#little more open + now i’m realizing i really wasn’t lying to myself. people legitimately can’t handle the things i need help with.

[stinkbeck]

there’s something wrong with me. i keep going to people for advice when i know they just don’t have the capacity 2 help me. like what the fuck is wrong with me

[jcmorrigan]

more Blakeworther headcanons!! i want you to go ham with em too!! :D

Go ham, huh? So...I probably went the opposite direction of what you wanted or expected. But I just read “Our Coffin Is a Twin-Sized Bed” (Blakeworth fic, REALLY ANGSTY) and I loved it but it also made me very depressed. Anyway, it put the idea of CHARACTER DEATH in my head, and so I’m like...what if you took Vincent, Victor, and Albert, and you have an AU where each one of them dies, and how would the other two react?

Except I want to have my cake and eat it too. That prompt on its own is a bit...disheartening. So I had to treat myself by saying that each time, the death was actually a fakeout, and whoever “died” turns up just fine later. Which made for extra reunion headcanons!

Get ready for: the one where each one of them “dies” and the other two grieve in their own special way, only for the “dead” to have been fine the whole time

VINCENT

·      They were setting up bombs in a facility owned by Myers, hoping to bring down one of the bigwigs – possibly Monseiur M himself – in the explosion. Albert and Victor finished their rounds, then came back outside to wait for Vincent. Vincent radioed that he was almost finished – and then the whole building went up in smoke.

·      It took Victor and Albert a few minutes to process what had happened. He…he had to have gotten out, right? There’s no way Vincent would die on this mission.

·      But he doesn’t show up.

·      Watching the conflagration, agape and wide-eyed, Victor and Albert reach out to draw each other closer, hoping it just isn’t what it looks like.

·      Eventually, there are sirens, and they have to escape back to the mansion.

·      Albert finds the nearest piece of furniture he can sit on, sinks down, and starts sobbing. It doesn’t help that this is HIS house they’re living in, this is HIS chair Albert’s crying on, and he’s not even here.

·      I’m not actually sure if Victor’s eyes have tear ducts, but he is similarly distraught. He sits down beside Albert, trying to reassure him, “We’ll be okay. He’d want us to keep going. We’ll…we’ll be fine…”

·      His voice cracks. He can’t deal with this. Now he’s holding onto Albert not only for the sake of comforting him but of getting comforted.

·      They rattle around Vincent’s house for the next few days, utterly depressed. Everywhere they go, every corner they turn, they’re reminded of the spaces where he’s not.

·      Albert is caught talking to himself – and berating himself in a bad imitation of Vincent in order to simulate their arguments. Victor can only listen for so long before he’s too emotional and has to leave.

·      “You promised me you wouldn’t do this,” Victor says as he kneads a bedsheet between his fingers.

·      Eventually, the two of them hold a small service. They construct Vincent a grave out back in the yard. Each says a few words –

·      Victor: “I still don’t regret it. Not a day.”

·      Albert: “If you think I wanted to win our rivalry this way…you were wrong. I’d give anything to have you back.”

·      When behind them they suddenly hear “If I’d’ve known you two would get this morose, I wouldn’t have bothered to plant those explosives in the first place.”

·      They turn around, and…he’s here. Vincent’s here, looking quite grumpy.

·      “I thought it would be fairly obvious that I wasn’t dead. You two really went all out on this?”

·      Albert: “You’re not an exact replica with Vincent’s memories, are you? Actually, I have no problem if you’re an exact replica with Vincent’s memories.”

·      Victor and Albert run to him, embrace him tightly. Vincent’s rolling his eyes because these idiots got themselves worked up for nothing – but he’s lying if he says he isn’t really, really touched by how much they missed him. He’ll have to be careful not to make them worry in the future.

 VICTOR

·      Assassins have the mansion surrounded. Victor urges Albert and Vincent to go on ahead without him. He’ll catch up. But first he has to buy them time.

·      Albert and Vincent head to a motel three towns over – only to hear that the mansion was cleared out, then raided by authorities, and after the cyborgs were put down, no living people remained in the house.

·      “No,” Vincent says. “He’s fine. He’s FINE.” And he won’t hear otherwise.

·      Not even after a week.

·      Albert is starting to grieve, but Vincent keeps yelling at him, “STOP! HE ISN’T GONE! YOU’RE BEING AN IDIOT!”

·      Vincent is angrier than Albert has ever seen him in his whole life. The more days go by that Victor hasn’t turned up, the edgier Vincent’s mood gets.

·      Albert has to lock himself in the bathroom if he wants to cry it out.

·      But he also knows enough about psychology that he knows Vincent has to be dying inside. “Vincent, you need to talk about what happened.”

·      “You’re not even a real psychologist. Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

·      At one point, it gets so bad that Vincent locks Albert out of the motel room and refuses to let him in, no matter how much noise he makes.

·      That’s when the notes start showing up. The door’s definitely locked, but Vincent finds notes around the motel room that definitely weren’t there a moment ago.

·      “I love you. ~AK” “I’m worried about you! ~AK” “Vincent, talk to me. ~AK” “I know many fates worse than death. Do you want to push me that far? ~AK” “Please, Vincent, I need you. ~AK” “Fine. Die alone. ~AK” “I take back my last note. Don’t die alone. I love you. ~AK”

·      So eventually Vincent lets him back in, and Albert suggests, one final time, to have Vincent sit through a legitimate therapy session. No Dream Eaters, no tricks, no shell game. And Vincent agrees.

·      Vincent lies down on the bed. Albert sits on a chair beside him and starts asking questions – about Victor, about the memories they had, about what Victor means to them both.

·      Vincent slowly recalls their entire history – laughing, crying, smiling. And by the end of it, he’s outright sobbing.

·      “How can someone who was such a big part of our lives be gone, Albert?”

·      And in a historical first, Albert actually lies down on the bed to cuddle Vincent, stroke his hair, and tell him “I miss him too. So much. It’s okay. Just cry.”

·      Eventually, they get a message from Winston, saying he has some important information and “cargo” to trade to them if they meet at a rendez-vous point. So they agree. Albert and Vincent head to the alley around midnight to find Winston and…a man in a black hood.

·      He throws back the hood. It’s Victor, whose metal eyes are twinkling. “Miss me?”

·      All of Vincent’s psychological work is undone; he just says “I knew you weren’t dead.” Albert, on the other hand, TACKLES Victor at unprecedented speed and pins him to the street.

·      Once Albert lets him go, Victor goes up to Vincent, and the two of them hold each other’s gaze. They kiss, briefly. That’s all they need to put closure on this.

 ALBERT

·      He doesn’t come home from a walk one night. Instead, a Dream Eater shows up and hands Vincent and Victor a letter.

·      “My beloved Victor and my frustratingly wonderful Vincent, if you are receiving this letter, it means you are not likely to see me again in this lifetime. I have run afoul of enemy forces, and, well, I’ll finally get to see what murder looks like from the other side. I want to thank you for the laughter and tears you both have given me, and for the good times and the bad. I hope you’ll remember me fondly, or at least as a memorable nuisance. With all of my love, goodbye. -Dr. Albert Gerald Krueger”

·      This is a joke, right? Victor’s convinced it’s a joke, and Vincent insists this is exactly the kind of prank Albert would find funny…

·      Until a month passes and he hasn’t come back.

·      Vincent takes a stance: “We never needed him. It was always just you and me from the start, Victor. We can return to our roots. He was always just an extra.”

·      Victor: “I know you don’t want to admit you miss him, but that was heartless, Vincent.”

·      The two of them end up fighting, sleeping on opposite sides of the mansion for days.

·      Victor tries to drink the pain away. (It happens in all three of these scenarios, actually, but this one’s plot-relevant)

·      One night, he wakes up at three and decides he’s not drunk enough. So he shuffles down to the bar and…there’s Vincent? Already drinking?

