel to Skype in and ask about Gilear. Her take on everything is always so funny. She is as crazy as everyone else in her family but in such a low key way.  

Lol at the party being like, “Yeah, Tracker healed me just fine without any 69-ing,” which is truly an incomprehensible sentence without context and still mostly incomprehensible with context. 

Don’t wanna overlook the coolness of Fig rolling double 17s (disadvantaged) to command the barlguras. Not magically, just convincing them she was still in charge of them. Very clutch.

Fabian is so much chiller about letting people on his motorbike these days. He let Gilear ride it. He let Riz ride it. He gave a blanket invitation for anyone in the area to hop on before he did donuts. I love Sophomore Fabian. 

Gilear gets a nat 20 for his first roll! Riz and Kristen got two nat 20s. Fig got one, Gorgug got one (he rolled a second one that was lost with disadvantage), and Adaine rolled two but they really only count as one since it was with advantage. Fabian rolled one of each. That’s a lot of 20s for one ep!

[nighttimepixels]

I LOVE tytanttortoise’s version of soulmates. Mind if i ask what the ladies would respond to finding their soulmate? Please and thank you.

Oh man, this is a good one - I’ll admit, I can be a bit of a sucker for the soulmate trope. (and I love @tyranttortoise and her takes to death)

(also, sidenote on the soulmate front, are you guys following @popatochisssp?? because you should be! They’re a hilarious delight and a fantastic human being and are currently writing a series of oneshots about the skeleguys and their soulmates called Make Your Mark that is obscene levels of adorable and I totally recommend, along with all their writing & hot skele-takes! ♡ )

There’s a delightful not-so-guilty pleasure in the idea of soulmates in the contexts of UT & AUs; see, my interpretation falls in the category of ‘soulmates are people who are so perfectly compatible it transcends any other kind of resonance you have with people who get you’. It’s not so much fate forcing you together as it is… someone who’s just right. Puzzle pieces, you know? 3D ones, that interlock perfectly and make a stronger unit together. ♡

I’m also a big ol’ softie who loves her fluff and happy endings, so, y’know. X)

For transparency’s sake I’ll clarify that I’m not making soulmates canon to the Lilytale fic, but I love indulging in soulmate aus, so… I’ll answer this for those delightful ‘what-if’ scenarios anyways >:)c

That said! I’m beyond tempted to wax on about the girls, but here goes an effort to not be too long-winded (//▽//)ゞ below the cut!

first edit: (post Serif’s) ahaha nope this is long, hope you guys have fun with what turned into a series of super gay minifics

SECOND EDIT: ooookay, this turned into minific central! Below are soulmate setups for Serif, Vellum, and Crimson.

…. -sweats- it got… long.

So, if you want more of these… let me know! Leave a comment too, letting me know what you liked - doing just this much took more time than I meant, woops, so it's nice to hear if anyone's actually into it. X)

To clarify, this isn’t going to be a ‘soul mark’ situation - rather, I’ll work under the parameters that soulmates aren’t something you immediately realize.

For this post, soulmates are someone you are naturally drawn to…

But there’s got to be a moment, right? So… we’ll say that the ‘moment of realization’ only comes when you first kiss your soulmate.

Shhhh don’t @ me I love me some shoujo-tastic fluffy romance ;v;

Serif:

She didn’t think she had a soulmate.

They’re rare, after all; 2 souls, that compatible? Stars, after everything she’s been through… she’s just happy to have a cute s/o like you.

You’ve been dating for a while - she’s not the pushy type, not in the least, and hell, you were friends for well over a year before you’d woken up, leaning against her after a movie marathon turned sleepover… and her hand, tangled in your hair, slowed from it’s gentle stroke. She’d ended up admitting she liked you, to turn a long story short, with a casual matter-of-factness that was just so her - and the way she’d ended up grinning at you when you'd flustered and spluttered… You can’t help but wonder if she wasn’t hoping to hear your laugh.

Of course, you’ve been dating for a little while now. Life was busy, and hell, being friends for long enough, you weren’t in a rush - you held hands, cuddled, even went out on dates to her and now your favorite bar and grill, Charby’s -

She’d kissed your cheek goodnight so, so many times.

Stars, it was so close to your lips, but every time you nearly had the courage to try and sneak a proper kiss by turning your head into her motion - well, you got awfully distracted by the way her eyelights glimmered in the night, looking at you with a softness and focus and something that just stopped every thought in your head…

Maybe that’s why you were so caught off guard when she was dropping you off, one easy shortcut from Charby’s to your front stoop - and instead of turning her head to kiss your cheek at the last moment as always…

She didn’t turn.

Her mouth caught yours, gentle, something like the brush of a butterfly, one that fluttered your stomach as your heart skipped a beat -

And suddenly, everything… clicked. You had no idea how, no idea why, what this was - but it was like you’d been looking at the world through a tilted lens without even realizing it… and her kiss had set it right.

Her breath rushed out of her, her hand tightening in yours, her gaze meeting yours -

And suddenly, suddenly magic tears were welling in her eyesockets. You panicked, torn between laughing in giddy joy and confusion, your hands coming up to wipe them away, questions as to what was wrong on your tongue -

Her hands met your cheeks at the same time, wiping away tears that you hadn’t realized were falling down your own face.

“fuck,” she whispered, a single word that had you laughing wetly for how reverent it sounded coming from her, from your Serif, from- “you’re my soulmate.”

There were a million questions you could have asked - you’d heard the term, knew they were real, but there was so much unknown, so many questions all at once-

Instead, you kissed her.

Nothing, nothing had ever felt so right.

She kissed you right back, laughing and curling her arms around your waist, floored that… that she could have been so lucky. The kiss is breathless and passionate and eventually turns sweetly, mutually languid as she holds you ever closer...

It’ll take a long time for her to feel like she isn’t dreaming, but who’s she to question a good dream? For you… she’d dream forever, wouldn’t she.

Vellum:

Rare was it, a day that passed without your gorgeous skeleton lady-knight in stylish armor didn’t sweep you off your feet.

Literally.

Vellum loved it - loved the feel of you in her arms, loved hearing your bright, flustered laughter, loved the light that sparkled in your eyes, loved the way your arms wrapped around her to stick close.

You were the sun in the sky to her, and stars, she loved getting to be the one to see you rise, again and again, day after day. And when you were feeling low… well, she was just as willing to be the clouds that pillowed you and gave you a break from the pressures of everyday life-

Hm. Maybe that metaphor got away from her a bit.

But still!! The fact was, she loved you, and she knew it. You’d known each other for long enough, even if she was a little nervous about accidentally applying ‘pressure’, as she’d learned might happen from admitting such things too early-

But she just… she knew it. Down to her soul. She’d wait, of course, and besides there was so much to do first and she’d delight in every step of your newly confirmed relationship-

So… why was it she felt like her skull was about to burst as you leaned closer to her, your arms looped around her neck, that look in your eyes-

Kiss her!

Every ounce of her magic was clamoring that this was that soul-pounding moment, where it felt right to kiss you, and clearly you felt the same, and oh my stars her skull was sweating nearly as bad as Serif’s when she was caught sneaking that annoying (but damnably cute) dog into their house the first time-

KISS HER!!

She swooped in, riding on pure instinct and what felt like every butterfly in the world crammed into her ribcage trying very much so to be literally anywhere but that location.

…

She was many things! Strong, tall, extremely clever, definitely a puzzle master, a (now) excellent cook, quite the snappy dresser thank you very much, a brilliant strategist for escape rooms, very athletic and coordinated-

-as it turned out, smooth with the first kiss, she was not.

Her forehead smacked into yours, and you nearly tumbled off the couch you were both sitting on for your MTT marathon, and the popcorn fell off her lap and scattered everywhere as you both yelped at the pain-

She tried to scramble to catch you in the same moment, succeeding only in tangling your legs and knocking half the snacks off the coffee table as she too tumbled off the couch, 90% limbs, stars help her-

With an ungainly thud and mutual groan, you two ended up in a heap on the floor, snacks joining you for the party in a mess that even Serif would be proud of.

“OH, BUTTER BISCUITS…” she groaned, attempting to rub her head as she cleared it - only to find her hand otherwise occupied. It was, in fact, occupied by your own grasping hand, attempting to steady yourself from your newfound position post-injury-

Splayed on top of her, chest to chest, all but straddling her.

Suddenly, the room felt very, very hot. Hotland hot. Oh stars help me, I’m very gay, oh no she’s hot and I’ve injured her but also please don’t move or also ever remember what just happened hot-

Vellum could tell she was blushing by the low lights in the room doing ill to cover the glow over her cheekbones.

Vellum could tell you were blushing by the gorgeous shade your cheeks took on, the heat creeping down to your neck and even over your ears as you seemed to freeze, realizing your position in the same moment-

A slew of apologies were on the tip of Vellum’s summoned tongue, really. You would have heard them all-

If you hadn’t suddenly gotten a terribly brave and attractive look in your eyes, flushed cheeks aside - and swooped down to press your lips to her mouth.

For the rest of your lives, the story changes as Vellum tells it - sometimes she’s successful in gallantly catching you, others she’ll admit to fumbling it in the first place - but what never changes…

What never changes is how she compares it to seeing the sun rise for the first time.

To breathing fresh air, free of the underground’s stagnation, for the first time.

To realizing that for the first time in her life, she… she was free. And she had purpose - any purpose she wanted in life…

Because you… being with you… that was the reason the sun rose in the morning, to her. That kiss sealed it. Your futures, building and twining together - that kiss sealed it. Tackling all of life’s excitement, it’s lows and highs, it’s beauty and it’s struggles…

In that moment, it crashed through both of you, bursting open a damn and sealing something that deep down, you both realized you’d very nearly already known.

Neither of you thought to clean up the mess scattered about you for hours to come.

After all… Vellum was nothing if not very driven to be the best in everything she did. And you… well, you were her incredible soulmate, and she would show you just how much that meant to her, how much you meant to her - every day, for the rest of your lives.

Crimson:

The first time you kiss…

Is the first time you meet.

It wasn’t, in fact, a hook up - though when you’d walked into the busy bar, Crimson had done a double take immediately. Stars, you were… something. She knew a lot of people from all walks of life, knew how to get a vibe for what they were like, knew that sometimes some people just really vibed.

She’d never felt as drawn to someone before.

Naturally, she balked.

She wasn’t looking for a relationship - sure, sure, they were on the Surface, sure that seemed solid, no more screwy time-space anomalies, but… there was a lot to do, see, experience. It’d been a few years, yeah, but - she was a boss monster. She had a hell of a lot of life ahead of her - she didn’t… do serious. Not yet, anyways.

… Not even if she laid awake sometimes, hands folded behind her head and staring out the skylight she’d personally installed in her bedroom ceiling… just… wondering what it would be like to look up with… someone, someone who cared… tucked against her side.

… No, no. It was just - you’re gorgeous, it was obvious. Hell, if anyone insinuated otherwise, she’d either scoff or, maybe, deck them - as a service, obviously. Clearly they needed some sense knocked into ‘em, after all.

But uh, maybe you were… too good for her to… try and hook up. You were laughing with a friend - not alone, anyways. She’d see if you were down to dance, when a good song came on, just - eh, she was overthinking it-

She threw back her shot, waved at her friend the bartender to bring her another round, slammed that one back -

Aaaand tugged another girl to the dance floor.

What? She had standards.

… You met ‘em, at least from a distance, dammit. If she wasn’t gonna hook up with you, she had to burn of some kinda energy before approaching you and seeing if she was just too damn horny for her own good or if maybe she was still half-decent at reading souls and you’d be the kinda person she could… not… hook up with-

Of course, she couldn’t notice the way your own eyes had caught her as she disappeared into the dance floor’s crowd with another girl in tow. Didn’t catch the way your friend teased you for the distraction, following your line of sight… couldn’t know that they’d also given you a heads up, being a frequent visitor to this bar themselves, that Crimson wasn’t exactly the serious type, just so you were… forewarned.

Instead, all she knew was about an hour later, after a brief but very fulfilling trip to the back hallway and a closet Crimson could break into in her sleep, she exited a few minutes after her liaison with the other girl that had decided she was good for the night and left the bar -

After that, all she knew was she saw you, on one edge of the dance floor. Your friend wasn’t there. Three guys, however, were, and they were getting decidedly and unwantedly friendly.

Crimson hadn’t survived this long with half-assed instincts, or without developing an uncanny ability to read faces and body language - or, with a little more special a skill, read the intent of a soul.

You didn’t even see her coming, and startled when you heard Crimson’s voice from behind the guys that had zeroed in on you while you waited for your friend to get back from the bathroom.

“there ya are, cariña- sorry for takin’ so long.”

Two of the guys stumbled as her hulking form shouldered past them. Her grin was practically sultry - she swore she heard your heart skip a beat, but with all the bass thrumming through the room, surely that was her imagination.

