#it should be telling that v little of this involves academics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucyandthepen · 2 years

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a lesson on style - v . [ ljn | njm ]

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi

you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner. alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M for sexual themes ( there are allusions to sex but no explicit smut! ) chapter warnings: none! word count: 10.9k

author’s note: is this twice as long as any other chapter? yes. do i believe it might be twice as devastating? also yes. side note, i sincerely hate proofreading and the thing i hate the most is trying to figure out where i applied italics and stuff because it doesn’t transfer over from google docs to this gosh darn tumblr text editor and i refuse to use the weird beta one so if anyone has any ideas on how to retain it please lmk :^(

tagging: @justalildumpling, @spiderrenjunfics

It’s a yes or no question, you tell yourself. It’s literally one answer, one word — yes or no. And you don’t even have to second-guess it, because you know the truth, and it’s not a complicated one. It shouldn’t be that difficult to answer. With Jeno looking at you, though, you feel a little off-kilter, as per usual. Still, even with his gaze on you, you think that your response should be as normal, calm, and truthful as possible.

What comes out of you is a derisive laugh that clearly shocks the both of you.

“Wh — dating you — I wouldn’t — that’s preposterous,” you splutter out, gripping your laptop so tightly that you actually hear the bottom of I make a soft sound as the metal tightens. You’ve never used the word preposterous in any real life conversation, and it’s clear Jeno hasn’t heard it in a similar context either because he looks at you weird.

“I mean, I’m not saying I’m mad about it,” he goes on. “I’m just wondering why he’d say that, unless you said something.”

“He — I — he — he’s crazy. All smart people are loopy,” you laugh again, and it sounds even grosser this time, with your voice going up really high and breathy like you’re being strangled to death. Which, come to think of it, you’re pretty much doing to yourself, figuratively. “That had no basis whatsoever. I would — I would never. Ever.”

“Never… date me?” His eyebrows shoot up so high they almost touch his hairline.

“Yes! I mean — no, no! I mean, I would definitely not say that we were dating when we’re obviously—” you laugh derisively again, which just causes Jeno to look even more confused. “We are clearly, obviously, clearly not. Not dating.”

“Obviously,” he repeats simply.

“Yes. That’s… I mean, obviously, I would date you, like in the hypothetical way, because… I mean, why not? but we — you know. We’re not. Dating. Definitely not.” Your heart rate, thankfully, is starting to decline from the thousand beats per second it had been going in; Jeno’s eyebrows are also calming down. “Right?”

“Right,” he confirms slowly.

“Right. So. I didn’t say we were to him. Or anyone. Nothing.”

“Oh, okay,” he finally says after a moment of silence. “That was just… plain out of the blue, then.”

“Totally,” you agree wholeheartedly. “So, so weird.”

“Okay,” he shifts his position now, turning more deliberately towards you; you instinctively grip your laptop tighter, pressing it harder against your stomach. The bottom corners dig in, and in your peripheral vision, you can see that you’ve been pressing the A key down for so long that you have an AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA in your chat box with Renjun and he’s typed out a very concerned and confused WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG TO TYPE. You move your thumb away from the keypad. “Sorry for the sudden question. I just wanted to clarify because, you know, I don’t want anyone else to think we are yet, or anything. And I definitely don’t want Huang Renjun attacking me for the wrong things, considering his track record.”

Your heart suddenly skids to a stop at the yet. He’d said it so offhandedly you were sure he wasn’t giving it much thought, but to you, this kind of felt like one of those weird, fever-induced dreams you had, except it seemed to be going fairly well as long as you didn’t factor in just how much you’d blubbered just now.

“Um. Right,” is all you can say.

“That being said,” he jams his hat back onto his head, which is ludicrous considering he’s inside, but it just makes him look cuter, and you’ve never minded that. “Thanks for saying you’d date me. Hypothetically.”

“Oh — that. Right. You’re welcome,” you reply, and you desperately want to ask if he’d also hypothetically date you, but you sort of also don’t really want to know the answer. In the moment that it takes for you to tell your brain to quiet down, he claps his hands, startling you a little.

“All right. So. Project. Proposal. Graduating.” He points to your laptop, and you nod vehemently, shifting it against your stomach a little to make sure he doesn’t see the chat box with Renjun. “Let’s get to it, then.”

You hurriedly exit your internet browser and open a blank Word document. It kicks off slowly, with you taking a good fifteen minutes to format the title page because you’re not sure which citation style to use and also because you can’t stop thinking about the previous conversation, which causes you to misspell both your names wrongly. Luckily, Jeno doesn’t say anything, even though he clearly sees your blunders; the fact that he is clearly attempting to be interested (or pretending really well to be) in getting things done allows you to pick up a slightly more comfortable pace of discussion later on. He even agrees to do a lot of the supposed heavy lifting in the experimentation phase, which involves playing musical instruments, and you volunteer to do the mathematical work, which is the only thing you think you’ll be able to do in that part of the experiment anyway.

Everyone in your house is up at this time, so it gets increasingly louder as the hours move on. There’s some kind of intermittent yelling coming from your brothers’ room that could either be Jiho gaming or Jiho getting strangled, but no one seems too alarmed apart from Jeno, who learns to let it go once you tell him that your other brother is in there with him and is probably the one strangling him, if the latter scenario is true. Either way, your dad comes out, banging on their room door to keep it down, which adds to more of the noise pollution.

Sooyeon also makes it down later than everyone else, dressed but still clearly out of sorts, stopping mid-yawn when she sees you and Jeno sitting together as you’re trying to drag out an explanation of what the significance of the study is.

“Oh. Good morning,” she sidles over to you, sitting on the arm of the couch next to you to peek over your shoulder at your laptop; you know she’s not really interested in your work, but her inherent nosiness makes her acting so natural. “What are you guys working on?”

“Physics term project.”

“Oh, right. You mentioned you guys were partners. How’s it going?”

“It’s going… well. Fine.” You bend your laptop’s monitor down halfway so she stops looking.

“Oh, I know you,” Jeno suddenly snaps his fingers, pointing his finger at her. Your sister looks up, beaming. “You’re on the cheerleading team. I’ve been trying to figure out who you look like since last year,” he turns to you, amused. “Can’t believe it took me this long. Small world. Hey, how come you’re not on the cheerleading team?”

“Because she wouldn’t give up Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo for late-night cheer practice,” your sister reasons out for you before you can find a cooler (and less honest) excuse. “Hey, dad’s taking me to the mall. Do you need anything? We’re also picking up lunch, so Jeno oppa, if you’re staying for lunch, the cuisine choice is all yours.”

“Raincheck,” you deflate at Jeno’s response. “I’m supposed to be having lunch with my sister. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Can you get me a new USB drive?” You weigh in. “And not the crappy Daiso kind.”

“Okay. Text me so I don’t forget. Not now,” Sooyeon pushes down your hand before you can pick up your phone. “Wait ten minutes, then text me. Hey, dad, can we get tangsuyuk today?”

Your dad is by the door, two brothers in tow, having probably convinced them to leave the house as well, and Sooyeon joins them, pushing them all out hurriedly. You don’t miss the fact that she winks at you just before closing the door, and you resist waving her away.

“You… have a really big family.” Jeno finally speaks up again once you’re alone.

“Yeah. Sorry. It would have been worse if my mom were here. She might have tried to adopt you.”

“Jaemin’s mom technically has first dibs,” he lifts a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes a little aggressively. “Do you think we can call time of death on this for today? My eyes are falling out of my skull.”

“Sure; I can finish up the conclusion anyway. It’s just… repeating everything we said, but really fast. I’ll just e-mail you a copy for safety.” You save the document as he nods, working your trackpad so you can open your NAVER mail account and attach the file. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “Uh… sorry, but I just realized I don’t have your e-mail address.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he reaches out, and you retract your hands quickly, planting them firmly onto your lap. He starts typing away, pressing send and turning the laptop back to you with a satisfied groan. “Cool. So — serious question. Why aren’t you on the cheerleading team if your sister is?”

“Well, I was going to come up with a great excuse, but since I got ratted out — I don’t really like staying in school late. Plus, they practice on rainy days, which is not my thing.”

“I mean, we do too on the football team, and it’s usually fine. It’s weird; do you not dance? Or… I don’t know, cheer, or whatever?”

“I mean, I don’t fail PE, or anything. I just… never had the interest.” You admit, shutting down your laptop.

“I could talk to Jimin — you know, the captain? We’re pretty close.” He pauses, then adds an afterthought. “She’s dating one of the other guys on my team.”

“Who?”

“I’ve told you about Jisung, right? That enormous tree of a guy with the small face?”

“Kind of weird for a guy as tall as you to call a similarly tall guy a tree…” you trail off, and he laughs — laughs! Score for your unintended humor. “But yeah, I’ve seen him around.”

“Yeah, so they’re a thing. Anyway, what was I sayi — oh, yeah. If you want me to talk to her, give you a shot at it, I think she’d be open to it. You don’t have to be a gymnast or anything, I’m pretty sure.”

“That’s a really nice gesture, but I’ll pass.”

Jeno sighs, leaning back onto the couch and lifting one of his legs to cross it casually over his knee. He looks at you disapprovingly, which is a little terrifying until you realize he’s feigning it because his lips are curling up a little. So cute. “Come on, _______________. Okay — lesson number one.”

“What?” You’re at a loss, and you don’t bother hiding it this time. “Lesson?”

“I told you I’d help you get more popular, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think we were having lectures and quizzes.”

“No quizzes,” he corrects you. “Lectures, very brief. Five minutes tops. I have no time to grade anything.”

“Well let me just—” you grab your phone, trying to navigate to the voice memos app, but he takes it from you and plants it back onto the table. You note how his fingers brush yours briefly, leaving you frozen, your hand still shaped around a phone that isn’t in your grasp anymore.

“No need to record anything. Note taking is for nerds. Just listen to me. Be in the moment. Absorb it,” he instructs. “First lesson in being popular: don’t turn down things that will make you more popular.”

“Okay, that one was fairly obv — what are you doing?”

“I’m texting,” he really is, unlocking his phone and scrolling through his contacts before he starts tapping away on his phone screen. “I told you; I’m sure Jimin will be more than happy to —“

“Wait — okay, stop, stop,” it’s your turn to seize his phone from him, but you don’t do so very smoothly, and it ends up falling midway from him to you, wedging itself into a crack in your couch cushions. Jeno doesn’t really seem like he minds in particular, but he does offhandedly reprimand you for it.

“You’re being a horrible student.”

“I’m not — look, no, thank you for… you know, going the extra mile to ask for me,” you fish his phone out of the couch, making sure to exit the messaging app. “But I can’t join the cheerleading team.”

“Why not? It’ll make you infinitely cooler. Is it because your sister’s on it? Because we can get her kicked out if you really want —“

“Wh— no, I don’t want my sister kicked out!” You raise your voice in tandem with your palm, and he desists, a little surprised at how loud you’ve gotten. “I’m just saying that it’s the last semester of high school. There’s no point in me joining. I won’t even last a full year on that team.”

Jeno falls silent, suddenly struck by the logic in your words. “Huh. I guess you’re right. I didn’t think about that.”

Now that you feel like it’s kind of safe, you perch his phone back onto his thigh, and he takes it, slipping it between his legs without a second thought. You try hard not to think about how his phone may have brushed against his… never mind.

“So I… you know, I appreciate what you wanted to do for me. Really; it was… extremely cool of you,” you say with utmost sincerity. “But as a plan, I feel like… there might be better ones.”

“That’s true,” he agrees. “But the lesson still stands. The things I recommend that you do, I really feel like you should do them.”

“I promise this’ll be the last time I reject your suggestions.”

“Cool. Well — we just have to think about what else we could do to help you get up that ladder.” He looks up at your ceiling, a little wistful, and you feel so useless that you just busy yourself with shutting your laptop down. This sudden silence drags on until he snaps your fingers and you start, turning your attention back to him. “Oh, I know. You can come to this party I’m throwing next week.”

“You’re throwing a party?”

“Yeah. I just thought about doing it. Like, right now.”

This time, you don’t even have to try to push away the idea that he’d just thought to throw a party for you; a surge of unpleasant memories arises to do the job. The last party you’d been to was back in middle school, and it had ended with you skidding across the floor because someone had puked on it. You were only lucky that the extremely furious parents who actually owned the house and didn’t know that there would be a party in their living room had caught you before you’d broken something of theirs.

You remember Jeno had been there. He was in a different section at that time, and you’d never spoken with him; in fact, you’re fairly certain you hadn’t known his name back then. But even so, he was still the coolest kid in attendance. Everyone liked that kid that was extremely tall and good-looking and also knew how to play the electric piano.

“That’s… cool.” You inhale a little reluctantly, and Jeno cottons on, looking at you warily. “It’s just… you know. Parties. They get messy. People get drunk. Puke. Make out.”

“Yeah. That’s what they’re for.”

“Not really my scene. Especially the puking part.”

“Oh god, I remember I was at this party once in middle school. Some kid had puked in the middle of the living room and some other poor chick had slipped on it. Hilarious.”

“Ha,” you feign laughter, and it sounds disgustingly dry. “Hilarious, yeah. Can’t remember that happening, but I’m sure that was super funny.”

“Come on. It’ll be fine. Besides, you said you wouldn’t reject any of the other stuff I recommended.” He tilts his head like he’s asking, but his face is pretty resolute. You wring your hands together, and he notices. “If I promise to make a no-puke rule, will you go?”

You know he’s doing this because he’s fulfilling a part of the bargain; it’s really more of an obligation to him than anything else, and that much is clear. Still, the way he talks, the way that he presses the subject makes it really easy to trick yourself into thinking he actually, really, really wants you there, which creates this huge, almost terrifying and overwhelming wave of elation that muddles you into agreement.

“Okay. I’ll go.” He smiles at your response, and the feeling in your chest just swells to a new height; it’s almost like he’s happy you’re going, or you can at least delude yourself into thinking that much.

“Awesome. I’ll let you know about the details, although it’ll probably be at Jaemin’s.”

You point to the opposite side of your house, in the general direction of your neighbor’s lot. “That Jaemin?”

“The one and only.”

“I guess it’s cool if I don’t have to look for a ride.”

“You can still hop into my car. Make a grand entrance. People will love that.”

“That’s okay,” you laugh again, but this time, it sounds genuine, to your relief. “But is Jaemin going to be okay with it? His parents?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. They all love me,” he chuckles. “Jaemin won’t say no, anyway. It’s not like we can have it at my place.”

“Why… not?” You suddenly get flashbacks of Jaemin calling you nosy, but you shake him and his loud laugh off once Jeno starts talking.

“Too small. Not good for entertaining. You guys would probably have to eat dinner in my bedroom.” He says lightly, jamming his cap back onto his head just as his phone starts ringing, a light blinking from in between his thighs. He looks down at his phone briefly before turning his attention back to his cap, making sure his bangs aren’t flattened by the rim. “That’s my sister. I’m supposed to pick her up from work. I have to get going, but hey — I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you stand with him, and he grabs his backpack before patting his pockets to make sure if he has everything valuable to him. You walk him to the door, opening it for him, and he steps out into your driveway, walking towards his car. You stand by the doorway, hugging your laptop. The assumption is that he’s just going to drive off, but he turns around as he opens the driver’s side door, pointing a finger at you like he’s just remembered something. You freeze in place, once again squishing your laptop close to you so hard that it makes a noise.

“You should probably text your sister about that USB drive, by the way.” he reminds you with a small smile before folding his enormous body and climbing into the car.

You don’t even have the opportunity to say anything because he’s shut the door behind him. Through the tinted glass, you see one pale palm move; it takes you a second to realize he’s waving at you. Your hand instantly shoots up, waving back at him as he pulls out of the driveway and back into the road.

You wait for his car to zoom out of sight before you close the door, red in the face and ready to explode with joy.

Lee Donghyuck gives you back your proposals with a smile on his face near the end of the next physics class. Technically, he smiles like that all the time because he’s required to, but his grin looks a lot more genuine as he approaches you with your proposal, which Jeno takes from him.

“Cool topic,” he even comments, pointing a finger to the huge B-minus on top of the paper that’s circled in red ink. “You guys need to work a little on the content development, though, but it’s just the proposal. If you guys work even harder on other requirements, you’ll ace it.”

You seriously don’t think he expects you to actually ace anything, but you appreciate the quick pep talk, especially since Jeno actually looks impressed.

“I would have never thought I would have gotten a B-minus in anything for this class,” he whistles under his breath. You smile at him, not bothering to add the fact that B-minus isn’t as breathtaking of an achievement. Still, you think that if you can push each other — and also maybe Renjun into helping you out here and there — you might at least secure him a slot into the graduating class.

You’ve gotten used to parting ways with everyone else in the class to have lunch together with Renjun, and even on days when Physics classes fall before lunch, you only linger a minute longer than usual to accord Jeno the traditional gaze of longing that he doesn’t notice before dashing off. This time, though, as you’re gathering your books and making to leave, Jeno stands up with you, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

And there they are — the words you’ve always wanted to hear from him. Well, some of them.

“Want to walk to the cafeteria together?”

You look around to make sure he’s not calling out to anyone else, which becomes clear once you realize the only other person who’s left behind is Lee Donghyuck, and he doesn’t even turn at the sound of Jeno’s voice.

“Really?” You can’t even mask the elation in your voice, which just spikes when you see the corners of Jeno’s lips turn up slightly in amusement. “Yeah — yeah, okay.”

No one actually looks at you while you walk next to him in the cafeteria; the probability is that his height eclipses yours so much that you don’t even look that noticeable, and neither of you is causing a scene, which is always a great bonus. You have to take two steps for every one of his, but you also notice that he’s taking a much slower pace than usual, which can only mean that he’s making sure you can keep up.

You spot Renjun at your usual table, reading Lee Ho Cheol’s Panmunjeom anthology, which he’d posted about on his Facebook status over the weekend. The feeling of being able to like his statuses again was fairly nice, and you’d given it the little heart reaction. On instinct, your feet carry you towards him until you feel a warm hand wrap around your forearm. It covers more than half of that part of your arm, so it can’t be anyone’s but Jeno’s, and you look up in total shock as he stares down at you with equally strong confusion.

“Where are you going?” He asks, genuinely perplexed.

“What… are you doing…” you breathe out, feeling a little faint. He doesn’t notice that you look like you’re close to drooling on him since he’s starting to steer you away from Renjun. “What…”

“Table’s this way,” he says plainly, like this should be obvious to you. You can see that he’s headed towards where he normally sits, which is already filled with people, laughing loudly and talking over one another. You jerk your head back to Renjun, who has noticed you now and is watching you with an unreadable expression over the top of his book, half of his face hidden.

“Um — yeah, but I just thought —“

“Okay, so second lesson — don’t write this down,” he stops you from reaching into your pocket to bring out a pen. “If you want to be popular, you need to make sure you surround yourself with equally popular people.”

“Are these rules stuff you just sort of make up on the go, or…?”

He gives you an amused and patronizing look. “Obviously.”

“Okay — okay, but can’t Renjun sit with us?”

“He can if he’s not just going to ignore everyone by reading his book. Or if he’s not going to make any mean comments about anyone.”

You open your mouth, ready to promise he’s not going to, but you’re struck by the realization that he might just sit there and finish Panmunjeom without even saying hello. Even if he didn’t, you can’t guarantee that Renjun will be pleasant around everyone being noisy all at once about things he doesn’t really care about. Being pleasant around one person — Jeno — is already kind of a herculean task for him.

“Yeah, okay, fine. But can’t I at least tell him I’m sitting here?”

Jeno slowly releases your hand, nodding. You try not to make it too obvious that you’re disappointed at how quickly that moment of contact had come and gone. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get my food and save you a seat, then.”

You wait for him to walk towards the cafeteria line, noticing that a couple of freshmen give way so he can go first; you can tell he smiles at them because they giggle as he walks by and grabs a tray. Making a beeline for Renjun, you also see that he suddenly lifts his book higher to cover his face, probably to hide the fact that he hasn’t flipped a page since.

“Hey,” you say, and he puts the book down, looking disgustingly innocent in his fake surprise.

“Hey. When did you get here?”

“Just now,” you slip into the chair across from him. “What’s for lunch?”

“Something they say is bulgogi but might be yesterday’s fake steaks cut into really thin pieces.”

“Okay, cool,” you don’t even look at the bowl when he tilts it your way so you can see. “Anyway, um, I really hope you don’t mind, but Jeno asked me to sit with him today for lunch.”

“Oh.” Renjun takes a bit of bulgogi on his fork, examining it with feigned interest before popping it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “I see.”

“It’s just for today. I promise. Are you — is that okay?”

He studies your expectant face, thumb brushing over the spine of his book. Your fingers are knotted on the table like you’re praying.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he finally concedes. “I said I’d support you… so… this is me. Supporting. You. The both of you. If that’s already a thing.”

“It’s not, but you’re the best,” you reach out, giving his hand a squeeze. He mutters something that sounds like I know, taking his hand back and using it to shut his book.

“But we’re still going to see Love and Thunder this Saturday, right?” He confirms.

“Ye— oh, wait,” his expression darkens considerably when you backtrack, looking a little sheepish. “I think I might have something to do over the weekend, so I can’t really make any promises right now.”

“Dude, seriously? It’s the movie of the year. What could be more important than three hours of Marvel hero ass-kicking?”

“Well, it’s just,” you drum your fingers against the table, trying to think of a less direct way to phrase such a basic statement. You come up with nothing, so you just come clean. “There’s a party…”

“You hate parties,” Renjun replies immediately. “You’ve haven’t been to one since middle school.”

“I know that, but —“

“Do you? Does it make sense that you know that you hate parties but are thinking of going to one anyway?”

“Well — you know. Jeno invited me.”

Renjun makes a slightly sour face, but it isn’t directed at you; he’s looking at Jeno, probably, seated a little way away. You turn to look apologetically at him, but you notice that he’s already looking your way, his eyes narrowed in effort like he’s trying to read your lips from this distance but can’t.

“What if something bad happens? Parties aren’t exactly the safest, cleanest, least traumatic events in the world,” Renjun points out. “You could turn someone’s house into a puke slip ’n slide again.”

“Or,” you raise a finger. “Is this the party I could go to so that I can forget about that event that happened ages ago and, thus, free myself from that trauma?”

“Thus? What is happening to you?” He shakes his head, fingers coming up to knead at his brow. “But — so no Love and Thunder?”

“We can go the day after.”

“You’re not going to be too hungover?”

“No, of course not. Besides, it’s going to be at Jaemin’s house. If it gets too much, I can just walk home.” You can see he’s softening at the mention of it being in a nearby location and not in like, some abandoned warehouse. “Plus, you can come. You know, we can have fun together. Just… eat, dance a little, mingle. It’ll be fine.”

“Am I allowed to come?”

“Of course,” you don’t know if there’s a guest list, or anything, but Renjun seems to get along with most people in your level as long as their names don’t start with a J and end with a eno. “Please? We can even walk there together.”