·      Victor decides to bite; “What’s all this for?”

·      Vincent turns to Victor, and Victor can now see he’s been crying for a while. “I can’t keep this up much longer, Victor. The two of us were happy before he broke in…why can’t I be happy? Why do I still miss him so much? Why can’t I just function?”

·      Ah. Now Victor knows it is definitely about Vincent not wanting to admit he misses Albert or even liked him. Because here’s Vincent just distraught without Albert.

·      Victor sits down by Vincent. Pours himself a drink. “We can’t erase him, but we can dull the memories for a night.”

·      It’s a miracle they don’t die of alcohol poisoning that night. They toast Albert’s memory, and at one point, Victor, a little out of his mind already, just poured a whole bottle of brandy on the floor in his honor.

·      Then, a couple days later, they’re trying to figure out how they’re going to break this to Taylor. They’ve avoided Taylor for so long so they didn’t have to bring this up.

·      There’s a knock on the door. Vincent gets up with trepidation, gun in hand because he’s not sure who it’ll be. Victor follows, ready to throw down.

·      The door swings open…

·      Albert: “I apologize. I didn’t think I’d be gone that long.” And he’s smiling like he’s just a couple hours late, not a whole month and change in which the other two thought he was dead. “What did I miss?”

·      There’s a silence as Victor and Vincent gape. Then Victor breaks into a wide smile; “Alb – “

·      Vincent DECKS ALBERT IN THE FACE.

·      Albert, on the ground, says “I deserved that.”

·      Vincent: “How could you do that to me? How could you tear me apart? How could you make me so empty inside over someone like YOU? How could you make it hurt so badly to love you?”

·      He’s getting rather emotional, a tear or two falling, and Albert realizes that Vincent actually…missed him. And the immense potential for blackmail this will bring.

·      Victor steps forward to help him up off the ground. Pulls Albert into a too-tight hug in the process. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

·      Then they head inside because Albert kinda needs an ice pack for the eye Vincent hit now.

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion Part 7. The Child

{Masterlist}

Notes: I screwed up the timeline of Star Wars because I didn’t think about it so, sorry. 

Ps. I stan big-brother Therapist Opress

Warnings: Swearing, reader is a panicky mess for a little bit, some suggestive language

Words: 3246

Taglist: @and-claudia // @tararuthven // @ravenclawlegacy // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol

<- Previous

………………………………….

Forever 

Forever indeed. It felt like Maul had been gone for forever. You hadn’t seen him in two months and they were some of the most excruciating months you’d ever lived through. What made it worse were the few and far between calls late at night that only made your aching for your unofficial husband grow. You were legitimately becoming concerned for as the time stretched on without contact, you began to feel sicker. Was it possible to get sick from missing someone? Is that what people meant when they described someone as ‘lovesick’? 

“Y/n, are you sure you are alright?” Ki-Adi’s voice shook you to the core as you were forced to refocus on the fact that you were currently in the middle of a duel with him. Your master had lowered his saber, one hand held up to stop you from pressing your advantage while he questioned you. 

“I’m fine, Master.” The reply was immediate and spoken without thought. You knew you were just being dramatic and that your life had to go on when Maul wasn’t around. You were to become a Jedi. He was a Sith Lord. Divergence from each other was what founded your relationship and when that manifested in not seeing each other for months, you had to learn to deal with it. The whole ‘feeling sick because my husband isn’t here to hold me’ thing was getting old fast. 

Your husband....gods, those words didn’t seem real. Legally binding or not, the fact of the matter was that you had married Maul in total secrecy two months ago. You could remember the moment he claimed you as his wife so clearly that on the most lonely nights it seemed to become the only thing that was real and untainted by hypocrisy, hubris, and politics. The knowledge that you were the only one who would ever know the feel of Maul’s hands on your hips, or the gentle nudge of his nose against your own as he pressed his lips to yours, or even how solid he felt when buried in-

You internally shook your head. Yes, the knowledge that you were the only one that would ever know how any of that felt was...intoxicating. And you were selfish. Maul’s love was a drug and you were the only one that had access to it. 

“Are you sure? You seem very distracted.” Ki-Adi continued, blocking the strike you levied at his side. 

“I’m. Fine.” You seethed, frustrated at your mind for wandering and at your body for how poorly you were fighting. 

Ki-Adi sheathed his saber and raised an eyebrow at you, hands finding a place clasped behind his back. He was disappointed. You sighed and sheathed your green saber as well, already preparing for the inevitable lecture. “I do not believe you, Y/n. You haven’t been acting like yourself since we returned from negotiations on Toydaria.” Ki-Adi stepped forward to grasp your shoulder, communicating his concern more clearly than his perpetually calm voice would allow. “Did something happen?” 

You shifted on your feet, knowing you would have to lie. There was no way you could tell him that you were lovesick but you could explain the physical symptoms your predicament had manifested. “No, master, nothing happened. Just...I don’t know how to explain it.” You carded a hand through your hair briefly. “For the past few weeks, I haven’t felt...like myself?” You tried, looking into your master’s calm face. 

Ki-Adi’s brows furrowed. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only curiosity. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean...I can’t remember the last time I got a good night’s worth of rest. For some reason, certain smells have been bothering me lately, I’m so tired all the time-yesterday I passed out in the library and Madame Jocasta had to walk me to my room because I couldn’t walk more than a few steps without feeling nauseous.” You let out an angry huff directed at the strange reactions your body was having to the absence of Maul. “But, every time I’ve considered going to the healers to see what is going on, the symptoms vanish.”

Ki-Adi was quiet for a moment as he digested the revelation. “Do you know what might be causing these reactions?” He eventually asked, taking a seat in the middle of the mat you had been fighting on. You followed his lead, sticking your chin in one hand and propping your elbow on your bended knee while your free hand toyed with a rogue string on your robe. You shook your head, eyes boring into the ground. “Are you, perhaps, nervous for the Trials?” 

You shook your head again, straightening up. “No, I mean...I am just a bit nervous but I know that these reactions aren’t originating from that. I was more nervous about making my second lightsaber and this never happened.” Your stomach gave an almighty lurch all of a sudden which caused you to clasp your hand over your mouth, the other shooting to your stomach. But, just as quickly as it had come upon you, the sensation vanished leaving you and your perplexed master. You groaned in frustration, almost wishing you would just vomit so that whatever was going on would cease. Ki-Adi sent you a sympathetic frown, helping you to your feet. “If I may forgo discretion, master?” He hummed to tell you it was alright. “I spoke with Luminara Unduli and she posited that it could just be an intense bout of pms. Which would make sense…” Because I’m late…Like,...two months late. And with that realization, a whole new plethora of issues became very likely possibilities. No, no...we...Maul and I aren’t even the same species. That can’t happen...or can it? Zabraks are classified as Near-human. In theory, we could...no, no. 

“Hmm, this is troubling. May I suggest that you go to the healers, Padawan? Even if Master Unduli is correct, I think it would be wise to receive confirmation.” Ki-Adi, ever tranquil in his approach, thankfully rescued you from the spiraling panic now coiling in your chest. “Come, I will escort you there.” 

…………………………………….

“Y/n?” Savage’s rumbling baritone voice pulled you back to reality and you suddenly realized that you had been zoned out for a very long time. When had you started deep cleaning the ship? Looking away from the floor of the cockpit you had started diligently scrubbing, you met the towering zabrak’s questioning gaze as he leaned against the doorway. “Are you alright? You’ve been cleaning incessantly since you woke up.”  

Briefly letting your eyes flicker over the various cleaning supplies strewn around you, you shrugged, mouth feeling dry. “I...I guess.” With a little more focus, you returned to scrubbing, eager for some distraction. “I’ve just...been lost in thought, I guess.” 