Your blush and confusion wasn’t - but just as quickly, she saw you cotton on, and a flash of relief went through your gaze. She slung her arm around your shoulders, grin crooked and eyesockets lidded as she winked at you, ignoring the now blustering men.

“y’ wouldn’t believe the request i heard this guy give the dj- it was real obvious taste wasn’t his forte.”

You snorted.

Fuck, you were cute.

Your hands clapped over your mouth, but you were giggling, clearly not expecting her excellent humor, and Crimson grinned wider, snickering herself before the dumbasses who’d been bothering you and not taking a hint decided to prove how bad they were at this whole hint thing.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say you were seeing someone, c’mon,” one of them whined. The look Crimson shot him shut him up, and not for the first time her temper threatened to get away from her-

But then, another one of the morons spoke up.

“Oh please, don’t act, you’re too cute for someone like this bitch-”

Crimson didn’t even have time to misplace that temper.

The next moment, you’d grabbed her by the furry trim of her collar and tugged down and-

You were kissing her.

Later, she found out you’d done it not just to shut up the ‘total jerk’, but also to prove a point because you had noticed her, thought she was cute and ‘also rudely hot, I mean really, there you were just- just walking-’, and you couldn’t stand by that guy insulting her or your taste so with a little liquid courage burning an empty belly you’d gone for it because guys like these didn’t really accept words-

In the moment, though, the bar didn’t matter. The idiot guys she was half inclined to toss through the door herself didn’t matter. The pulse of the beat, the fact that, er, well, she’d just screwed the brains out of a girl in a supply closet and left her very satisfied, thank you- that didn’t matter-

Because you were kissing her, and holy shit, you were her soulmate.

Apparently, the rest of the world ceased mattering in the same moment, because when Crimson’s arms scooped you up and turned you around, pressing your back against the wall as her hand dragged along your thigh, your arms wrapped desperately around her neck and your legs, gods, your perfect legs wrapped around her hips-

…. Yeah, safe to say, you both forgot about the room. Neither of you had a damn clue what happened to those assholes that had been bothering you.

Eventually, when she broke the kiss to allow you, her perfect, breathless, soulmate a moment to breathe - her hands clutched you closer, one hand sliding into your hair. Her forehead met hers, her own breathing rough, her red eyelights dilated and fuzzy.

“soulmate,” she whispered, almost disbelieving. The reverence in her voice could have shaken mountains to dust.

Her…? You, her soulmate?

She didn’t know your name, didn’t know anything about you. She would though, and she just… knew, whatever you were like… gods, she was crazy about you. Fucked up, soul-scarred, battle-worn her…

What did she have to offer you? She - well, she was a fair hand at a bunch of shit, sure. Was kinda, secretly, wealthy… thanks to some of her inventions. But she had so much blood and dust on her hands, and… she didn’t regret all of it. She’d do it again, and she knew that had to make her an awful person -

Hell, she’d always assumed… well, as much as she craved a soulmate, as many times as she’d recounted fairy tales in Scarlet’s youth to her about older, better times, about the hope a soulmate brought a monster…

….. She never thought she’d be one of the lucky few to actually have a soulmate.

She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve you. 

Fuck, she’d never let you go.

You’d cursed, then, looking awed, and it startled a laugh from Crimson. She was grinning, beaming, hoenstly, and the expression felt foreign on her skull… as did the flush stealing over her cheeks. Would getting to know you inspire… this? But stars… you were blushing too, and maybe, just maybe, Crimson could get used to the feeling if it meant she could see that look on your face.

That warmth, that… excitement, that hope-

You were hers. And fuck, if only you knew - if only you knew how much she was yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

after note: can I just say… thank you so much to anyone who leaves a comment, whether a reply or a tag squeal?

I know it’s no chapter update, but these kinda posts take a while, so… seeing people like it enough to leave a little thought or bit of excitement one way or another beyond a like means a lot. You cuties are the majority of why I’ll take the time to sit down and write all this! I appreciate you deeply, and trust me when I say I read every comment ;//////;

Lilytale is such a… niche AU, so it means a lot to get any kind of interaction/feedback for it. Hearing that it means something to you cuties… well, that just makes my day in ways I can’t really describe.

[softforcal]

OKAY with cal and ash blessing our eyes with their recent dye jobs would you please be able to do HC where reader is a cute hairdresser where the bois (either just cashton or if you want you can bring the other two into it as well) are trying their best to make up excuses to see her and they end up just totally changing their looks to impress her and spend heaps of time with her xx love you gal ❤️❤️

5SOS X HAIR DRESSER READER

(i feel bad but i’m so weird about professionalism at work that the reader probably sounds like a prude lol) (also i know nothing about hair)

-It was just a normal day at work… until a gorgeous guy walked in and changed your entire day

-he asks a few questions about getting a dye job and since you’re the only hair dresser between clients, you talk to him about it

-you spend an entire hour talking to the guy but you have a client so you give him your card and tell him to let you know if he ever wants to follow through

-after your shift you go on insta to see that it’s blown up because some famous person followed you?

-realizing it’s the guy who came in about the dye job and you’re kind of shook

-following him back but that feels like the end of it

-meanwhile he’s telling his friends about the gorgeous hair dresser. “i’m going to do it. i’m going to dye my hair.” he states. “does this have something to do with the cute hairdresser?” Luke asks. “let the guy dye his hair! jesus.” Michael laughs.

-a few days pass and a receptionist calls you over because you have a phone call.

-”hello?” “hey it’s Ashton, i met you a few days ago about a dye job?” “yeah, i remember you, what’s up?” “i was wondering what your availability is like?”

-setting up a time and on the day of his appointment you’re super jittery because he’s no longer just a cute guy, but a famous cute guy

-oh my god, what if you screw up his hair?

-the whole fandom will hate you!

-but it’s your job

-so he shows up and he’s just like “i’m thinking red.”

-going through all the options

-the dye process begins and the two of you just talk through the whole long process

-you actually click really well?

-both of you laughing a lot

-when it’s done and you show him he is shook because damn

-”do you mind if i take a picture?” you ask

-”not at all!” he smiles, posing for you and earning a laugh

-giving him Dye information and telling him to call you if he ever has any questions

-you’re shocked when less than a week later he’s back in the salon, this time with another gorgeous boy in tow.

-the new guy introduces himself as Calum and asks you about going silver

-spending a while talking to Calum about that and he’s just as sweet as Ashton

-he sets up an appointment then and there because “fuck it, lets do it.”

-they leave and Calum is just like “cute hair dresser confirmed.” on the group chat because yeah, you’re hot af

-”also i’m getting my hair dyed.”

-Luke is shook because he’s going to be the only natural one

-he kind of wants to come too to see if you’re cute but Ashton is just like “there’s no room and i’m going.”

-the day of the appointment four boys come in and on a normal day there would totally not be enough room for them, but you scheduled Calum on a slow day because of the whole famous thing and you figured it would be easier

-beginning the process with Calum and talking with all four while you do the whole thing

-it’s a long job, Luke and Michael go out for a walk and come back with coffee for everyone, including you

-you begin talking to Michael about all his hair dye experiences and the others are getting kind of jealous because you and Michael have a lot to talk about

-”let me grab your number and i can send you all the pictures.” Michael says

-this smooth fuck

-continuing to do Cal’s hair while you give Michael your number and they all whip out their phones to get it “in case i need a touch up.” or in Luke’s case: “i like to send my friends cute pictures of my dog.”

-you finish up on Calum and run your fingers through it to style it

-Cal grins at the boys through the mirror because your hands are amazing

-he practically groans when your hands pull away because it felt so good

-Ash giggles because he knows the feeling

-you finish up, take a picture and Cal goes to pay with your receptionist

-”so… if i was going to dye my hair, what colour do you think would work?” Luke asks.

-you lean over to be eye level with Luke who is sitting, getting a good look at his face. you reach out and run a finger through his curls, “in all honesty, your hair is perfect. people would dye for your colour and natural highlights. plus is virgin hair-” his friends laugh and you roll your eyes, “I would say to you the same thing i said to Ashton which is, if you’re going to do it, you should be pretty sure.”

-letting go of his curl and he blinks up at you

-”we’re having a party tonight.” Luke breaths, “you should come.”

-”okay, text me the details.” you smile

-they stay and chat for a while about hair dye and that sort of thing, Luke messages you the details and they leave

-your day goes on and you end up at home getting ready when your phone rings, it’s Ashton asking if you want a ride to Luke’s house

-and he’s cute as fuck so of course you say yes

-he shows up and you get into his car, seeing there’s a curl out of place you fix the red strand for him and he laughs

-you get to the house and Luke greats you

-he seems a little drunk because as soon as you’re through the door he announces to a few people in the area that you’re “the hairdresser who did Calum and Ashton.”

-”when he says did, he means i did their hair.” you clarify as his arm goes around you and you steady him

-”we should take a picture of you and your conquests.” Luke bellows

-”again, you’re making this way too sexual.” you laugh

-but Luke grabs Calum and Ashton, forcing the three of you to stand together as he takes pictures

-they’re actually super cute pictures

-and of course Luke posts them and tags you and the fandom blows up about it

-these boys are wild with their hair. Calum’s is super short so he can’t mess it up that bad but Ashton’s curls keep ending up everywhere and you fuss about them a bunch

-you end up outside between Cal and Ashton and you’re fussing over Ashton and they’re both laughing

-you talk to them about what it’s like on the road and being on tour and Ashton just says: “we should hire you as a stylist when we go on tour.” “what?” you ask. Calum nods, “yeah, none of our stylists on tour fuss as much as you do.”

-”and fussing is a good thing?” you laugh

-”definitely.”

-”well… i mean, you’re not on tour for a while. so when that actually happens, if you guys still want me to come, i might say yes.”

[kaikookie]

something’s fishy.

Found a fluff generator by @dolleye and I thought is prompt was too cute to pass up!

Member: Kim Namjoon

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 2670

Premise: Namjoon and you go grocery shopping together for the first time. You excitedly fills the cart with various snacks and Namjoon wonders how to break it to you that we can't afford all this. (Warning: slight cursing)

Bonus: Mermaid AU (inspiration from the k-drama Legend of the Blue Sea)

Author’s Note: ahem...yes, wow, an update that’s not Echoes...I promise to the bottom of my heart that it is coming, but for now, enjoy this fanfic from inspiration I stumbled upon while browsing tumblr!!!

“Oh, and this one! This one looks good....yes and that one right there! Perfect! That’s going to taste so good,” you exclaim. You’re jumping up and down on your newly acquired legs at the supermarket. Your baggy clothes that may fit Namjoon are knotted at the bottom with sleeves pushed up on your limbs. Namjoon stands on the side of the aisle, a shopping car to his right filled to the brim with various snacks and drinks, as well as a pile of clothes. His only thought in his head was how in the world did the situation turn like this?

It all started one morning, when the sunny weather prompted a quick phohtoshoot. When Namjoon went out to take his KimDaily outfits and found you on the beach passed out behind a rock, he generously provided his thin army green jacket for you to cover up with, and through a quick conversation, ultimately concluded that you had lost your memory after suffering a head injury out in the ocean. 

Taking you in without further questions, Namjoon was later reprimanded by his group of friends for making such a rash decision. 

“How could you just bring a stranger here? What if she is being tracked down by the government?” Taehyung whispered harshly, not letting his eyes off you for a second. 

“Don’t be crazy, Tae. She looked like she was really lost, okay? I just gave her my jacket like a gentleman and decided to help her,” Namjoon replied quietly. Little did Taehyung know, the situation was very different than what he was saying. 

In fact, your surprise nudity had made Namjoon extremely flustered on the beach, scrambling to cover his eyes, and stripping his jacket off to give to you. His continuous stammering led him to eventually talk himself into taking you in without you even saying a word. Not wanting other bystanders to get the wrong idea, he rushed back to the dorm as fast as he could with you sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Never once did he think about stopping by the police station to let the officers take care of this problem, an idea that popped into his mind way too late. 

“Just help me figure out what to do...” Namjoon trailed off quietly. It felt like they were hiding a fugitive.

Jin sauntered in, exasperated, “Namjoon, I don’t know where you got this person, but never in my life has someone rejected the food that I made!” 

Namjoon looked up at you, watching you calmly sit on the couch, eyes wide open trying to take in your current situation. You looked comical, wrapped in the layers of clothing, courtesy of Jimin and Jungkook. 

When Namjoon brought you in through the door, clothed in only his jacket, the dorm turned into chaos. The youngest members had turned beat red. Jimin’s perfectly held high note during the game of karaoke cracked at the sight of you. Suga cursed to the gods, asking why in the hell was Namjoon like this. As Namjoon shouted orders to find some warm clothes for you, Jungkook had already sprinted away to his room to find the biggest and baggiest clothes he could find while Jimin ushered you into the recording room for you to change, using the microphone he was holding to nudge you across the threshold. 