“It’s like twenty steps from your house, so it’s really not the appealing case you think you’re making.” He sighs. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. And we can watch Love and Thunder the next day. But I’m holding you to that.”

“Awesome,” your heart feels infinitely lighter, and Renjun even gives you a half-hearted grin. “Great — so, I’ll just — you know —“ you point towards Jeno’s table; Renjun nods slowly, picking up his book again.

“Yes, yes. Go on,” he shoos you away, once again pretending to grow immersed in his book, even though you know he’s snorting to himself when you give him an excited thumbs up before leaving the table.

You even feel like there’s a small skip to your step when you walk to the line, and the grin never leaves your lips as you get your tray and pile what really does look like fake bulgogi on your plate; the cafeteria lady is surprised by your expression, considering you’re surrounded by generally somber ones, and she mistakes your smile as you being excited to eat the food and tells you to take more. Somehow, you’re in such a good mood that you do, which earns some alarmed stares from the people behind you.

The conversation is in full swing when you approach Jeno’s table, and your heart jumps a little when you’ve noticed that he’s kept his word and saved a seat for you — right beside him, no less. His food is half-finished, and he’s talking to Park Jisung about what sounds like some massive multiplayer online shooting game, but he stops when you sit down.

“You guys don’t know _______________, right?” He addresses the whole table; a whole set of eyes lands on you suddenly as his voice rings louder than everyone else’s. “She’s my physics project partner.”

“Of course we know her,” the girl to Jisung’s right, Jimin, pipes up. “We don’t live under a rock, and we’re almost all in the same year, dumbass.”

“I was just announcing it for Jisung’s and Minjeong’s sakes,” Jeno fires back easily. “Who, by the way, aren’t in the same year level.”

“Well, address them specifically next time,” she laughs. “Hey, _____________.”

“Hello,” despite your excitement, your voice comes out way smaller than normal, and it even cracks, which causes you to clear your throat, a feat that mysteriously causes most people to laugh.

“I know Jimin noona is dazzling to everyone,” Jisung says. “But just for the record, she’s taken. By me. Obviously.”

You stare at him, a little dumbfounded, as Jeno tosses a wilted leaf of lettuce at his face. It doesn’t even make it to the halfway point of the gap the table makes between them. Jisung sticks out his tongue childishly.

“Anyways, I told you guys earlier that we were having a party, this weekend, right?” He points at Jaemin, who, until now, has been quietly wrapping his bulgogi into his lettuce and stuffing them whole into his mouth. “Your house, dude.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes good-naturedly, still in the middle of chewing his food, but he takes one big gulp to respond. “Did you even ask me?”

“Does he ever?” Jisung contributes, amused. “Jeno hyung, why can’t we ever have parties at your place? Jaemin hyung’s house has like ten million pictures of his family that we might break.”

“Okay, fine; my house. You guys better pull food weight this time, though,” Jaemin agrees suddenly, like he hadn’t been indignant a moment ago. Jeno looks satisfied with this response, not bothering to answer Jisung’s question, which is a little weird; you’d assumed that everyone he was close to also knew of the reason why he never held any events at his house considering the answer he’d given you when you’d asked the same thing had been so simplistic. You don’t take the time to dwell on this, however, since Jeno speaks up.

“I’ll bring the drinks,” he volunteers before adding, “Ice included, Jisung.” The latter makes a face at him, and everyone laughs again, and you presume it’s some inside joke. You smile for a second before you realize it probably seems disingenuous.

It’s weird, you think, that they’re so comfortable around each other, even with their seemingly different personalities. It had always just been you and Renjun, which suited you just fine, but it’s also robbed you of the opportunity to figure out how to interact in a much larger, more outgoing crowd, which is a missed opportunity you’re feeling the effects of now. People start piping up about what they’re going to bring, with Jisung getting a small smack upside the head from Jimin after he volunteers (again, apparently) to bring utensils and “himself, which is gift enough.”

“What should I bring?” You whisper to Jeno.

“Nothing,” he sounds surprisingly sincere and reassuring, not to mention he matches the volume of your voice somehow, making it seem like you’re having your own private conversation. “Just come and have fun.”

“Okay,” you half-wheeze, and he smiles down at you before rejoining the conversation, responding immediately when Jaemin speaks up.

“This time, you guys seriously need to stay away from my bedroom. And my brother’s. And my parents’. Actually, what I’m really saying is that you people need to unlearn how to use stairs.”

“You’re really going to deny your room any action?” Jeno fires back easily.

“I don’t want to go to sleep on a bed someone else made out on,” Jaemin sighs, in a heavy way that somehow causes you to think he’s probably been through it more than once before.

“No one just makes out on a bed.”

“We’re in school, Jeno. You know what I mean.”

“We’ve made out on a bed,” Jisung wiggles a finger between himself and Jimin, who tells him to shut up, something he does almost immediately, even if he and Jeno exchange a high five that creates a sound so loud you’re surprised there’s no physical aftershock.

“________________, Minjeong and I were going to go to the mall on Saturday morning,” Jimin calls your attention underneath Jeno and Jisung’s long arms. “Want to come with? We can have lunch together, too.”

“Oh — yeah, sure,” you agree, and she smiles so brightly and sweetly at you that you blush. Jisung was right about the dazzling thing, then.

“Cool. Text me your address and we can come pick you up.”

You spend the rest of your lunch mostly listening and learning about these people, and you’re somewhat thankful they don’t put you in the hot seat and just interrogate you about yourself. You find out that Minjeong’s trying to get her driver’s license soon, and Jisung had actually been interested in joining an entertainment company as an idol trainee before he’d found out that they confiscate your phone for years, something that ended up being a dealbreaker for him. You learn that Jimin is applying for a English Comparative Literature undergraduate degree in Seoul National University, which Jisung says is inexplicably both “the hottest and the most boring thing about her.”

The weirdest thing you learn about this band of friends comes up when Jaemin suddenly stands, saying goodbye to everyone hurriedly before rushing off with his plate. No one finds this weird except you, so you bring it up.

“Oh, Jaemin hyung is on the chess team. He has practice during lunch once a week,” Jisung informs you when you ask.

“He’s on the what?” You glance at Jaemin, who’s walking out of the cafeteria at a brisk pace.

“The chess team,” he repeats without any further explanation. You look at Jeno, who shrugs at you.

“Yeah, he likes that stuff. Everyone in our year is a big nerd.”

“Except you and me,” you add, and his lips turn up again, seemingly pleased with your statement. There it is again — your heart flipping over and screaming wildly.

“Exactly. Except you and me.”

You don’t actually expect Jimin to follow through with her shopping invite, but she actually ends up texting you on Saturday morning instead of the other way around, asking for your address again after saying that she’d gotten your number from Jeno. You’re so out of sorts when they arrive not ten minutes later that you actually have to double back for your wallet and your phone.

Jimin has almost always been in a separate section from you in school, while Minjeong is a whole year below you, and they’re also extremely close, so you’d never really gotten the chance to know them, and your expectation is that this excursion is going to be an awkward and pitiful event. They end up being really nice, though, and Minjeong even asks you about your physics project with a tone of genuine interest, commenting about how Jeno is exceptionally good at playing the guitar. You also naturally assume that they’re going to just mill around the boutique area for clothes, but Jimin actually drags you around to some electronics shops to look for a gaming headset for Jisung, and Minjeong goes to three different pet stores to look for the right dog food.

“You should have tried out for the cheerleading team,” Jimin says when the three of you have settled down at the food court with bowls of bibimbap. Minjeong wordlessly picks out the carrots from her bowl and dumps them in Jimin’s, who doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “We’re a little under the member quota right now. No one likes risking their lives on human pyramids anymore.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say, and Jimin laughs.

“Seriously. It wouldn’t hurt for you to try. Besides, even if it’s the last semester, we could really use some extra members. Right, Minjeong?”

Minjeong looks up at you, her egg dangling between her chopsticks.

“Do you want my egg, _____________?”

“Sure,” you reply, amused. She quickly lays the egg on top of your own, even going so far as to arrange them neatly so that their yolks are aligned. “Are you allergic to something?”

“She’s a picky eater.” Jimin explains, using her spoon to squash her egg’s yolk.

“I have a refined palate,” Minjeong corrects her, fishing out a stray piece of carrot and placing it in Jimin’s bowl.

“You eat like a baby.”

“Baby food is pretty good.” Minjeong admits. “The banana-flavored ones are nice.”

“Gross,” Jimin laughs. “This is exactly why you and Jaemin broke up.”

“You and Jaemin dated?” You raise your eyebrows. Minjeong nods, mixing her rice methodically with her spoon. “What happened?”

“He got tired of ordering banana-flavored baby food for her,” Jimin quips.

“Will you shut up? Anyway — yeah, we dated last year, really briefly. We just didn’t work out. I did some work for my dad over the weekends back then, so we just never got the chance to go on actual dates. We said we were going to take a break or something, revisit the dating thing when we were less busy, but we just kind of left it in the past, and we started seeing other people.”

“You started seeing other people, you mean,” Jimin corrects her. Minjeong nods, thoughtfully mixing her rice before taking a slow bite.

“Yeah. Besides, it just sort of felt like a relationship of convenience. Like, we were both there, we were both single, so we tried it. It was okay while it lasted. We’re still friends.”

“But I’ve already heard about Minjeong’s boring love life six hundred times,” Jimin points her spoon at you, a grain of rice flying at high speed in your direction. “Oops, sorry. So what’s going on with you and Jeno?”

“Oh,” you have to swallow your own spoonful of bibimbap hard because your throat has suddenly constricted. “Nothing’s going on with us. We’re just partners. And… friends?”

“You’re not dating?”

“Not in the slightest.” Your mind flips back to when Jeno had said he didn’t want people getting the wrong idea about the both of you. Yet. Whatever that meant. “No way.”

“Oh,” Jimin looks weirdly disappointed. “I thought you were, since he suddenly started asking about who you were seeing. We thought it was a trick question, like we were supposed to answer ‘him.’”

“But you like him,” Minjeong says it like it’s not a question but a factual statement, which it is, but you still take a while to respond, feeling put on the spot suddenly.

“I mean… he’s nice.”

“And cute,” Jimin adds.

“And cute,” you agree. She smiles triumphantly, as if this is some kind of game she’s winning. “But… nothing’s going on.”

“Well, Jeno doesn’t date often. I mean, he goes out with girls. But I don’t think he’s been in a relationship for a while,” Minjeong adds thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s starting to think about getting serious with someone?”

“I don’t know.” You like the idea of it, but realistically speaking, it’s not like you two were that close. Then again, you also weren’t sure about how close any two people should be to start thinking about dating each other. It’s not like there’s some kind of rule book. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Coy answer,” Jimin sounds approving. “Definitely a sign that something’s going on.”

“Wh— no, I mean, I’m not sure about… you know, we don’t really talk—“

“You don’t really have to,” Jimin winks, and the seaweed pieces in your bibimbap suddenly get very interesting, even though you know the two of them are exchanging looks.

They drop you back home after lunch, waving goodbye (with Jimin screaming out a see you later!) as they drive off, and you’re so exhausted from the walking and the fact that you’d had to carry Minjeong’s bags of premium dog food back to her car that you fall asleep the moment your body hits your bed. You wake up with a considerable amount of drool on your pillow and three missed calls from Renjun.

“Not that it’s a big deal,” Renjun says when you call him back. “But I don’t know what to wear to parties.”

“I don’t think it’s a black tie event,” you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Just wear something casual? Cool? I don’t know either. Also, when did you suddenly start caring about how you looked at parties?”

“You make it sound like I’ve never tried beforehand.”

“Your signature style is graphic tee and jeans, so…” There’s a loud noise on his end of the call and you hear him mumble a swear word. “What happened?”

“The closet rod fell,” he whines. “Also, graphic tee and jeans are Jeno’s signature style too. He even had ripped jeans, which make him look more homeless than I do.”

“Jeno’s jeans are artistically ripped,” you correct him. “Yours are ripped because your dog tries to eat them when they’re hanging out to dry.”

“And you don’t know if Jeno’s own dog has ripped his jeans artistically,” you can hear him struggling with the metal rod, and his voice becomes more and more muffled as you assume that his phone is sinking deeper into his neck as he holds it between his shoulder and ear. “I’ll call you back. Or — you know what, I’ll just be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it twenty, I’m still half-asleep.” You hang up and press your face into your pillow, falling back asleep until Renjun arrives within the promised twenty minute time span, chastising you for your lack of punctuality the entire time you sluggishly change your clothes. The only helpful thing he does is call your sister in to help you fix your hair, which she does enthusiastically as you yawn at your reflection and Renjun criticizes your poor scheduling even further while he plays online minesweeper on your laptop.

“So we only stay for an hour, hour and a half max, right?” He confirms as you walk towards Jaemin’s house. The door is open, and there are people outside, already deep in conversation.

“Right,” you agree. You don’t hold the fact that Renjun wants to leave quickly against him; for some reason, being around this many people is making you a little queasy, and you don’t know what people do in parties apart from truth or dare. Unfortunately, no one seems to be sitting in a circle around a spinning bottle when you enter; instead, all the furniture has been cleared out for a table that has food piled onto it, and the coffee table is stacked high with paper cups and drinks. Mark Lee and Jaemin are by the ice bucket, and the latter notices you first, waving at you.

“Hey, ______________, Renjun. You guys made it,” Jaemin pushes a cup of what looks like Hwanta at you, taking Mark’s cup of soda as well and handing it to Renjun. “No traffic, I hope?”

“Just the same old pile-up. It takes really long to get here, you know,” you smile, and he laughs easily.

“So your parents are okay listening to trashy music from upstairs?” Renjun asks, looking around for any sign of parents.

“No, they’re out for dinner with friends, and my brother stays in a dorm in college, so they’re not affected that much.” Jaemin looks like he’s about to say something else, but something beyond the two of you catches his eye and he mumbles an I’ll be right back before speeding off, disappearing into the crowd. Mark is pouring himself a new cup of soda, throwing Renjun a wounded look when he isn’t looking. You decide to strike up a conversation instead of watching him wait for Renjun to apologize for the technically stolen drink.

“So has this been going on for a while, or…?”

“No, it’s been maybe half an hour, or something. Oh, I think Jimin was looking for you. She’s somewhere—” He points around the room, clearly unsure. “Somewhere around here. I’m sure you’ll bump into her later. She and Jisung are probably groping each other in the garden or something.”

“Since when did Yoo Jimin start dating Park Jisung?”

“Since they sat next to each other on the KTX to Daegu over the break. You should ask Jisung about the make-out session that steamed up economy car A. He says seats 13 A and B still smell like her perfume and his cologne mixed together.”

“Ew,” Renjun comments, and Mark makes a noise of agreement.

You’re only half-paying attention to their disgust about Jisung and Jimin’s history of desecrating public spaces since you’ve spotted Jeno, who’s watching a group of juniors play what you assume is beer pong. You keep thinking about going over to him and saying hi, but you can’t seem to figure out when the right time is. Also, your nerves get the best of you, so you just stand beside Renjun as he starts a weird bonding experience with Mark Lee.

Luckily, you don’t have to do anything at the end of the day; Jeno suddenly notices you, pushing himself off the window he’s been leaning against and walking over. You grab Renjun’s arm by instinct, and he lets out a sharp ow as you squeeze him. He manages to shake you off just before Jeno stops in front of you.

“_______________,” he looks pleased. “You made it. And… you brought Renjun with you.”

“Hey,” Renjun says flatly, handing his half-drunk cup of soda back to Mark, who takes it with a dumbfounded look on his face. “I think I see Donghyuck, so I’m gonna go say hi.”

He slips away before you can say anything, but Jeno doesn’t even look perturbed; he glances at Mark, who meets his eye then suddenly turns to walk off, and you hear him asking someone where the trash bag is.

“So, are you enjoying?”

“I just got here, but it seems great,” you try to sound enthusiastic even if you’re shouting a little over the new song that’s started playing. “Music’s a bit loud though.”

“Makes awkward pauses less awkward,” he says sagely, and you can’t help but think there’s some logical inconsistency in that, but you just shrug it off, nodding up at him. “Did you get to try the pizza?”

“Not yet; why, did you make it with your own two hands, or something?”

“No,” he shrugs, grinning. “But I ordered it with my own voice.”

You laugh as he does, but the sounds get drowned out by EXID’s Up and Down playing at full blast. He makes a motion, but you don’t catch on, so he just takes your wrist and leads you through a throng of people back to the beer pong game. Upon closer inspection, you see that the liquid inside is a lot darker than you expected.

“It’s just cola,” Jeno explains. “We were thinking of buying beer, but most people here can’t drink anyway, so it would have been a waste of money.”

“Smart,” you comment sincerely, watching the two guys on the opposite ends of the table consistently miss their targets. “So you just have to get the ball in the cups? And then what?”

“The other person drinks. Hey, Jaehyun,” he calls out to one of the guys playing, who looks up and consequently gets hit in the cheek by a flying ping pong all. “Show _____________ how to play.”

“She can just take Taeyong’s place; he sucks anyway.” This comment elicits a rude gesture from the other boy, and you notice they’re both wearing similar jackets with a logo you can’t really place but looks suspiciously official.

“You both suck. Let her take a turn; I’m gonna go ask Jaemin if he has more ice or if we need to make a run.”

Jeno places his hand on your back, leading you forward; the guy named Taeyong reluctantly steps aside as Jeno walks away, greeting some guy that looks familiar but who you also can’t place in your memory as he passes by.

As it turns out, you’re not half-bad at beer pong; you manage to get Jaehyun to drink four cups of cola, which has him burping all over the place and begging for a break for his stomach. The party is in full swing now, but this is the part that starts to feel uncomfortable, and you excuse yourself from the game with the promise that you’ll play with the two of them again once you’re all of legal drinking age.

The garden is no better when you exit; there are people in groups that you know you won’t be able to squeeze yourself into. You do actually see Jimin after a moment of scoping, but her limbs are intertwined with Jisung’s in the mini gazebo, and you don’t really want to interrupt, so you just head back inside.

The music is extremely grating now, and you’ve eaten two slices of pizza and downed at least three glasses of different kinds of soda, so you also feel a little bloated and sleepy. Jeno hasn’t resurfaced either over the last hour or so, and you think it’s high time Renjun must be antsy to get home. The problem is that you can’t find him in the living room or the kitchen; you actually knock on the bathroom after gathering up some courage, but the female voice that answers that it’s occupied makes all that effort go down the drain.

You trust Renjun wouldn’t leave without telling you, but you’re also not sure why he would be missing for this much time. The fact that you’re just standing by the food table while people pass by, say non-committal hellos, and leave with pizza slices in hand makes it even more uncomfortable. In the end, you decide to text Renjun to meet you back at your house and weave through the crowd to get to the door.

There are still people outside, and while some are leaving, others are also talking or flirting, and you notice that these are more people that seem familiar but unfamiliar all at once. They all look a little older, too; a couple of guys are all wearing sweaters with the same obnoxiously large logo you’d seen on Taeyong and Jaehyun’s jackets, and it dawns on you that these people must be from the university level, hanging at a party away from younger kids. You scan the grass for Renjun, but you don’t see him anywhere either.

What you do see is Jeno standing extremely close to a girl who’s wearing a similar university sweater. He has one hand around a cup, but his other hand is sandwiched between the girl’s palms. You can’t really discern his expression, but his brows look knitted, and his mouth, while open, doesn’t seem to be moving.

You feel like you’ve seen this scene before, back at the dance where you had snapped upon seeing Lee Gyuwon and Jeno together, leaving poor Chenle behind. You’d only recently learned to laugh about that situation, so this one comes as both a painful reminder and an unfortunate addition of scenarios that made you extremely uncomfortable. You have to placate yourself with the reminder they just seem to be talking, even if they are standing really close to each other; nothing is actually happening, save for the fact that you can sometimes see Jeno’s hand gripping the cup in his hand a little tighter now and again.

All of this just goes out the door when the girl leans in, pressing a hand to his chest, and kisses him.

A voice inside your head tells you it’s frankly masochistic to keep staring at two people kissing when you like one of them, but you just stand there, rooted to the spot, watching the girl wrap an arm around Jeno’s neck. He pulls away after a while, and his mouth starts moving really quickly. His eyes dart around, like he’s watching for something, until they land on you, and his lips stop mid-speech. The scene gets blurrier, and you think you’re going to pass out for a second until you realize you’re just crying a little.

Soft fingers wrap around your forearm, pulling you away gently. You think it might be Renjun, who’s finally found you after all that hullabaloo, but when you regain some sense, your attention focuses on Jaemin, who’s leading you back to your house. He’s doing so wordlessly, without even looking at you, and the noise of the party fades into an easily ignorable buzz once you reach your driveway. He stops you right at your front door, pausing a little before facing you with a small smile.

The part of you that hates yourself the most tempts you to look back, to see if you can still glimpse Jeno from this far away; your head actually starts to turn, but Jaemin reacts quicker, trapping your face between his palms and keeping your head steadily towards him. His smile grows a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and his teeth don’t show like they usually do.

“Hey. Just look at me first, okay?”

“Um,” is the only thing you can say considering you’re not sure if he’s doing this randomly or for some unknown reason.

“Your hair’s kind of a mess, you know that? Did you get in a fight, or something?”

“No, I was just… you know, there were a lot of people, so I probably bumped into a few of them,” your voice sounds distant, but you’re glad to hear that it still works and that you can form something of a coherent sentence. Jaemin laughs softly.

“Yeah, it did get kind of crowded back there.” He starts to gently put strands of hair back into place, but it’s clear he has no clue what he’s doing because he sighs and drops his hands to your shoulders after a minute. “Anyway, you seemed a little out of it, so I thought you might want to go home for a quick break. If you want to go back, though, we can.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I was… actually just looking for Renjun. So we could leave quietly.”

“Well, usually, if you’re leaving a party, you’re supposed to tell the host,” he chuckles softly. “But since I dragged you here, I guess it doesn’t apply.”

You want to laugh, but all your body seems to want to do is produce tears; you can’t even understand why you want to cry, considering you and Jeno aren’t dating, and he’d made that extremely clear. You suppose that it had just seemed like all the events were leading up to you getting together, although you may have just been reading between the lines when you weren’t supposed to thanks to your endless bounty of personal delusion.

Either way, you didn’t want to cry about it — especially not in front of his best friend, who probably thinks it’s pathetic enough that you’re hopelessly deluded. You inhale in an attempt to calm yourself down, but all it does it signal your body into letting out a soft sob. Jaemin doesn’t move, and his expression hardly changes, save for the fact that the smile is back to its unnaturally small state. He actually looks like he’s… sad? That doesn’t seem right, though; maybe it’s really more like he pities you, which you can’t even blame him for.

Still, he gently raises his right hand again; this time, instead of attempting to fix your hair, he gently places his palm against your head. Then lifts it. Then places it back down again. Soon, you’re standing in your driveway, crying silently while the guy from next door is awkwardly patting your hair like you’re a wounded puppy. It doesn’t last more than five minutes, but it’s still a fairly embarrassing period of time, and you wipe at your eyes aggressively while he retracts his hand.