“I noticed.” Savage stated bluntly whilst crossing his arms. “I’m worried about you, sister.” You paused at his words, momentarily closing your eyes as you collected yourself. You could hear him approaching, long strides echoing around the small area as he neared until he crouched next to you and gently worked the rag out of your hands. “You have not been yourself for the past few days.” Your eyes snapped open and slid to the side to meet Savage’s gaze. His brow was worked into a frown and one of his large hands was hesitantly reaching out, as though he was unsure if he was allowed to console through touch. 

Opting to let him in, you reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m afraid seeing Maul in this state has...drained me. I just needed a reprieve and I guess shutting down was the way I went about achieving that.” As you spoke, you let your thumbs dig into his palm while you used him as an anchor. “And,” glancing around Savage to see into the makeshift sleeping area the three of you had set up, you took note of how Wild was still completely passed out which made it safe to make your confession, “and it isn’t helped by the lying on my end. I want to tell Wild the truth, but I’m terrified of how he’ll react. He’s lived his whole life believing his father to be dead. What will he do when he finds out that he’s not and that he was, in fact, a Sith Lord? I don’t want him to go into shock over it but how the hell am I supposed to adjust him to the idea organically?” You muttered more to yourself than to Savage who was still patiently crouched next to you, happily lending an ear. 

Savage’s breathing was the only thing you could hear, low and steady like the breath of a mythical beast. It was soothing to hear something other than your own panicked thoughts. “I wish I knew how to help you, Y/n. I care for Wild and I care for you too. The three of you are the only kin I have left.” He sighed and finally took a seat beside you, still allowing you to toy with his hand. 

“I hadn’t thought about that...how are you holding up?” You tried carefully, releasing Savage’s hand when he gently tugged it away from you. 

“Not well, if I am to be completely honest. Though-I have the benefit of not remembering what Maul used to be like.” Savage’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. 

Not entirely sure where to go from here, you opted to voice the most pressing anxiety that plagued you without ceasing. “Do you really think Mother Talzin will be able to help him?” 

“Help him? No. Bring back Darth Maul? Yes.” 

……………………………………..

“Padawan L/n, these results are...most concerning.” The words falling from the Mirialan healer are...disconcerting which causes you to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows as you rise from the bed to watch her movements. 

“Why?” You ask, sitting up a little further as your panic makes a resurgence. “What’s wrong? What do they say?” She didn’t reply nor did she turn to look at you as she raised a hand and flicked her fingers in unison to beckon you over. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and walked over to the screen that was displaying the results of the full-body scan she had run to pinpoint the epicenter of your troubles. The particular area of interest was a position that was decidedly not your stomach like you thought it would be. Oh no. “W-...what does that mean?” You asked, trembling. Your throat was swiftly closing up as you continued to stare at the red circle that blinked placidly above your uterus. 

“Y/n, you know what it means. Coupling the scan with your other symptoms, I think the issue is impossible to deny or misinterpret.” The Mirialan was bristling as she spoke, the sympathy draining from her voice with every word till it was sucked dry of any humanity. “I must inform the council immediately.” 

Inform the...shit. Whirling around faster than you thought humanly possible and leaping over the bed, you practically tackled the healer to keep her from leaving the room. “Dariada, listen to me. I don’t know how this happened.” You attempted to explain, hands grasping her left forearm in a vice. 

She made a noise of utter indignation that echoed in your head. “You don’t-how could you not know?! You slept with a man, Padawan L/n, that’s how this happened. You broke the code! They’ll expel you from the order for this!” She was livid. 

“They could if I had broken the code! But I didn’t! I didn’t sleep with anyone!” Liar. Liar. This baby’s mother is a liar. Maul, fuck, where are you? One hand shot to your front, gently laying over where your womb was. “There was no one. I swear.” 

“That doesn’t happen, Y/n. You had to have slept with someone.” Dariada shot back, hood dangerously close to flying off. Her vibrant green skin was a shade darker from the blood rushing to it in her anger. You had never liked Dariada, she was always far too self-righteous, but you liked her even less now. With what could only be described as a snarl, she wrenched her arm free and grabbed both of your wrists in an iron grip, already marching her way out of the hall and dragging you along with her. She held true to her word and informed the council of the...situation. 

Soon you were standing in the middle of the council members, begging for them to believe you that there had been no one. The lie felt like poison on your tongue, it seeped into your own system just as it flew at the council members. Plo Koon was the first to believe you. “I can sense much fear in you, padawan. Why?” The Kel Dor had asked amidst your muffled sobs. There was no hint of condemnation in his modulated voice, but, instead, compassion and empathy. 

“With all due respect, Master Plo, I just found out that I’m pregnant and I can’t even explain how it happened. I am not ashamed to admit I am terrified of what is to become of my baby.” You turned towards him, hiccuping and blubbering throughout your confession. 

“Only your baby?” Plo Koon asked, raising the ridge where his eyebrow would be. You were painfully aware of the gazes of each individual master on you. Ki-Adi’s was the heaviest of them all. 

With a swallow, you attempted to calm your nerves. Maul could help you. Maul would help you. You just had to get in touch with him. But what would his master do to him, to your baby? The tears began anew. “Only my baby. I can be expelled from the order and find a way to survive but what of them?” No answer was needed for your question. The implications were clear. 

“Padawan, approach.” Master Yoda’s voice called to you as he beckoned you closer with his three-fingered hand. His expression was unreadable. You did as he commanded and the old master closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him when you were little more than a foot away from him. “A child of the Force, the babe is. Clouded is their future.” The grandmaster sighed heavily, letting his head and hand fall in time. “Expel her, we cannot. Powerful will the child be. We must not let either of them fall to the dark side.” Murmurs fell from the masters, sneaking past you as they slipped from loose lips. 

“But is she telling the truth, Master Yoda?” Master Tinn was the one to voice the question on all of their minds. 

“She has to be, Master Tinn.” It was Ki-Adi who spoke in your defense. “Dariada said that she was approaching nine weeks, in that time, the only instances where Y/n has left my sight was when she was in the temple. Y/n is predisposed to the light side and has never broken the code before, to assume that she would to this extent is unwise and unfair to my padawan.” You sent Ki-Adi a grateful smile as he rose from his chair and approached to stand beside you in front of his fellow masters. 

“What are you suggesting we do then, Master Mundi?” Mace Windu asked from your right. 

“Put Y/n’s training on hold and postpone the trials. We will keep her in the temple to watch over her and when the baby comes, I think it would be wise to look into training them.” Ki-Adi offered swiftly to muttered agreements. 

With a tap of his staff, Yoda called the room to him. “A wise decision that is, Master Mundi. Watch her closely, you must. Now,” He focused on you, eyes penetrating your defenses till his gaze seared into you, “fetch Master Qui-Gon Jinn, young padawan, know something of this occurrence, he might.” You dipped your head to bid the council farewell before skirting away from them. As you fled the meeting area, one thought remained. Where are you, Maul? 

…………………………………………………

Maul was being a nuisance. You had gone into the cargo hold in search of more ration bars and thought that he had still been asleep. You were correct, he was still in the same place you had left him last night. Or he had been until Savage came stomping in after you and woke him up. Now, he was acting like a feral tooka; hissing and spitting at Savage while you, once again, trapped behind him. Savage had backed off with his hands up to show surrender but Maul hadn’t relented and you were rather fed up with it. “Savage, go get me a damp cloth, I’ll try to calm him down.” You ordered whilst nodding your head to Maul. Savage was eager to help calm his brother and so, swiftly backed out. 