It was the least to say that they were very much traumatized and confused at their own reactions. Meanwhile, Taehyung had been out for most of the day, walking his dog and having a day to himself. However, he was not exempt from the drama of the unexpected guest. Plopping down next to you thinking it was Jungkook acting like a dumbass once again, he leaned over and asked you to pick which picture of his puppy he should post. 

When he was responded with silence, only then did he take a look at the figure he was speaking to and in that response, let out a scream that would put the high note he did in “Butterfly” to shame. 

Hoseok, who was engrossed in composing his new mix tape before you intruded, had already found a locked room for hiding, holding onto his favorite snacks and drinks to “survive” the night.

Namjoon could only watch and thank the gods that he managed to not break a single thing in the process of this whole ordeal. Namjoon maneuvered around the counter and cautiously made his way to you. 

“Are you okay? I’m Namjoon, what’s your name?” he asks calmly, bending down to talk to you at eye level. His eyes mirror your wide ones, waiting to hear what your voice sounded like. You kept the silence, and the rest of the boys stared at you, waiting for something to happen. 

You maintain eye contact with Namjoon, the nice person that helped you. You thought, “My name is Y/N. Thank you for helping me.” 

He continued to stare at you. For some reason, it almost seemed like he couldn’t hear you thinking to him. You think again, “Hello? Can you hear me?” Your eyebrows furrow at his blank stare. 

Namjoon straightened, and turned to the only person left in the room, Jin. He chuckled nervously, and to Jin, communicated through mouthing empty words and hand gestures. When he looked back at you, you think once again to him, “Well, that was rude. You can talk to them without talking, but you don’t want to with me?” 

Namjoon asked you once again, “Hello? Do you speak Korean?” His palms were sweaty from nervousness. He could almost hear the lecture he would later receive from Jin if he didn’t fix this. 

Jin sighed out loud. Grabbing the remote that fell down to the carpet, he casually flipped through the channels. With the TV on, Jin pointed to the screen while looking at you, “Stay here and watch this okay?” 

You follow the direction of his finger to the TV. You were immediately fascinated by the tiny humans with in the rectangle. Next to the TV, one of the doors to the room were cracked open, squinted eyes peering through the slits.

Jin nearly shouted, “For fuck’s sake, Jimin, Tae, and Jungkook, come out here and take care of the guest while I talk to Namjoon! Hoseok, I also know where you are hiding! You better be out of there by the time we’re done!” 

Slowly the door swung open and the boys reluctantly shuffled out. However, your attention was long gone, completely absorbed in the action scene of the two actors. 

You smiled excitedly as a fight scene ensues, staring at Jungkook and thinking, “Wow, how are these little people doing that in the thin box!?” Jungkook only responded with a weak smile. Turning back to the screen, you’re drawn to the TV. 

Namjoon returned a little while later, phone in his hand and a stern looking Jin following in suit. The movie you were watching was confusing, and the language was hard to comprehend, but you managed to decipher some of the English language in the short fifteen minutes of screen time you saw. 

You looked up at Namjoon,deciding that speaking by thoughts was not going to work for him and asked aloud in English, “What is shit?” Namjoon had a look of disbelief written on his face. 

“W-W-What?” he stammered incoherantly. You had taken him by surprise. 

Repeating your question, you said, “What does shit mean? They keep saying that word.” Innocently, you point to the screen. The movie, Deadpool, was playing on the screen, with Ryan Renolds in the midst of a profanity insult. 

“So you speak English?,” Namjoon questioned in English. You nod and quickly interjected, “And Korean too, but it’s much harder to talk.”

Namjoon clarified you, “Much harder to speak, not much harder to talk,” 

You nodded and continued watching the screen, Namjoon quickly turned off the TV, wanting to protect you from any more profanities in the movie. His attention snapped to you when he could hear the rumbling of your stomach.

“I need eat,” you pouted quietly. The members smiled wearily and looked at Namjoon. 

“You’re suppose to say, I need food. Plus, we did give you some food to eat, but you didn’t want it.” Namjoon reasoned with you.

“Not good,” you snapped. Jin looked at the bowl of rice and the few side dishes he gave you. Namjoon knew he was going to burst in anger.

Namjoon quickly stood up and proclaimed to the members, “I’ll go to the supermarket with her to get some things that she will like to eat, okay?”

“Y/N,” you pointed out, “my name is Y/N, not her.” 

Yoongi finally spoke up ever since the start of this ordeal and asked, “If you don’t mind Y/N, where did you go to learn Korean and who in the world taught you.”

You laughed, finding it silly that they didn’t know, “I learned it just now from you guys.”

Taehyung burst out from the corner of the living room, “That’s it, she’s crazy, you called the police, right Namjoon!?” 

Jimin cupped a hand over Taehyung’s mouth, preventing him from further interjections. Namjoon quickly pushed you up from your seat, and ushered you to the door, telling you to slip on one of Taehyung’s slippers.

You could see Taehyung struggle from the grasp of Jimin, “Hey!! Not those! They’re Gucci! Gucci! HYUNG!” 

Before he could complete saying the honorific, You were already dragged out the door by Namjoon in the direction of the closet supermarket. He forgot to bring his car keys in the midst of the chaos, and was definately not going back to face the craziness happening in the dorms. 

You looked ridiculous waddling down the street, and as the heat radiated onto you, you slowly peeled away the layers of clothes, leaving Namjoon to try and catch all the clothes you shed trailing behind you. You simply followed the sidewalk, with Namjoon guiding you to make a turn every once in a while. After a few minutes, and halfway to the market, you complained about your feet hurting. When Namjoon looked down at your bare feet, he nearly fainted.

“Y/N... where are your slippers?” Namjoon asked quietly, turning around, hoping that they were somewhere behind you. 

You looked up, “I took them off because they hurt my feet. Don’t worry, I put them outside someone’s door. Like how you all take off your shoes when you walk inside and leave them by the door.” You turned around and continued walking, but Namjoon wasn’t following you. 

Namjoon was frantically running back with a pile of clothes in his embrace. 

Your stomach was hurting like crazy, and the sun made you more and more thirsty as time passed.

Exasperated, you cried out, “Namjoon, please, I’m hungry for eat!” 

Namjoon skidded to a stop, and looked between you and the rows of houses that the both of you passed before. Defeated, he slouched back to you and sighed, “I’m hungry for food, not hungry for eat, hungry for food.” 

You nodded excitedly, and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the bustle of people outside the supermarket. Namjoon yells in protest and pulls you to the side, grabbing an abandoned shopping cart, and piling the clothes inside. 

When you walk in, you can immediately smell the seafood in the air. The mackerel were fresh, but not the sea bass. The smell of the salmon were okay, but could be better. However, the crabs and the shrimp smelled the best. You shoved Namjoon off the handles of the cart, and pushed it towards the source of your happiness.

Namjoon tumbled to the ground, astonished that a person like you could manhandle him. He bounced back to his feet, chasing after you. 

However, as you rushed past the aisles, your sense of smell was overwhelmed with a waft off salty and sugary snacks. You grabbed a big bag, and examined its outside. You shook the contents, sniffed the wrapper, and even licked the picture of the food on the label. Confused, you pulled the seal apart, and the chips fell out like snow on a winter’s day, but not as gracefully. 

Namjoon face palmed in exasperation. He could not keep his eyes off you for one second. Sighing, he grabbed the bag that you had put back on the shelf after tasting the chips and deciding that it wasn’t your taste.

“Y/N, please, don’t-” Namjoon began to speak.

“Oh this one looks good!” you interjected, “What is this?” Namjoon grabbed the bag from your hands before you could do anymore damage. Nevertheless, you continued to throw bags of chips and various snacks into the shopping cart. Moving from the snack aisle, you spotted the fresh seafood in vats of water. You turned around excitedly, and when Namjoon saw the puppy smile on your face, he knew he couldn’t refuse what you were about to ask him.

This was how Namjoon ended up standing on the end of an aisle, trying to figure out a way on how to tell you that he wouldn't be able to afford 13 pounds of fish, as well as the mountain of snacks stacked in the shopping cart. 

“Hey Y/N,” Namjoon interjects while thumbing through his wallet. You’re too busy wandering the aisle looking for more food. After minutes of you ignoring Namjoon, he decides that for the sake of his wallet and the team budget, he would have to secretly place back a food items every time you tried to place one in the cart. 

After you and Namjoon finish going through the check out, you walk out with three grocery bags filled with snacks and Namjoon has another two bags also filled to the brim. The walk home is a little better once Namjoon convinces you to wear back all the loose clothing that you had taken off during the walk to the market.

Back at the dorm, the members watch as you scarf down bag after bag of chips while instructing Jin and Jungkook exactly how you want your seafood cooked. The others boys sit around the kitchen, loitering from a distance to watch this strange person slowly turn into a dictator in their own dorm. 

“So... where are you from,” asks Jimin, out of the blue. You pause from inhaling the seafood pasta in front of you. 

“Two corals seas north from the south bay of here,” you reply quickly. You can feel the boys exchange glances again. Namjoon finishes organizing the uneaten snacks within the cupboards and throwing the wrappers away. Namjoon waves his arms towards the other members, an action everyone understood as, just let her be.

Surprisingly, Namjoon is used to your strange antics and replies, and his only concern is on getting you back home, wherever that is. Your innocence seems to ooze from your actions, and he feels the need to make sure you return safe. 

Namjoon thinks to himself, “Maybe she can stay here for the night while I try to figure out her backstory.” He already has a mental list prepared of the items you would need to stay the night as well as making a note to ask around the police station for any information 

He looks at Jin first, then slowly gauges the rest of the members attitude towards you. 

“I’m pretty sure the rest of the members won’t mind. They can tell that she means no harm,” Namjoon concludes mentally. His lips part, ready to ask if you would like to stay the night when a loud cry from the door catches everyone’s attention.

“HYUNG! Where are my Gucci slippers!?!?” interjects Taehyung. 

You spin around in your seat confused, while the blood from Namjoon faces drains. 

Namjoon groans mentally, “On second thought...” 

[humansunshineao3]

Fighting the Good Fight [Ch. 11]

Alec Lightwood just wants to run his Institute in peace.

This is the story that could’ve unfolded if Jace didn’t exist.

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, Clary/Izzy

Tags: Jace doesn’t exist, transgender alec lightwood, retelling of the TV show, Internalized Transphobia, Panic Attacks, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Lightwood Siblings Feels, Izzy and Alec are parabatai, Family Dynamics, Homophobia, top surgery, Trigger warnings in chapter notes, in depth trigger warnings

AUTHOR’S NOTES

I had a lot of fun writing the trial scene this chapter. There aren't as many trigger warnings because it's more plot focussed than character focussed.

Someone asked me about Lydia's characterisation last chapter, so to clarify: Lydia originally was okay with having an unromantic relationship with Alec (when Alec proposed) but after reflecting she realised how lonely that would be and decided to try and get Alec to be her close friend, and maybe eventually her lover. It wasn't a huge scheme or anything, but she did disregard Alec's queerness, assuming he would get over it eventually. Her homophobia is further elaborated on in this chapter: she thinks of it not as an inherent part of a person but as a phase of rebellion or a way to stick your finger up to the Clave's authority, or a way to unnerve people. Also, yes, she is 'okay' with Alec being trans (because Alec passes as a cis man with his clothes on), but the Clave won't accept Alec as a groom until he has surgery, which is why she emphasises that Alec must have surgery if they are to marry. Just thought I'd lay all that out - if one person was confused it's fairly likely that more of you were wondering the same thing.

Onto the trigger warnings!

Racial profiling: Canon-typical racism against downworlders. Magnus and Izzy call the Clave out for assuming Meliorn was guilty because he’s a Seelie.

Explicit homophobia: Inquisitor Herondale is heinously homophobic. She refers to Clary and Izzy’s relationship as ‘perverted’. Additionally, Lydia tries to use Izzy’s feelings for Clary as a way to turn the court against her.

Explicit transphobia/misgendering: Inquisitor Herondale publically misgenders Alec as a power play, before accusing him of being trans for attention.

Racism: Valentine calls Luke filthy, an animal, a dog, etc etc.

Previous Chapter

EPISODE 11: BLOOD CALLS TO BLOOD

“Clary?” Dot rasped, letting Clary haul her up to her feet. “What are you doing here, you have to go!”

“Valentine’s not here,” Clary assured her, pulling Dot’s arm around her shoulder. “How do we get out of here, do you know?”

Dot looked around, still squinting, and pointed towards the back wall. “Valentine has a standing portal, it can take us anywhere we want. My magic’s too low.”

“Right.” Clary nodded, guiding Dot as she took her first wobbly steps in months. “I’ll take you to Magnus. He’s the High Warlock, he’ll know how to help you.”

“Alright, it’s over here.”