“Kind of stupid, huh?” Your voice is thick and ugly. “Crying after a party.”

“Crying after a party, yeah. Crying after seeing someone you like kiss someone else? Not stupid at all.”

“So I didn’t hallucinate?” You sigh, hiccuping yourself into a slightly calmer state.

“No, unfortunately. I mean, Jeno is — anyway, it’s not really any of my business, I guess. Do you want me to look for Renjun back at my house, or something?”

“No, it’s fine. I texted him that I was going home anyway, so he can just come find me when he sees it, I guess.” You feel like your voice is childishly sullen, and Jaemin must think so too, because his smile grows again, like he wants to laugh. “But… thanks for walking me home.”

“I almost dragged you home.”

“But I used my two feet,” you crack a smile, wiping away a stray tear that’s just fallen from your eyelashes. “So I still technically walked.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” he agrees.

You both stand in front of your door, not moving; you’re not making eye contact either, but it doesn’t feel too uncomfortable. There are a ton of things you want to ask him, but all of your questions seem either too upsetting or too invasive, so you just stay quiet until Jaemin looks up again, focusing on something past your head.

You turn to find Jeno approaching, and his eyes are flickering between you and Jaemin. His hands ball into fists for a second, like he’s steeling himself.

Jaemin’s voice seems different when he talks again, and he’s not looking at you when he speaks. “I should get back home. See you, _______________.”

He brushes past Jeno, not looking back as he returns to the party. Jeno watches him go, making sure Jaemin’s past your property line before turning back to you.

“You left so quickly,” is how he opens the conversation.

“Oh. Yeah, it just got crowded. I lost Renjun, and I couldn’t eat anything more,” you explain lamely. “Sorry. I guess I should have told you.”

“No, it’s — that’s totally fine. I just… I guess you really didn’t have a good time.”

“I did; no, I totally did.” Up until a few minutes ago, you want to add, but there’s no way you would. Jeno nods, not really looking like he’s fairly interested in how much you enjoyed the party. “I found out I’m… pretty good beer pong, so that probably bumped my cool points, right?”

“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” he suddenly blurts out, skewing the conversation’s falsely casual atmosphere drastically towards a topic you were desperate to avoid. You stand in silence, fairly stunned, and Jeno looks like he’s about to burst completely, his words coming out a little too fast because he wants to say so much. “She used to go to our school. A year older. We broke up during her last year; she said she didn’t want anyone from her past tying her down in college. I mean — we — she — we were over. It was fine. But she showed up tonight, I guess since she heard from Jaemin’s brother that there was a party… I didn’t know. She never told me. We just — I guess she thought we could get back together, so we talked, and she kissed me. But we’re not. Back together, that is.”

“Uh,” you say, once again at a loss for words. “Okay.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” he starts to slow down, looking a little relieved that he’s gotten the crux of the story off his chest. “She was a little drunk before she got here. It was just a spur of the moment — no, sorry. It was just a mistake. That’s it.”

“It’s… I mean, it’s… it’s fine?” It’s not, you know, but you don’t know what else to say considering it’s supposed to be fine to you. “She’s your ex-girlfriend. You’re bound to still have feelings for each other. Also—”

“We don’t,” he interrupts you. “We don’t have feelings for each other. I mean, I don’t. For her.”

“Okay, but I also don’t know why you’re telling me all of this.”

“Because. Because I know you saw us outside.”

“I did,” you admit, still feeling the uncomfortable pang of distress at recalling the sight. It seems to be triggering your fight or flight instinct because you’re taking slow steps back, but Jeno is just moving forward with you too. Even when you run out of space to step, he’s still advancing, eyes focused on you, like he’s watching for your expression. “And it’s your right to make out with your ex-girlfriend. It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” You’re thoroughly confused now, and it looks like Jeno is too. “We’re just friends, aren’t we? We’re not really even that. My opinion on your relationships doesn’t really… matter.”

“It does though. It does to me.”

You fall silent, dumbfounded; your mind can’t decide on which feeling to focus on first, so you just stand there looking stupid. Jeno is standing really close to you now, and you can actually smell the fabric conditioner on his hoodie and the cologne that’s fading off from his skin. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You like me.”

It’s not asked like a question, but he pauses like he’s waiting for you to respond. You’re too close to him to feel comfortable enough to lie and deny, plus the situation seems so intense that the thought of doing something wrong doesn’t even cross your mind. You nod, and he doesn’t even look the least bit surprised.

“I’m telling you all of this because I know you like me. Because I don’t want you to misunderstand something like that.”

“It doesn’t matter, though,” your voice is also soft, less because you’re trying to be quiet and more because if you speak up, you’re afraid you might start crying again. “You don’t have to explain something like that to someone who likes you just because they like you. It shouldn’t be a concern.”

“But I want to,” he says firmly. “I want to make sure you know — I’m really not with that girl. What happened back there — it didn’t mean anything.”

“But why?”

He reaches out, and the action feels eerily similar to Jaemin’s; his fingers idly toy with loose strands of hair, but it doesn’t feel laden with the motive of comforting. Instead, his hand skims down the side of your face gently, stopping just below your jaw. You wonder if he’s noticed you’ve stopped breathing, but if he has, he doesn’t make it obvious. His thumb extends away from his hand, lightly tracing the height of your cheekbone.

“Because I don’t want something like this to push you away from me,” he murmurs. “Because I want you to like me. Just me.”

184 notes · View notes

crimson-mayhem-archive · 2 years

Text

suspicious encounters

Virek, Yui, Reiji

The once chaotic time of departure had begun to settle down. The majority of students had gone home, and the campus grounds had fallen to a dead silence. Well, aside from three students.

❝ Reiji- Sa— ck!❞

❝ Hush. Lest you anger me more than you have. ❞

The girl’s back hit the brick surface of the school walls, wincing as gloved fingers constricted her windpipe. She was practically dangling by her neck, as magenta eyes burned into hers.

❝ Your scent’s been diluted by something disgusting. And you’re going to tell me what. ❞

Whilst the Vampire was set on lecturing her, a lone student lingered just behind the corner, watching them. His eyes were narrowed, as he listened to the odd conversation the two were having. The boy’s hoodie was pulled over his head, hiding his face from sight, however the red glistens in his eyes shone oddly bright in the looming moonlight.

Virek had intended to stay hidden, and not involve himself in their affairs, yet the moment Reiji’s free hand raised in Yui’s direction, he found himself moving. Definitely faster than any normal human being, the boy practically teleported behind him, hand gripping the older’s wrist in an unyielding grip, causing him to pause his movements and glare.

❝ And just who do you think you are.❞

Letting Yui go, the man swung his arm back towards Virek— turning himself around in the process. The younger had dodged effectively, as the girl fell to the ground with a cough.

Noticing the human’s reflexes, Reiji began to throw well timed punches and jabs at him. Obviously having refined skills from some kind of practice, however was noticeably holding back. It took Virek little effort to dodge his attacks with how much he was diluting his skill, yet Reiji didn’t take this lightly. Instead pausing to comment on the boy’s skills.

❝ You move like an expert, what discipline have you devoted yourself to? ❞

❝ I dabbled in oil painting once, wasn’t really my forte. ❞

The Vampire couldn’t stop the tongue click that came from him, likely annoyed with the boy’s answer as he proceeded to stand up straight, dusting off his uniform and adjusting his glasses.

❝ V-Virek-San—❞

❝ —Virek, huh? Ah, I’ve heard of you…❞

The name was a common one amongst the students with higher grades and academic skill. A student who was, seemingly, mocking the exams and grading system this school has prided itself in.

❝ A student with the lowest grades possible, who’s still allowed to attend. Scoring exactly sixty of the total number of points you can get, are you trying to make some sort of statement? ❞

❝ Not particularly. It’s just a coincidence.❞

‘A coincidence’… Reiji didn’t buy that one bit. But instead of dragging the situation out even longer, and miss his ride home, he decided to take his leave. He can keep an eye on the other in his own way, and it seems like he would need to. Virek gave him… Oddly dangerous vibes, as far as humans go. Getting tangled up with him would just be trouble.

❝ Right… Well, it seems the two of us should get going then. We’ll miss our ride if we don’t.❞

In response, Virek simply stayed silent. Hands moving to rest in his hoodie pocket. He should leave… Getting caught up with these two is bound to draw attention to himself, more than he would like anyway. He did what he did, now it was time to go.

And, without another word, the boy took his leave. Yet not without Reiji getting a glimpse of such blood coloured, demonic eyes glistening from the moonlight. They made him grimace with disgust, as he picked the girl up off the ground. He didn’t dare start walking just yet, instead eyeing the human as he walked off, with an almost predatory stare.

(❛ What an odd creature… ❜)

#— ✎ scenarios #scenario #diabolik lovers oc #dl oc #dialovers oc #dialovers #reiji sakamaki #sakamaki reiji #yui komori #komori yui #virek sutcliffe #((call this my writing warmup 💃))

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kammartinez · 10 months

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Against a nationwide backdrop of book bans and censorship campaigns, Iowa educators are turning to ChatGPT to help decide which titles should be removed from their school library shelves in order to legally comply with recent Republican-backed state legislation, PopSci has learned.

According to an August 11 article in the Iowa state newspaper The Gazette, spotted by PEN America, the Mason City Community School District recently removed 19 books from its collection ahead of its quickly approaching 2023-24 academic year. The ban attempts to comply with a new law requiring Iowa school library catalogs to be both “age appropriate” and devoid of “descriptions or visual depictions of a sex act.” Speaking with The Gazette last week, Mason City’s Assistant Superintendent of Curriculum and Instruction Bridgette Exman argued it was “simply not feasible to read every book and filter for these new requirements.”

“Frankly, we have more important things to do than spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to protect kids from books,” Exman tells PopSci via email. “At the same time, we do have a legal and ethical obligation to comply with the law. Our goal here really is a defensible process.”

According to The Gazette, the resulting strategy involved compiling a master list of commonly challenged books, then utilizing a previously unnamed “AI software” to supposedly provide textual analysis for each title. Flagged books were then removed from Mason City’s 7-12th grade school library collections and “stored in the Administrative Center” as educators “await further guidance or clarity.” Titles included Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and Buzz Bissinger’s Friday Night Lights.

“We are confident this process will ensure the spirit of the law is enacted here in Mason City,” Exman said at the time. When asked to clarify what software Mason City administrators harnessed to help with their decisions on supposedly sexually explicit material, Exman revealed their AI tool of choice: “We used Chat GPT [sic] to help answer that question,” says Exman, who believes Senate File 496’s “age-appropriateness” stipulation is “pretty subjective… [but] the depictions or descriptions of sex acts filter is more objective.”

According to Exman, she and fellow administrators first compiled a master list of commonly challenged books, then removed all those challenged for reasons other than sexual content. For those titles within Mason City’s library collections, administrators asked ChatGPT the specific language of Iowa’s new law, “Does [book] contain a description or depiction of a sex act?”

“If the answer was yes, the book will be removed from circulation and stored,” writes Exman.

OpenAI’s ChatGPT is arguably the most well-known and popular—as well as controversial—generative AI program currently available to the public. Leveraging vast quantities of data, the large language model (LLM) offers users extremely convincing written responses to inputs, but often with caveats regarding misinformation, accuracy, and sourcing. In recent months, researchers have theorized its consistency and quality appears to be degrading over time.

Upon asking ChatGPT, “Do any of the following books or book series contain explicit or sexual scenes?” OpenAI’s program offered PopSci a different content analysis than what Mason City administrators received. Of the 19 removed titles, ChatGPT told PopSci that only four contained “Explicit or Sexual Content.” Another six supposedly contain “Mature Themes but not Necessary Explicit Content.” The remaining nine were deemed to include “Primarily Mature Themes, Little to No Explicit Sexual Content.”

Regardless of whether or not any of the titles do or do not contain said content, ChatGPT’s varying responses highlight troubling deficiencies of accuracy, analysis, and consistency. A repeat inquiry regarding The Kite Runner, for example, gives contradictory answers. In one response, ChatGPT deems Khaled Hosseini’s novel to contain “little to no explicit sexual content.” Upon a separate follow-up, the LLM affirms the book “does contain a description of a sexual assault.”

Exman tells PopSci that, even with ChatGPT’s deficiencies, administrators believe the tool remains the simplest way to legally comply with new legislation. Gov. Kim Reynolds’ signed off on the new bill on May 26, 2023, giving just three months to comply.

“Realistically, we tried to figure out how to demonstrate a good faith effort to comply with the law with minimal time and energy… When using ChatGPT, we used the specific language of the law: ‘Does [book] contain a description of a sex act?’ Being a former English teacher, I have personally read (and taught) many books that are commonly challenged, so I was also able to verify ChatGPT responses with my own knowledge of some of the texts. After compiling the list, we ran it by our teacher librarian, and there were no books on the final list of 19 that were surprising to her.

For now, educators like Exman are likely to continue receiving new curriculum restrictions from politicians hoping to advance their agendas. Despite the known concerns, the rush to adhere to these guidelines could result in continued utilization of AI shortcuts like ChatGPT.

#books #censorship #education #politics #leechware #ai #artificial intelligence

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kamreadsandrecs · 10 months

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“If the answer was yes, the book will be removed from circulation and stored,” writes Exman.

#books #education #politics #censorship #leechware #ai #artificial intelligence #jesus fucking christ on a goddamned pogo stick #there's just #so many LAYERS OF STUPID here #SO. MANY.

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loudsuitlover · 4 years

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Doctor Harry VI. Cerca del suelo

A/N: DISCLAIMER THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STORY, I just want to write this here so I can read it when I get writer’s block again. I had forgotten how much I like writing. I guess I can say writer’s block is a really long, torturous and terrible thing but I’m starting to think it happened to me when my writing started getting attention because then I started writing for others and I don’t enjoy that half as much as I enjoy writing to myself. So this writing and this story is for me; but I’m gonna share it with you. That being said, happy reading!

Before: I, II, III, IV, V

**Contains filthy sinful smut and explicit language.

Ollie frowns before she bites her bottom lip and twirls her drink on her hand and I too watch the ice cubes dancing around on her glass. Jason laughs at something he’s told Marie on her ear and by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks turn pink I don’t want to know what he’s said.

“Indie.” Jason calls me. “Are you going to tell us or not?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Marie gives me a little smile.

She’s drunk already. I watch her tiny figure on her black top and her jeans and am afraid she keeps drinking because she’ll end up throwing up like I did last Friday. She gave me such a hard time this morning when I told them about my night with Harry even though Jason cut me short in order to keep the hype for this very same moment. Drinks after dinner and gossip. His favourite Friday night plan.

“Penis size.” Jason demands.

I roll my eyes before I smile at him mischievously as he joins his hands before his face as if he were going to pray and then slowly moves them away and away. Obviously I don’t say anything and his eyes widen.

“What?!” His hands keep separating from one another. “Okay, this is impossible. I’m starting over.”

Ollie throws her head back and laugh and I just shake my head. Marie tries to stop his hands and he gives up.

“It was big.” He shrugs. “The smile you got this morning confirmed it.”

We all laugh.

“I still can’t believe you actually slept with him.” Marie condemns. “He’s your tutor for God’s sake. He has to supervise your freaking essay! Have you thought about how you’re going to go on about that?”

“Okay, Marie, you need to calm down. It’s just an essay. It’s not like they have to perform an open-heart surgery together.”

“Harry told me if I wanted he could ask professor Gibbins to supervise my essay for me.” I shrug.

“But you’re not gonna do that, right?” Olivia asked.

I shrug again.

“See? That would clearly means it affects you academically.” Marie adds.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jason intervenes. “How is he coming on about it?” I fix my eyes on his with a questioning look. “I mean what has he said?”

“Well let her finish!” Olivia complains. “All we know is they had sex. We don’t know any details.”

“Well I’m not planning on giving you any details.”

“See? You killed the vibe guys!”

I roll my eyes.

“He didn’t say anything.” I tell them. “Because I left before he woke up.” I flinch.

Marie’s jaw falls, Olivia starts choking with her drink and Jason, being the dramatic queen he is, just spits his.

“You did what?” He yells.

“I panicked!” I defend myself. “I just… It all happened pretty fast I wasn’t even expecting to have sex with him at all and then we did and I fell asleep accidentally and I woke up at like 5 am and left because… Well because what was I doing there?”

“When you mean you fell asleep accidentally, you mean he tired you out so bad you literally just fell asleep?” Jason’s eyes provoke me with his usual spark I’ve missed so much lately.

I’m glad my drama is at least bringing playful Jason back. I haven’t heard him teasing any of us like that in weeks so I roll my eyes and sit back on my chair.

“And he hasn’t called you or text you or something?” Marie asks.

I shake my head and she places her hand on top of mine. This is what I love about Marie. I know she doesn’t approve of what I did but the way she cares about me overcomes her disagreement. She might not want me to get involved with Harry, but she’ll feel sorry for me if I don’t get what I want anyway.

“How is he going to call her if she’s the one who left?” Jason says. “You should call him!”

“But he’s the guy…” Marie shrugs. “Usually is the guy who calls.”

“Maybe that’s why I wasn’t good with girls.” Jason shrugs.

“You weren’t good with girls because you’re gay.” Olivia smiles.

“I’m bisexual.”

“You’re not.”

Jason smiles at her.

“The fact that I was never attracted to you does not make me gay, Ollie.”

She shrugs and pouts raising her eyebrows and if the concept whatever had a face, I’m sure it would be that one. They both laugh because they’re the same person in two different bodies. That’s the reason why JJ was never attracted to Ollie but they’re not ready to talk about that.

“So on Monday you’re just gonna go to his office with your essay and wait for him to give you corrections after not even calling him after you disappeared on him.”

I don’t know whether that was a question, an accusation or opcion C. I shrug. Olivia rolls her eyes and grabs my phone.

“Let me see.”

“No, Ollie! No, give it back!”

Jason defends her standing in the middle of us two as she unblocks my phone. I call for Marie’s help and she tries to grab the phone away from her but Olivia’s taller so my little ally has little to do.

“Where to begin?” She thinks out loud. “How should I start J?”

“Just call him.” Jason lets out.

“Do not. Do not call him.”

“Guys don’t be cruel.”

Marie tries to grab my phone back as the nerves eat my stomach up. I feel like puking.

“I’ll text him!” I offer and I spot Olivia’s head popping up from behind Jason’s back. She’s got a single eyebrow up and JJ and her exchange a look.

“I wouldn’t trust her but she’s about to cry. Give her the phone.” He shrugs.

Ollie hands me the phone and I check she didn’t text Harry anything with my heart pounding against my rib cage.

“What do you think I should do, Marie?”

Her eyes widen while Olivia and Jason complain about why I’d ask her and ignore them. I think Marie’s going to tell me she doesn’t know, that she doesn’t have much experience with guys, because ever since her ex cheated on her she hasn’t gone out with anyone but deep down I know I just want for someone to tell me I don’t have to call him and I think Marie is going to say that. Instead she shrugs and wraps her little arm around my shoulders.

“I think we should have another drink.”

Oh, Marie, you’re drunk and not helping much. I see Ollie and Jason arguing as we lean at the bar and wait for the waiter to take our order. He eyes my friend once as Marie looks to her nails. He eyes her again and smiles to himself.

“Marie, the waiter’s got the hots for you.”

Marie looks at him as he takes an order and then back at me with a questioning look. Damn it, she’s so unlucky. If this was a movie she would have caught him staring but this is not and that’s why Harry hasn’t called me either because this is not a movie, this is real life and in real life girls like me don’t go out with guys like Harry.

“I think you should text him.”

My eyes bulge as I look at Marie.

“What can I offer the prettiest girl at the bar?”

I hear her giggles from behind me. Good job, waiter. If he had said that to me I would have rolled my eyes and told him to get himself some glasses but this is Marie we’re talking about. She probably is the prettiest girl at the bar anyway and she’s also a firm romcom believer so that pick-up line was perfect for her.

“I’ll have Bacardi and coke and Bulldog and tonic, please.”

He winks at her before he disappears to get our drinks ready.

“What did you say?” I ask her as soon as she turns around.

“You didn’t want Bulldog? I can probably ask him to change it, sorry!”

She’s about to call the waiter when I stop her.

“No!” I tell her. “I mean, did you say you think I should call Harry?”

“I said text.” She points. “And yes, I did because I think you should. I just didn’t say anything in front of Jason and Ollie for them not to think they were right. Lord knows they don’t need me to feed their ego.”

Before I can argue, Marie’s waiter comes back with our two drinks and a bowl with gummy bears we didn’t ask for. He winks at Marie and doesn’t tell her how much she ought to pay. I smile. He’s good. Marie hands him her credit card anyway.

“It’s on the house.”

“No, it’s not.” She smiles.

“I insist.”

“If you want to offer me a drink, I’d rather you have it with me.”

My eyes widen behind my friend and I see the waiter blushing and laughing. Well done, Marie! He then accepts her credit card and asks for her phone number and my friend gives it to him and turns around as if that happened to her on a daily basis. We walk away like divas until we are at a safe distance and then we laugh out loud.

“What was that? Did Olivia’s spirit posses you?”

“I don’t know!” She laughs. “I mean we talked last night while you were on your date with Harry and you know how she is, she tried to convince me about the benefits of sporadic sex and I don’t know, it got me thinking.” She giggles. “He was handsome, right?”

“He was!” I laugh. “Guys, the waiter just asked for Marie’s number!”

“What? Which waiter?”

Jason’s eyes widen as he looks at her and Marie tells him the story and I don’t fail to notice the way Olivia’s eyes fall on her and she smiles knowingly. Oh, Ollie. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hug her to my side even though she just tried to ruin my life by calling Harry treacherously because I know she means well.

I remember when she would tell Jason about how different things were when you actually took the time to get to know the person you were attracted to and everything about love and trust and forever and ever and Jason would go out with a different person every weekend.

It’s surprising how a heartbreak can change a person, just how love can change them back I guess for after Jack hurt Olivia she turned into Jason and ever since Jason met David he turned into a romantic soul defending and justifying a toxic relationship.

I wonder if there’s ever a healthy point. I think there might be if one of them or maybe both are psychotherapists but otherwise I think love is bound to make people crazy and then they start doing weird shit until the situation turns impossible and then one of them decides to end it or they both settle into being less happy than they could be.

“Yeah, right, and then he pays for dinner and thinks for that he has the right to fuck you and then he never calls you again.”

Marie’s words resound on my head like a mantra. And then he never calls you again… That would make everything easier and anyway part of me knew everything he wanted was a shag and then he’d get over it and act as if nothing ever happened but then why does it matter to me that he hasn’t called me?

“Sorry.”

When I look up I catch on the look Jason gave Marie for her to apologize. I don’t think they were talking about me but even if they were, I wouldn’t mind. They’re right. I feel like a prostitute.