Meanwhile, you worked to soothe Maul once more, delicately coaxing him to lay down with his torso across your lap. Gentle purrs rumbled in his chest while you worked your hand into the perpetually tense muscles in his back. Savage entered once more, quietly this time, and handed the cloth he had gotten to you. You used the rag to dab at the junctures of Maul’s body. You hoped the motion would be soothing. His fever had broken sometime during the night but you were still trying to ensure he was kept comfortable for the remainder of the journey. 

Before the silence could persist for much longer, Savage broke it as he leaned on some stacked crates across from you. “Did Wild mention the tattoos to you?” 

Looking away from Maul and to the door to the hold, you made sure the three of you were alone. “Yes, he told me he had been talking to you about Dathomir and the Nightbrothers.” You brought your gaze back to Savage who seemed a little hesitant to continue talking. 

“Did...did he tell you why?” You shook your head. Savage sighed heavily and slid down to be seated. “I’m afraid Wild suspects we are hiding something from him.” 

“I knew he’d start to.” You muttered under your breath, subconsciously gripping the cloth tighter. “Did he say anything?” 

Savage shook his head, “No, but he was asking a lot of questions regarding Maul. I answered as many as I could.”

“Wild’s always been perceptive, I knew we couldn’t hide this forever. But, did he tell you why he wanted more? He told me you had offered to help him.” 

The yellow zabrak groaned, pulling one knee up to use as an armrest as he averted his gaze to Maul who had taken to playing with your free hand. “All he said was that he could feel something coming, something monumental.” 

Your brows furrowed. That was...news. Why hadn’t he talked to you about this? Probably because you’ve been keeping secrets from him, you lying piece of-

The door suddenly slid open to reveal the boy of the hour. His...cold saffron eyes zeroed in on Maul before flicking away to Savage and then yourself. His face was stiff. “We’re approaching Dathomir, I took the liberty of starting landing procedures.” His voice was clipped and serious, more than it normally was. With one last glare at Maul, he turned and stalked towards the cockpit. 

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[ichika27]

TWEWY 12

Grande Finale already!

I felt the same nervousness and excitement I felt when I watched the first episode while watching the last one. I’m excited, half knowing what I’d see but not knowing what else to expect.

Can’t believe we finally got to this point. I took so many screenshots... I had to limit myself cause they’re not all gonna fit in one tumblr post.

Also I don’t have to give a spoiler warning anymore. Length warning though cause this is super long!(longer than the usual posts I made for this series at least).

Kitaniji transforms into a three-headed monster and unlike in the game, he doesn’t capture any of Neku’s partners nor use Josh’s power to do so. I’m not sure what explanation there is as to how he got more than one noise form but I guess he’s the Conductor so maybe it’s part of his powers here.

Shiki and Beat awaken in the middle of Neku’s fight and help out. The trio then forms some kind of three-way pact (four if Rhyme actually counted although now completely sure?) and continue battling Kitaniji. The fight scene was pretty cool especially Beat’s attack with the chains. It just sucks the fight ended too fast. I guess all of TWEWY anime’s boss fights end kinda fast even though they’re uh, boss fights.

Final attack beam like in the game! It was too fast and I couldn’t get a good shot of the white version this transforms into (which looks like the one in the game). They have an explanation later as to why it looks different at first but they’ll talk about it later.

It’s sad Joshua isn’t part of this. This is supposed to be the four-way fusion attack. (;-;)

They defeat Kitaniji who disappears, sad that he was unable to protect Shibuya. Joshua never showed up in this boss battle so Kitaniji never got to talk to Joshua for the last time. In the game he at least dies happy in a way - he lost but he gave it his all and his Composer praised his efforts. He was also able to tell Neku that the rest is up to him now. Here in the anime, he just... he lost and felt bad. I wish they had Josh show up here but they had other ideas.

A new door opens and Neku braced himself as he knows the fight isn’t over cause there’s still one last guy on top.

They find themselves in this room/hallway (is this supposed to be the Trail of the Judged?) filled with CAT murals. This somewhat confirms the “CAT = Composer” theory and Neku has now accepted it, calling out Mr. Hanekoma to show himself.

And yeah, the last episode’s title is the show’s title as well “It’s a Wonderful World”.

Someone else showed up instead. Joshua finally makes his reappearance!

Boy, have I been waiting for you! I wish you were with them in the final battle earlier so you guys could be a team (and you could be one of Neku’s partners) one last time.

Neku is surprised but happy to see Joshua again. He thanks Joshua for saving him before and is glad that he’s okay.

In the game, this never happened cause Josh appears in the middle of a fight. Things were too hectic and when the battle with Kitaniji finally ended, he and Josh talked about their own game and so after Kitaniji disappears, what’s left is questioning what was happening. Since Josh didn’t show up earlier, they were able to reunite in a more peaceful way and Neku had no suspicion until Joshua himself brought it up.

And I guess that’s why I was so nervous when I watched this. It’s a bit too peaceful. I know what’s gonna happen next but not exactly how they’d adapt it.

Joshua finally explains the truth to Neku and his friends.

This felt more... awful to watch. Like we had both Joshua and Kitaniji giving bits and pieces of the truth in the game via their conversation so there’s two people to focus on. Here it’s just Joshua. But in a way, I guess this works cause there’s no one else there to soften the blow and Joshua could make the revelation hurt more if he wishes so. It also kinda feels worse cause you see Neku happy to see Joshua earlier before the reveal happens. Kinda heartbreaking.

“I’m the Composer of Shibuya.”

He finally says it clearly to a confused and surprised Neku.

We get a flashback of Joshua and Kitaniji talking about Shibuya’s impending destruction, why it must happen, and Kitaniji making a deal to try and save it. He has a month to change things for the better and if it works out, he wins. If not, Joshua continues the destruction plan.

Joshua’s Composer form is more vague here. It’s human shaped but you don’t see his face and the outline glows like this so you don’t properly see the shape. I think this is better cause there’s no way you can tell who the Composer is like this and he looks less human.

Beat gets angry at the revelation and tries to attack Joshua which he couldn’t do because of Joshua’s powers. I wasn’t able to get a screenshot of this but Josh is twirling his hair after this while Beat struggles to try and punch him. He’s cute and I know this is kind of inappropriate to say in this situation given he legitimately made someone mad and he deserves that punch to his pretty face.

Joshua uses his powers to freeze the others (and later renders them unconscious to keep them quiet). Neku is worried about his friends and is mad.

Joshua tells him he won’t hurt Neku’s friends. He then explains about how he found his proxy. Which is Neku much to his horror at what this meant.

I just had to get this with the subtitles on. I replayed the scene several times to hear if there was no error. Joshua says “Daiji na Neku-kun no tomodachi...” and I google translated it. It says “daiji” means “important”. So yeah, he definitely called Neku “important” to him. It’s surprising although this wouldn’t be out of place in the original game since they had more moments to just talk on there.

Yeah, I know I focused on this a little but I’m a nekujosh/joshneku shipper so forgive me for latching onto this.

Neku slowly sees the bigger picture as Joshua continues to explain himself. As a reward for getting this far, Joshua returns Neku’s memories.

He really had to get that close while saying Neku’s name, didn’t he?

Neku’s death flashback. The scene plays almost similar to the game right down to the censored guns (is this a creative decision to make it faithful to the game or are they really just not allowed to draw actual guns?). I was gonna make a joke about how Joshua stopped Minamimoto’s bullets using an AT field but the shot was different and the bullets just looked like they froze midair and not stopped by some kinda force field like in the game.

Neku ends up getting shot by Joshua complete with bleeding unlike in the game. I just have to wonder if I was the one who got it wrong cause in the game, Joshua looks like he’s aiming for Neku’s head and here, Neku gets shot on the chest. Did they change it cause a headshot would be too much or has it always been a shot to the chest?