“Let me call Magnus to lower his wards, can you stand?” Clary asked, helping Dot lean against the wall next to the portal. She pressed her phone to her ear, praying that Magnus would pick up quickly. Who knew if or when Valentine would come back to get Dot?

“Clary? Did you get him?” Magnus asked.

“No, not exactly. I found his lair but the only person here was Dot.”

“Dot Rollins?”

“Yeah, can you lower your wards so we can portal straight to you?” Clary requested.

Magnus replied without hesitation. “Of course, they’re down. Come quickly, I can only keep them down for a few moments.”

Clary hung up and pulled Dot through the portal, the two of them going sprawling over Magnus’ living room floor. Dot was wracked with a coughing fit, her cheek pressed to the floor, and Magnus hurried to help her up.

“Oh, sweet Dorothea,” Magnus sighed, cupping her face. “What did he do to you?”

Dot’s eyes darted to Clary, before dropping to Magnus’ chest. “I-I don’t know.”

“We’ll look after you, Dot.” Clary assured her.

“Forget about me,” Dot urged, letting Magnus help her onto the sofa. “You need to find Valentine. He has your mother.”

Magnus tutted, snapping some magic to his fingers to begin healing her. “Dorothea, you can’t worry about Valentine right now. Your magic is so low I can’t even feel it.” He looked down at her with mournful eyes, smoothing her hair back from my face. “I’m so sorry that I left you there in Pandemonium all alone. It was inexcusable.”

“You had other things to worry about.” Dot sighed, before turning her gaze back to Clary. “You can’t waste time, Clary. I overheard him talking a couple of days ago, he said he needed better equipment, so he was moving to a hospital.”

“Which hospital? Did you hear?” Clary asked, sitting next to her.

Dot squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to recall. “He said he wanted to be close to his family, which I’m guessing means you.”

“There can’t be many abandoned hospitals in New York City,” Magnus pointed out, “any spare land is seized almost instantly.”

“I’ll ask Luke to come and check them out with me,” Clary nodded, squeezing Dot’s hand. “Thank you, Dot, you’ve probably just saved the entire downworld.”

Dot smiled weakly. “At least my suffering was for something.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“All I know is we have to go. The two of us, we need to get out here. We can go… I don’t know, anywhere. We can take as many weapons as we can carry and we can ask Magnus to make us a portal.” Alec insisted, pacing back and forth in front of the window.

“Alec, the Clave will hunt us for as long as we live if we abandon our posts. You’re still in the clear, I’m not letting you make yourself a target too.” Izzy argued from her spot on the couch. “Listen, I’m okay with this, Alec. It’s alright. If the Clave is so fucked that it’ll excommunicate me for saving a downworlder’s life, then I don’t want any part of it. Clary and I will be fine living as mundanes.”

“Clary abandoned you to face this alone!” Alec yelled. “The Seelie Queen reported that the interdimensional rift was closed, and that there was no sign of Clary anywhere. She took the mortal cup and ran!”

Izzy swallowed hard. “You don’t know that.”

“Well she’s sure as shit alive, because her stele is still active somewhere; the Clave can’t pinpoint it because of the blocking rune but she’s somewhere in this world. And she hasn’t bothered to come back and return the cup even though I’ve left her twelve voicemails. She’s gone, Iz. She’s not coming back.”

“She’s fighting Valentine. How could you just assume that she’s running? After all she’s lost to get here? She has to get her Mom back, Alec.” Izzy argued, leaning forward. “You were ready to get yourself deruned to help me escape but you’re judging Clary for doing everything to help her Mom?”

Alec clenched his jaw. She had a point. “I’m still gonna rip her a new one if she comes back.”

“When, Alec,” Izzy sighed, leaning back to look out the window, “when.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Magnus,” Clary muttered, pulling him out of earshot of Dot, who was now sleeping soundly. “Alec’s left me like a million voicemails. The Clave is putting Izzy on trial for treason and she’ll be deruned if I don’t give them the cup.”

“How long does Izzy have?” Magnus asked, and Clary shrugged helplessly.

“He didn’t say, but by the sounds of it, not much time. We have to find Valentine tonight.” She insisted, “I can’t let Izzy get deruned because of me.”

Magnus nodded, rubbing his fingertips together. “It might be worth reaching out to Luke. The police will have information on all the abandoned hospitals in the city.”

“Great idea,” Clary agreed, sending Luke an SOS text and hoping he wasn’t too busy to help.

“You should tell Alec what’s going on, let him know that you’re safe.” Magnus reminded her, but she shook her head.

“Not right now, Magnus.”

Magnus looked at her with confusion, but he didn’t have a chance to ask why, because the two of them turned at the sound of Dot stirring on the couch behind them.

“What’s going on?” Dot asked, her eyes fluttering open.

“The Clave is holding a friend of ours hostage for the mortal cup,” Magnus explained, crossing the room to help Dot sit up.

Dot looked between Magnus and Clary with wide eyes. “You have the cup?!”

“Sort of…” Clary admitted. “We’re going after Valentine tonight. We don’t have the luxury of time now.”

Her phone started to vibrate, and Clary stepped away to answer Luke’s call. Magnus sat down next to Dot, his hands in his lap.

“How are you feeling? Any magic?” He asked tentatively, trying to keep the guilt from his face. If he’d insisted on her coming with him that night at Pandemonium, she wouldn’t have been taken.

Dot shook her head, her eyes on Clary. She glanced uneasily at Magnus as he reached over to take her hands in his own. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Magnus dropped her hands, biting the inside of his cheek. “I just… You said once that you took great comfort in physical touch. I wanted to remind you that you’re not alone.”

“Right…” Dot nodded, brushing her hair out of her face. “Well, that was before…”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Magnus agreed. He got up from the sofa to give Dot some space, making himself useful by conjuring a fresh set of clothes for Dot to change into. “Do you want me to just…”

“No, I’ll change myself,” Dot insisted, looking pointedly at the door.

Magnus smiled reassuringly at her, and let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Luke’s compiling a list of hospitals. He said you’re right,” Clary told him, tucking her phone back into her pocket, “there’s only gonna be a couple to check out.”

“That’s good news.” Magnus nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door and fiddling with his shirt cuffs.

“What is it, Magnus? Something wrong with Dot?”

Magnus pursed his lips. “I’m not sure. It’s just… Odd. I’ve known Dot for two centuries, and I’ve seen her react to tragedy and trauma before. Valentine must have done unspeakable things to her to break her spirit like this. She couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

“What do you think he wanted her for?” Clary asked fearfully, her voice low.

“I dread to think,” Magnus muttered, a shudder running down his spine. “We’ll have to keep a close eye on her over the next few days.”

Clary nodded in agreement, opening her mouth to say that it was odd that Dot hadn’t asked about her runes or how she’d stayed safe, but both she and Magnus were pulled out of their conversation by a knock on the door. Magnus closed his eyes and reached out with his magic to check who was at his door, and he mouthed ‘Alec’ to Clary with wide eyes. She darted to the bedroom door and knocked quietly, letting herself in the moment Dot called out with an affirmative. As the bedroom door clicked shut, Magnus made his way over to the front door, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt at the sight of Alexander.

“This is an unexpected pleasure.” Magnus smiled, not moving to let Alec into the loft.

Alec looked past him, confusion scrunching his eyebrows. “Do you have someone here?”

“Of course not! No, of course not. I just wasn’t sure if you were staying. Drink?” He offered. Alec stepped around him and wandered into the loft, wringing his hands together.

“No, I’m, uh… Here on business.”

“Need a party planner for the wedding?” Magnus teased, going to his drinks cart to pour himself a martini.

Alec cleared his throat. “No… Actually…”

Magnus glanced at him at the sound of hesitation, raising his eyebrow.

“I broke up with Lydia,” Alec confessed. “Well, it’s not really breaking up since we were never really together in any meaningful way, but…”

“You…?” Magnus may have poured a little too much vodka into the glass. “You broke up with her?!”

Alec nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “She’s putting Izzy on trial for treason. I couldn’t… I can’t marry someone who’d see Izzy deruned.”

“Oh…”

“She needs a defense attorney. She asked for you. I told her it was impossible, but…” Alec ran his hand through his hair.

Magnus sat down in an armchair, swirling his finger in his glass before popping it in his mouth.

“You’re just about the only person in the world who cares about what happens to either of us. I don’t know what else to do.” Alec admitted, his eyes fixed on Magnus’ lips despite himself. “I know a downworlder can’t defend a shadowhunter in court.”

“But a shadowhunter accused of a crime can choose any advocate.” Magnus pointed out, crossing his legs.

“That can’t mean a downworlder…” Alec frowned, tangling his fingers together behind his back.

Magnus smirked. “The Clave never thought that any self-respecting shadowhunter would ever choose a downworlder to defend them back in the Time of Angels, so they left a little loophole in their constitution. One that I’ve quite stylishly leapt through several times in my long life. Isabelle is not the first shadowhunter friend of mine to get in trouble with the law,” Magnus explained, taking a sip of his drink.

“But the Clave wouldn’t like you defending her…”

“They wouldn’t like it but there’s not a damned thing they could do about it,” Magnus gloated, standing up. “As the old fools say, ‘the law is the law.’” He croaked, pointing at Alec with an exaggerated trembling finger. Alec snorted. “So there’s nothing stopping me from hopping through that gaping loophole once again… For the right price.”

“Name it,” Alec shrugged.

Magnus’ lips twitched. “You.”

“Me?” Alec pointed at his own chest, swallowing hard. Surely he couldn’t mean…

“I’ll even do you pro-bono.”

Alec chuckled nervously, taking a step back. “Magnus…”

“It was worth a try,” Magnus huffed, giving Alec a wink. “I mostly wanted to see the look on your face.”

“God, I thought my heart was going to bust through my binder.” Alec muttered, massaging his palpitating heart.

Magnus smiled slightly, sitting back down. “How was the consultation?”

“Uhh…” Alec scratched the back of his head. “It was fine. Are you going to help Izzy?”

“Of course I am,” Magnus rolled his eyes, “I couldn’t just stand by and allow her to be deruned for standing up to the Clave’s bigotry. So did the consultation make you feel better about the surgery? Do you want to talk about it?”

Alec clammed up a little, having not even begun to sort through his feelings about his impending surgery. He wrung his hands together. “Can we talk about it after the trial?”

Magnus nodded, squeezing Alec’s shoulder. “Whenever you need me.”

“Thanks, Magnus.” Alec smiled at him for a moment. “I should get back. The trial’s tomorrow. 10am.”

“I’ll be there,” Magnus assured him, sighing quietly to himself as he watched the younger man let himself out of the loft. The moment the door clicked shut, Clary emerged from the bedroom. “I can’t help you with Valentine; I have to defend Izzy.”

Clary nodded, smiling sadly. “One of us has to be there for her.”

“It’ll be alright,” Magnus promised, “all they want is the cup. I can drag it out for as long as it takes to catch Valentine, then you can give the cup back to the Clave and they’ll let Izzy go.”

“I’ll ask Luke to help me,” Clary decided. There was no way she could take Valentine alone, and as his ex-parabatai, Luke knew Valentine better than anyone. “He just texted; he’s on his way over with the list of hospitals.”

“Excellent,” Magnus smiled, wandering over to the bookshelf. “While you chase down those leads, I’m going to brush up on Clave law. It’s been over a century since I last went to court.” He cast his eyes to the bedroom door. “How’s Dot?”

Clary shrugged, biting her lip. “She’s… Different.”

“Yes, I felt it too.” Magnus agreed. The Dot he knew was gentle but witty. He couldn’t recall Dot making any jokes or snarky comments at him from the moment she got there. Of course, she’d been through hell, but even when Dot had gotten trapped in Edom for a few days over a hundred years ago, she hadn’t been like this. Magnus remembered finding her, motionless, drained of energy, and yet the moment she’d woken up she’d made a sarcastic comment about Magnus looking old when he cried. “There’s something not right, here.”

“Luke’s outside,” Clary sighed, glancing down at her phone. “I gotta go.”

Magnus nodded, giving her a quick squeeze. “Good luck, biscuit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clary texted just as Magnus was getting to the institute the next morning, telling him that she and Luke had found Valentine’s hiding spot; a hospital in Queens that was infested with demons and guarded by a dozen circle members. Feeling a little better about their chances of catching Valentine, especially since Magnus and Clary had managed to figure out what exactly was going on with Dot during the night, Magnus walked into the institute with a spring in his step. Unfortunately, his good mood was quickly crushed, because Lydia was waiting for him by the door.

“This is all your fault, warlock!” She growled at him as he passed.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.”

“I know you convinced Alec to call off our engagement.” Lydia’s face was furious.

“I wish I could take the credit, princess, but that’s all Alec.”

Lydia shook her head. “We could have accomplished great things together. You’ve ruined his life.”

“Mmmm, I’m sure,” Magnus sighed, looking around the institute for Alec. “Where’s the trial taking place?”