“Anyway, Indie” Ollie has a sip from her drink and wiggles her eyebrows “did you like it?”

“What? The sex?”

She nods and shrugs raising her eyebrows as if saying what else?

“Well, Harry we all know you like.” She laughs.

What can I say?

“It was incredible.” I confess.

I don’t want to say what follows. I don’t even want to think about it. It can’t be true anyway. There’s no way it’s true. I don’t love Harry. But precisely because I don’t love him I could admit it was the best sex without love of my life. Yeah, that could be it. It doesn’t make me feel less guilty though.

“Well, at least it was worth the trouble.”

“What trouble?” Ollie asks.

“Well, I mean it’s not the smartest thing to do if she wants him to respect her.” Marie raises her eyebrows.

“What?” I will not stand that. “So just because I have sex I don’t deserve respect?”

“No, Indie, you know what I mean. I just mean if the rest of doctors hear about it, what do you think they would think?”

“Why would I care what they think?” I am getting mad. “I can’t believe you’re saying that, Marie. It’s precisely for comments like that that we can’t move past it. Do you realize how sexist you’re sounding right now? You don’t think that same thing of him, do you? Just because he’s a man!”

“I am the sexist? You were the one who let her professor fuck her! Who knows how many students has he fucked?”

I can’t believe my ears.

“Let him fuck me?” I’m disgusted at her choice of words. “There were two people on that bed, you know? I did what I wanted to do. I didn’t let him fuck me. I fucked him too!” I only realize I’m screaming when I notice the eyes of those around us on me. “I know how to say no, you know?”

“Well you said you didn’t want to sleep with him and look at you.” She whispers. “Are you sure you didn’t leave in the morning because you regretted it? Maybe you were even embarrassed?”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.”

I leave Marie gasping like a fish out of water and walk outside to the terrace. It’s the end of October already and it’s rather chilly today so I’m not surprised when I realize the only people around me are smoking.

I bring the collar of my denim jacket to my chin and hug my frame as I look ahead at the lights on the bars on the other side of the street. I can’t believe Marie had said all that to me. One minute she’s saying she thinks I should text him and the other she’s throwing all that shit at me. I know she’s overly protective but she can be such a bitch sometimes too.

And I quite frankly don’t get the concept she has of sex. She almost made it sound as if Harry had somehow raped me and for the love of God even thinking about it makes me hate her words. What happened with Harry was… Perfect.

And that’s why I left.

I feel tears blurring my vision. Fuck. I wasn’t expecting these thoughts to be clouding my mind now. I feel my phone vibrating and take it out the pocket of my jacket. Rio said he would text me when he was going home and check if I needed a ride but it’s too soon for him to want to go home already. Maybe he’s having a shitty night just like I am.

Harry: What are you doing?

I hold the phone on my hand and can barely believe my eyes as I read his text again and again. I hadn’t even thought about one of the many terrible things Marie just said. How many students has he fucked? I don’t know if I care. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care about how many women he’s fucked in the past or even how many women he’s fucking now. I can’t walk around pretending I’m the most liberated woman and then question how many women my partner has fucked. If he’s fucked a lot of students well, good for them.

He clearly has experience. One isn’t a master in sex by studying about it. The way he touched me and the way he hit every spot he needed to clearly indicated practice. But it’s not about the practice or even the sex. I don’t care about that, that I know. It’s about fucking students.

I entertain the thought that Marie might be right. What if he did take advantage of me? What if he always does this? Make his student wet and then get in her panties and if I’ve seen you, I don’t remember. This is the kind of behaviour I would condemn if I heard about it. I would be one of those people who would think he was a jerk for taking advantage of a student like that. I guess that’s just another way of being sexist though.

“Hey.” Olivia places her hand on the spot between my shoulder blades.

“Hey.” I give her a little smile.

“Marie’s really sorry.” She mediates. “She wanted to come talk to you but I told her it was better if she gave you some space.”

“Do you think she’s right?”

Olivia shakes her head.

“Do you?”

It’s hard for me to know that kind of things now. It’s a fear I can’t get rid off. After Javier, I mean after getting out of an abusive relationship like that, I keep wondering if I would ever jump right back into another. Whether I’m that profile of girl and I’m bound to have my partner abusing of me whether I realize it or not.

I’m seeing that with Jason too and I realize how scary and how hard it is. He doesn’t see it, he’s completely blind and you start wondering how is it possible that not only he doesn’t realize but he also justifies it. It’s very frustrating to talk to someone that not only allows someone else to hurt them but actually understands them. It’s scary what someone can do to somebody’s mind.

“Can I tell you what I think?” Olivia lights up the cigarette between her lips and I shrug. “I think you like him.”

I look ahead. That doesn’t matter. I still have my phone on my hand and we both look down when the screen lights up and another text pops up.

Harry: Are you home?

“And he likes you too.” Olivia smiles. “Answer him. I’m gonna get us another drink.”

Indie: It’s Friday night. Of course I’m not.

Harry: What? You go out every single Friday night?

Indie: Don’t you?

Harry: Sometimes I forget you’re 21.

Harry: Can we talk?

Indie: We’re talking.

Harry: I mean can I see you?

Indie: It’s Golden Girls’ night.

Harry: Can I call you then?

Indie: What’s the problem with texting?

Harry: Sometimes you forget I’m 27.

I chuckle and call him. He answers on the first beep.

“Why did you leave?”

Oh, boy.

“I had to go. You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You had to go? In the middle of the night?”

“It was morning…”

“Indie.”

“I wanted to go home before uni so I left early. I didn’t realize I had to give you any explanations.”

“Fuck, Indie. Are you always so blunt?”

“I did warn you. You said I got to be blunt.” I shrug even though he can’t see me.

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye.”

“Well, it’s not like you saying goodbye would have made a difference, is it?”

“I would have kissed you” he argues “and that would have made a difference.”

My knees go weak.

“Are you with Olivia?”

“Yes?”

Please tell me he’s not about to ask me for her phone number. I would tear his head off.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

I feel tickles on my belly as I make my way inside the bar. Jason gives me an innocent smile as Marie looks at me as if I was the one deciding whether she should go to prison or not. I offer her my hand across the table and she holds it as her bottom lip tremble. I know she’s sorry and God knows sometimes I say things I don’t mean too. It would be very hypocritical of me not to let it go now.

I see Olivia smiling on the phone and give my friends a questioningly look but they shake their head. Jason stands up from the table and tells us he’s leaving. I’ve already fought with Marie tonight and quite frankly I don’t feel like fighting him about the same thing again but silently we all know he’s going because David doesn’t like it when we party until morning. I give him a hug though as he says goodbye.

“Whaaaat?” Ollie pouts. “You’re leaving? What’s this? Where are the party animals I used to know and love? Mario’s on his way!”

I spit my drink. Marie’s eyes set on mine. We’re both horrified.

As soon as Jason leaves Marie comes back with two more drinks, a peace offer she says, but I know she just wanted to see her waiter again. I appreciate the drink though. I had enough thinking tonight and I want to let it all go. Getting drunk doesn’t solve anything. Alcohol would make her shut up too.

“When did this happen?” I interrogate Olivia.

She’s been making all these questions to me and she hadn’t told us this bomb!

“He’s my tutor…” She shrugs. “So the other day we had a cup of coffee while we went on about my clinical case and…” She smiles. “He’s funny.”

“And?”

“And… We started talking.”

“And how does he have your phone number?”

“I gave it to him.”

I raise my brows. If she’s gonna make us ask every little piece of information… We will.

“Why?”

“Because I have to catch up on the practices I missed when I went to France to visit my mamie.”

Marie and I look at each other with mouths agape before we both look at her.

“And you’re going to catch up on that now?” Marie asks.

Olivia rolls her eyes and grins as she waves at someone at the door. Marie and I turn our heads and my breath catches on my throat when my eyes meet the green.

Harry’s grinning as he walks towards us. Marie’s foot keeps kicking me under the high table but my eyes don’t leave his. I don’t think I could look away if I tried. Memories of last night play in my mind like a movie and I wonder if they play on his too. I woke up on his bed this morning for crying out loud.

“Hi.” He greets us.

“Hi.” Marie offers him her little hand and he shakes it amused.

“Hi.” I smile and his green eyes set on my lips.

If I had any doubts… He’s definitely thinking about last night too.

“Hi, Mario.” I give him another smile and he smiles back.

“Hi, Indie. How are you?”

He’s grinning like a kid in Christmas and he looks so much younger than he normally does at the hospital. I almost want to aww at him but I won’t. Oh, Ollie, please don’t hurt him. He looks like a teddy bear.

“This is my cousin Tommy.”

Mario introduces the third guy that came with them and he sits down next to Marie. The perfect sync tells me they’ve talked before they got here. Marie laughs at something Tommy says and I roll my eyes. She really needs a shag like Ollie says.

Ollie and Mario disappear to order drinks for all of them and Harry simply stands next to me with a big smile. I don’t know how I feel about him not being even a little annoyed that I left without waking him even though I didn’t do it to annoy him but… It still bothers me a little.

“Let me guess” I tell him “A glass of water for you.”

He throws his head and laughs.

“I actually drink Sprite when I go out.”

“Sprite?” I chuckle. “I’ve never met anyone who drinks just Sprite. I mean anyone over six years old.”

He chuckles.

“Well, I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.” He offers me his hand and I shake it. “I drink just Sprite when I go out and I normally say goodbye to people I fuck before I leave.”

Ouch. I narrow my eyes at him but don’t say anything and as if on cue, Olivia and Mario appear with his Sprite and Mario’s and Tommy’s drink. I look away from him and pay attention to Tommy as he tells Marie about his life but the entire time I can feel Harry’s eyes on me.

I notice women look at him too but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead he looks at me. He knows he’s annoying me. I wonder if he’s so used to women staring and trying to get with him that his brain doesn’t even see it anymore like it does with our noses.

“Is there something on my face?”

He shakes his head and that stupid smile stays.

“But it’s hard for me not to see you naked on my mind.”

My face heats up immediately and horrified I look at both my friends but they’re both busy chatting up the Italian cousins. He leans closer to my body so he can whisper in my ear.

“And remember how you taste” my breathing trembles “and how you smell” he inhales my parfum and hums in appreciation and I feel my fingers tightening around my drink “and how you feel, so tight and wet and warm” his fingers wrap around a strand of my hair and he glides them down until the tip before he rests it on my back.

“Why me?”

As I turn my neck to face him, I hear him suck in a breath at our proximity. I play it cool but my mouth goes dry too, especially when I see I have that effect on him too.

“Why you what?”

“Why do you insist on me?”

“So pretty with your lips red.”

I sigh and look away from him. If he’s not going to answer my questions then I won’t give him the time of the day.

“I don’t know.” He confesses next to me.

I turn my neck again and stare into his green eyes searching for any sign of lying but all I find is sincerity and confusion? Is he as confused as I am?

“Don’t lie.”

I hear him puffing through his nose and watch him. His jaw clenches.

“I told you I don’t lie.” He reminds me. “I really don’t know, Indie. I don’t know why I can’t get you out of my head but I can’t and I want to fuck you all the time.” He shrugs.

I remember what he said about always saying what’s going through his mind and after that, I believe him. I feel my mouth going dry and I want him to fuck me too. I’m afraid this man can read my mind because I don’t know why but I know he knows that too. Maybe I can read his mind too or maybe I’m as obvious as he is.

“Come home with me.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I still have some questions to ask him and I want to stop thinking again. I think last night was the first time I stopped torturing myself in three years and I want to feel like that again.

I guess it’s strange that it doesn’t feel weird to me to walk next to him towards his car or that we said our goodbye to my friends as if it was normal that we left together and it’s also strange that I like the way people look at us down the street. He doesn’t walk too close to me or touches me at all and I reckon he might be as scared that someone from the hospital would see us together as I am. My phone vibrates and Rio’s name appears on the screen.

“Hi, Blue.” My brother’s deep voice greets me.

Everyone in my family has always called me by my middle name. I only started being Indie when I met Dylan.

“Hi there. Going home already?”

“Yeah, the guys wanted to go clubbing but since we have mum’s meeting tomorrow morning I thought it smarter to go home.” He chuckles.

“Yeah.” I chuckle too.

“Are you coming?”

“No, not yet.”

“Are you with Jason and the girls?”

“Yeah.” I lie.

“Cool. Don’t come home alone. Call me if you need me to pick you up.”

“Sure, Rio. Thank you.”

“That’s okay. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

“Who’s Rio?” Harry asks as soon as I hang up the phone.

If he wants to know about my family I’ll answer his questions. I don’t mind talking about my family. Other things... Well, that’s another story.

“Rio’s my brother.”

He nods. I’m surprised when he doesn’t ask anything further but he seems awfully quiet. Just ten minutes ago he was teasing me and he seemed to be ready to fuck me against that very same table and now he seems to be deep in thought. I don’t know why but I don’t like seeing him like this. I like the carefree, smiley Harry who doesn’t seem to have a worry in the world.

“Is everything alright?”

It’s the first time he looks at me like that. His green eyes seem dull and I feel like I just touched something that I shouldn’t. His gaze makes me shiver. He sighs and looks ahead and simply shakes his head.

Once again his sincerity surprises me. I’m gonna have to start believing that he does not lie. Out of nowhere, because I don’t like seeing him like that, I reach for his hand and hold it in mine and he eyes our intertwined hands together before he removes his as if mine burnt. What burns then are my cheeks. Why did I do that?

I am beyond embarrassed and I’m glad he isn’t making any comments because the last thing I want right now is to talk about it. If he were to say something, I’d thank him for removing his hand from mine. It still stings.

Lustful imagines fill my mind as we make our way inside his apartment and my eyes fix on the same wall he had me pressed against less than 24 hours ago. My mouth goes dry just by thinking about it and all I want is for him to take me like he did the night before. I turn to look at him and my eyes must speak for me because without wasting another minute he kisses me against the door.

He still has his keys on his hand, the one that’s resting on my waist, until he lets them fall and I hear the jingling sound against the floor and then his hand snakes under my denim jacket and he places his palm on my back pulling me to him and pressing my chest against his.

His lips are soft and tender and he tastes sweet and minty. I enjoy the way he knows how to use his mouth, his kisses having a direct line with my belly, that flips and roars and sends electricity to the rest of my body; and my fingers find a home on his hair as I gently tug at his soft strands. His tongue licks my lips before he rolls it over mine and we start a wet battle I don’t mind losing.

Holding my body close to his with one hand on my back, he takes my jacket off with the other, letting it fall to the ground. On the silence of his apartment, I hear the fabric when it hits the floor and forms a blue denim mound, and I hear our mouths and our breaths mixing together.

Without saying a word or stopping our kiss, he walks along the grey hall and guides me backwards towards the bathroom inside his bedroom and only once inside he breaks the kiss and turns my body around, pressing my back against his chest.

The walls are pearl grey but this time it’s a grey tile with horizontal stripes that remind me of the blunt tips of those mountain rocks where you can see the layers that build the mountain. The sink is part of a white marble top that stands below a big mirror where I can see his hands caressing the skin of my bare arms before one hand presses against my belly through my dress and up to my chest where he cups one of my breasts and squeezes the flesh. I moan and rest the back of my head on his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss, suck and nibble on the skin of my neck. I watch on the mirror his right hand grabbing the hem of my dress over my right thigh and lifting it up until he exposes my hip.

Delicately his large hands grab the hem of my dress and carefully lifts it up until he takes it off me and then his wandering hands caress the skin of my front and massage my breasts. His hot breath on my shoulder raises goosebumps and ignites my desire for him.

“You’re so soft.” He whispers on my ear before he presses a single kiss against my pulse. “And so warm.”

He stops touching me and it’s like he leaves me naked all over again. I tilt my neck so I can see him and he captures my lips with his and dives his tongue inside my mouth. I moan and press my bum against his groin and I can’t control my arousal when I feel his excitement against my hot skin. I feel his fingers moving against my back as he unbuttons his shirt and I focus on the noises. His breathing on my ear, the soft fabric falling down his arms, his zipper going down…

He stops my hands when I try to unclasp my bra and I still see him through the mirror unclasping it himself and placing all my garments together on the marble top. I am not even aware of my own reflection since Harry’s steals all my attention and doesn’t let me see anything else. His body is athletic and tall and his skin is pale and inked and I want to run my tongue across all of him and kiss every corner of his body. Leaving my undies on, his large hands caress my legs as he kneels down and playfully bites the flesh of my ass as he takes off my shoes.

I think my mouth is so dry I couldn’t speak if I wanted to but there’s nothing to say anyway. There’s something about this silence between us as if we were accustomed to each other that keeps me quiet. Finally he snakes both his hands under the hem of my panties on either side of my hips and caresses down my legs taking my underwear down with his hands. When we are both fully naked, he gently pushes me so I walk inside the shower and he closes the screen behind us.

There’s no sign of the playful Harry, neither of the filthy Harry I got to know last night. Instead he looks at me as if I was the most precious thing on the world and I feel my legs turning into jelly under his worshipping stare. Despite his calm, his length rests against his belly stiff, tight and shinny and my mouth waters. I wonder if he’d let me wrap my mouth around him if I asked but I’m afraid of doing so. He doesn’t seem to mind my curious staring as he approaches me and corners me against the wall. His hand snakes behind me and he turns on the water that falls on top of us and get us soaked in seconds.

My eyes are closed when his hot mouth gapes against mine before he fully kisses me and his hands fall to my ass, grabbing my flesh as he presses me against his hard on. I thank God he’s holding me for otherwise I think my legs would have brought me down already.

Stamping wet kisses everywhere his lips land, he turns my body slowly so that my back is pressed against his front once again and I moan out loud when I feel his fingertips tickling the insides of my thighs. My mouth parts at the touch of his two middle fingers intruding ever so delicately and his worked up breathing against my cheek sends my chest into a frenzy.

My left hand caresses the skin on his arm as his wrist moves back and forth and his fingers curl deliciously inside me and my other hand searches for his hair and caress his scalp.

“You’re so beautiful, Indie” He presses a kiss against my shoulder “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” My voice is all but a whisper but he doesn’t press it.

His fingers make me lightheaded but have me dying for more so I press my hips against his and moan when I feel his hot, stiff length against the low of my back. He grunts and his fingers fasten making me lose my mind completely.

“Harry” I moan, swallowing the water that falls on my mouth from the shower in an attempt to hydrate my throat. “I want you.”

“I’m right here.” He whispers.

“I want you inside.”

I bend my neck so my eyes look into his because I’ve found he’s very good at reading them and I want him to see them beg, in case he didn’t have enough with the desperation of my voice.

“Fuck, Indie. I don’t… I don’t have a condom.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I turn my body around and bring his mouth to mine with my hands on his neck. Our lips meet and battle and Harry’s merciless mouth attacks mine before his tongue soothes every red blood patch. I feel my lungs closing on me at the anticipation of having him bare and having him release white hot cum inside my cunt so that it drops out and stains my inner thighs but then his words resound on my head and I pull back.

“Are you-” On a sane moment, I stop the question before I ask.

Of course he’s having sex with other people.

“I always wear a condom.” He cups my face and presses a sweet kiss against my lips. “But I can make you cum with my fingers and have you afterwards.”

I nod my head and with that he takes me back to the place where I’m nothing but what he touches.

I still have trouble breathing when we come out of the shower. He doesn’t stop amazing me, the way he treats me and touches me as if I was made out of glass. I wonder if he touches every woman like that and I ignore the feeling on my throat. He’s staring at me. Please, don’t, don’t look at me like that. I feel very exposed, standing completely naked in his shower as his eyes investigate every part of my body.

He grabs a fresh towel from the cupboard underneath the sink and my lips part when instead of giving it to me or using it to dry himself, he hides his two hands underneath the towel and presses them against my skin in a calming, almost hypnotic ritual. He’s quiet and his expression is serious but calm. I think the troubled Harry is gone. I indulge in the way he softly presses the towel instead of rubbing it as if he was going to hurt my skin if he didn’t act so delicately. He’s kneeling in front of me as he dries my thighs and my belly and watching him I forget my exposure to him. He presses a kiss on my hipbone and then stands up and kisses my lips and being fully dried, I’ve never felt wetter.

I grab the towel from his hands and do the exact same thing he did to me but to his body and I feel lucky he lets me. My hair is wet against my back contrasting my dry mouth and I moisten my lips with every inch of his skin I carefully dry. His skin is tight and soft but thick and firm as it covers his lean muscles. Sometimes I let my fingers rest against his warm skin. I guess it’s my own timid version of the kisses he pressed against mine. When I look up at him, his green eyes look at me, seemingly confused.

I hate that he does that. He allows himself to do all these things with me, like staring at me as if he’s never seen a woman before or kiss me as if he meant it but he never lets me reciprocates. He takes his hand away when I hold it and now looks at me like that. I stand tall and leave the towel next to my clothes on the sink and when I’m about to walk away his long fingers wrap around my wrist and turn me around.

I watch him intertwined our fingers with the hand he has taken away before on his sudden mutism and he just stares at our intertwined hands as his thumb caresses my skin before he brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. I don’t know why, but I take it as a silent apology and taking his hand to my lips, I kiss it on silent forgiveness. He's still rock hard and I don’t know how he can stand there so seemingly impassive when all his blood is on that one precious part of his body. In one of his mood changes, he shifts from calm, soft Harry to the passionate, wild one and he pins me against the wall before his mouth devours mine. His teeth nibble on my bottom lip and make me moan. I’m so ready for him I’m scared of it.

Suddenly he removes his body from mine and I feel the cold his void left as he kneels in front of the sink and opens the cupboard. His absence lets me see my reflection on the mirror. I almost don’t recognize myself. My hair is humid and disheveled. Some strands frame my rosy cheeks and my chest is flushed as it moves up and down on a laborious breathing. As if I wanted to make sure that woman is me, I bring my mouth to my lips and watch her do the same. They feel warm against my mouth and they’re red blood.

When Harry stands tall, he turns his neck and looks at the mirror too and his eyes darken when he realizes I was watching myself.

“You look ravishing.”

“Then ravish me.”

I hear myself whisper and wait for him against the wall. I’ve never seen anyone putting on a condom faster and then I am levitating, mentally and physically, for Harry holds my waist and lifts me up so my feet aren’t touching the ground. As if I have done this before, my legs wrap around his waist as if my body knows what to do even when my head doesn’t. Just like last night and like I did in the shower, I let myself go and I feel that invisible deadweight I always carry on my chest lift and leave me. I feel light as a feather during those seconds before he plunges into my depths breaching every barrier of my intimacy but I welcome his intrusion as we both sigh at the feeling.

I feel like I’m dancing upon that fine line between pain and pleasure for I feel so full and the pressure takes every thought I’ve ever had away and his hips are unforgiving as he pushes in and out of me. I try to sustain my body weight, hands pushing off his shoulders and I want to ask him if I’m too heavy or if he’s okay but a whisper of his name is all I can muster among whimpers and soft pants.