Neku angrily walks over to Josh and grabs him by the collar. Joshua stops Neku with his powers as he continues to explain about what happened regarding the death scene and Minamimoto. Joshua then materializes two guns out of thin air and places one on Neku’s hand as he tells him the rules of their final duel: just shoot and if Neku wins, he could save his friends and he becomes Composer and do what he wants. What stood out with how he said it is that he didn’t exactly go “If you don’t beat me, Shibuya is destroyed.” and instead went “If you win, these are what you get to be Composer and whatever else you’d like! Sounds good, right?”. As if saying killing him has a lot of perks.

It feels weird seeing Josh physically placing the gun on Neku’s hand cause in the game, the gun was by Neku’s feet and Neku had to pick it up on his own accord. Anyways, I like the effect they used to materialize the gun cause it’s the same effect for the names of the routes when they show them on screen. Like graffiti or something.

At this point Neku’s crying. The shot didn’t feel as dramatic as in the game in my personal opinion. Neku is tearing up here but he looks tired and was about to sob in the game. Joshua meanwhile, counts down from ten.

Before Joshua’s count hits three, Neku hears a somewhat distorted voice (which we know is just Mr. H) saying “Trust your Partner”. This reminded Neku how he got to where he is: by trusting his partners. (I have something to say about this later)

In a very shocking turn of events, instead of just lowering the gun and letting himself be shot like in the game, Neku drops his gun and with a hand outstretched tells Joshua “I’ll trust you”. Oh my god... they really did it. I love this change not gonna lie. I think they might have added this cause they didn’t adapt Neku’s ending monologue where he does say he trusts Joshua. It’s less dramatic than the game though since Neku doesn’t say anything while Joshua is counting down. In the game, he was crying and saying how he thought Joshua was his friend and how all of this really hurt him. Guess we take what we can get and they gave us this.

Joshua smiles as he shoots but as Neku falls, the smile on Joshua’s face disappears.

Mr. H didn’t show up at the end here either so Neku didn’t get to see him.

Neku wakes up in the middle of Scramble Crossing like usual but he bumps into people and so he realizes that he’s alive now. He doesn’t scream after the very stressful crap he went to like in the game. Might not be entirely the same but Joshua still left him lying down in the middle of the street. Nice.

We then see a short timelapse from above Shibuya which is probably supposed to show a week has passed. Neku’s monologue wasn’t added in and no ending music as well. I’m disappointed “A Lullaby for You” wasn’t used. Here I was hoping for a miracle.

By the way, Shooter, Yammer, and I think Makoto all passed him by the scramble. They really didn’t get much screentime but at least they made cameos.

Neku finally meets up with the Bito siblings like at the game’s epilogue! The shot they did was almost the same as with the game, too. They have dialogue here instead of just stills with Neku showing how happy he was to see his friends alive again, too. I’m happy the anime version showed him smiling more at the end cause he needed that after everything. It’s nice to see him smile.

RG! Shiki is here! With the same shot as in the game! They really aren’t gonna show us her face, huh? Also, all of the shots with Shiki on them has her back towards us. Like there are scenes where Neku and the rest are looking forward and she’s in front of them with her back turned on us. Why? They could’ve used the lighting on her glasses to obscure her eyes, too. So her bangs are a secret as well then?

They show Eri later, too enjoying a concert, by the way. I was hoping to see a reunion between her and Shiki as well and them finally talking after the stuff from before. Oh well.

Neku takes off his headphones and he and Shiki do a proper introduction with each other with Shiki being herself this time. (Is Shiki the same height as Neku? It looks like that from this angle.)

Anyways, this was a nice way to adapt Neku taking off his headphones since they can’t do it like in the game.

They adapted the secret ending but expanded it to add stuff from the secret reports to explain other lore stuff which would’ve been missed by the anime-only watchers since those are part of bonus game contents. Mr. Hanekoma and Joshua talk about the events of the long game and Joshua says he knew it was Mr. H whose responsible for Minamimoto.

They also talk about the Red Skull Pins and how Mr. H made it for Kitaniji. Mr. H says the pins imprints Kitaniji’s will on people and that he himself (Mr. H) doesn’t need that cause he could do so with all the graffiti he left all over town.

Which brings me to earlier in the duel: Neku hears a voice, clearly (to us) is Mr. Hanekoma’s and it’s in a place filled to the brim with CAT graffiti. Did he imprint the words “Trust your partner” to Neku?

Meanwhile, Beat wonders how they were able to pull off the final attack. Neku says it was probably the pin Hanekoma gave them (the keypin looking thing). I guess they needed an explanation for the last attack but they didn’t have the fusion pin so they used this keypin instead. It’s why the attack looked different in the beginning when the attack was powering up.

There’s apparently a new CAT graffiti at Udagawa and of course, CAT-fanboy Neku has to see it. On the way, they meet Sota and Nao who are now alive! I’m so happy!! Joshua brought them back, too! I always felt bad about what happened to them in the game. I’m glad they got a happy ending in the anime.

Def March, 777′s band, are back as well and look... they got their winged mic back! It makes me wonder if they found it later on or if Joshua gave that to them back the same time when he brought them back lol. I’m just really happy for all of them.

Joshua’s wings!! This is, unfortunately, the best shot I could get since they never really zoom in on this. In the game he is in his Composer form in the secret ending and turns into a ball of light when he leaves. Here, we see his wings. It’s smaller than the one he has in KH:DDD. At least we canonically see it here.

I can now use the term “Joshua Maji Tenshi” and be accurate!

Mr. H points out that Joshua looks lonely and is in denial and Josh just leaves. Mr. H also shows his wings and leaves afterwards, too. I didn’t take a pic of it since we see it in the game’s secret ending anyways. His wings also seem smaller than in the game.

Final shot of the new CAT graffiti. I was so close to crying the entire ending and this nearly tipped me over but it didn’t. If “A Lullaby for You” was playing, I’d have probably bawled my eyes out. This graffiti is beautiful. I want a sticker of it.

Also, I just noticed but CAT’s old graffiti at Udagawa had mostly darker colors. This new one is brighter and is more colorful.

--

First of all, I wanted to thank tumblr for not giving me an error for posting more than 15 images like I usually did. I was bracing myself for the error pop up and was gonna make a part 2 instead but there was some kind of miracle and I got more than 20 pictures on here.

I have a lot of melodramatic things to say about the anime but I’ll save it all for later. For now, I’ll say something else. I’m sad they didn’t adapt Neku’s monologue. Those words from Neku still hits me in the feels to this day. Him saying that the entire ordeal really affected him in more ways than one and it wasn’t all good even though he’s happy about changing and what he learned from the experience. His line about how he can’t forgive Joshua but trusts him was cut along with it and it would’ve been nice to have to know what he thought of Joshua.

The thing I missed the most was the “I have friends now. We’re meeting each other for the first time in a week. See you there?” lines. It shows how happy Neku is that he now has people to call his friends which is super heartwarming and the line implies that he counts Joshua as one of those friends, too (which is properly confirmed in KH: DDD which I’d probably make a post about later if I get the motivation to do so). That would’ve also made the last scene with Josh hit harder. In the game, knowing Josh wanted to be with them and is sad he couldn’t already makes me sad but also knowing Neku is waiting for him makes it much worse (and I still feel pain thinking about it even after all these years).

Maybe we’d see them get reunited in NTWEWY. Hopefully. I really do hope so.

The anime isn’t perfect but it did what it could with the limited amount of time it had. The show would’ve been better if they had more episodes but we don’t know why it ended up with just 12 so we can’t really say anything else. They did it and it wasn’t as bad as I was fearing in a way. Would I recommend it? I’d probably rec the game first, to be honest. I was only okay with watching cause I have played the game and could fill in the missing stuff but the anime-only fans couldn’t and the thought that they won’t be able to fully appreciate the entire story of twewy is kinda sad. It was a nice watch though and I’d miss waiting for it every week.