Wordlessly, Lydia pointed at a door. Magnus smiled sweetly at her, and sauntered past. He thanked his lucky stars that Alec had found the strength to end things with her before he found himself married to her; she was a nightmare. A cardboard cutout of a thoroughly indoctrinated Clave lackey. Alec could do better. His own chances with Alec, Magnus knew, were still slim, but he felt a little better knowing that Alec was going to look for a woman who would at least have a mind of her own, one that was compatible with Alec’s.

Inside, Alec was pacing in front of the soul sword, which was stuck in a pedestal at the centre of the room, guarded by a silent brother, who was ignoring the Lightwood siblings. Izzy was sat behind a desk in front of it, staring straight ahead. As Magnus shut the door behind him, Alec looked up and sighed in relief. Izzy stood and rushed towards him to hug him.

“Thank you so much for this, Magnus,” she whispered.

“Of course, Isabelle. I’ll take any opportunity to piss off the Clave, you know that.” He teased, nodding at Alec with a small smile.

As soon as the two of them broke apart, people started filing in, filling the seats behind them. The Inquisitor filed in last as everyone took their seats, sitting in a throne behind the soul sword. Magnus fought the urge to roll his eyes at the pomp. He stepped up to the soul sword, standing opposite the silent brother.

“Will I die if I touch it?” Magnus asked.

“Only if you lie,” the Inquisitor answered dryly. Magnus pursed his lips and reached out to grasp the hilt.

“By the power of the sword,” the silent brother said, or rather, projected into the minds of everyone in the room, “do you swear to defend your client with integrity and honesty?”

Magnus shrugged, his hands still on the sword. “No argument from me on that.”

Lydia walked past him at that moment, taking a seat at the table opposite Izzy’s. It didn’t surprise Magnus that Lydia was the prosecutor, but it unsettled him a little. There was no way that she was going to be fair on Izzy now that Alec had dumped her. “Your honour, I question the defendant’s choice of advocate.”

The inquisitor waved Lydia’s concern away. “The law is the law, Miss Branwell. No matter what our opinions may be, Miss Lightwood has the inarguable right to choose her advocate.” Lydia didn’t look pleased, but she sat down at her table nevertheless. “Present your case, warlock.”

“My case is simple,” Magnus told her, raising his chin. “It is true that my client, Isabelle Lightwood, acted against the orders of the Clave. However, the Clave’s orders were unlawful and unethical. Therefore Isabelle, no matter what action she would have taken in that instance, would have been breaking the law. So, if you insist on deruning Isabelle for treason, I would hope that you would also derune Mr Lightwood and Miss Branwell, as well as all the shadowhunters that assisted in carrying out the unlawful imprisoning and planned torture of the Seelie knight Meliorn.”

“Your honour, that’s absurd,” Lydia argued, “the Clave’s orders are absolute, and I followed them to the letter.”

“What exactly is lawful,” Magnus replied calmly, “about arresting a downworlder with no evidence linking said downworlder to the crime he is accused of? Have you read the Accords, Miss Branwell? Madame Inquisitor? I was there when they wrote them.”

Alec smirked, pressing his fingers to his lips. He knew that Magnus would be a natural at this. As Magnus and Lydia quoted sections of the Accords at each other, the Inquisitor held up her hand to stop them. Izzy glanced back at Alec, giving him a hopeful smile, which he returned.

“That’s enough. We are all familiar with the Accords. I will grant you, warlock, that Miss Branwell’s decision to imprison the Seelie knight was unlawful, but Miss Branwell is not the shadowhunter on trial today. Isabelle Lightwood is a low ranking shadowhunter who went out of her way to jeopardise a Clave sanctioned mission. This is not a case of ethics, this is a case of whether or not Miss Lightwood is worthy of the Clave’s trust and therefore worthy of her runes.” The Inquisitor insisted. “I want a valid argument to explain why Miss Lightwood is worthy of that trust.”

“What you really want,” Magnus said, “is the mortal cup.”

A rumble of whispers broke out among the people watching.

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “You can hide between your pomp, Madame Inquisitor, but everyone in this room knows that Isabelle Lightwood is being held ransom for the mortal cup. Since this trial is not what it has been filed as, which is, Isabelle Lightwood versus the Clave, I move to have this case dismissed. Put the cup on trial.”

“You’re out of order.” The Inquisitor warned him.

“No,” Magnus shook his head, his fierce eyes locked on the Inquisitor’s. “You, in actuality, are the one who is out of order. This whole court is out of order. Nothing about this joke of a trial is in order.”

She looked away, sighing. “Well that’s all very dramatic, warlock, but the fact is that I run this court, and I decide who gets punished for what crime.”

As he turned away in disgust, Magnus caught sight of Lydia. She was looking down at her notes with confusion, he head in her hands. Frowning, he took a seat next to Izzy. It seemed as if everyone in the room was waiting on Lydia to begin her arguments, but the blonde was so frazzled that she didn’t notice for a long moment.

“Miss Branwell. If you would call your first witness,” the Inquisitor pressed, making Lydia look up.

“Yes, Madame Inquisitor. I’d like to call Isabelle Lightwood as my first witness.” She replied, getting to her feet. She looked rattled, grabbing a piece of paper to turn around in her hands. Magnus recognised it as the nervous tic it was, and he dared to wonder for a moment if Lydia had realised her hypocrisy. Izzy took the stand with grace, her face sombre but unashamed. “You admit that you helped the Seelie Knight Meliorn escape Clave custody, I assume?”

“I do.” Izzy answered, not looking at Lydia but at Magnus, who nodded encouragingly at her. “Because I believe that downworlders need our protection as mundanes do, and I could not stand by and watch the Accords be violated.”

“A noble motive, I’m sure,” the Inquisitor drawled, “but not one that excuses the crime.”

“What crime is there if Isabelle was protecting the Clave from itself?” Magnus demanded, standing up.

“We’ve been through this already, warlock, sit down. Continue, Miss Branwell.”

Lydia nodded, still turning the piece of paper in her hand around and around. “You said that you carried out this so-called rescue mission by yourself. It’s very impressive that you subdued six shadowhunters, including your own brother, and escaped with the Seelie.”

“Thank you, Miss Branwell.” Izzy smiled sweetly.

“Did you know that there were sightings of Clary Fairchild near the City of Bones on the night in question?”

“No.” Izzy said, “I did not. Maybe she was out for a walk.”

“You have a sexual relationship with Miss Fairchild, do you not?” Lydia asked, tilting her head to the side as people in the audience started to whisper amongst themselves.

Izzy pursed her lips, willing her cheeks not to flush. “No. Clary and I do not have a sexual relationship, but we do have a romantic one.”

“Tomato, tomah-to.” Lydia smirked.

Alec glared at the back of Lydia’s head, shame and unease crawling in his stomach.

“Madame Inquisitor, this is character assassination and I won’t stand for it!” Magnus insisted, “this is utterly irrelevant to the case in point. Isabelle’s feelings for Clary Fairchild have absolutely nothing to do with the mortal cup being missing.”

“If Mr Bane would allow me to finish my argument,” Lydia replied coolly, “then perhaps he would understand the relevance.”

“Continue, Miss Branwell. Though I warn you, I do not want this trial to turn into some perverted homosexual love story.”

Alec bit his tongue so hard he swore it was about to bleed, and he could tell Magnus wasn’t faring much better through the hard, tense line of his shoulders. He wanted so badly to reach out to squeeze his hand, but he could feel the homophobia in the room like a palpable monster stalking the aisles, and he didn’t dare.

“I’ll skim over the details, Madame Inquisitor. It is believed that Clary Fairchild found the cup a few days ago, shortly before my arrival in New York. She created a public spectacle by kissing Miss Lightwood in the ops centre to ensure that the shadowhunters of the New York Institute would avert their eyes, and then hid the cup right under our noses.”

“That’s not what happened,” Izzy blurted out.

Lydia turned to her. “No? Then how did Clary Fairchild come to have the cup, Miss Lightwood?”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus stood up again, resting his palms on the table in front of him. “Could somebody clarify something for me? Is Isabelle being questioned as to whether or not she helped Melion escape, or is she being questioned about the whereabouts of the mortal cup? I simply cannot keep up with this joke of a trial.”

The Inquisitor considered his words for a moment. “The warlock is right, Miss Branwell. The Clave will question Miss Lightwood on the cup’s location once she has been found guilty. Please focus on Miss Lightwood’s role in the Seelie’s escape.”

“As you wish, Madame Inquisitor,” Lydia nodded, the nerves suddenly coming back onto her face. “In that case, I have no further questions for Miss Lightwood.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes as Lydia slunk back to her table. He had a feeling that Lydia had seen that legally she had no leg to stand on, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of it. “Miss Lightwood,” he began, buttoning his jacket, “what is the main function of the Accords, in your opinion?”

“The main function?” Izzy asked, wringing her hands together. “I think… I’m not an expert, but what I took from it is that the shadowhunters used to treat downworlders like animals, hunting them for pleasure. I think the Accords put a stop to that, and continue to protect downworlders against unnecessary cruelty.”

“And would you say that Miss Branwell’s arrest and attempted torture of Meliorn was unnecessary cruelty?”

“Yes,” Izzy nodded, “there was no concrete evidence linking Meliorn to Valentine. She only arrested him because he was the easiest Seelie to get a hold of as the liaison to the Clave.”

Magnus hummed in agreement. “So you would go so far as to say this was racial profiling?”

“Yes. It certainly was.” Izzy heaved in a deep breath and stood up, looking hard at the assembled members of the Clave. “Valentine didn’t come out of nowhere. His blatant bigotry, his mission to kill all downworlders might disturb you, but you, the Clave, are the ones that bred this hatred and distrust. By teaching young shadowhunters that they have the right to treat a downworlder’s life as worthless, by teaching them that downworlders are tools to be used as weapons of war, by teaching them that relationships between downworlders and shadowhunters are somehow shameful, you are teaching them that to treat downworlders as inferior is good and just. We, the shadowhunters of the Clave, use our angel blood to justify everything we do, just like him. And yet you wring your hands and sigh and tut at Valentine’s actions, like you didn’t teach him the same way you taught all of us. Luckily, some of us know better. Some of us have reached out with both arms to downworlders and found not enemies, but friends. Friends that deserve our respect, and our protection. And that’s exactly what I did. I protected my friend from the cruelty and injustice of what the Clave has become.”

“That is quite enough, Miss Lightwood.” The Inquisitor interrupted, holding up her hand.

“No, I don’t think it is.” Lydia spoke up, hesitation in her voice. Magnus looked around to see her getting to her feet. “With all due respect, Madame Inquisitor, I have no case here. The warlock is right; Miss Lightwood was protecting the Accords. We cannot try her on grounds of treason, at least not without proof that she stole the mortal cup. I withdraw the charges.”

Alec’s breath caught in his throat, and he met Izzy’s hopeful eyes before glancing at Magnus, who was smiling with satisfaction. He turned to face the Inquisitor, and shrugged.

“Looks like your prosecutor’s got nothing, Madame Inquisitor.” He told her smugly, flicking open his briefcase and magicking papers and confetti into the air.

The courtroom erupted into chaos; people were cheering and booing in equal measure, and Alec ran up to Izzy to envelop her in a tight hug before turning to Magnus, pressing his face into the man’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing him so hard that Magnus wheezed, before turning back to Izzy with a grin on his face. She was going to be alright. She was going to be fine.

“Silence!” The Inquisitor commanded, banging her gavel, and the Lightwoods and Magnus turned to look at her. “If you think, Miss Branwell, that refusing to prosecute the defendant means she will go unpunished, then you are mistaken.” She straightened up in her chair, lifting her chin. “If the mortal cup is not returned to the Clave’s hands in 24 hours, Isabelle Lightwood will be deruned.” She banged her gavel down once more.

“That’s not the law!” Alec argued. “What happened to ‘the law is hard, but it’s the law?!’ Where are your principles?!”

“In times of war, Miss Lightwood,” the Inquisitor spat, rising from her chair, “principles must be bent.”

Alec was shocked into silence, the spiteful misgendering hitting him like a slap across the face. He hadn’t been misgendered in years. Hardly anyone knew that he was trans. He met the Inquisitor’s eye as she walked towards him, his stomach dropping at the smug hatred he saw there.

“If I were you, I would avoid drawing attention to myself, though… I know how your kind crave attention and infamy.” She hissed at him, before walking past him and out the door.

“What did she say to you?” Magnus demanded, taking his arm, but Alec shook his head.

“Alec…?” Lydia stepped into his line of sight, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “I’m sorry. She-”

“It’s fine,” Alec sniffed, straightening his spine, “forget it.” He turned to Izzy, who looked like she was about to cry. “We’ll fix this.” He promised her, “we’ll get the cup.”