We’re not even five feet away from his bed, a big, soft, comfortable bed where we could have a banquet of one another like we had the night before but it’s precisely the urgency, the animalistic, desperate need that’s sending me to the edge faster than it ever has. His ruthless hips lift my body against the tile every time he thrusts and my bare back slides down the wall every time he removes my hold rolling out of me but when my nails cling onto his shoulders and I’m afraid I’m gonna fall, he pushes in again and the whole ritual begins. The adrenaline runs through my veins at the feeling of free falling but his hands and thighs sooth me with the security of his hold. He’s taking me high but he won’t let me fall.

His grunts and groans hunt me like a heavenly song and I try to keep my ears opened so I can record his sounds and replay them when I’m not with him but it’s hard to pay attention to anything different from that desirable spot only he’s reached as he hits it again and again and again and again. I miss him every time he pulls out but it’s only for a second before he’s pushing in again.

His hands move from my hips to the back of my thighs and in an instant of panic, thinking he’s about to put me down, I clench my thighs around him tighter and he curses under his breath. I watch him as his thrusts become faster and he can’t barely get his length out but his vulnerable grunts and the way he looks, flushed and out of his mind, are enough for me. His forehead falls on mine and his hot breath hits my cheeks while he grins.

“Sorry.” He pecks my cheek. “I would have lasted longer if you hadn’t done that.” He’s smiling.

“I thought you were going to put me down.” I pout.

My hands snake from his shoulders to his hair and he chuckles before he kisses my neck.

“I was going to. I was going to take you to bed and give myself a second so I could make you cum first but when you tightened your thighs around me…” He tilts his head. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.” I smirk naughtily and he chuckles.

“You should be.” He kisses me as he rolls out and finally puts me down leaving a sad feeling of emptiness between my legs. “You should be illegal.” He spanks my ass playfully and walks out of the bathroom.

I grin like a fool and take this minute of solitude to take in the way I feel and relish on it. I bring my hand to my lower lips and blush when I notice how wet I am. I close the door of the bathroom to pee and clean myself. When I open the door, I don’t find Harry on his bed but I see a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt and even a pair of boxers folded on the mattress. His voice calls my name from outside his room.

“Are you hungry?” He must be in the kitchen.

I’m not really hungry but if he has something to eat, I might nibble on it. I doubt but when I’m about to expose myself to a new possible embarrassment he saves me. He’s leaning against the doorframe of his room in a pair of olive-green sweatpants. How can someone look so good in sweatpants?

“Those are for you.” He smiles. “But you can grab anything else from my wardrobe too.”

“No, these are fine. Thank you.”

Seeing him half dressed suddenly makes me uncomfortably aware of my own nudity so I put on his t-shirt without even looking at it.

“I was going to say you could also walk around naked” he grins smugly as I walk towards him “but that was before I knew you looked so sexy on my clothes.”

I rest the low of my back on his kitchen island and let my eyes wander across the white cupboards. The counter is white marble too and so is the island where my hips rest. The distribution seems weird to me, the sink is on the counter in front of me and behind that it’s his room and on the kitchen island he’s got the stove and under it the oven and some more cupboards. I guess it’s not so much of a kitchen island as it is an open kitchen.

I tilt my neck and see the living room and the views outside the glass windows. I imagine him cooking and looking through the window. He’s got a nice view of the city from there. He’s been watching me the entire time with a smile on his face.

“What’s on your mind?”

“You want the explicit version?”

He washes his hands on the sink but tils his neck so he can see me.

“Please.”

“I was thinking about sitting you up on that counter and making you cum on my mouth.”

My eyes widen and my face and neck heats up. This man is going to be the death of me. He’s insatiable.

“So what do you feel like having? I have fruit and bread and-” he opens the cabinets and makes a list of the food he has as if he had not just said that and for a second I think I have imagined it.

“So you’re not going to?”

I think I did say that out loud because he turns his head and looks at me with raised eyebrows.

“You want me to?”

“No,” Yes “it’s just that you said you were thinking about it and then offer me fruit?”

I must be hilarious to him because he throws his head back and laughs out loud.

“If I fucked you every time I think about it, you couldn’t walk.”

I lick my lips. He makes my mouth dry all the time. What is he doing to me? I’m gonna end up like a sex addict like him. I enter his game. If he can say these things and then act as if nothing happened so can I.

“Can I have a glass of milk?”

“You want milk?”

I roll my eyes when I see the way he’s grinning and I swat his chest playfully. He laughs and apologizes before he pours a glass of milk and hands it to me and then he grabs a clementine and peels it as his eyes fix on me.

“When you asked me why I didn’t drink” He says “what did you originally want to ask me?”

I frown. Seriously how does he know what I think all the time? How can he know I wanted to ask him something else? Am I that obvious?

“I already got my answer.” I shrug. “I wanted to ask you why you had chosen to supervise my essay.”

He nods. I drink my milk. That makes me think about what Marie said. I’m afraid of what he’ll answer if I ask him with how many students he’s been. I don’t want him to ruin what just happened by telling me this is something he’s done before and making me feel like just another one of his conquests even though that’s what I am.

“Why do you think I chose you?” His green eyes are narrowed as he studies my expression.

I don’t know how to answer that without degrading myself to the floor. Why did he even ask me? Why would he want to humiliate me like that? I think he can sense my discomfort.

“Indie?” He presses.

“Well it’s clear, isn’t it?”

“I chose you because you’re intelligent and you pay attention and you always ask interesting questions. It’s clear that you like what you do and I thought your essay would be interesting to read.”

My lips seal. I wasn’t expecting that. I feel stupid for thinking otherwise and I feel bad and sexist for having thought that way about myself. Sometimes we don’t need anyone to put ourselves down.

“You thought I had chosen you for your pretty face?”

“I didn’t think you had chosen me for my pretty face.”

I know there are lots of girls prettier than me in my class alone. I thought he had chosen me because he had this smug obsession of wanting the only thing he couldn’t have or something like that but I don’t think I’m pretty enough for him out of all people to choose me for my pretty face.

I yawn. I must look terrible because I’m not wearing any make up since our shower. Dear Lord I’m not wearing any make up since our shower! I must have looked like a panda bear under the water. That ruins the whole imagine. He wasn’t standing there with a beautiful girl under the shower but with a moaning wet panda.

“Well good” peacemaker Harry walks towards me with a beautiful smile and takes the now empty glass from my hand and leaves it on the counter next to me before he pecks my lips “because, despite your pretty face, I chose you for what’s in here” his fingertip delicately knocks on my temple and I smile. “You’re pretty tired, aren’t you?”

I yawn again and he chuckles. My hands cling onto his shoulders when I feel his arm under my knees and he lifts me up and carries me bridal style towards his room. I chuckle and hold onto his chest.

“I can walk, you know?”

“I know.” He grins.

We both chuckle as he walks towards his room and then he carefully places me on his bed. My eyes set on the picture on his bedside table again as he gets in bed next to me.

“Who are they?” I ask and yawn.

“Tired but still nosy.” He jokes.

He lifts his head so he can have a look at the photo even if he doesn’t need to because it’s his picture. He should know what he has next to his bed.

“They’re my mum and my sister.”

I hum. My eyes are already closed when I feel his kiss on my temple.

“Harry”

“Yeah?”

“Did I look like a raccoon on the shower?”

I smile with my eyes closed as he laughs out loud. I wish I could see him because I’ve never heard him laughing that hard but Morpheus is very distracting. What I hear next I don’t know if he said or I dreamt it because as he answers my question it’s like he’s speaking my own thoughts.

“It’s because you stop my mind.” He whispers.

158 notes · View notes

gnosticanthroposopher · 4 years

Text

How To Become A Free Individuality

The view that the human being is destined to become a wholly independent, free individuality seems to be contradicted by the fact that he exists as a member of a natural whole (race, tribe, nation, family, male or female) and that he acts within a whole (state, church, and so on). He exhibits the general characteristics of the group to which he belongs and what he does is determined by the place he occupies within a community. Given all this, is individuality still possible? Can we regard the individual human being as a whole in himself seeing that he grows out of one whole and fits in as a member of another?

The characteristics and function of each member of a whole are defined by the whole. An ethnic group is a whole and the members belonging to it exhibit characteristic traits that are determined by the nature of the group. How the single member is constituted and his general behavior will be characteristic of the ethnic group to which he belongs. This is why the physiognomy and behavior of the individual has a typical quality.

If we ask why a particular thing about a person is like this or that we are directed away from the individual person and toward his group type. The type is used to explain why something in the individual appears in the form we observe.

However the human being frees himself from these typical characteristics. He develops his own traits and roles for reasons that can only be found in himself. What is typical in him serves only as a means to develop his own individual nature. He uses the characteristic traits given by nature as a basis and gives them a form that expresses his own individuality.

If we look to the laws of type to explain the individual aspect of a human being we will seek in vain. We are dealing here with something completely individual that cannot be explained by something else. If a person has advanced to the point of emancipation from what is typical in him and we still want to explain everything about him in terms of type then we have no sense for what is individual.

It is impossible to completely understand a human being if one's judgment is based on concepts of the type. The tendency to judge according to type is most persistent where differences of sex are involved. Man sees in woman and woman in man nearly always too much of the general characteristics of the other sex and too little of what is individual in the other.

Positions in society are not always determined by the individual characteristics of each person but by the general ideas of what is considered the natural role and needs of a man or woman. Our activity in life should be determined by our individual abilities and inclinations not solely by the fact of being a man or woman. Neither man or woman should be the slave of the typical, of the general idea of manhood or womanhood.

As long as men debate whether women are suited to this or that profession "according to their natural disposition" no progress will be made on the so-called women's question. What women are capable of according to their nature should be left to women to decide. If it is true that women are only suited to the professions that they are now in then they will hardly have it in them to attain others on their own. But they must be allowed to decide for themselves what is appropriate to their nature.

This view should be held for any individual seemingly forced to fit within a "social norm" that seeks to define an individual according to the group. Let's tweak the above paragraph to read more generally.

As long as people debate whether a particular individual is suited to this or that profession "according to their natural disposition" no progress will be made on the so-called equality question. What an individual is capable of according to their nature should be left to that individual to decide. If it is true that a particular individual is only suited to the professions that they are now in then they will hardly have it in them to attain others on their own. But they must be allowed to decide for themselves what is appropriate to their nature.

Whoever judges people according to their typical characteristics stops short at the boundary line beyond which people begin to be individuals whose activity is based on free self-determination. What lies below this boundary line can naturally become the subject of academic study. The typical characteristics of race, ethnicity, nation and sex are the subjects of specific branches of study. Only people who wish to live as nothing more than example of a type could possibly fit the general picture that emerges from this kind of academic study.

None of these branches of study are able to reach the unique character of the single individual. Determining the individual according to the laws of his type ends where the region of freedom (in thinking and acting) begins.

In order to have the full reality the human begin connects his conceptual content with perception by means of thinking. No one can establish this conceptual content once and for all and hand it down to humanity in a finished form. Each individual must gain his concepts through his own intuition. How an individual is to think cannot be derived from some general concept of a type.

Nor are general human traits any indication of what concrete goals an individual will choose to pursue. Anyone who wishes to understand the single individuality must find his way to the innermost core of his particular being and not stop short at the level of typical characteristics. In this sense each human being is a separate challenge.

And every kind of study that concerns itself with abstract thoughts and general concepts of the type is only a preparation for the knowledge we gain when an individuality tells us his way of viewing the world. And preparation for the knowledge we gain from the contacts of his acts of will.

Whenever we feel we are dealing with a person wo is free of the stereotypical thinking and instinctive willing of a type we must refrain from calling up any of our mind's preconceptions if we want to understand him. Knowledge consists in combining concepts with the perception by means of thinking. In the case of everything else the observer gains his concepts through his intuition.

But if we are to understand a free individuality we must receive into our mind those concepts by which he defines himself in their pure form (without mixing in our conceptual content). Those who immediately mix their own concepts into every judgment of others can never reach an understanding of an individuality.

Just as the free individuality emancipates himself from typical characteristics so must our method of knowing an individual emancipate itself from the method used to understand type.

A person can be considered a free spirit within a community only to the extent he has emancipated himself from the characteristic traits of his type. No human being is all type, none is all individuality. But every person gradually emancipates a greater or lesser part of his being from the animal-like life of the species, and from the controlling decrees of human authorities.

In the part of his nature where he is unable to win his freedom he remains a member incorporated into the natural and social organism. In this regard he lives by imitating others or by obeying their commands. Only the part of his conduct that springs from his intuitions has ethical value in the true sense.

This is his contribution to the already existing total of moral ideas. All moral activity of humanity has its source in individual ethical intuitions. One can say that the moral life of humanity is the sum total of what free human individuals have produced through their moral imagination. This is the creed of Monism. Monism does not look upon the history of the moral life as the education of the human race by a transcendent God but as the gradual living out in practice of all concepts and ideas that spring from the moral imagination.

Src: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E1u26I8pCg

#rudolf steiner #anthroposophy #individuality #freedom

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bereft-of-frogs · 4 years

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2, 4, 11, 20?

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

well now I’m like...weirdly excited about my v. melodramatic song lyric titles for whumptober because they’re real fun. As far as future fics...I’m really excited about the last day of whumptober (’31. Today’s Special - Torture’) because I’m doing something I’ve long threatened to do that actually may involve literally the only part of Endgame I actually want to play with *cough* ;-)

I’ve also thought of an actual possible original fiction project that has potential, so I’m kind of excited to try my hand at that for a while. It’s been a really long time since I’ve written anything other than fic (or like...academic essays, I guess) so that should be fune. :-)

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

pulling from the fic I’m generally most proud of/that I sort of secretly think I peaked with dark underground//violent sky:

“You wish to return to my shadow? To retreat to the safety of my protection?”

“Yes,” Loki sobs. “Yes. I have screamed for nothing more for weeks, months by now. Years. I have cried for you and begged you to come for me and you have left me!”

“Say it again. If you truly mean it say it again and maybe the Norns will smile upon you.”

Loki takes a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself. “Please. Please, Thor, I need you. I need you to help me. I need you to come for me.” Thor, something’s happened…Something…at my apartment. I can’t stay here, I need you to come get me…Please just come get me. “Please, come for me.”

“No.”

With that, the voice in his head silences.

w/e it was more than a paragraph but I’ve always liked that section.

11. What do you envy in other writers?

Oh gosh, so many things.

- I feel like I’ll sometimes read other people’s work and be really jealous of their prose - like balancing really good prose with sort of indulgent hurt/comfort or pwp or whatever. I feel like I can be kind of inconsistent.

- also consistency with actual writing. I tend to go through these cycles where I can’t write anything for days/weeks sometimes, and then I hit onto a really productive period where I write like thousands of words a day. I’d love it if I could just be more consistent, since I think I’d end up producing more overall and also it would spare me the constant dramatics of ‘that’s it, I’ve lost it, I’ll never write again, I peaked, that’s it-’ etc etc. Like, stopping the roller coaster of my writing ability would be great. I hate roller coasters. I refuse to ride them. Why must my muse constantly be on them?

- I mean right now I’m sort of jealous that people are getting new fandom inspiration from like....actually popular things. ‘cause like, I knew I needed to take a few like...mini-breaks from the MCU. I felt like I needed to branch out, to know that I could write outside of the MCU. all this was great but instead of finding inspiration for a fandom that literally anyone cares about, instead I guess I’m just over here writing stuff (that I’m actually pretty proud of) that I think tops 5 people will ever read? Like, I’m happy writing about the stupid airplane and the stupid apocalypse, I just wish I had people to share it with.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

hm...there were a couple points in ‘where is your sting’ where Loki is like an inch away from figuring out plot-important information that I was really hoping people would comment on but I don’t think anyone did.

the first he spaces out when the Grandmaster is talking about his ‘Champion’

The Grandmaster lights up. “Oh yes, he’s absolutely brutal. You know, Scrapper-142 found him for me, came flying in on a jet one day, the crowd absolutely loves him, they’re huge fans…”

Loki finds his mind wandering to long ago while the Grandmaster talks.

and second, he almost figures out that ‘Scrapper 142′ is Asgardian, but he’s sort of too blasted to actually put two and two together

“Will you really be fine?” she says and for a moment the quality of her words are different. He squints at her.

The All-speak filters almost all languages into words he can understand. To his ears, they all sound just like the Asgardian language that is his true native tongue, but it always sounds different to hear it truly spoken, when someone is using the language for real, and it is not simply translated through the All-speak. And for a moment, when she speaks, it sounds like she’s actually said it in Asgardian. Then she says it again and it sounds like Thor’s voice in his head. A sigh, and she says it a third time, this time addressing her drink. “Will you really be fine?”

Loki shuts his eyes against the spinning of the room. The languages being spoken around him slip in and out of the All-speak. One second he can understand everyone, each pocket of whispered conversation in the bar. And then he can understand none of them, their words turning into an incomprehensible cacophony in his ears.

That was at least what I could think of off the top of my head/recent little references I was real proud of at the time. XD

[meta asks on a saturday night to make up for me being morose earlier - ask my questions I will not be weird or sad!]

#thanks for asking!#long post #oops #veliseraptor

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redbeardace · 5 years

Text

Asexuality Activism Report Card

[This post is a submission for the October Carnival of Aces, hosted by @asexualawarenessweek, on the theme “Reaching In, Reaching Out”]

Every year around Ace Week, I tend to give encouragement and suggestions about the type of outreach or activism we can do. This year, I’m going to do things a little different and instead give a report card on where I think we are in terms of various kinds of activism/outreach/visibility.

These are solely my opinions and my categories and are based on my experiences and not any kind of exhaustive research or survey. Please feel free to provide your own grades and suggest other areas I might have missed. I also want to note that these grades are not an indictment or attack on any particular group, person, or project. If you’re working on any of these things, you’re part of the solution and your work will make these grades improve over time, so keep at it!

And if you’re doing any of these things, please plug your projects, so people will know about them!

Intra Community - A

We focus an awful lot of energy inward, and that’s a good thing. Extending a helping hand, providing resources, hosting chatrooms, making podcasts, organizing meetup groups, writing lengthy blog posts, hosting conferences and unconferences, selling t-shirts... We’re doing a pretty good job supporting each other from the inside.

Queer Community - B

There are quite a few mainstream LGBTQ groups who openly support us. We often hold our meetups at the queer community center in town. Many aces are involved with LGBTQ organizations. There’s an ace group who goes to Creating Change every year. We’re an obligatory part of many organizations’ Pride messaging. Lots of groups now deliberately use the “LGBTQIA” variant of The Acronym, and make it clear that “A” isn’t for “Allies”. The ace group in the NYC Pride Parade this year (likely the biggest pride parade ever) was deliberately selected to be the 10th contingent, which is a huge deal because the parade was literally 12 hours long.

There are obviously challenges. The uninformed who don’t understand why we’re at the table. The deliberate trolls who relentlessly hound us online. But those people will become irrelevant over time.

Unfortunately, this year marked the first time where I saw Rainbow Capitalism set its sights on us. (With a big name ace group complicit in the exploitation...) So that’s not good.

Everyone Else - D

We are not doing well in this area. There are a few people out there who have heard of asexuality, but not many. Most people use the word wrong or as the insulting punchline to a joke. There isn’t a single household name who has come out as asexual and put themselves out there as an advocate. It’s better than it was 8 years ago, but we’re still mostly invisible.

I don’t really have any suggestions here (except that if you’re famous and asexual, COME OUT), because most of the suggestions I’d have are covered in the other areas.

Direct Outreach - F

By “Direct Outreach”, I’m referring to deliberately trying to find people who are asexual but who are unfamiliar with the term or that do not recognize that they’re asexual for whatever reason. It’s sort of a subset of a lot of these other groups. (And it could probably use a better name...)

I’m calling this out explicitly, because I think this can have the most impact, if we can figure out effective ways of doing it, and I don’t think anyone’s really doing this. (I sort of tried, but it didn’t really work out...) Basically, it would be able getting information about asexuality in front of the people who need it. Taking over the search results for “Why don’t I want sex?”. Writing articles about how some guys just don’t care about that sort of thing for a men’s magazine. Maybe even a direct person to person conversation with that friend who never seems to date. I don’t know, exactly. If I knew, I’d be doing it. But I think it needs to be done.

Fiction Media - C+

There are books with ace characters now! Pretty much entirely YA, though. And either a love story focused on the asexual character being asexual, or where asexuality is a tangential inclusion token with no real value.

There are TV shows with positive ace characters now! Huge step forward from lows of Better Half! Three shows, in fact!. Two of which have been canceled, and the third of which is about to have its final season. And none of which are anywhere close to the popularity of House. And none of which are anywhere close to the popularity of another show which completely erased a main character’s canon asexuality.

There are movies with ace char- Oh no, no there aren’t. Never mind. Same with video games.

While some strides have been made, and having productions actively consulting with groups like Ace LA is a huge step forward, we’re still largely living an area of headcanons and unverified conjecture and Word Of God retcons. There’s so much more than can be done.

Most importantly, we shouldn’t fawn over and praise any little scrap of hope. Demand better.

If you’re in a position to make things, make them. If you’re in a position to influence things to be made, influence them. If you’re in a position to boost content that is made, boost it.

Non-Fiction Media - C-

There are starting to be articles about asexuality that go beyond the typical sensational “There are some people who claim to be asexual, can you believe that, isn’t that SO STRANGE” or the blandly informational 101 interview featuring a picture of sad grey people in bed. Not many, but they’re there. But, at the same time, there are blazingly dismissive assholes hiding behind Ph.Ds, writing things like “’demisexual,’ an unnecessary new substitute for the word ‘human’ ” in articles that are published in 20-fucking-19.

There are a number of podcasts and YouTube videos talking about asexuality, but I don’t know how much reach they have outside of the ace community.

There’s one documentary that hasn’t aged well and I think has been removed from most streaming services, and another that hasn’t been released yet and is phenomenal and you should all see it. So that... Two documentaries.

Taking a quick look on Amazon, there are about seven books of substance on asexuality. Three are academic queer theory textbooks with a very specific audience. Two are self-published. One is a weird collection of essays, half of which have little to do with asexuality at all, written by someone who isn’t ace and who didn’t seem to bother even talking to aces for much of the book. That leaves one book about asexuality for a general audience written by an asexual that had a real publishing run. Just one.

Same with the fiction media, don’t go around hyping any article that mentions asexuality. Some of them are REALLY REALLY BAD. There was one a few months ago that said in an infographic that “Girls working part time have a 33% chance of becoming asexual”, yet it was being uncritically passed around by some high profile aces.

So, y’know, Cs get Degrees or whatever, but we can do soooo much better in this area. Someone go write a book about asexual dating. Someone go write a book about asexual history. Go. Do. Now.

Education/Schools - D

Well, it seems like it’s getting at least mentioned occasionally, and groups like Asexual Outreach have put some work towards this. But we’re still left out of sex ed in most places, and when we are included, the information can be confused, inaccurate, or even ridiculed by the instructor. Tackling this area will, over time, help out every other area on this list, because the next generations will all know and understand what asexuality is, and we won’t have to start from zero in order to get anything done.