I wonder if they’d make “A New Day” OVA since the anime is supposed to help the ones who haven’t/couldn’t play the first game but would go play NTWEWY and that scenario has story stuff that’s connected to the sequel.

Anyways, thanks for reading this far if you did! I’ll be watching gameplays of NTWEWY when it comes out in full (since I don’t have the money nor the console for it). 

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 25th, 1999

“Toby?” Remy asked.

“Yeah, Rem?” Toby asked, and Remy’s heart ached at the familiar nickname.

“Why don’t you write anymore?” Remy asked. “You would write all the time before Christmas, but now it’s Spring Break and you haven’t even written once!”

“Oh...uh...” Toby cleared his throat. “I just thought our parents knew you better than I would, since I’m not here, you know? And I trusted their judgement, and...yeah, I didn’t want you to obsess over the letters.”

“I don’t obsess over the letters!” Remy objected. “They help me get through the rough patches, yeah, but I don’t obsess over them! Haven’t you gotten any of my letters?”

Toby tilted his head to the side. “You’ve been sending letters?”

Remy felt a little piece of him die inside. “I bet Mom’s been stopping the mailman from sending them to you somehow,” he grumbled.

“What?” Toby asked.

“Never mind,” Remy said. “You can just...not write. I won’t bug you about it again.”

“Remy...”

But Remy was already running up the stairs to hide in his room.

  April 27th, 2001

Remy woke up the morning after his mother showed up with a pit of dread in his stomach. It was barely dawn yet, and Remy crept out of his room to the living room where there were two windows which looked out to the parking lot below. He peeked out of one of them, and sure enough, he could recognize the shape of his parents’ sedan, sitting on the edge of the street. He couldn’t see his mother inside, but as long as the car was nearby, she was around. He snuck over to Emile’s room and was barely inside the door before Emile was grumbling and sitting up. “Remy, what time is it?”

“It’s early, I know,” Remy said, wincing. “But my mother is outside.”

“She’s what,” Emile said. Fury entered his voice as he declared, “I’m calling the cops.”

“No! Don’t! Please!” Remy exclaimed. “I swear she’s not that bad! If I just talk to her for five minutes she’ll leave! We can go out together if you want, but we don’t need to call the cops!”

“Remy,” Emile growled. “She’s terrorizing you, and stalking you. That’s not okay. I’m calling the cops.”

“Emile, please!” Remy begged. “You don’t have to do that!”

“Yes I do!” Emile practically bellowed.

Remy jumped a good six inches and all the blood drained from his face. Emile’s eyes widened and he stood, approaching Remy, but Remy just backed out of the room before running to his own, closing it with his whole body and trying to keep his breathing steady. Emile and Kim had both taught him techniques that could keep his breathing calm and even, but they didn’t seem to be working right now. All he could focus on was Emile’s yelling, echoing over and over in his head. His face was on fire as tears scorched his cheeks, and Emile was knocking on Remy’s door. “Remy! Remy, I’m sorry, please, let me in!”

Remy whimpered and pressed his hands against his ears. Much as he would love to let Emile in, he was also terrified that if he did so, he would be in massive trouble. He had spoken out of turn, he had argued against what Emile wanted, and Emile had gotten angry because of it. That usually meant the second Remy gave in, he’d be getting at least an earful, if not someone unintentionally hurting him.

There was a pounding at the front door, and Remy flinched. Was his mother making a reappearance this early? It was probably barely six in the morning! Footsteps went to the front door, opened it, and there was rushed mumbling that Remy couldn’t make out. He strained to listen closer, and heard words such as “abduction” and “search” and “press charges.”

Remy’s breathing wasn’t getting any better. He buried his head in his knees. If his mother had gone to the police claiming he had been kidnapped...he was going to throttle someone.

Emile yelped and then there was more knocking at Remy’s bedroom door. “Mister Picani?” a gruff voice asked.

“If my mother is the one who called you, I’m not leaving this room!” Remy screamed, voice cracking. “I’m a grown-ass man, she cannot dictate my life!”

“Son, we need you to come with us,” the man said. “You’re safe, you don’t have to lie to anyone about how old you are.”

Remy growled and moved away from the door, grabbing his wallet from his nightstand and pulling out his ID from one of the front pockets. He opened the door an inch and saw a heavily-built man on the other side, wearing a police uniform. He offered his ID out. “I’m of legal age,” he snapped. “I don’t know what my mother told you, but this is my ID.”

The policeman took it, examined it closely, and scrutinized Remy. “You still need to come with us, son,” he said.

“On what grounds?!” Remy snapped. “No, seriously, on what grounds?! Am I not allowed to split rent with Emile over there?” he asked, nodding to his boyfriend. “Am I legally required to go to college? Are you a truancy officer?” He huffed, “I don’t care what my mother told you, I’m not. Going. Anywhere.”

“We need to verify your age, Mister Picani, and ensure that this isn’t a fake ID,” the officer said.

“Okay, I don’t know what my mother told you—”

“—You’re not coming with us,” the officer finished, grabbing Remy roughly by the arm. “Kid, I’ll handcuff you if I have to.”

“Bite me,” Remy huffed, trying to wrench his arm free.

The officer’s nostrils flared as he asked, “Care to repeat that comment?”

“Remy. Remy!” Emile exclaimed, from where he was barricaded from moving by another officer. “Don’t fight back on this one, I’ll come pick you up from the station as soon as they realize your mother was lying about you being seventeen and a runaway.”

Remy bared his teeth at the officer. “I’m a grown-ass man! You can’t tell me that you seriously believe I’m seventeen!”

“I’ve seen kids taller than you at sixteen,” the officer replied. “March.”

Remy was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of his apartment and into a waiting patrol car. He was unceremoniously thrown in the back, and he fumed in silence all the way to the station. When he was dragged into the station, his mother was waiting for him, and judging by her face she had been crying to some officer or another. “Remy!” she exclaimed, rushing over and trying to hug him.

“Get off me!” Remy exclaimed, shoving her away. “Why would you leave your car outside Emile’s apartment complex and come to the police claiming I was a minor?!”

His mother stared at him in shock, and he just kept his arms crossed, and his teeth bared. “An explanation would be nice,” he threw the words back in her face.

“Remy, you of all people should know that you can’t run away from your responsibilities!” his mother chided. “Your father and I were so worried!”

“Of course you would see it that way,” Remy breathed, before laughing. “Bite me, mother! I’m nineteen years old, I know what I’m doing with my life, and you are not going to be a part of it!”

His mother turned on the waterworks and suddenly everyone in the station was glaring at him. His mother kept wailing and trying to hug him and he kept shoving her away until the officers who had brought him in dragged him to a holding cell, presumably to stop a fight in the front. It wasn’t the classiest place he had ever been in, but it was away from his mother, so he could relax just a little bit. Two other guys were in there with him, one who looked like he was recovering from a bender, and another who Remy had no idea what he might be here for, but who had tattoo sleeves all up and down both arms. “Nice tats,” he said.

The man tilted his chin up at Remy. “Thanks. You mind my asking why you’re here?”

“My mother’s a nut job?” Remy laughed incredulously. “Claimed I was seventeen and a runaway because I dropped out of college and didn’t call her over Christmas.”

The man roared with laughter, causing the drunk to glare at the both of them. “Wow. That’s...certainly something,” the man said. “I’m here because my girlfriend and I got in a fight, and I was angry enough and stupid enough to punch the cop trying to get in between us.”

Remy grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” the man said. “I really hope they just give me a fine and not, like, jail time.”

“Me too,” Remy said. “My...my friend and I got in a fight this morning too, before the cops showed up at our door.”

“Your...friend?” the man asked.