He was going to find Clary Fray if it killed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Clary, I’m coming with you.” Dot insisted, walking around the corner to where Luke and Clary were preparing to storm the hospital, “I’ve regained enough power to use portals. I’ll come, and be your means of escape if anything goes wrong.”

Luke and Clary looked at each other for a long moment, remembering their conversation the night before while they checked out Valentine’s lair, and nodded. They’d both come to the conclusion that there was something off about Dot, but that in order to get her back to normal, they’d have to see how it all played out.

“Here, take my gun,” Luke held it out to her, “you should keep your magic for a life or death situation. Valentine’s shadowhunters might have angel blood, but they won’t survive a gunshot to the head.”

“Thank you, Lucian.” She smiled at him as she took it.

“This place was crawling with demons last night,” Clary observed, looking up at the windows of the old hospital. “Are they hiding from the daylight?”

“Valentine wants to draw us in,” Dot guessed, “force you to use the cup.”

“You’re probably right,” Luke agreed, sighing as he noticed three circle members stream out of the front doors. “I’ll engage them. Clary, you get inside. You can use the cup if necessary to keep the demons off your back. Dot…”

“She’s with me,” Clary insisted, ducking out of the way of a seraph blade as the circle members reached them. Luckily, the three of them jumped at the chance to fight a werewolf, and Clary managed to slip past, Dot in tow, as Luke started to transform.

The halls of the hospital were covered in graffiti, but devoid of demons, and Clary rushed through them with Dot hot on her heels. They walked in almost silence, their panting breaths the only sound echoing back to them in the empty halls. Clary realised she had absolutely no idea on where to even begin looking for her mother, but the memory of sneaking into the Hotel DuMort with the Lightwoods burst into her consciousness, and she paused for a moment.

“What is it?” Dot asked impatiently, “we don’t have much time.”

“She’ll be in the middle of the hospital,” Clary murmured, “in the most secure room. Valentine is shadowhunter trained; he’d know the the middle would be most secure. Let’s go.”

Dot nodded, smiling a little. “Seems the shadowhunters have taught you well.”

It didn’t take long to find the very centre of the building; up on the first floor there was a big room that Clary assumed once served as the upstairs reception. As she pushed open the door, she caught sight of her mother, encased in green magic, and floating a few feet above the ground as if she were lying on an invisible bed. Her seraph blade clattering to the ground, Clary rushed forwards, reaching out to touch her mother after all this time. The magic tingled on her hands as they passed through the translucent barrier to stroke Jocelyn’s hair back from her face, but Jocelyn didn’t wake. Clary shook her gently, calling her, but nothing seemed to work. She looked up at Dot, who was more concerned with the noises starting to grow in volume in the corridors outside.

Luke came running around the corner down the hallway, back in human form, wearing only tattered underwear, his eyes wide. “Get ready to cast locking runes!” He yelled as a horde of demons turned the corner a few feet behind him.

Leaving her mother’s side for a moment, Clary grabbed her stele and ran towards the doorway, letting Luke slide past her before slamming the doors shut and quickly burning a barricade rune into the wood. Luke scrambled up from the ground, his eyes fixed on Jocelyn’s prone body. Clary went to his side once she was sure that the demons couldn’t get in, and squeezed his hand.

“She’s alive,” Clary said quietly, “but I can’t wake her up.”

“Magnus will know how,” Luke assured her, licking his lips. “Right now we have to figure out how we’re going to get out of here.”

Clary pulled what looked like the mortal cup out of her satchel, and Dot’s eyes widened. “I’ll use this.” She held the cup aloft, and commanded the demons, “find Valentine!”

The demons threw themselves against the doors and walls around them with even more fervour than before, so Clary repeated herself, her voice louder. It had no effect, and Dot hurried to her side. Her eyes were fixed on the cup.

“Give it to me. Maybe my magic will wake it up.” She suggested, holding out her hands. Clary glanced at Luke, who shook his head, but Clary put it in her hands. The moment Dot had a hold of the cup, she stepped away from Clary and Luke, gazing at it as if it were, well, magical. “Finally,” she muttered, her thumb stroking over the glowing curve of it, “my time has come.”

“What are you talking about?” Luke demanded.

Dot turned around to face them, the cup in her hand, and pulled a stele out of her pocket with the other. Clary pursed her lips as Dot traced a glamour rune into her wrist, and her form shuddered and turned back into Valentine. As his face transformed back to normal, he looked up at Clary and Luke’s expressions, anticipating confusion. Luke was aghast, horrified, but Clary looked almost bored.

“Did you really think you could fool the High Warlock of Brooklyn with a rune glamour?” Clary asked. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“It matters not what your pet warlock knows,” Valentine sneered, holding up the cup in his hand. “Demons! Attack my enemies!”

Luke tensed, but Clary was smirking, her hand reaching back inside her satchel.

“Demons, stop!” Clary shouted, glancing at the walls as the demons started to burrow through the concrete. Without so much as a growl, the demons paused, waiting for further instruction. After a moment to gather her most gloating expression, Clary looked at Valentine, right as Luke started to laugh. “You’re not the only one who can cast a glamour, Valentine.” Clary sneered, pointing to the #1 Dad mug that Valentine was holding.

Valentine growled, and hurled the mug to the ground.

“What do you think, Luke? Should we let the demons deal with him?” Clary asked, bringing the real mortal cup into sight.

Luke shook his head, advancing on his ex parabatai. “No. He’s mine.”

“Demons, be gone!” Clary called, and the demons melted away, retreating back to whatever dark hole they’d crawled out of. “Luke, we should bring him in alive.”

“Of course,” Luke nodded, “I just want to talk.”

“All you ever did was talk,” Valentine scoffed, “you were always a coward.”

“That’s why you had me turned into a wolf. Because I was a coward and you weren’t scared of me,” Luke shot back sarcastically, stepping closer to Valentine.

“I turned you into a wolf because you stole Jocelyn from me! I thought that she’d have more dignity than to choose a filthy animal over me! Clearly I was wrong! She’s just as filthy as you are.” Valentine growled, brandishing the gun that Luke had given him before. “What was it you said, Lucian? Even shadowhunters will be put down by a bullet to the head?! I wonder if that applies to dogs as well.”

“You leave him alone!” Clary shouted, stepping in front of Luke.

“You have no idea what this thing put our family through, Clarissa. Step aside, let me end this, and we can be a family again.” Valentine promised.

Clary shook her head. “Luke is all the family I need.”

“Have you seen Lucian in his dog form, Clarissa? It’s disgusting. He’s a wild animal, he will rip you to shreds if you get in his way.”

“He’s not the one with a gun pointed between my eyes.” Clary pointed out.

Valentine pursed his lips, and lowered the gun slowly. “Fair point. Do me a favour, would you? Wake up your mother? All three of us must be ready for the work ahead.”

“What work?” Luke taunted, “we have the cup. You have nothing.”

Valentine grinned, slipping a ring off his finger and smashing the stone on the ground. A portal appeared behind him, and before Clary and Luke could grab him, he’d disappeared. Luke and Clary looked at each other, and fell into a hug.

“You could have warned me before I gave him that gun.” Luke huffed, and Clary laughed. The two of them headed over to Jocelyn’s side.

“Do you really think Magnus can wake her up?” Clary asked, looking down at her mother’s sleeping body.

“Magnus can do anything.” Luke assured her. “Come on, let’s get her to him.”

Clary shook her head. “No, we have to go to the institute. Izzy’s running out of time, we need to give the cup back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec got back from his search to see Clary standing in the ops centre, handing the cup over to Lydia. He felt a flash of rage hot in his stomach, and stormed across the room. She smiled at him as he approached, but it quickly faded to fear.

“It’s about goddamn time.” Alec snarled. “Where have you been?!”

“I found my mother,” Clary explained, holding up her hands, “look, I’ve returned the cup, now Izzy can be freed.”

Alec clenched his jaw, hands on his hips. “You told me that you were serious about Izzy, that you cared about her.”

“I’m going to go and deliver the good news to the Inquisitor.” Lydia told them, “Alec, I hope there’s no hard feelings after all thi-”

“Walk away, Lydia.” Alec gritted out, not taking his eyes off Clary. “Well? Any explanation? At all? You took the cup without telling me, and you nearly handed it over to Valentine. You put Izzy’s life in danger and you didn’t even manage to bring Valentine in.”

“I’m sorry, Alec. I had to save my Mom. It wasn’t my intention to put the cup in danger, you know that.” Clary replied.

“Was it your intention to trade Izzy’s life for Jocelyn’s?” Alec demanded, “would it have been worth it, if Izzy had been deruned?!”

“She wasn’t, so what does it matter?” Clary snapped, her green eyes meeting his dark ones. “Why are you picking a fight?! Everything’s fine!”

“Fine?!” Alec repeated, “you broke Izzy’s trust and your mother’s still asleep. God knows how you’re going to wake her up.”

Clary opened her mouth to respond, but she had nothing to say. She knew that it had been the right thing to do, and that Izzy would understand that what she did was for the greater good. When Jocelyn woke up, she could tell them everything they needed to know about Valentine, which could turn the war in their favour. As much as it hurt, that Alec was angry, Clary also knew that it didn’t really matter.

“I’m going to go,” Alec sighed, running his hand through his hair, “and tell my sister that she still has a future. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from the both of us.”

“Izzy was in on my plan, Alec, she helped me figure it out. She’ll understand.” Clary called after him, but he didn’t turn back as he walked away from her.

He paused once he got around the corner, forcing the tension, the anger, from his body. There was no point in wasting more energy on Clary’s antics. Izzy had been freed; this was supposed to be a victory. She deserved to hear this from Alec when he was calm and happy. Once he’d come back to himself a little, he carried onto Izzy’s room.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised that Magnus had stayed with her. After all, Magnus and Izzy had struck up a friendship since he came into their lives a couple of weeks ago. Alec shouldn’t have been surprised to see Magnus sitting with her on the sofa, her hand encased in two of his. They were smiling a little sadly at each other, but the two of them looked up at the sound of Alec entering the room.

Alec smiled at his sister, putting his hands out. “The Clave has the cup. You’re officially pardoned.”

“Clary got back?!” Izzy stood up, the light that Alec hadn’t realised had been missing growing in her eyes. “Where is she?!”

“I… She’s around, I don’t know. The point is, you’re not going to be deruned.” Alec reminded her, taking her by the shoulders. “You future’s still bright.”

Izzy was looking past Alec, trying to see if Clary was with him. She forced herself to focus on her brother, but all she could think of was Clary. “That’s wonderful.”

“It is wonderful,” Magnus volunteered, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. “I’m so happy for you, Isabelle.”

“Where are you going in such a rush?” Izzy asked, “don’t you have to, I don’t know… Pick up your payment?” She wiggled her eyebrows a little, tilting her head in Alec’s direction.

Alec rolled his eyes. “Magnus kindly offered to do me- it. He-”

Izzy giggled, and Magnus smirked.

“He offered to do IT pro-bono. Though…” Alec looked at Magnus through his eyelashes. “We both certainly owe him a favour.”

“I’m going to go and find Clary,” Izzy declared, “you two should talk.”

“Why would you want to go and find the woman who betrayed you?” Alec frowned, standing in the doorway so Izzy couldn’t pass. “She put your whole life at risk. For what?”

Izzy glowered at him. “I know you think you have to safeguard me because you’re my big brother, but I can look out for myself.”

“You’re just going to let her get away with almost getting you deruned?!”

“No, actually, I’m not.” Izzy replied flatly. “But I am going to hear her out.”

Alec opened his mouth to respond, but he knew there was no point arguing. Clary had, after all, ultimately saved the day, no matter how painful it was to admit. Alec just wished she’d returned his call and told him the plan. He did not take kindly to feeling helpless. With another little push from Izzy, Alec stepped aside and allowed her to pass him.

“Clary did remarkably well considering she’s only been a shadowhunter for a few weeks,” Magnus pointed out tentatively, once Izzy was gone. Alec folded his arms, grumbling.

“I suppose.”

Magnus sighed, and buttoned his jacket. “Walk me out, would you?” He let Alec go first, gesturing to the door with his arm, and Alec smiled at the chivalrous gesture, passing through the doorway before Magnus. “So what’s the plan now?”

“With Valentine?” Alec asked uneasily, “I have no idea.”

“I was talking about you, Alexander. You called off your engagement, but you didn’t call off your surgery. I was just… Wondering… If the consultation put your mind at ease. If you’d decided…” Magnus explained.

Alec shrugged, running his hand through his hair. “Honestly I have no fucking idea what I’m doing with any of it. I… I still need a wife. Especially now that Clary’s back. And she failed to get Valentine. You felt the hatred in that room when Lydia talked about Izzy’s feelings for Clary. I don’t know. I have no idea, Magnus.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” Magnus nodded, walking with his eyes on the ground, pausing for a moment to consider his next words. “For the record… I understand why you feel you need to go through with this, but if Izzy can come through this…”

“It’s different. Izzy had the law on her side. I don’t.”