Political/Legal - F

Earlier this year, I did a cursory review of anti-discrimination laws as they pertain to asexuality. Where asexuality was protected, it was often by accident. Only one state explicitly mentioned asexual people. Many states which did have strong LGBT anti-discrimination protections have defined “sexual orientation” in such a way to exclude asexuality. Even the “Equality Act” that the Democrats have made a lot of noise about this year has that narrow definition.

We need to start making connections with politicians and political groups, and we need to start leveraging our connections with queer organizations to get them to push for better language in these laws. (Many of the non-discrimination laws were deficient or bizarre in multiple ways, so we’d all be better off with improvements.)

And I should note that it’s an F--- as far as protections for aromantics…

Health Care - D+

Well, we managed to get parts of the DSM-V rewritten. But even those parts are less than ideal. There are some therapists and doctors who are well versed in asexuality, and others who, as I mentioned above, hide behind their Ph.Ds writing horrible things and going unchecked. There’s a raft of sex pills with marketing that explicitly targets people who are probably asexual but don’t know it yet, trying to sell them worthless junk that will make them suddenly black out randomly or permanently change the color of their skin. We’re still not an option on the clipboard the doctor hands you to fill out. We’re still forced to take unnecessary and invasive tests for no practical reason.

I think we need to be showing up at health care conferences. We need to be reaching out to local providers. We need to be telling people how they should be treating us, instead of letting them fumble around and hopefully get it right on their own.

#asexual #asexuality #carnival of aces #asexual visibility #ace week #asexual awareness week #ace report card

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 5 years

Text

Chapter Eleven:

The One With Higher Stakes and Dire Consequences

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy orphan schedule to see me,” Vice Principal Nero barked, yanking open the door before they could knock. The children looked uneasy at one another. “Hurry up and come inside. Every minute I spend talking to you is a minute I could spend practicing the violin, and when you’re a musical genius like me, every minute counts.”

The three children walked into the tiny office and immediately noticed Coach Genghis standing in the far corner, leaning his back against the wall, smirking at the three children. Nero glared at them waiting for them to clap their hands for him. All three siblings slowly and softly began clapping their tired hands together as Nero took a few bows. “There are two things I wanted to talk to you about,” He said once the children stopped applauding. “Do you know what they are?”

“No, sir,” Violet said annoyed.

“ No, sir,” Nero mimicked, “Well, for starters, Coach Genghis, here, tells me that even after running laps for nine hours every night, you remain out of shape and winded. Your teachers say you’ve flunked quizzes in personal anecdotes and measuring random objects. And finally, don’t even get me started on Sunny’s employee evaluation. I couldn’t more disgusted if I’d written it myself!” He barked throwing the employee evaluation at the children.

“You did write it yourself,” Klaus pointed out.

“ You did write it yourself,” Nero mimicked. “Don’t get smart with me, boy!”

Klaus shrunk back a bit behind Violet but kept a firm grip on Sunny’s hand.

“Not to mention, you three have missed thirteen of my violin recitals, and each of you owes me a bag of candy for each one. Thirteen bags of candy times three equals forty-nine,”

“Thirty-nine,” Violet corrected.

“ Thirty-nine,” Nero mimicked annoyed. “Are you getting smart with me, too, orphan girl?”

Unlike Klaus, Violet stood tall, keeping her head up. Glaring at both the despicable men in the room.

“Also, Carmelita Spats informed me that she has delivered you fourteen messages and you’ve never given her a single tip,” Nero said. “That’s a disgrace and rather cheap of you three. Now, I think a nice tip for such an adorable little girl should be a pair of earrings with precious stones, so you ower her fourteen pairs of earrings. What do you have to say about that?”

“I think a Vice-Principal should not be referring to any of his students as ‘adorable’,” Violet said angrily.

“You’re just jealous,” Nero remarked angrily. “That no one finds you to be adorable,”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Genghis remarked under his breath. Nero did not hear him but the children definitely did. Violet’s skin crawled and her blood boiled. Klaus glared daggers at Genghis as he made his way in front of Violet rather than behind her. He still kept his grip on Sunny’s hand but he felt like it was his job to protect Violet as much as she would protect him.

“Now do you have anything to say about the topics at hand?” Nero asked.

The orphans looked at one another with their sleepy, sleepy eyes. They had nothing to say about that. They had plenty to think about that, that they’d only missed Nero’s atrocious concerts because Coach Genghis had forced them to. They wondered how someone who didn’t know that thirteen times three was thirty-nine was able to be a Vice Principal. And that tips are always optional and usually consist of money instead of earrings. But the children were too tired to argue all of these points to this tyrannical piece of shit. This disappointed Nero as he stood waiting for one of the children to say something so he can rudely mock them.

“You three,” he began when he realized that the children weren’t going to respond to his question. “Have become the three worst students Prufrock Preparatory School has ever seen. Mr. Poe told me that you two were very intelligent and hard-working children, but you’re just a bunch of cake-sniffing orphans!”

This was Violet’s breaking point. “We’re the three worst students because we’re fucking exhausted!” she barked.

“And we’re fucking exhausted because that piece of shit forces us to run laps every night!” Klaus barked, pointing at Genghis.

“Galuka!” Sunny shrieked, which meant, “So yell at that piece of shit! Not us!”

Nero gave the children a big smile, delighted that he was able to answer them in his favorite way. “ We’re the three worst students because we’re fucking exhausted!” He mimicked. “ And we’re fucking exhausted because that piece of shit forces us to run laps every night! Galuka! I have had enough of your nonsense! Prufrock Preparatory Schoool has promised you an excellent education, and excellent education, you will get...or, in Sunny’s case, an excellent job as an administrative assistant! But…” Nero said slowly calming down. “Luckily, for you, your new gym teacher has a solution. Jim,”

Genghis smirked at the children as he walked slowly towards them. A dark grin plastered on his face as he looked at each tired child in front of him. “Let me tell you...a story,”

Klaus groaned in agony as Genghis continued. “Homeschooling,”

“What?” Klaus asked, his eyes widening and his heart shattering.

“Homeschooling,” Nero explained, “It means staying at home, sitting at your kitchen table, instead of clogging up a classroom,”

Sunny gripped Klaus’ hand tighter as she felt him begin to shake. “V-vice Principal N-Nero,” Klaus stuttered. “Mr. Poe specifically placed us at Prufrock. He wants us to stay here at least a trimester.”

“Keep your grades up, or I’ll toss you three out on your rears!”

“Your wealthy rears,” Genghis commented.

“Now, tomorrow morning I’ve instructed Mr. Remora and Mrs. Bass to give you both more-or-less comprehensive exams in front of the whole school. Violet, you’d better remember every detail of Mr. Remora’s stories. Klaus, you’d better remember the length, width, and depths of all of Mrs. Bass’ objects, or I will expel you from school. And for Sunny, a professional reappraisal featuring a special sequence of demeaning menial tasks. If you don’t complete them to my satisfaction, I will fire you.”

“What happens…” Klaus asked worriedly. “If we’re expelled and fired?”

“If you fail,” Genghis said, smile plastered on his face, “it’s off to Coach Genghis’ Ultra-Dynamic Life-Ending Workshop,” he said chuckling.

“We’ll pass those exams and reappraisal,” Violet replied.

“O-of course, we will,” Klaus agreed nervously.

“If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to study in our shack,” Violet said picking up Sunny slowly.

“You don’t have much time,” Genghis commented. “You’re due at the athletic field for Special Orphan Running Exercise in a matter of hours,”

“We still have to run laps?!” Klaus yelled.

“Of course,” Genghis replied.

“And it doesn’t mean you’ll be excused from tonight’s violin recital. Ooooh, you’re going to owe me three more bags of candy!”

“We can’t study for comprehensive exams and run laps all night!” Violet pleaded.

“We’d have to be two places at once!” Klaus reasoned.

“Consider this a learning experience, orphans,” Genghis said. “It’s important you figure out the balance between academics and extracurricular activities,”

Nero nodded his head in agreement. “Well said, Genghis,”

Violet sighed in frustration.

“Listen to us!” Klaus begged. “This man is…”

“This is not Count Olaf.” The advanced computer interrupted as Genghis stuck his face into its camera.

“Oh, goodness, how careless of me,” Genghis replied glaring coldly at Klaus. “Now...what is it you were saying?”

Klaus whimpered as he and his sisters turned to leave Nero’s office. Once outside, the three children quickly explained what was happening to their friends.

“This is awful!” Duncan cried as the five children trudged across the lawn so they could talk things over in peace. “There’s no way you can get an A on those exams, particularly if you have to run laps tonight!”

“This is dreadful!” Isadora cried. “There’s no way you can make all those staples, either! You’ll be homeschooled before you know it!”

Klaus, who was the quietest of the three when they were updating the Quagmires about their meeting with Nero, shook his head. “Oh...he’s not...he’s not going to homeschool us…” he whispered. “He’s going to do things much, much worse. So much worse,”

“Klaus…” Duncan said putting a comforting hand on Klaus. “It’s going to be okay,”

“No...no it’s not. It’s never going to be okay!” Klaus yelled. “He’s...he’s won. Do you know why!?”

“Why?” Isadora asked.

“Because there’s no one here who can help us,” Klaus whispered. Violet looked at him with a look that was a mix of hurt and anger.

“Wait a minute,” Violet began.

“No!” Klaus yelled looking up at her, with his tear-soaked eyes. “I’m sorry but you can’t do this...you can’t...you can’t help us and the one person who did help us...he’s dead. He’s fucking dead because of us…”

“Klaus…” Violet began. “It’s not your fault that he’s…”

“Yes, it is!” Klaus yelled. “You’re a kid, Violet! You can’t stop Olaf...I can’t stop Olaf...no one can stop him! Your father was an amazing man for trying...and I do apologize that I got you into this mess…”

“Stop talking like that,” Isadora chimed in taking Sunny from Violet. Violet hugged Klaus tightly.

“Stop…” Violet whispered to him. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Remember my promise?”

Klaus slowly nodded his head. “I’m giving you the chance to take it back. Take back your promise,”

“Why would I ever do that?”

“It’s too dangerous. He’s got us. Sunny and I are as good as dead...but you. You can run...hide…” Klaus pleaded.

“I’m not..”

“Violet...this should have never happened to you. Your father didn’t deserve to die...I’m sorry for ever involving you or him…”

“Stop talking like this,” Violet cried sternly. “I am in this for the long run. No matter what,”

“I can’t let you,”

“That’s funny...I never asked for permission,” Violet commented. “Klaus...I am doing this because I am your sister...I am doing this because this is what my father would be doing had he not met a fiery death...I’m not going to let his death be for nothing. He died trying to save you guys. I’m going to do the same...because that’s what family is for,”

“You’re in way over your head,”

“Like father, like daughter,” she replied shrugging her shoulders.

He smiles at that but shakes his head. “No,” Klaus cried grabbing Violet by her shoulders. “You...you don’t know what he’s capable of!”

“Well, I will once you tell me,”

“NO!” Klaus yelled. “You’re going to have to just...trust me on this, Vi. You and the Quagmires are to run to safety...Sunny and I can handle our own,”

“Snickets take care of their own,” She informed him. “You and Sunny...are my siblings. Which means…” she spoke slowly, trying to get this through Klaus’ thick skull. “ You are my own. I’m not letting that piece of shit hurt you guys anymore. He wants you, he’ll have to go through me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Klaus yelled shaking her shoulders. “ You don’t know what he’s capable of!”

Violet looked into her brother’s eyes and what she saw...not only destroyed her but enraged her all the same. She could see so much fear in his eyes, a level of fear that she couldn’t explain because he wouldn’t. She could see desperation...she can also see just how exhausted and fatigued he truly was and she knew it wasn’t only because of the thirteen egregious days of S.O.R.E that he had endured...it was because whatever Olaf had done to them back when she wasn’t involved, haunted him. It eats at him...it eats him alive. She swore that she would make the man who did this to her brother and sister pay. She gave Klaus a small smile as she pushed his hands from her shoulders. “That’s fine,” she said finally. “He doesn’t know what I’m capable of either,”

“Are Snickets all this stubborn?” Klaus asked annoyed.

“Actually,” Violet replied smirking. “My father said I get that from our Mother. So that means Baudelaires are stubborn,”

Klaus rolled his eyes.

“Look, I ran into a burning building in an attempt to save my father,” Violet told him.

“Wait, you did what?” Klaus asked. “Are you crazy?”

“Possibly. But that’s not my point,” Violet replied. “I’d honestly do the same for you guys...and I’ve only known you for two weeks. But it feels like I’ve known you two your whole lives,”

“Elsna,” Sunny shrieked, which meant, “Yep, you and I are definitely sisters!” Klaus translated for Sunny as Violet smiled.

He turned to the Quagmires. “I wouldn’t blame you if you guys were to leave and forget all about us,”

Duncan put his hand in Klaus. “I’m not leaving you,” he said staring into Klaus’ eyes. “The five of us will defeat him,”

“Together,” Isadora added, slipping her hand into Violet’s. “Now we need a plan,”

“Well…we now know his plan. He made us run laps all those nights because he knew we’d be exhausted. He knew we’d flunk our classes, or fail to perform our secretarial duties. He knew we’d be expelled from Prufrock and then he can get his filthy hands on us,”

Klaus groaned. “We were waiting for his plan to be clear, and now it is. But it might be too late,”

“It’s never too late,” Violet replied letting go of Isadora’s hand as she began to tie up her hair. “The comprehensive exams aren’t until tomorrow,”

“But we have more laps tonight,”

“What we need is a plan, a complicated plan that,” Duncan suggested. Violet stepped a few feet away from the four younger orphans, which allowed them to continue on their conversation while she focused solely on concentrating.

“We have to get Violet ready for Remora’s test,” Isadora mentioned. “And Klaus ready for Bass’ test,”

“And we have to make staples for Sunny,” Duncan reminded.

“And you guys still have to run laps,” Isadora commented.

“Brooklyn,” Sunny chimed in, which meant, “And we have to stay awake and go another night with no sleep,”

“I can’t think of anything,” Violet admitted frustratingly.

“Mama,” Sunny suggested as she pointed to the silver, heart-shaped locket that hung from Violet’s neck.

Violet smiled at her little sister as she opened the locket starting at the picture of the woman inside. She stared intensely at her mother. Come on...if there was ever a time where I absolutely needed a brilliant idea, it would be now. I have to protect them! Help me protect your kids! Violet thought.

The four younger orphans all watched as she silently stood there, locket opened and at eye level. Her hair tied up to keep from distracting her. Klaus took this time to polish his glasses and set them back on his nose. Sunny scraped her teeth together, to make sure they were sharp enough for any task ahead. And the two triplets took our their notebooks from their uniform’s pockets. Coach Genghis’ evil plan had become clear through the prism of the Snicket, Baudelaire, and Quagmire experiences, and now they had to use their experience to make a plan of their own.

Violet’s head shot up as she closed her locket setting it back to where it belonged. She turned around to face the four orphans, giving them a big smile.

“Violet?” Isadora asked with anticipation.

“I think I’ve got it!” She said smiling deviously.

“We’re listening,” Duncan replied.

The three siblings and their two triplet friends now sat in the Orphan Shack, which had never looked less unpleasant than it did now. All five children were wearing the noisy shoes that violet had invented, so the territorial crabs were nowhere to be seen. The salt had dried up the dripping tan fungus into a hard beige crust that was not particularly attractive but at least did not plop! Drops of fungus juice on the youngsters. The Orphan Shack had become quite a bit less mountainous and quite a bit more molehilly since their arrival. It still had a long way to go to be attractive and comfortable living quarters, but for thinking of a plan, it would do in a pinch.

And the children were certainly in a pinch. If Violet, Klaus, and Sunny spent one more exhausting night running laps, they would flunk their comprehensive exams and secretarial assignment and then Coach Genghis would whisk them away from Prufrock Prep, and as they thought about this, they could almost feel Genghis’ bony fingers pinching the life right out of them. The Quagmires were so worried for their partners and best friend that they felt pinched as well, even though they were not directly in danger...or so they thought, anyway.

“I can’t believe we didn’t figure out his plan earlier,” Isadora commented mournfully.

“We did all that research, and we still didn’t figure it out,” Duncan remarked remorsefully.

“Don’t feel bad,” Klaus replied. “Sunny and I have had many encounters with this fucker and it’s always difficult to figure out his scheme,”

“We were trying to find out the history of Count Olaf,” Duncan informed. Violet’s head shot up in interest. A history of him...might have pieces that could be of her parents’ history. She thought. “When we snuck into the library, we found that the library has a pretty good collection of old newspapers, and we thought if we could find out some of his previous schemes, we might figure out this one.”

“That’s a good idea,” Klaus muttered.

“I never would have thought of that,” Violet admitted.

“We figured that Olaf must have been an evil man even before he encountered you, Baudeliares,” Isadora explained. “So we looked up things in old newspapers. But it was difficult to find too many articles because as you know he always uses a fake name and disguise. But we found a person matching his description in the Bangkok Gazette, who was arrested for strangling a bishop but escaped prison in just ten minutes.”

“That sounds like him, all right,” Klaus muttered.

“And then in the Verona Daily News, there was a man who had thrown a rich widow from a cliff. He had a tattoo of an eye on his ankle, but he had eluded authorities,” Duncan explained.

“Violet?” Isadora asked gently shaking Violet. “You’re not napping, are you?”

Violet giggled. “No silly goose, I’m concentrating,” she said pointing at her tied up hair. “I think I figured out how to help Sunny with the staples. But I can’t figure out how I can invent something and study at the same time. And since S.O.R.E began, I haven’t taken good notes in class, so I won’t be able to remember his pointless stories.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that, silly,” Isadora replied smiling at Violet. She held out her black journal for Violet. “I’ve written down every one of Mr. Remora’s boring ass stories. Every boring detail is recorded in this notebook,”

“And I’ve written down how long, wide, and deep all of Mrs. Bass’ pointless objects are,” Duncan informed handing Klaus his green notebook. “You can study from my notebook, Klaus. And Violet can study from Isadora’s.”

“Thank you,” Klaus said smiling at Duncan. “But you’re forgetting something. We are supposed to be running laps this evening. We don’t have time to read anybody’s notebook and he definitely isn’t going to let us read them while running.”

“Fuck,” Sunny replied. “Tarcour,” she whined, which meant “you’re right. S.O.R.E always last until dawn, and the tests are first thing in the morning,”

“If only we had one of the world’s great inventors to help us,” Violet said, “I wonder what Nikola Tesla would do.”

“Or one of the world’s greatest journalists,” Duncan said. “I wonder what Moxie Mallahan would do in our situation.”

“And I wonder what Hammurabi, the ancient Babylonian, would do to help us,” Klaus informed. “He was one of the world’s greatest researchers.”

“Or the great poet Lord Byron,” Isadora added.

“Piranha?” Sunny mused.

“Who knows what any of those people or fish would do in our shoes?” violet said. “It’s impossible to know.”

Isadora’s head shot up. She looked at Duncan, who seemed to be having the exact same idea, “In our shoes!” Isadora yelled happily.

“That’s it!” Duncan yelled agreeing with his sister.

“What’s it?” Klaus asked confused.

“How will my noisy shoes help?” Violet asked.

“No, no,” Duncan said. “I’m thinking about Coach Genghis’ expensive running shoes that he said he couldn’t take off because his feet were smelly,”

“I bet they are smelly,” Isadora commented. “I’ve noticed that he doesn’t bathe much,”

“But that’s not why he hears them,” Klaus explained. “He wears them for a disguise,”

“ Exactly!” The two Quagmire triplets yelled in unison.

“I’m sorry…” Violet said.

“Lost,” Sunny said, which meant, “We don’t follow,”

“When you said, ‘in our shoes’, you gave us this idea,” Isadora explained.

“We know it’s an expression meaning ‘in our situation’ but what if someone else were actually in your shoes?” Duncan added.

“What if we disguised ourselves as you,” Isadora suggested. “Then we could run laps for you and you could stay here and study for your exams,”

“And make your staples for your job,” Duncan added.

“Disguise yourselves…” Klaus repeated in panic. “...as us? No way! Absolutely out of question!” he yelled.

“You two look exactly like each other, anyway,” Violet countered. “But you don’t look anything like us,”

“So what?” Duncan said. “It’ll be dark tonight. When we’ve watched you from the bleachers, all we could see were three shadowy figures running,”

“That’s true,” Isadora agreed. “If I took the ribbon from your hair, Violet and Duncan took glasses to look like Klaus, we’d look enough like you that I bet Coach Shitfuck wouldn’t tell,”

“But your hair is shorter than mine, I have bangs,” Violet countered.

“We’ll figure it out,” Isadora insisted.

“Out of the question,” Klaus replied.

“We can even switch shoes, so our running sounds like your running,” Duncan added.

“But what about Sunny?” Violet countered.

“We’re not doing this!” Klaus shouted.

“Shush, hun,” Duncan replied patting Klaus’ hand. “What about Sunny?”

“There’s no way two people can disguise themselves as three,” Violet countered.

The Quagmires’ faces fell, “If only Quigley were here,” Isadora mused.

“I just know he’d be willing to dress up as a toddler if it meant helping you guys,” Duncan said.

Violet closed her eyes, her hands untying her ribbon and tying it up again. “What if I built a pretend Sunny,”

“Robot?” Sunny mused.

‘Not necessarily a robot but...like a dummy,”

“That could work,” Isadora agreed. “Sunny’s super tiny even though I know she’s a toddler, she’s small for her age and still looks like a big baby...no offense, Sunny. You know I love you,”

“Denada,” Sunny said, shrugging but smiling at the triplet girl.

“We can find a lot of material that’s as big as Sunny,” Duncan announced as Violet nodded.

“No!” Klaus yelled. “Being in each other’s shoes seems like an extremely risky plan! If it fails, not only are we in trouble but you are as well, and who knows what Coach Genghis would do to you?”

I hate to inform you, but, this, as it turns out, was a question that would haunt the orphans for quite some time, but the Quagmires gave it barely a thought. “Don’t worry about that,” Duncan said. “The important thing is to keep you out of his clutches. It may be a risky plan, but being in each other’s shoes is the only thing we’ve been able to think of,”

“And besides, it’s what friends are for,” Isadora explained as Duncan nodded. “You would do the same for us, and you know it,”

Violet looked at her siblings who both slowly nodded their heads. All three siblings knew that the Quagmires were entirely correct.

“Now we don’t wanna waste any time trying to think of something else,” Isadora stated. “Let’s get moving,”

“We need to find material to build a pretend Sunny,” Violet explained.

“Kitchen?” Sunny suggested.

The four older orphans looked at one another and then at Sunny, all nodding their heads at her suggestion.