“Well, yeah. He and I split rent. We’re having some issues and frequent arguments about keeping the place clean, but at the end of the day, he’s still a friend. It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.” Remy leaned against the wall and sighed. “But my mother likes to ruin everything good I ever find for myself in the world, if it doesn’t fit her vision of what she wants for me.”

The man winced. “Oh, she’s one of those,” he said with distaste. “I hate those. The kind where if you so much as bring up getting a tattoo, they’ll start screaming that you’re ruining your life, that this isn’t what you want when in reality it isn’t what they want. I hate those types.”

“Mhm,” Remy hummed. “She’s... the worst.”

“You look beat, kid,” the man said.

“I look how I feel, then,” Remy mumbled.

The man checked by the door but no one was standing there. “You should probably get some rest, kid, especially if your mom tries to get to you.”

“Like I could sleep when she knows where I live,” he laughed.

The man shook his head. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but if you make it clear you want nothing to do with her, sooner or later she’ll back off.”

“You’ve clearly never met her,” Remy sighed. But even as he said it, he was already drifting off to sleep from exhaustion.

When he next woke up, it was to the door of the holding cell opening with a screech. “Mister Picani,” an officer regarded him coolly. “Please come with me.”

Remy stood and followed, somewhat confused. He was led to the lobby, and handed his ID. Both Emile and his mother were waiting for him on opposite sides of the lobby, and the officer said. “The ID is legitimate. Our apologies for disrupting your morning.” And with that, the officer left.

Emile and his mother were both starting to talk to him at once, but Remy just watched the police officer leave. When he couldn’t even pretend to be distracted anymore he sighed, looked between them, and winced as he realized he was still in his pajamas and had no shoes, and he’d have to walk outside like this. He held up a hand and Emile paused in his tidal wave of apologies, but his mother was still going on her tirade. He sighed and gave Emile a look that roughly equated to do you see what I have to deal with? and Emile snorted, nodding.

His mother paused at that, looking between the two of them. Remy took the opportunity to say, “Yeah, I’m going back to Emile’s place, Mom, and there’s nothing you can do about that. I’m not going home with you, I’m not doing whatever you want me to do to ‘redeem’ myself in your eyes, and you can’t stop me.”

“You’ll never get Tobias’ number,” his mother threatened.

Remy laughed, and even though it felt painfully fake to him, his mother looked shocked. “Oh, I doubt that Toby would even want me calling him, Mom. After all, I only ever pestered him about everything, isn’t that what you said?”

Emile visibly twitched, fingers clenching and unclenching in a strangling motion at his sides.

“Don’t bother either of us again, Mom, Emile needs his time to study and I need to actually work if I want to uphold my half of rent,” he said. “Come on, Emile, let’s go. I still need to get my shoes from yours.”

Emile looked down, seemed to notice Remy’s bare feet for the first time, and snickered as he said, “Yeah, I can’t imagine walking around barefoot is accepted at work. Let’s go.”

They walked out of the station in minorly strained silence. “I’m really sorry for yelling,” Emile said once they were in his car.

“It is what it is,” Remy said with a shrug. “Not like I’m going to break up with you over it.”

“Remy, I traumatized you. I...that’s not okay,” Emile said, glancing over at Remy.

Remy shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Emile,” Remy said. “Give me some time and I’ll forgive you. It will take time, but provided you’re willing to give it to me...”

“Of course,” Emile said.

“Then it’s no worries,” Remy said. He bit his lip. “I really wish I could call Toby.”

“I’m sure you guys will find each other one day,” Emile said. “I doubt he’d just...give up on seeing you ever again.”

“I hope you’re right,” Remy mumbled, moping as he stared out the car window. “I just...could really use his support right about now.”

[laurelleghuleh]

OCAF | Ch. 14 “Scars”

Warnings: read the masterlist first

Songs:“Perfectly Wrong” by Shawn Mendes, “Insecure” by Brent Faiyaz ( I think this song is exactly what is going on inside Daphne’s/your head rn), “Teacher’s Pet” by Melanie Martinez (when DaddyErwin arrives)

DAPHNE’S POV

“Are you sure you’ve had enough?”

Tracing his thumbs over my ribs and lowering his gaze to my torso, Levi firmly said “No.” and my bottom lip quivered in anticipation. I instantly felt something unfamiliar, something wicked growing in my lower belly, something I had to suppress as soon as possible. I could see the same lust swimming around Levi’s eyes, but the dark shadows beneath them, the gauze over his wound, the scars, the signs, and all the bruises all over his skin talked more loudly to my conscience than my selfish yearning. We both needed some rest.

I sighed and moved away from him, leaving him quite puzzled. I stood up from the tub, removed his firm grip from my ass and smirked at him as I stepped out. But he was faster than I expected. Levi instinctively followed me out of the bath, caught me, and turned me to face him again, pushing me against the wall behind me. Then his lips found my neck, eagerly gliding down my throat, following the line over my pulse.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he breathed against my heated skin. I almost didn’t catch his words, his lips barely lifted from me to spell his sentence out. He gently pulled my torso toward him as he slid down, exploring every inch of my skin. Again.

At the same time, one of his hands was firmly pressed on my waist while the other one was down on my thigh, lifting it up and securing it next to his side. My shoulder blades were now pressed against the bathroom's wall, my hands loosely placed over his shoulders, my eyes closed, my mind completely somewhere else.

No. We need to stop. I need to stop this… This is wrong. So wrong. What are we even doing?

I swallowed thickly trying to pull myself back together.

“Levi, we… You should rest-”

I couldn’t even manage to finish my sentence as I felt his fingers lightly pinching my nipple, then gently cupping my breast, and his face slowly climbing back up to mine.

He looks so tired.

“You should go to bed now” I sweetly whispered, caressing his cheeks with my hands. His face immediately lifted and a wide smirk curled his mouth.

“Say less.” he murmured.

That’s the last thing I remember about that night. Even now it feels like, when his swollen lips met mine again, everything just went in a blur of sloppy noises and imprecise memories. We clumsily rushed back to the bed, not even minding to put some new sheets on, landing on the bare mattress, one pressed against the other. We probably did it again, at least once. Only the adrenaline kept us going, but at some point I think we just passed out.

In the middle of the night, I woke with a start. A biting heat was scratching my throat, my mouth was completely drained, my body almost did not respond to my own commands, and my eyes refused to open. Once I faintly lifted my eyelids, I finally realized where I was. And most importantly, who I was with.

Lying next to me there was Levi, still sleeping soundly. Who knows how long he hadn't slept like that. His arms were still lazily wrapped around me, his chest swelled and deflated slowly with each breath, his forehead was flat and relaxed, his lips barely parted. I would have stayed there forever just staring at him.

I felt so small, so vulnerable on that bare mattress, and yet so calm. A thin thread of moonlight casually traced his contours and all I could do was silently contemplate him. If I had had the strength, I would have once more run my fingers through his silky dark hair, which now hung messily over his temples.

I would have stayed there forever.

I would have stayed there even forever if I hadn't felt that sudden bang inside my chest. Badum. Like a hammer knocking unexpectedly against my ribcage. Badum. A toll that became almost deafening in the absolute silence of that night. Badum. It was the first time a man had made me so small, so vulnerable. Badum. But I think I knew that feeling. Badum. It was the same thing I felt during the expedition, when the only thing I could think of was Levi and how badly I wanted to see him again. Badum.

I didn’t know what that was exactly, but it scared me to death.

“Oooh, you know what this is. You know it already, little liar. You felt like this even yesterday when you were looking for him everywhere, so desperately, so foolishly.” Badum.

“You felt like this when he helped you calming down.” Badum.

“When he kissed you the first time.” Badum.

“When he let you talk about your stupid past.” Badum.

“Even when he was just looking at you from a distance.” Badum.