“Yes, I know. I just hate the thought of you doing all this, compromising your happiness, going through a surgery you don’t want, just to please those pigs. I…” Magnus breathed in sharply.

Alec smiled slightly, nudging Magnus a little. “I know. But… I don’t know. I feel a little better after the consultation. Like I said before, binders are hell. I’m not gonna lie, the thought of not having to wear one is tempting, to say the least. And having Cat there? It changes things. I mean, for the sake of a week of iratzes and bed rest, I could stand in front of a mirror and not hate what I see?” He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. “I just wish it wasn’t happening at the same as all this Valentine bullshit.”

“I don’t suppose there’ll ever be a quiet few months in the life of a shadowhunter.” Magnus chuckled.

“Nope, not until I’m dead.”

Magnus snorted, turning to face Alec as they reached the front door. “Well, whatever happens… I hope you know I’ll be here for you. As a friend.”

“A friend?” Alec repeated, his heart sinking a little.

“Alexander,” Magnus shook his head. “I won’t be a married man’s dirty little secret. I’m worth more than that.”

Alec gulped, nodding. “Yeah. Yes, you’re right. You are, of course you are.” He looked down at his feet. “You deserve everything.”

Magnus’ gaze softened, and he cursed Alec’s ability to reduce him to mush with a simple, honest sentence. “I wish things could be different.”

“Me too.” Alec whispered, squeezing Magnus’ hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Izzy found Clary in the infirmary, watching over her mother. Clary looked up the moment Izzy appeared in the doorway, and got to her feet so quickly that her chair keeled over. The redhead’s expression was fearful, and her anxiety only grew when Izzy swallowed hard, making no move to come further into the room.

“Iz…”

“You didn’t check in.” Izzy pointed out.

Clary pressed her lips together. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I-”

“I was almost deruned… Everyone was saying that you’d abandoned me. I thought you might have run.” Izzy shook her head, tucking her hair between her ears. “You could have called when you got back from the other dimension.”

Clary scratched her forehead. “I kinda had bigger things to worry about, Iz. You know, like, stopping Valentine before the Clave decided to wipe all your angel blood from your veins. I didn’t have time to stop and think. I didn’t have time to breathe, I had to get it done.”

“So you let me think that you’d run away for my own good?”

“That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant!” Clary insisted.

Izzy walked a little further in the room, close enough to Clary that the redhead could see the hurt in her eyes. “You couldn’t spare thirty seconds to return Alec’s call?”

“I saw things in that other dimension, alright?!” Clary blurted out, “things that I needed to process.”

“Like what?” Izzy asked, eyebrows furrowing in the middle.

Clary pursed her lips and looked away. “Valentine was a good man. Alec was… He was… Totally different. And you?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “You and me were still together. Even though we weren’t shadowhunters, even though odds were that we’d never have met, we somehow found our way to each other, even there. And… I… Look, I’ve only been in this world for a couple of weeks. Vampires and werewolves and magic… And now… Soulmates?”

“You…” Izzy had never been more confused. “So you took that to mean we were soulmates? And your way of dealing with that was to let me go through that trial with radio silence from you?! Is there logic here, Clary, because I’m not following.”

“I didn’t think about it!” Clary confessed, “all I knew is that I had to get my Mom back. She is the one thing that was constant. She was there, she was the same. I had to get her back. I need something to… When I was in that dimension, I needed something to ground me in that world. My Mom is that to me. She grounds me, Iz, in this insane shadow world I’ve been hurled into. I… Barely know you. I’ve only known you for two weeks, and I feel so much, I don’t know what to do with it. I need her, Iz. I need her to help me understand all of this.”

Izzy sucked her lower lip into her mouth, her mind reeling. “I understand how important she is to you. I understand why you felt so focussed on her. But you let me face the scariest moment of my life without a single word. Can you see how that would make me feel?”

“Of course I do,” Clary replied, walking around her Mom to approach Izzy, taking her hands. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care what happened. I just had to save her.”

“I know.” Izzy said quietly, pulling her hands from Clary’s. “Just give me a couple of days, yeah?”

Clary opened her mouth to protest, but she nodded. “Alright. Okay. Yeah.”

Izzy gave her a swift, soft kiss on the cheek, before sweeping out of the room.

Next Chapter

[thewhimsicalfairy]

DAY 1 of NO CONTACT

Woke up crying today...i basically cried myself awake...

it first came as a few tears rolled off my face and then a consistent torrent like rain showers... the finality of it all...how i know that i was instrumental in this decision...still hurt like crazy (crying like crazy again, totally not gonna be looking my best at the wedding later...) the fact that i will no longer hear from you again...even if a text meant that it was just a bone for me to pick to ruminate...but no more...

cried in the shower last night...the silent kind cos i can't risk my mom knowing... everything in this was my choice my decision and i just have to bear with it...for now for however long it takes... but it just hurts so much now for some really odd reason...i really do have it bad for you...and now i single handedly denied my own personal drug and i'll just have to live without it and figure out how to move on... i know it will get better someday somehow but i just had to put this out here... consider this a physical documentation of this non-relationship...

x x x

i asked you out for dinner...wanting to put an end to this torment that you were putting me through...technically through no fault of yours but still...

you were WFH as you were still nursing that nasty throat (which developed into a scratchy cough no thanks to the haze - you are quite delicate eh?) so i trained down to your area to meet you you gave me pretty specific instructions on how to navigate the train station and picked me up at the bus stop. we had some convo of sorts while figuring out where to dine...pointing out to me your condo block etc...first choice Chinese place at Greenwich V was dead so we settled on Punggol White beehoon place...the only beehoon you eat (also a fairly pick eater) looking over the menu i vetoed most of the choices in view of easier options for your throat...cold drinks anything wasn't gonna do your throat any favours but you wanted barley cold...anyhow more convo over dinner...we touched on your side project and how i'm really am not the target audience (i am cheap like that...) i paid for this meal...consider this our last meal together... the drive back my home we discussed music...about Jay Chou's new track and me saying i dun get the hype and his previous track was better... played that track on your phone as it wouldn't connect to the car's audio system...(tried not to look cos i know i'd spy her name but i saw it anyway) played Maroon 5's new track, that 1 i really loved...and then it was back to radio and how the DJ was some love guru and how he basically only has one listener who calls in every night to dedicate songs that night was TLC's Waterfalls...and pagers and completely random stuff really...but i always enjoyed our convos cos they always took no particular shape and form but flowed naturally...

then A Great Big World's 'Say Something' came on...this track struck a chord in me...no less cos i have been listening to the Spotify 'Heartbreak' playlist on and off the past couple of weeks...

//Say something, I'm giving up on you I'll be the one, if you want me to Anywhere, I would've followed you Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I am feeling so small It was over my head I know nothing at all And I will stumble and fall I'm still learning to love Just starting to crawl

Say something, I'm giving up on you I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you Anywhere, I would've followed you Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride You're the one that I love And I'm saying goodbye Say something, I'm giving up on you And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you And anywhere, I would have followed you Oh, oh, oh, oh say something, I'm giving up on you Say something, I'm giving up on you Say something//

it is very apparent why it resonated with me now no...

after getting off the wrong exit cos you chose not to GPS it...we made it back at my place anyhow... and we began our usual heart to heart convos in the car...this time for the last time...

you kinda expected a convo was coming (it has come to this hasn't it...everytime we want/need facetime/ask each other out for a meal, it's because we need to talk...) i struggled a bit at the beginning as always and then you said maybe you should go first but i said i will do it...then sharing that i did consider just going mia and maybe saying everything via a letter but that felt too dramatic and it'd be terribly long (like how this blog post will be) you suggested email (well i could've looked your email up which is true) but anyhow here goes...

what are we now really..? i am really nothing more than a texting buddy and it is clear that you can't give me what i want... and it has come to a point where every text you send feels like a bone to a dog and i am said dog who will ruminate over the bone till the next one gets thrown my way and i don't like the version of myself i've become... i was on this roller coaster of emotions (maybe a kiddy size one compared to the huge one that you are riding but still a roller coaster nonetheless) for the first 2 weeks but after last Thursday's lunch convo i saw it with so much clarity... that you are not helping yourself to move on from the pain and i can't keep riding this dark wave you are on pulling us both down... and as much as you have not admitted it i firmly believed that i was just a rebound... i want my happiness back and so i need to remove myself from this pain...and i'm gonna do it cold turkey even it means yanking out a piece of myself forcefully and even if it hurts...(and boy does it hurt man)

you kinda already saw my response/decision coming cos yeah it's gotten pretty obvious my responses have been lacklustre of late (i was trying to hold back something, or my walls were coming up again) but honestly what i've been reduced to is a texting buddy and that i don't want to put myself through the mental torture of wondering when this stream of bones was gonna dry up, when will the next text be and all...

you shared how your emotions worked after a sesh with your sister (sisters are truly the best really)...how growing up you never learnt about emotions from your parents (typical Asian parents) that there was no touch or hugs as a form of communication in your family (again typical Asian household as well but i had my sister who was there for me for that) and how you only learnt what you know of emotions through relationships the first one being at 15 and how you basically invested your entire emotional wealth on this one person who has now basically left this huge void in your life and heart and you'd need time to refill this emotional mana (haha gaming speak) (but yes i get it which is why i said i was the rebound) you clarified that liking someone wasn't based on how tall they were whether they smoked or drink...those were just filters...cos liking someone is just that right you can't quite define it it just happens (this i wholly agree thanks and no thanks to you) and you confirmed that we had some good times even if they were short (thank you for acknowledging that cos i have been going crazy around my head wondering if it was all bullshit and a fantasy but it just might mean nothing to you on retrospect #becosrebound) (i mean in the grand scheme of things i'm probably just an asteroid vs a meteor shower and i can't beat that and i'm also not faulting you for it...) and you've had friends tell you the same thing (clearly whatever i said about removing the source of pain wasn't just a solo voice) 19 Sept was the hearing and you've already gotten the lawyer's letter that the Interim Divorce has been filed...so between now till 20 Dec if nothing changes the divorce will be final and somehow i felt that you wavered then...that if you were given the chance or indication to undo all this you will...but you've also went to see 3 condo units last week (to buy now not to rent) and with the Interim Divorce you can actually move forward with putting up a request with HDB to put your house up for sale... i've seen the space (random googling brought me there) and it's gorgeous (and i kinda can understand why you wouldn't want to give that up) but do what you need to do...

whatever been's said and done you obviously need way more time (i’m thinking closer to a year) to get over this phase and you also acknowledged that i was the kind of girl that needs a commitment not the grey zone shit that we’ve playing at and you are in no state to give me that...and as much as i said before that i was willing to wait and be there for you and all...i realise i can't...not after knowing that you've done nothing to help yourself...and as much as i want you, i want what we shared (before everything went to shits), you probably will not want me the same way when you are whole again #becosrebound so i had to do this the hard way which is to walk away...from this heartache from you...

towards the end, we talked about my take on this whole experience (basically a post campaign report if you will) i shared that i'm glad for the experience never mind how it transpired...this great white blank piece of paper finally has some graffiti (my choice of words) / colour (yours) and i also came to understand what i want better and that was someone who will place me as priority and always choose me no matter what and making everything so easy that i never ever had to doubt his intention or meaning... and when i meet that someone i will know (hopefully haha)

and then i just said 'well have a good life', popped out of the car, collected my things at the rear seat and left with a 'bye'. 头也不回的走了...i'm glad that i ended this on my own terms and not be a wastrel and dodged the subject and have it drag on to infinity because i know i deserve better and i needed to tell it to you ftf and that you will want to hear it from me... i never gave you the option of remaining friends or anything...my time my terms...

right now i need to pick up the pieces even if it was just a short 2 month span cos just passing by IP will be like 'oh he works here', walking past Oasia Hotel will be like 'oh we first met here' and all the little things that go off like alarms... but i'll get there...where all these will eventually be like 过眼云烟...

x x x

the tears come and go in bouts...in waves...i've never cried so much over a person before, not even when my dad walked out on us... i guess it really is true that you don't really forget your first love... maybe the frequency will let up in time...hopefully...

somehow the airport has kinda became our place in my head...cos of all the flying we’ve done in between this short 2 months... guess no one’s gonna be sending me to the wedding later today... or sending me to the airport tomorrow...or picking me up from the airport when i return...just no more... right now i can't wait to spend time with friends in Sydney, somewhere which i've never gone before (((: change of environment to create new experiences and memories...

[mrlnsfrt]

The Messes We Make

As we continue our journey through 1 Samuel in our Of Kings and Men series we have arrived at 1 Samuel 28-29.

Introduction

As a child, did you ever think about running away from home?

I remember one time thinking about running away from home. I do not remember exactly what triggered it. My childhood was not bad and I believe it was something silly like having to clean my room or eat my vegetables. Whatever it was, I had had enough of my parents’ “overbearing” control of my life. I was going to leave. On my own, I could do whatever I wanted, I was done with all their rules.