______________________________________________________

A little before dinner, the children snuck into the deserted kitchen. Violet pushed open the doors. “Coast is clear,” she whispered as Duncan walked in with Klaus’ hand in his. Isadora held tightly to Sunny. Violet waited until all four younger orphans were inside before closing the door slowly. “Duncan…” she whispered. “Can you be look out?”

Duncan gave her a thumbs up. “Okay...find some material to make fake glasses,” Violet whispered as the four others split up.

Almost immediately, Sunny grabbed a pair of egg tongs. “Focals?” she asked her older sister.

“Sunny, you are fucking brilliant,” Violet whispered in reply, rubbing Sunny’s head. “You think you can help me out with that…”

Sunny studied the tongs carefully and replied with a thumbs up.

Klaus grabbed a pair of dishwashing gloves. “These might come in handy,” he whispered.

Violet smiled. “Good job, y’all. You guys are thinking like inventors. Remember there is always something,”

Violet glanced at Sunny. “We need something for the body,” she whispered to Isadora. Isadora looked around the kitchen, her eyes fixating on a big bag of flour.

“Would flour work?” she asked Violet.

Violet glanced from Sunny to the bag of flour. “Hell yeah, it will. Okay. Isadora grab the flour. I’ll carry Sunny and…”

“Fuck,” Duncan whispered. “Someone’s coming,”

Sunny quickly hid behind the bags of flour. Violet and Isadora ran for the pantry, making sure to keep the door slightly ajar, so they can see what was happening. Klaus and Duncan quickly ran behind carts containing clean cookware. All five orphans didn’t dare make a peep as the person entered the kitchen. They couldn’t see who it was because they made sure to keep all the kitchen lights off but all five orphans were pretty sure they knew exactly who it was because they could hear the tapping of her tap shoes.

They listened and watched as the silhouette of Carmelita grabbed a bucket from where Sunny was hiding. Sunny held her breath as Carmelita didn’t notice her and carried the bucket to the dessert case. All five orphans looked at one another as best as they could, utterly confused. They watched as the bully stepped on top of the bucket, take a deep breath, and then plunge her face into a cake covered in powdered sugar. They could hear a few quick sniffing sounds as Carmelita removed her nose from the cake. All five orphans had to suppress and muffle their laughter as they watched the bully, whose nose and mouth was now covered in powder sugar, put the bucket back where she had found it and gave a few quiet sneezes as she exited the kitchen.

Once they were sure the coast was clear, all five children burst out laughing. Isadora laughed so hard that she and Violet fell on to each other. Klaus and Duncan were laughing so hard that they couldn’t breathe and even Sunny, who slowly walked out of her hiding place to meet with her siblings and best friends was laughing so hard that she was wiping tears from her eyes.

“That…” Violet said still laughing.

“Was…” Duncan said chuckling.

“Perfect,” Sunny said practically squealing.

Klaus grabbed the smaller materials as Duncan grabbed Sunny. Isadora grabbed the bag of flour as Violet grabbed a few more random objects that she believed could come in handy and all five children exited the kitchen, heading towards the Orphan Shack laughing their asses off.

The five orphans walked back to the Orphan Shack, they walked nervously from the cafeteria to shack. And although they were laughing at Carmelita’s expense, they were all very nervous. They were nervous because they were not supposed to have snuck into the kitchen to steal materials for an invention. They were nervous because their plan was indeed a risky one. It is not a pleasant feeling, as you and I know, to be nervous, and I would not wish for small children to be any more nervous than Violet Snicket and the Baudelaires and the Quagmires. But I must say that they weren’t nervous enough. They didn’t need to be more nervous about sneaking into the cafeteria, even though it was against the rules. But they should have been far more nervous about their plan, and about what would happen that evening when the sun set on the brown lawn and the sunrise to shine brighter than the luminous circle. They should have been nervous, now, in their regular shoes, about what would happen when they were in each others.

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hunterartemis · 5 years

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The Assistant : Chapter 11 : Midnight in Paris

Chapter Summary: (not much of Maxine X Newt sorry), but what happens when you put two ex-aurors and a magizoologist into the most dangerous prison in all of Europe? There will always be consequences when something involves a Scamander--or two.

Please enjoy these guys, I have put a lot of thoughts in composing the details

Word limits: 6173 (woo my highest)

Chapter Theme : Scotland by The Lumineers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1fGkB9B0eQ

Newt’s eye opened with a start to the usual cacophony of alarm and he sat up to see that it is nearly nine. Surprisingly he found himself at the bottom of his sitting room sofa with his Lanvin couture still on. There was the half eaten bowl of stone cold soup and some vomit and blood on the floor, but nothing else—what a weird dream, he thought he had been arrested for bringing Maxine in his house.

Hurrying to freshen up and dress, he made himself tea and some toast and decided to jot down some ideas that he got from Romania, Dragons—what a wonderful creation he thought. Between the bites and scribbling his eyes fell on the opposite wall next to him—there was a big damp on the wallpaper that needed fixing, he wondered about how he didn’t noticed it earlier.

Maxine walked inside in all punctuality, like always and after her usual crooked smile and a polite greeting of good morning descended downstairs to change into the tunic. Newt was relieved to see her absolutely cherry—but there was something forcefulness about it, and then he remember how strong and optimistic Maxine is, she trying to cope with such a difficult situation with a forceful smile, although it broke his heart, but he was certainly happy that she was trying her best.

“Good morning, glad to see you decided to join me—I thought what happened yesterday,” Newt halted to euphemise the uncomfortable and unpleasant details “you and I won’t be in same terms anymore--” Newt asked her out of the blue.

“What, what happened yesterday? Do you want me out of the job?” Maxine answered with a snap, which obviously disarmed Newt, “No, no... Nothing happened, just—I saw you at the end of the party—you seemed pretty drunk and nearly fainting--”.

“Are you saying that we did something we shouldn’t have--? Merlin, I would have loved to see your face--”Nope, She was definitely his assistant. Without further ado, Newt resumed his days work and for some reason, the whole day he couldn’t concentrate a single bit—in that flawless familiarity of his underground basement, something was off; he couldn’t point it out whether it was the smell of the animal’s excrement or the flowing sound of the River Beauly where the Kelpie splashed and dived once in a while. When it became too unbearable, Newt took a breather upstairs to sit himself down and have a cup of tea.

Suddenly his eyes fell on a rectangular object sitting on his table. Last night he didn’t get to open Dumbledore’s letter so he decided to open the letter now.

My dear friend Newt,

I received the letter the night you posted it from the Leaky Cauldron, the aroma of their pea soup still lingered on the envelope, but I was astonished to see your request. The thing is Newt, the woman working for you is no ordinary one, I have to admit I have seen many complicated student, but Maxine Valois still intrigues me. Really advance for her age, came at Hogwarts at 14, and her intellect compelled us to admit her in the sixth year. I doubt that anyone will exceed her level of excellence, both mental and academic, but her past is completely shrouded by mystery. She took almost half an hour to be sorted, and when she was sorted in Ravenclaw, I was frequently getting other sixth years complaints that something sinister was about her which scared even the older students; but all their complaints were cast aside because I refused to believe them and there were no proof against her. They claimed that they didn’t felt safe around her. As it was a troubled time, I often set up her interviews with ministry officials, highly trained in Legillimency, but no one could penetrate her mind. They claimed she was hiding something but couldn’t say what. It got to a point whenever her interviews came she would lie outrageously to the Legillimens and immediately after that either a student or a teacher would get hurt. Three students failed their OWLs despite being best of their years; although they claimed that they aced the exam, but the papers were found blank. They immediately committed suicide. Of course Miss Valois denied them, but the patterns were conspicuous and no one could prove anything.

When things got out of control, I took matters in my own hands and I am not proud of what I learned. I don’t know either it was my skills or her own willingness but I was able to look into her past. I recognised her mother Audrey Page immediately, as she shared some facial and cerebral features with. Before Maxine came into Hogwarts she was admitted in Durmstrang at the age of seven, and she was already in seventh year of the school when she was thirteen—ready to awarded as the youngest graduate of all times. But the regime of Durmstang was not suitable for a tender aged girl like her, and soon she made a habit out of the Dark Arts and with a prodigious mind such as hers, she slid into completely dark path—and soon it consumed the whole of her mind. An unloving family, a matchless brain, constant evil influences and surrounded by peers who are far older than her forced her easy maturity into a perverted distortion—however no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get the specific details. But in the midst of all the negative, a single positive thing happened in her life, she made a powerful bond with one of her classmate (who was, in actuality four years older than her), someone named Anatole Malfoy—

“Anatole—that makes sense—he sounded like someone who knew Maxine beforehand--” but then Newt continued to read

--who apparently attempted to understand her and supported her uniqueness, but then something awful happened between them, something brutal or shameful, which despite of tireless coaxing I couldn’t get it out of her system, and it caused her expulsion from the school. Apparently the incident was so shameful that it was far more choicely for Hrothgar to out her blood secret which was placed as the excuse for which she was expelled from Durmstrang, instead of the incident that took place as the real reason.

Another conspicuous thing about her was that the younger students were awfully fond of her, and she for them. In fact many younger students spoke that if it wasn’t for her, they would have felt lonely .Most of the teachers maintained a distance from her. However the moment I got to see a glimpse of her true nature I couldn’t help but to feel a little sad about her; she smiled relentlessly when she wanted to but I couldn’t help but to feel that it was her greatest lie. I never saw a better liar than her whose sadness rocked my core. So Newt my friend, whenever you see her smile, just look into her eyes to check if it is real—I hope for your and her sake that it is, because I know someone that reminds me of her.

Albus Dumbledore.

Newt came downstairs with a heavy heart and tried to recall every time she smiled; her smile that felt cold now had a reason. It was made of stainless steel that armoured her heart from the world. Between all those lip and attitude, resided a deeply lonely woman—she was indeed very similar to Leta, but Maxine knew how to mock grief and despair with her crooked sarcastic smile, Leta didn’t.

At the end of the shift, he saw Maxine packing—strange how the time flies; in fact time just vanished in a few moments. He hid himself behind the shed and watched how Maxine stripped off her outer tunic and was wearing her leather gauntlet gloves. Newt came out of the shed and walked towards his assistant.

“Leaving early today--” he commented casually, “makes sense—if I was you, I would have taken a day off, quite a drink you had last night--”

“—what early, it’s nearly 7:30—I think you should check your watch” Maxine tied her buckles of her gloves, and as Newt went to check his watch it looked that it was stopped at 4Pm. He again looked at Maxine, who was humming along as she dressed herself, and that send Newt’s nerves in fire with a frustration of knowing something was wrong but not finding it. He took a deep breath and as gently as possible he asked,

“How’s Anatole?”

“Why did you ask that?” Maxine answered almost promptly, and when she looked at Newt’s face, Newt stomped towards her and grabbed her wrist so harshly that was unlike himself. He could feel the heat slowly building up in his face as a result of the outburst of frustration. He looked at Maxine’s face again and this time, for the first time in his life—Maxine looked at him with alarm.

“What’s the matter with you today—you are behaving oddly...!” Maxine got herself off with a jerk and started to massage her wrist and eyed Newt suspiciously, “you are behaving like a bloody moron you are—why, why are you laughing at me—Newt, you are scaring me, stop doing that--” Maxine took out her wand and pointed at him with her shaking hands

“Give it up now you imposter and tell me who you are--” Newt spoke in a low threatening voice and took out his wand out of his pocket, he was constantly pacing forward, leading his assistant to pace steadily backwards, who tentatively answered, “don’t be absurd, I am Maxine, your assistant--”

“Lie--” Newt spoke steadily, because he now could understand what was wrong with this place, ‘I was sure that something was wrong with this place the moment you entered the building—it was not you who was wrong, but something about that rhythm of yours that was off, turns out, I was so hyperaware that I had been hearing the sound of the watch ticking—not mine, since it is stopped, but yours—it’s not going tick-tock, but tock-tick—like a time turner, very subtle, but why would you disguise a time turner under my roof, the only answer is, I am currently stuck in a limbo, like a ghost condemned to repeat myself over and over again.’ Newt said almost breathlessly, ‘and I also have a theory about the death of my watch—you see, the moment I surprised you, if you were real Maxine, you would have exclaimed in French or spoke a bit in French, since it is only natural that alarm effects the basic instinct, to scream and to exclaim—but everything around me including you are a poorly constructed shadow of my memory—since I don’t know or understand French, a replicator of my memory cannot recreate it--’

Maxine, who was standing in front of Newt lowered her wand and with an almost-Maxine-like smirk she looked at Newt’s way, “well done--” he voice sent a chill to Newt’s spine because whatever spoke underneath Maxine’s mask, if it were remotely humanlike, Newt would not like to meet it. The ice-cold indifference and glassy shrill resembled Banshee’s screech, but there was a melody that reminded Newt of the church organ that plays ominous and awe inspiring tone to the unbelieving public to portray there was something wrathful that could destroy them.

“What are you?” Newt asked, but the creature that had Maxine’s shape laughed sardonically, completely ignoring the question. When its laugh stopped, it looked at Newt with its angular black eyes and said “took you 1789451254422269 times to go through the same day to understand—but remember human, you only made it worse. I could have kept you happy until the job was done, but you had to poke your nose into this business--”

Suddenly everything darkened around Newt, like it does after a play or an opera just ended in a theatre, and he felt that the room shrunk itself around him and all the six walls barricaded him into a small, cemented coffin. The condensed darkness sucked all the air out of Newt’s lungs and within it; he struggled like a fish freshly out of water. However his endless screams and struggles were not in vain—something collapsed near his foot, and a speck of the less dark intruded through it. Newt, with all his energy crawled on his back towards his leg and the space slid him into open.

His eyes were adjusting into the darkness and he found himself a circular shaped hollow, and except the space he just slid from, as he went around, feeling the wall around him blindly, there was no single hole or crack there—the wall felt exceptionally smooth, like solidified butter or rosin, but there was no stickiness of it—Newt’s memory that had been altered in the hallucination was coming back now, he was deported into French soil with Tina and Theseus to be imprisoned in the Geolier Tower of Silence, and right now he must be inside of it—but how is it possible that he was ‘buried’ inside a solid wall which didn’t seem any harder than damp wood, then again—the hallucinations must have been in operation until he was dead. The mere comprehension made his skin crawl—if he was buried inside the wall, so are Tina and Theseus.

So with his bare hands he went thudding and knocking about all around the wall, and when he was about to give up, he heard low and muffled thumps, like that on a damp wood and then with two thuds and groaning, he was sure that his female ‘friend’ and his brother was retrieved.

“Good bloody blooming, this place is dark--” a grumpy male voice spoke out of annoyance, and Newt silently laughed at his brother, “I am glad you are alright Theseus--”

“That was horrible--” Tina squirmed, “I was dining with my dead mother and father, they were about to approve Jacob and Queenie’s marriage--”

“You must be one mean son of a nutter then--” Theseus spoke with a bit of humour.

“Don’t try and sound so smart—it was horrible when I realised my parents are dead and Queenie and--”

“Question is--” Newt interrupted the flow of conversation to know what was going on, “how are we going to get out of here—we don’t have wands--”

“First rule of the book Newt, if you want to get outta here, you first need a good strategy, cannot fight them dementors like naked wee balmies, right?”

“Did you hit your head or something—you sound all weird--” Tina commented out of the blue, but there was one person was not really responding, Newt. He was pondering all by himself, sitting in the dark and suddenly he had a realisation.

“I don’t think there is any dementor Theseus--” he said quietly, “first of all, the presence of the dementor keeps the environment very, very cold, which acts as an immobilizing agent to the prisoners who are lightly dressed—but here” Newt stopped as if to quizzically examine the musty darkness, “this place is warm—and—moist. Anyway—whatever is this place, it is not a prison for the ordinary—all our hallucinations, they weren’t a hostile thing—they were immobilising us, like anasthesizing, until we are done.”

“What do you mean... what do you mean by done? We were sent here to die?” Tina asked Newt, “but we are political prisoners, not murderers--”

“—I think it is apt to say that corruption is not really uncommon in any government in the world. They went on this far on a simple false allegation—the nerve of Maxine, cruel, cruel woman—what I didn’t do for her--”

“—I don’t think it was Maxine, Theseus. She might have been a Duchess and all but this kind of political power!—anyway, it is a matter for later, now we have to think how we are going to escape from here. Whatever was keeping here never had any escapee so I assume that we should think fast and faster because we haven’t our wands--”

‘Lumos’

A sudden burst of silvery wispy light illuminated Tina’s small pale face, and this little incident, no matter how mundane it may seem to the wizarding eye sent sparks of joy in the minds of Theseus and Newt. When they started to laudate Tina, she explained with full self satisfaction that she cleverly replicated their wands when they were being handed in the ministry, and hid the originals in the pockets of her knickers.

“But how did you do that? Moreover, you cannot just replicate wands... the cores and the wood are made in very different manner than the mundane objects--” Newt asked Tina.

“I had some inside help—remember the editor I spoke about? He bribed the prison guard that he would obtain the wands as soon as their cores and woods are checked for authenticity, and after applying some transfiguration charms on normal woods, the prison guard slipped me the wands and I got them in my pockets—oh and Newt, check yours also, I have a Christmas present for you--”

With surprise and humour Newt put his hands on his pocket of his suit, and he felt that the usual depth of his pocket extended far deeper than he expects, and after getting his hands quite down, something firm and leathery was felt under his palm, with immense difficulty when he tried to pull it out, the old familiar battered suitcase bounced from his pocket and landed on the floor of the prison tower.

“Porpentina Goldstein, you are a star--” Newt literally started to jump in his place in joy, and Theseus in all excitement grabbed the two of them hard and tight and gave them an embrace so tightly that they were in danger of dying with asphyxia. After a lot of struggle when he let them go, he sloppily kissed their foreheads and ruffled their unwashed and perpetually dirty hair with such undiluted affection that Newt and Tina both felt that they were, once again, kids—a joy, seldom felt in adulthood.

“I figured that there were no place better to hide Newt’s case in his suit pocket--” Tina elaborated, “I first thought that it will be kept safe in ministry when we are sent to azkaban, but when I turned on lumos, I saw that we were wearing the same clothes—guess they didn’t expect us to even scratch our noses. Makes me think what kind of danger we averted” Tina digressed from enlightenment to a bitter sombreness. Suddenly her eyes fell on Newt, and his blue-green eyes looked drenched in despair in the silvery light of the lumos. When she and Theseus followed Newt’s eyes and looked around to see that there were no single empty space or windows except the three narrow holes they have escaped, their smiles turned into grimaces. Newt rose from his place and started to look at the freshly broken holes in the circular chamber. Suddenly Tina’s scream made him turn towards her.

“What’s that on your shoes?” she pointed and screamed at Newt and both her and Theseus started to look at them. Parts of their clothes and shoes were decayed and something of dirty golden-brown coloured started to form on them like some mould, which broke down into white soft flakes when touched.

“Haven’t you realised?” Newt said sombrely, “they didn’t need any precautions because the moment we were put in here, we were designated to be buried alive. These substances on your body are wax--”

“Wax... how a human can form wax around them, unless--” Theseus started to argue and stopped midway, “wait... wait—wax. I know exactly what is happening. We were being embalmed when we dreamt, so that we couldn’t struggle—and when we will be truly dead, the embalming will be complete and our bodies will be a part of this place--” Theseus said ponderously, “I remember now, someone told me to run away inside my head when the lights went out—but I cannot remember who--”

“So this entire place is made out of human wax of dreaming dead people?” Tina asked with a sense of surprise, hatred, fear and disgust, “and I thought the Death Potion execution was bad--”

“Whoever made this place must have been either the kindest or the cruellest person in the universe—the best prison where you don’t even feel you are being imprisoned” Newt mused with a veil of unknown fear covering his eyes, “now c’mon—off we go”

Newt opened his case and drew out his nasty little buggers, the nifflers. He could have used a hippogriff or an erumpant, as Tina suggested him to use, since both were able to either bust out the prison or melt it down but Newt chose this overtly discreet method. Somewhere in his mind he didn’t wanted to burn the place down, because he felt that within the waxen walls someone was still dreaming—out of his body and out of his own mind—in dreams they were alive. A prisoner, no matter how hideous or cruel he may be in the government’s eyes, deserves at least one chance as a human being. Those unknown creatures that were ‘embalming’ them were not cruel, they were kind—they wanted the deaths of their victims as painless as possible, so they locked them in their happiest, most peaceful state. The prisoners were forsaken by the world, but those creatures didn’t forsake them—that is the reason this prison was so feared by everyone in the ministry, more than Axkaban. It was the place, from where no one ever returned.

They followed the trails of the niffler, in stealthy and gentle steps, through the endless halls of waxen grave, through countless memories, pains, suffering, happiness and victories, leaving behind the peaceful ones whose lives ended unknowingly, and their restless souls, trapped inside the waxen fort like some horcruxed soul in a cursed object. The ghostly paleness of wax hit a dead end from which they were able to burst free into a place that was as musty and wet as the bottom of a pond. After scourging through it, they were faced with a hard cold substance.

“That’s it. I think we are locked in, it’s the dead end--” Theseus inspected from the very front, and Newt looked at his niffler. “No, it isn’t—Theseus, listen” he gestured his brother to use the wand as an amplifier. One end of the wand was placed upon the wall above Theseus’s head while the other end was inside the ear canal. “You’re right...” Theseus said, “I can hear—water, splashing on the surface”

“Is it a roaring current like a river?” Newt asked curiously, because if it were then blasting out won’t be a good option and there was a chance of drowning and letting water in the prison, who knows if that happens the authority might surge into the place and shove them back where they were. However, Theseus shook his head and with an optimistic look replied, “No—it rather sounds like still with mild sounds of pop and crack—if that makes any sense--I don’t think it’s very alarming.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Tina exclaimed, “bombarda maxima”

The hard surface succumbed to the spell and with vigorous quake whatever was holding them and the outside world out collapsed at the bottom. With the effect they had to fall back, but then it gave them the opportunity to inspect what fell upon them.

“Blimey, 18th century marbles—and chunks of ice.” Theseus said disgustedly as he was drenched in ice water was shivering like a naked man in arctic, “of course—fountain! Water never freezes all the way through, when we exploded the bottom, the water collapsed and with the decreasing pressure from the bottom the ice on the surface came down as well--” Newt and Tina looked at Theseus with a stupefied expression, “I had an ‘Outstanding’ in Muggle Studies, professor Merryweather said I was gifted with Physics.” Theseus recalled proudly, and with that, all the three were able to climb up through the said fountain after sealing away the rift they caused in the rendezvous.

“We were under Paris all this time--” Newt exclaimed as he came out of the fountain with his niffler on his shoulder, and case on one hand. Theseus came out after pulling Tina and they looked around confusingly. “Where are we?” Tina mused in an annoyed manner, and in a rather unceremonious manner Newt mused, “it looked different in the daylight—oh yes Tina, I have been here before. Remember I told you I had to visit Romania with my assistant—yes, as a gratitude for this completely unauthorised trip, she showed me the city, her city, and right now we are standing at the Fountain of Innocents, which was formerly a massive gravesite called--”

“Cemetery of the Innocents--” Tina added, “I know this place—all no-maj papers in the US raved about this place because apparently, all European soap companies were scraping off corpse wax from this grave so the French authority had to shut it down, but they weren’t just from the corpses—the wax from the gaoler was leaking and they had to take charges—

“Okay, so a massive body dump in the center of the city, disguised as fountain with the most dangerous prison underneath it will place us in where in the city?” Theseus inquired.

“Why don’t you ask your tourist brother that?” Tina replied annoyedly, apparently she wasn’t pleased that Newt took a trip in Paris with a stranger more beautiful woman “... but what we are going to do right now? We have no money, and right now if we go into the wizarding community, they will hunt us down” she analysed, “if we make the papers again that we escaped the inescapable prison, no corner in the world will hold us”

They all sat down under the frozen fountain. As Newt tried to protect himself from the cold and tried to wrap the coat around him more securely, something rigid felt near his breast pocket. Out of curiosity he took it out. That was the virtue of a big city in the midnight, even with the scant population on, nobody paid attention to anybody. When Newt opened the rectangular piece of paper, it astonished him. It was the same letter by Dumbledore, every word, every punctuation, right from the cover to the back.

“But how is it possible? It was the same letter I read in my dreams--” Newt showed the letter to Tina, and in turns even Theseus had a glimpse of its content. “Perhaps they didn’t want you to go with unfinished business--” Tina replied softly while reading the letter alongside Newt, “they really sound like the Death in the Beedle—peaceful.”

“This fellow, Anatole Malfoy, I knew he was crook from the beginning.” Theseus spoke with disgust in his voice which was enough to attract the attention of the two, “I met him in the party and he didn’t sound like he was for British Ministry or anything of that sort.” Under the dim streetlights of downtown Paris, Tina’s black eyes glimmered with focus, “and something was off when he was announced the Junior Undersecretary—of course it was a position too advantageous to be rejected, and I didn’t know it was his dowry from the French Diplomat.”

“What do you mean by Dowry, he asked Maxine to marry him, didn’t he” Tina countered.

“Yes... and it’s not uncommon amongst British Purebloods, but inside my mind something was really off. So after the party, I went to the Archives Department to find his records, and it was too clean—too conspicuously clean. So I searched differently, and looked for him in the prison records, again, I found no one” Theseus’ face glowed with excitement.

“What do you want to say that he is innocent and you were a little drunk after the party?” Tina replied snappily.

“No, of course not--” Theseus interjected, “I was going in the right direction but didn’t know where to start, so I looked them all.” Theseus said in an accomplished manner “every prison record registered under European Magical Cooperation in the last thirty years, and I found someone registered under Vasily Malakov. The name found awfully familiar—I looked into it, and the papers were written in Russian, obviously. But when I finally decoded it” suddenly it dimmed into a grimace “It turned out to be him. There was no Vasily Malakov in reality; the truth was Anatole Malfoy was convicted under a pseudonym to ensure that he isn’t defamed. I looked into his records and Merlin’s beard it was dark. He has an extensive record of underage murders and rapes during his days in Durmstang, and guess whose name he was being operated by--”

“Who?” Newt asked out of the blue.

“Grindlewald you plum—he and his classmates were the earliest followers of him, the ‘cleansers’ arrested during their final year. Apparently there were five who were involved, but only four were found out—and who did Dumbledore said were in Anatole’s class that time who was expelled?”

“Maxine...” Newt huffed in desperation.

“Yes, she was thirteen or fourteen when she was involved in the incident. It’s wizarding law that a minor cannot be sentenced into Prison, instead their wands get snapped.” Theseus theorised, “but given the fact that she was the daughter of the Diplomat, she was somehow spared.” He paused for a second “but the question is, if Anatole is closely affiliated with Hrothgar, given the fact he must have known what he is since he was his daughter’s classmate—why he is letting Anatole marry his daughter?”

“’Seus, listen to me I have to tell you something--” Newt said urgently “I followed Maxine after the dinner—remember Tina, I disappeared for some seconds—she was afraid all evening, in fact, she had been acting weird since the party was announced—anyway, it seems that Anatole is operating on revenge and apparently he convinced Hrothgar that he is in love with Maxine--”

“__but why him, Maxine could--” Theseus gulped as if to swallow the words he was about to say, “—she could marry anyone she wants, she is a duchess and she is from the most prominent Pureblood family of all times.”

“She can’t--” Tina mused absent mindedly, “here—look, it is said in the letter... her mother’s name is Audrey Page--look” Tina pointed at her letter, “that means she cannot take the Pureblood title because she is an illegitimate—if her mother was married to Monsieur Hrothgar, then she would have been called Audrey Valois” Tina analysed, “even in Wizarding world, getting an illegitimate child married to a good family isn’t an easy task, and if she marries otherwise, it would put a dent on our dear diplomat.” Tina concluded and suddenly she wondered something and turned to Theseus “Theseus, you said Anatole was marrying Maxine for dowry, do you happen to know what he is getting?”

“Of course, the Junior Undersecretary post... why you ask?” Theseus stood up because the frozen marble was getting too cold for him. Tina pondered for a moment and then started to shake his head, “no, no—I think that is just eyewash, a bifurcation—there must be other things he is getting—URGH! This woman is making my life a living hell.”

“Just forget about it—what we are going to do? We don’t even know what day on earth is this, or how long we have been under there—if Maxine gets married to that man, British ministry will come under Grindlewald’s control overnight--” Theseus suggested, “no matter what we have to stop the wedding from happening and the worst this in this world that THERE IS NO ONE IN THIS ENTIRE WORLD WHO CAN TELL US WHAT TO DO!”

Newt was sitting ponderously till now, with Tina eyeing him frequently with an annoyed expression. Suddenly a spark flashed in his drowsy eyes and he started to walk towards the main street. When his brother and his other friend started to chase after him, there was one thing that he said before grabbing their hands and apparating into thin air.

“It is the universal rule of nature, when man does something two people in the world are aware of it—his accomplice and his brother.”

...

‘Where on earth are we?’

Tina, Theseus and Newt apparated in front of a five star muggle hotel, at the dead of the night; the sign told them they were still in Paris, which astonished Newt a bit. He knew there was portkey regulations and everything, and despite that he made a leap—he had no idea of location or proper idea, but there were few emergency exceptions of apparation that he remembered from his sixth year class, that was the specific name and identity of a person. He didn’t know that it would work, and he still wasn’t sure. Apparently this seemingly muggle hotel had some wizards’ suite and anti-apparation charm on effect that was holding them outside. So they stomped head-on and tracing remaining bits of magic with tracking spell, they reached the penthouse, where they knocked the doors down to find a puzzled platinum-blond middle aged man in his silk pyjamas.

“What the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?” he almost screamed at the three people pointing wand at him.

“It’s been a very long day... so start speaking, is you Anatole Malfoy’s brother?” Theseus asked, and with a flicker the lights in the room lit up, which caused the man a close call of cardiac arrest.

“But you’re supposed to be in the Tower of Silence, and dead! How did you--”

“Answer the question you bub!” Tina jabbed her wand into his throat while Newt bifurcated the wand under the pillow the man was discreetly reaching for, “are you Anatole’s brother?”

“Yes, yes... I am. I am his older brother Abraxas Malfoy.”

“Is he married?”

“Sorry?”

“Is your brother married?” Newt repeated his question with a threatening quietness.

“No... I mean not yet. He is getting married--” Abraxas checked his watch in a very nervous way, “—in about five hours--”

“Oh thank Merlin...” Theseus huffed, and gestured the others to turn, but Tina remained and asked the final question, “where?”

“Saint Chappell... I am sorry, but why I am telling you all these? You should be locked up for kidnapping the Duchess--” Abraxas said in an agitated tone, “you tried to sabotage my brother’s reputation--” before he could finish his sentence Theseus grabbed his collar and thudded him against the headboard of the bed, “let me tell you something... it was your responsibility to look after your brother in which you failed miserably. If you or your godforsaken parents had the leash tight on him he wouldn’t have become the son of bitch he is today. He is a fraud and a Grindelwald supporter and I am not letting a sick rapist near my friend or my country, and the best thing you can pray for that we kill him before the ministry does. As you know we are wanted criminals and we have nothing to lose, so stay put when we obliviate you--”

“Stop--” Abraxas put his hands up in a defensive manner, “please, listen to me... I am not proud of what he is today, but please I beg you, whatever you do—don’t kill him, he is my brother--”

“Thanks for the information... Obliviate” Newt whipped his wand swiftly and stomped out of the room. Abraxas remained sleepy and confounded, like they first found him. Theseus and Tina followed him as swiftly as they could. The curtain of the night was slowly lifting from the sky and the frost and snow started to turn brighter under the cold gray of the dawn. The clock was swiftly ticking towards the fall of the Western Magical Civilization and the fate of the Modern Wizarding Europe lied in the hands of three escapee convicts: two ex-aurors and a magizoologist, whose mind and wand was now pointing at the Isle of the City in the middle of Seine, where the tower of Saint Chappell was fearfully awaiting for the historic moment that was going to take place in about four hours and fifty minutes.

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

I had to research extensively to make the Wizarding prison of France more terrible and different from Azkaban at the same time. I don’t know whether I had been successful or not, but here’s the history behind our fictional “Le Tour de Silence”

The Holy Innocents' Cemetery (French: Cimetière des Saints-Innocents or Cimetière des Innocents) is a defunct cemetery in Paris that was used from the Middle Ages until the late 18th century. Under the reign of Philip II (1180-1223) the cemetery was enlarged and surrounded by a three-meter-high wall. Les Innocents had begun as a cemetery with individual sepulchers, but by then had become a site for mass graves. People were buried together in the same pit (a pit could hold about 1,500 dead at a time); only when it was full would another be opened.

This practice continued upto five centuries when the mass graves (because they were buried so close and the body couldn’t rot properly) started to produce a thing called Adipocere or Corpse wax (basically human fat transforming itself into an wax like encasing preventing the rot forever). These corpse wax were scraped off and sold out to soap and candlemakers during the pre revolution era, and you can guess what happened. So it gave me a brilliant idea to construct the French prison out of it-- a place made out of Adipocere, and people who are sentenced to death are brought in here so that their life would be slowly extracted from the body, and when it’s done their body and soul will be trapped in the waxy architecture. How to prevent resistance? simple, trap them into their happiest state.

The fountain of Innocent, from which the three broke through was built over the real Holy Cemetery of Innocent by Louis XVI as a memorial, when he closed the unsanitary gravesite (good man he was!), I gave it a little bit symbolism. In Roman myths, when injustice reaches it’s peak, the Goddess of Truth, Veritas comes out of the well, naked to scream at people. So I used the same method with the three.

#newt x oc #newt x tina #newt x reader #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander X reader #theseus x tina #theseus x reader #france in midnight #paris in midnight #prison break #character rants #suspence #danger #les halles #fountain of innocent #midnight #cliffhanger

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cyanpeacock · 5 years

Text

Realtalk(tm): Living With Ada Doom

ALRIGHT. so. those of you who have read Cold Comfort Farm know exactly where this is going.

so, when I was a kid, my mum would get drunk, and sad, and tell me about how awful her mum was, all the depressing shit, and she’d cry on me, you know, the works, the kind that should go down with a counsellor, or therapist.

I don’t remember it clearly. I had to like, switch off, you know? Mummy’s sad. I’m sad too. It’s going to be okay. Stroking her hair. That’s about all I remember, apart from the pain I had to hide to make everything better.

Except, it totally wasn’t okay, because I was giving my drunken mother comfort, and the next day she was giving me smacks, and isolation as punishment, and denying me food when I was rowdy, as children are.

Later, she’d give me a book to read, called Cold Comfort Farm.

It’s a good book. It’s a parody of things along the lines of Wuthering Heights, you know, mopey miserable out-in-the-countryside romance novels where everyone is abusive, but That’s The Way It’s Always Been, Out Here.

Flora comes along and fixes everything right up.

Some part of her wanted me to be Flora.

A good, proper, refined young woman. Stately. Observant. Academic. Very sporting.

I am not Flora.

I was very nearly Ada Doom, the woman who saw something nasty in the woodshed. Well - for a while, I thought I was her, but I didn’t have control over a farm/family. I wasn’t holding all the books.

This phrase got used against me a lot - “something nasty in the woodshed.” It translated to, “you’re overreacting, be quiet,” in the circles I moved in. Often delivered as a joke, but actually, a warning.

Flora was not, actually, a very nice woman, and she was not, actually, very nice to Ada Doom.

“Did it see you?”

The point I’m continually making, is.

I didn’t see something nasty in the woodshed, once, when I was a child.

I saw a whole fucking lot of nasty things, all around me, in my own home, that chased me into my bedroom, that physically, verbally, and emotionally abused me, for over a decade. I heard other nasty things going on, in rooms I wasn’t in, but sound carries. I saw and heard even nastier things happening between the only Adult Role Models I had.

This all seemed very normal, until I had an assembly on abuse in primary school, and recognized myself in it.

I told myself, “mummy loves me. It’s not really abuse. Is it?”

I told myself this for years.

Skip to the future. It’s easier for me.

Later I ran away somewhere a bit cleaner, to live with a racist opioid addict. It was fucking awesome, for a while, but yeah, that’s another post. He’d also use “something nasty in the woodshed” against me, or just say “Ada Doom.”

My mother would chatter things about “he’s brainwashing you! Mind control!” when I did see her at the same time as him, separately. It’s like she didn’t realize he was only using things he’d seen her use on me. She probably didn’t, because they’d probably been used on her, and she hadn’t spotted the conditioning.

So, in this story, what did “Flora” turn out to be?

An angry, inhibited, explosive, snappy, hungry young man, who just wanted to get high, forget about the past, and go to lesson, so he could learn something that would get him out of this shithole, and into a decent home, with a car that runs and a job that pays in the wallet, mind, and heart.

I hid so much of the pain I was in, because when it was actually expressed, I’d get dismissed, belittled, or outright yelled at, even after the physical hitting had stopped.

She always said, “you know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?”

So I’d try, like a kid, who desperately wanted to believe that his mother did “love him” - that is, knew how to give emotionally healthy and nourishing expressions of love.

And time and time again, I’d get, “I think you’re overreacting.” “Isn’t that a bit extreme?” “It doesn’t mean anything.” “They’re just jealous.” “You’re imagining things.” Or, you know, “I think you’re being selfish.” “Selfish little cow!”

So there I was, my self harm getting worse and worse, the pressure my piece of shit school placed on me getting worse and worse, hearing Mark fucking cussing me out again, becoming increasingly abusive towards myself and people I really, deeply cared about, because I had literally no understanding, no framework for internally and mutually rewarding loving interaction.

I don’t even remember what happened. Shit went down, mother had got a “boyfriend,” they were going to get married, they split up, I was caught in the middle because I was a kid who never really had a dad and desperately wanted one, I got used as a pawn in a game of chess between two emotionally unwell adults who couldn’t agree to break up without causing an enormous fight and dragging their entire circle of Facebook friends into it. It was really ugly. Like, one of the friends died, and shit like “good riddance” was getting thrown about. It was really ugly. I wanted so badly to get involved and break it all up, but yeah, fuck Facebook, I didn’t use it, still don’t.

So, I ran away to live with the one who’d caused me less hurt, the racist opioid addict, because at least he could see me as a son, while the drunk was still transphobic as hell. That’s the other post, for the future.

But yes, Ada Doom followed me there, and according to them, I was still living in the woodshed.

But I was supposed to be Flora. I was supposed to be good, nice, and orderly, and I was accepted while I was these things. If I wasn’t, I’d get a verbal slap in the right direction, through this insidious fucking phrasology tied in with a long, long history of emotional manipulation.

This all started with my mother, and her mother, and probably her mother before her, and a whole line of absent fathers.

I’m the one who noticed this, and decided, “no more of this shit. No more of this shit. I am never bringing a child into this world so full of pain, and I have no idea how to fix any of this on my own, and the people who are supposed to help me don’t, and I don’t fucking trust anybody enough to let them in.”

I’m the one who noticed this was abuse. I’m the one who started reading, trying to understand the inside of my head, getting it wrong, getting it right-ish, doubting myself, always coming back and really thinking “fuck, that is so much like me” to conditions that arise as a result of complex, long-term trauma.

I’m the one who made the jump into homelessness when the racist opioid addict became unbearable. I’m the one who went into a hostel while I was doing my A-Levels. I’m the one who passed them. I’m the one who saw a counsellor every week and just fucking sobbed because there was nowhere else I could cry like that without killing myself.

I’m the one who read about psychodynamic theory, and fundamental interpretations of the structures of psyche, and thought about it all myself, how it might apply to my brain in particular. I’m the one who read intently about complex trauma, and healing from it. I’m the one who learned about EMDR, and figured out I could do that with good stereo music, and tapping my hands and feet on the bus. I’m the one who studied very specific parts of the DSM V, over and over, circling and circling until I zeroed in on the places that fit well enough to help me understand, find resources, and recover.

I’m the one who read very, very, very closely about marijuana, the endocannabinoid system, and its relation to trauma. I understood this was drug abuse, and dependency, and that dependency and addiction are almost interchangeable. I’m the one who knew I didn’t really want to smoke until my mind burned away, unless I couldn’t Make It at university. I’m the one who smashed my pipe in July, and hasn’t wanted to smoke again since, and doesn’t really want to go back, but will if he falls/fails.

I’m the one who learned to meditate, just drop out into a trance, for minutes or hours, with and without drugs in my system, with silence or with music, and now increasingly with background noise, although that one is REALLY difficult for me. I’m the one who learned all those weird skills like “noting” and “radical acceptance” and other things I’ve forgotten the name of but notice as different states of consciousness.

I’m the one who knew all this psych work was supposed to be very dangerous, you shouldn’t do this if you aren’t A Professional(tm), but I’m also the one who knew I didn’t trust a single fucking “Professional” to do the right thing, make the right referrals, administer the treatment properly, after being betrayed and forced and dismissed by so many so-called Professionals.

I’m the one who decided, in not so many words: well, fuck, it’s less dangerous for me to do all these things, and make mistakes trying, than it is for me to let somebody in, and receive another injury, at my most vulnerable.

The thing about Ada Doom is, she’s a character in a fucking parody novel.

You’re not Ada Doom. You’re not Catherine Earnshaw.

You can’t live your whole life making sad allegories through books that dig up your old pain without actually resolving any of it, because you’re reading ahead and projecting the romantic, ugly, fantasy conclusion onto what really happened, to your body.

It’s really useful! It’s really useful, for a long time, to connect with your pain through fiction. Forever, actually.

But I’ve got to get angry about being expected to be a character from a fucking parody novel.

“You’ll understand later.”

I understand. I understand why you did what you did. I understand you couldn’t control it. I understand why you showed me this book.

It cannot negate, diminish, or remove any of my anger.

I had to go to a counsellor, for years, research, for years, think and feel, for years, to find the right language and tone to communicate my experiences. I’m still learning. I’m especially still talking, because I haven’t been able to talk about any of this, because my mother wouldn’t let me. All she did was give me strange, roundabout books, that were good, and annoyingly on the nose, and say “You’ll understand later.”

If you’re saying that, if they’re asking the question isn’t it about time you explained?

Isn’t it about time you realized you need help explaining?

I can’t keep going back to a sad fucking house full of hurting fucking children. It drags me down again every time, although I really do cherish the moments where I could just pretend it was all normal and painless and easy to be a family. I really do.

And yes, I know, it’s circular, it’s not that fucking easy, because I couldn’t let anybody in, because I was “normal,” as far as my mother was concerned. I know I’m lucky I’m very quick, I learn well, and I’m completely fucking invested in research and execution.

I had to become these things for a sick, sick woman, who wanted a kid who would save/change her life.

It’s not a fairytale. I know it feels like one. I know it feels like Prince Charming is just around the corner, it must be soon, just one more page! The Big Bad Wolf is still lurking!

You gotta make Prince Charming. You have to make the person you want to marry inside your head. I’m getting there. There’s no ring on it. That might be the total illusion of self. It might not be. I don’t know what’s happening to my system, yet.

That voice in your head who yells at you, but isn’t you, but won’t tell you their name? Give them a fucking name. Think them up a face and a body. Go and learn some emotional regulation skills, slowly, because it’s really difficult. Revise them. Pass them along. Talk to them. They’ll stop yelling at you. You’ll be able to turn to them for comfort, and they’ll get all your jokes, because you’re sharing a brain, and the connections do keep coming your entire life/lives. They can be your partner, if you like, and they do too.

I don’t know what happens after that, and that is just this body/me/us/the irrelevancy of pronouns astounds me.

So, I’m very stupid.

I really did take the hood off my car at the side of the road with smoke pouring out. I didn’t know anything about what colour meant “get the hell away” or “it’s fine, just call the recovery van.” I just knew there was a problem, it needed fixing, and I didn’t have insurance.

I did it the stupid way. I touched it while it was hot. I tried using stuff I had in the back of the car. I walked to the garage, and they rang my mum? I walked back to the car and slept in it for a while, resolute in my decision not to go back to the garage again. I walked to the tool shop, and bought something to take that bit on the top off. I walked to the library and borrowed a book on cars. I bought more tools. I borrowed more books, this time on engines, because the car book was only about cars, and I had a problem with the engine.

I kept getting the wrong fucking tools, and the wrong fucking books, because all engines are different, and different tools fit different engines. I just compared what I had to what was in there, then threw the wrong crap into the boot in a huff, or whacked the engine with whatever size spanner I had at hand.

I went back to the garage. They didn’t know what to do, they couldn’t see the car, just somebody who read too many manuals, and was on drugs. I still knew I didn’t have insurance.

More tools, more books, still showing up at the garage, still getting dismissed, hating them more every time, them getting more and more bored of me. I was getting closer to fixing the car, but still making mistakes.

I found a mechanic, one who didn’t work with the garage. He let me tell him about the car, slowly, the way I’d figured it out.

He knew a few things about engines. We spoke about the garage. He was very sympathetic. We spoke a lot about the car. He knew more than a few things about engines, actually.

I got better at fixing the car on my own.

Unfortunately, all this walking was fucking my legs. I’d really like to get back in the car again, and go places quicker. All this work is really slowing me down from what I’d like to be doing. It’s also getting me to a point where I can do what I’d like to.

The car still isn’t fixed. I’m not sure what goes where next, or if this is actually the same engine I started with at all, but I have an idea what might work, and a mechanic who knows he doesn’t know the problem, but actually lets me tell him, unlike the garage.

So yes. Ada Doom is and is not dead to me.

The fairytale thing is great, but at some point, you gotta stop reading other people’s, and start reading/writing your own. But only if you’re that way inclined, and I said the bit before in a rude tone because I’m frustrated.

Long post. That’s enough.

I’m not Flora Poste.

#fliptext #trauma #drugs #abuse #neglect #uh yeah dude it's the whole shebang #lots of anger

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