So I went into my room, closed my door, and began to think about what I should bring with me. Of course, I would need my favorite toys. That’s when I realized it would be very difficult to decide which ones to bring and which ones to leave behind. I didn’t want to leave any of them behind. Also, I didn’t have much room. I only had a plastic shopping bag I had grabbed from under the kitchen sink. So I grabbed another bag. I also realized I could not make my pillow fit properly. Now that I was thinking about my pillow, where would I sleep? Would I need a blanket as well? What would I do about the street dogs if any of them decided to chase me? (I lived in Brazil at the time and this was a genuine concern)

As I was realizing this was going to be a lot harder than I had anticipated I also realized that I was beginning to feel hungry. Then I thought about how difficult it would be to bring food with me, and how I did not know how to prepare food.

As dinner time approached I realized that my life was not so bad. I stayed for dinner. Turns out that my mom’s vegetable soup was not that terrible. As the evening showers came I was glad I had a roof over my head. And even though my sister and I did not always see eye to eye I was glad I was not alone.

The advantage of being a young child is that it did not take much for me to realize that I could not live on my own. After very little thought I realized how much I relied on my parents to provide for me.

As I have grown older, I still experience the temptation to run away from problems and uncomfortable situations. The main problem with this is when I do not check with God first, and when I think I escaped my problem I do not realize I just created a new and often bigger one.

Brief Review

1 Samuel 27 records David allying himself with the Philistines. (I have a post that touches on this entitled No Quick Fixes.) David did not consult with God before making this decision, and it was born out of fear of Saul. In this post, we will examine some of the challenges that came with David’s decision.

David was in a difficult position while he was in Israel because Saul was persecuting him. Now David is with the Philistines, but that brings with it even greater challenges.

The Philistines gathered for battle against Israel (again)

1 Samuel 29 begins much like 1 Samuel 28, except the locations are different. (It could be that the two events happened only a few days apart and the armies simply shifted positions as they prepared for battle. It is very likely that the events described in 1 Samuel 29 began before the events described in 1 Samuel 28 and that much of the story was taking place at the same time.)

Now it happened in those days that the Philistines gathered their armies together for war, to fight with Israel. And Achish said to David, “You assuredly know that you will go out with me to battle, you and your men.”

So David said to Achish, “Surely you know what your servant can do.”

And Achish said to David, “Therefore I will make you one of my chief guardians forever.” - 1 Samuel 28:1-2 NKJV

In first Samuel 28, we see David giving an obscure answer. Achish assumes that David will fight for him, but that is not exactly what David said, though it could be interpreted in that manner. David finds himself in a difficult position. On the one hand, Achish has given David a city to live in, and David no longer needs to be afraid of Saul trying to kill him. On the other hand, David cannot be honest with Achish, 1 Samuel 27:8-12 makes this abundantly clear. David has been lying about raiding the Geshurites, the Girzites, and the Amalekites, and instead of saying he had been raiding the southern area of Judah, or the southern area of the Jerahmeelites, or the southern area of the Kenites. Essentially denying he was raiding the enemies of Israel and claiming he was raiding the friends of Israel.

Achish believes David, and David is living this double life, always concerned about being found out. Trying to be faithful to God while also maintaining his friendship with a pagan king who was an enemy of God’s people.

The Problems Increase.

David’s lies work on Achish.

And Achish said to David, “Therefore I will make you one of my chief guardians forever.” - 1 Samuel 28:2b NKJV

This leads to new problems down the road.

Then the Philistines gathered together all their armies at Aphek, and the Israelites encamped by a fountain which is in Jezreel. And the lords of the Philistines passed in review by hundreds and by thousands, but David and his men passed in review at the rear with Achish. Then the princes of the Philistines said, “What are these Hebrews doing here?” ~1 Samuel 29:1-3a NKJV

David and his men are now part of the combined Philistine army! David and his men are essentially marching with the Philistines as the Philistines get ready to fight against Israel. Achish and David and his men come at the rear, at the very end of the line and the princes of the Philistines notice this and they are not happy.

David and his men are surrounded by Philistines. Try to imagine how this must have felt. Imagine the Philistines looking at David and his men and recognizing them as Israelites. Imagine the Philistines just eying them up and down. I wonder what kind of words might have been exchanged that were never recorded for us to read today. As I read this story and think about what it must have been like to have been there as an Israelite with the combined army of the Philistines.

Achish tried to explain everything to the Philistine princes, but they were not convinced.

But the princes of the Philistines were angry with him; so the princes of the Philistines said to him, “Make this fellow return, that he may go back to the place which you have appointed for him, and do not let him go down with us to battle, lest in the battle he become our adversary. For with what could he reconcile himself to his master, if not with the heads of these men? Is this not David, of whom they sang to one another in dances, saying:

‘Saul has slain his thousands, And David his ten thousands’?” - 1 Samuel 29:4-5 NKJV

Apparently, that song about David was really popular!

Achish goes to break the news to David, and he feels really bad, he even swears by David’s God YHWH, that David has been upright. Achish explains to David that the princes of the Philistines do not want him near them during the battle. David must have been relieved but he makes it seem like he is offended that he will not be allowed to fight. Interestingly David mentions fighting against the enemies of his lord the king. But David never clarifies what he means by that. Achish likely understood David to be referencing him, but it is possible that David was referring to Saul (1 Samuel 24:28), or maybe even king YHWH. Being in the rear David and his men were in a perfect position to attack the Philistines sandwiching them between his forces and Saul’s army. The Philistine army had reason to be concerned since something similar has happened before (1 Samuel 14:21).

Coming Home

At dawn, David and his men begin the 50-mile journey to Ziklag. The journey took them three days.

Now it happened, when David and his men came to Ziklag, on the third day, that the Amalekites had invaded the South and Ziklag, attacked Ziklag and burned it with fire, and had taken captive the women and those who were there, from small to great; they did not kill anyone, but carried them away and went their way. So David and his men came to the city, and there it was, burned with fire; and their wives, their sons, and their daughters had been taken captive. - 1 Samuel 30:1-3 NKJV

Most of us will go our whole lives without having our worst fears come true. I believe what just happened was the worst fear of David and many of his men. This situation could be taken straight out of a Hollywood movie.

If this were a movie, this is when David would send a letter to whoever took his wives. And the letter would say something along the lines of

“I don't know who you are.

I don't know what you want.

If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money... but what I do have are a very particular set of skills.

Skills I have acquired over a very long career.

Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.

If you let my wives go now, that will be the end of it - I will not look for you, I will not pursue you...

but if you don't,

I will look for you,

I will find you...

and I will kill you.”

But this is not a movie, this is real life.

Handling Great Loss

Then David and the people who were with him lifted up their voices and wept, until they had no more power to weep. And David’s two wives, Ahinoam the Jezreelitess, and Abigail the widow of Nabal the Carmelite, had been taken captive. Now David was greatly distressed, for the people spoke of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and his daughters. But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God.

In real life, David and his men, some of the toughest men around just weep. They cry until they run out of tears. David at this point had lost three wives. King Saul had given his daughter Michal, David’s wife, to another (1 Samuel 25:44). And now the Amalekites had taken Ahinoam and Abigail. David’s men had also lost their wives and their children. Not to mention all their possessions and even their homes were burned down.

Blaming

How do we react when the worst possible outcome materializes itself?

The men blame David. They want to kill him!

Can you blame them though? It was David who decided to leave Israel. It was David who had not allowed them to kill Saul. It was David who had decided to become best buddies with Achish and travel over 50 miles to join a combined Philistine army. This was all David’s fault. David’s men's reaction was par for the course, it was a natural reaction, it is what we would expect from anyone dealing with extreme grief.

Blaming David and wanting to kill him are understandable behaviors, especially from those who have lost everything by following David.

Do we not behave similarly?

When something goes wrong we look for someone to blame. We demand blood, punishment, suffering. We are angry, we are hurting, and we want whoever we deem responsible to suffer too.

But here is the big question we fail to ask, or just don’t want to ask.

What will solve the problem? Or at least prevent it from happening again?

These big questions can really help give us direction and purpose in life. When you look around, what breaks your heart? What can you do to fix it? What are your skills and abilities and how can you put them to work towards fixing the problem? Move in that direction. This is something you never retire from, this is what you live for. At least for me, it is how I chose to live my life.

Options

The men wanted to blame and kill David. I honestly understand why they would want to pursue that course of action.

Now place yourself in David’s shoes. You feel terrible. This is the worst loss you have ever experienced, and it is all your fault. How could you ever become king? What kind of king causes his followers to lose everything? Maybe the best thing David could do is die. Maybe God was punishing him for lying to king Achish, for leaving Israel, and allying himself with the Philistines.

David could not call on the Philistines to help, David could not call on Israel for help. David was all alone. He only had his men and they were exhausted from a three-day journey and from crying and having their souls crushed.

It would be understandable for David to be crushed by his current situation. Have you ever felt like that? Like you have made such a mess out of your life that there was no option left?

Have you ever run away from home, from God, from your responsibilities only to realize that you just made everything worse and you only have yourself to blame?

In this world, there is so much suffering. It does not take much for you to suffer, suffering is all around us. We cannot escape it. Sometimes it feels like the only way to stop it is to stop living. There is a logic to that, but that is not your only option. I would say that is a terrible option. Ending your life is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

It must have felt like all hope was gone for David and his men. It must have felt like there was no point to life. David must have felt like a huge failure. But in reality, all was not lost. They were still alive, and they served a mighty God.

God does not always shield us from all suffering, but He does not abandon us in our suffering.

My friend, if you are feeling like your life is too much of a mess, like there is too much suffering, and you feel like there is no point to even trying anymore, remember that you have a God who never gives up on you. Turn to Him and let Him strengthen you and bring you through this.

A Leader

What set David apart from his men is that he did not seek to blame someone else. He took ownership of the mess he had made, he owned his mistakes and turned to God for a solution. David could have just as easily blamed others for his pain and suffering, but that would not solve his problem. David took action, David turned to God and strengthened himself in the Lord his God.

Now David was greatly distressed, for the people spoke of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and his daughters. But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God. - 1 Samuel 30:6 NKJV (bold mine)

Taking Action

After a good cry, David decided to turn to God to find out what his next step should be.

Then David said to Abiathar the priest, Ahimelech’s son, “Please bring the ephod here to me.” And Abiathar brought the ephod to David. So David inquired of the Lord, saying, “Shall I pursue this troop? Shall I overtake them?”

And He answered him, “Pursue, for you shall surely overtake them and without fail recover all.” - 1 Samuel 30:7-8 NKJV

David and his men had just traveled for three days, they had just cried until they ran out of tears, and now they were to take up arms and pursue an enemy force they had no intelligence on. They had no idea how many Amalekites they were going to face, they had no idea how far they would have to travel, they had no idea how well armed the Amalekite army would be and how well trained and organized they were. They had no idea of the terrain. Did they even have enough provisions for this mission? They were exhausted and probably running low on food and drink. How could they simply go and attack the Amalekites?

I see a couple of compelling reasons. One is that this is the only course of action that could restore their loss. The second is really the most compelling reason and that is because God told them they would be victorious. God never said it would be easy, but God did say they would succeed.

Many times in life we know God’s will for our lives. It is just that it seems like it would be so much harder to do it God’s way. God never promised us that life would be easy, but He does promise to never leave or forsake us.

And the Lord, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.” - Deuteronomy 31:8 NKJV

Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen. - Matthew 28:19-20 NKJV (bold mine)

God promised victory and full restoration of all that David and his men had lost. But God was not going to drop everything in David’s lap as he sat in the shade drinking cool water. God would give David and his men the victory, it would be a gift from God. God would restore everything. But David and his men had to get up and go. They had to trust God and act on it.

Sure they were tired, sure they were sad and heartbroken, sure they wanted to rest, but they also wanted to have their wives and kids back, and they felt like that was worth fighting for.

Final Outcome

I strongly recommend you read all of 1 Samuel 30 since I will only summarize the rest of the story from this point on.

David and his men found the Amalekites and proceeded to defeat them so thoroughly that they are not mentioned against as an opponent of Israel until the time of Hezekiah (716-687 B.C.; 1 Chronicles 4:43)

I cannot tell you that life will be easy. I cannot tell you that you will not suffer. But I can tell you that it does not matter how much of a mess you make of your life, you cannot mess things up to a greater degree than God can fix. I am not saying that God will fix your life in a blink of an eye, I am not saying He will fix all your problems overnight. But I am saying that you should seek God’s direction and follow it. It will be difficult, but the results are in God’s hands. Trust the process, trust in His plans, trust in Him, in His love and might. Allow God to do amazing things through you.

God is willing to do amazing things for you and through you.

Are you willing?

I am not saying it will be easy, I am saying it will be worth it.