“You’ve been feeling like this since the very beginning, you foolish little girl.” Badum.

“So why don’t you stay? Stay. Linger between your dear captain’s arms a little longer.“ Badum.

“Stay. No really, stay.” Badum.

“It won’t make much of a difference at this point.” Badum.

“Ruth is dead.” Badum.

“Abigail hates you.” Badum.

“Nina would hate you too if she only knew all the blood that ran through your hands last year.” Badum.

“Stay.” Badum.

At that point my heart was racing so wildly in my chest I almost believed it was about to wake Levi up, but probably only an earthquake could have disturbed his sleep in that state. I did my best to slip out of his arms as silently as possible, dragging my weary body off the bed, crawling, and looking for my clothes. Then I creeped out of his room, limping back to mine.

Time was not on our side, he was right. Nothing was on our side. People like Levi and me can be content with letting down their guards for one night and one night only. I would have stayed forever, but not in this life. The new day would eventually bring clarity to the stupid mistake we both made that night. He would have done the same in my position. Or at least, this is what I tried to tell myself as I curled up in my blankets, crying myself to sleep.

The next day I instinctively got up to the sound of the alarm and dragged my body into the bathroom like an automaton. I felt like throwing up. My bowels were literally upside down.

Then, opening the wardrobe to take the uniform, I came across my reflection. Almost complementary to the battle scars there were now faint bruises where Levi must have exerted too much pressure the previous night. I stared at them for a couple of solid minutes, not even daring to touch my own skin. They were the clear signs that what happened between us couldn’t be washed away that easily. But I was determined to find a way to erase them. To forget about him and get back on track. He wasn’t part of my plan, nor I would have allowed him in. Ever.

I'm going to earn my freedom on my own, legitimately this time. In a way or another.

Anyway, that morning eating was out of the question. I could barely bring myself to drink a glass of water at that point. On top of that, just the thought of seeing Levi made me already sick. Therefore, I decided to skip breakfast and go straight to the medical wing of the HQ. I knew I could be of service and my first aid skills were definitely needed after the expedition.

I kept myself busy all day, helping injured soldiers and filling reports. Hours dragged on pretty easily. I was so caught up that I even forgot about lunch. I was going around like a spinning top. But as always, the Lady Luck was not cooperating that day. Still kneeled beside a soldier’s bed to change his gauze, I suddenly froze. From a distance I heard the nurses greeting someone, saying things like: “Captain”, “Captain, welcome”, “How are you feeling, Captain?”

I hoped and prayed with my eyes closed they were talking to another captain. Spoiler alert: they weren’t.

Chills ran down my spine when, lifting cautiously my eyelids, I saw Levi sitting next to another soldier’s bed, right in front of the one I was taking care of. He wasn’t in his uniform, just regular clothes, his expression looked neutral, his shoulders less tense than usual.

He lingered there for less than five minutes I think, holding that man’s hand and talking to him with such a low tone I couldn’t catch a single word. That soldier’s conditions were pretty bad, I was told he was about to die and I assumed Levi was there to talk to him or just to say goodbye. I secretly imagined their conversation as I tried to stay focused on my patient. In the meantime, I foolishly believed Levi didn’t even perceive my presence, but when he stood up and walked past me, everything was suddenly crystal clear.

He knew I was there. He perfectly knew. It took a single, brief glance to express all the disappointment and disgust he was feeling toward me. Just one.

How I missed his old unreadable face.

I gulped and brought my eyes back on the soldier I was treating. I knew I probably hurt Levi, or maybe just his ego, but I didn’t expect that sudden nausea to grow again in my stomach.

I shouldn’t feel bad for him. I should feel bad for myself. Also, I only did him, us, a favor. A big favor. He’ll forget about me pretty soon. Stop thinking about him and just move on, Daphne. You made the right choice. No regrets, right?

When dinner time arrived, the nurses were practically forcing us all to take a break and go eat something, but my stomach was still upside down. As I was on my way to my bedroom, rhythmically exerting a little pressure on my biceps to relax a little, I sensed an arm hooking mine. Hange.

“Excuse me, Miss, where are you going? The food is in the opposite direction.” she said, softly smiling.

“I don’t really feel like eating right now…” I tried to evade her look.

“Are you unwell? I didn’t see you at breakfast, nor at lunch… Is everything okay? I mean, I know the expedition was rough and all-” she started to say, increasing the speed of her voice.

“No, no.” I interrupted her. “Don’t worry Hange, It’s just that I’m not hungry.”

“But you have to eat something. What about soup? It will warm you up a little if you’re not feeling well.” she suggested.

I sighed noisily, then just nodded. There was no way I could escape her. Hange always had her ways to convince people.

Luckily for me, there was still no sign of Levi when we entered the room. In the cafeteria, the air was tense and everyone was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The few who were chatting kept their voices low, the others were just staring somewhere on the floor or the table as they silently ate.

Hange and I took place with her fellows. It was so strange to not see Petra, Eld, Gunther and Oruo around. Even though I didn’t know all the soldiers I could feel those who were missing. I could feel an unbearable void.

And of course when I thought I was safe, suddenly Levi arrived. His unfazed facade was back on and he was still visibly limping.

I wonder if he changed his gauze this morning… Daphne, no. Don’t even try the nurse card now. Please, try to be professional.

As usual, he took his seat right in front of me, didn’t greet anyone, didn’t say a single word. Didn’t look at me. Not even once. Better, much better than that death look from earlier. Do not look at me. Do not talk to me.

“Finally! Levi, I didn’t see you at breakfast and lunch either. Where were you all?” Hange told him.

“Either who?” he calmly asked.

“Well, not even Daphne showed up. I’m just glad we are all here now. Together.” she sadly sighed.

I sensed Levi’s head tilting in my direction, but his eyes were still somewhere else. He probably had figured we were both trying to avoid each other. Or maybe I was the one making assumptions. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

“So, how are your legs?" Hange continued.

“Yes, Captain, how are your legs?” I imitated her with an unbothered tone, eyes fixed on my spoon as I raised it to take a sip.

“That should be my line.” said Levi.

I almost choked at his words, coughing and blushing visibly. This fucking asshole. So is this the game we’re playing now?

Hange immediately turned toward me, rubbing my back and asking me anxiously: “Did something happen to your legs too? Are you hurt? I knew something was wrong with you..."

I clicked my tongue and glanced at Levi, trying to show him all the anger pooling in my eyes. Then I replied nonchalantly: “Nothing serious. I'm good, Hange.”

I exhaled soundly, prey to that sudden frustration his words caused me, and decided to stand up from my chair.

“Sorry, I think I lost my appetite.” I added before I rushed out of the room. I don't have time for this bullshit.

Running off, I suddenly bumped into something. Something so hard I thought I was about to fall backward. Providentially two strong hands grabbed me by the shoulders before anything happened and I finally realized that hard wall was actually someone.

Ouch.

“Cadet, are you okay?” I heard someone saying.

I squinted my eyes, blinking as I tried to regain my composure. When I finally realized who was now in front of me, I just mumbled: “C-Commander, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention-”

“Don’t worry. Are you okay?” Erwin asked me again.

“I hope so...” I murmured in pain, rubbing my forehead. What is this man made of?? Bricks??

“Well, since you’re here, would you walk with me? I was kinda looking for you. Can you walk?” he calmly said.

What is it with everyone and my legs today? Wait, what?? He was looking… for me?

“Ehm, sure… I can walk.” I replied.

He nodded and beckoned me to join him as we started to walk along the hallway.

“So, how are you doing? Bump aside...” he asked with a soft voice.

“Vertical and breathing.” Daphne. Please, Daphne. Do not try to be sarcastic with your superior, for fuck’s sake.

“I-I mean, better than nothing. I’d live.” I corrected myself, not doing any better. When I side-eyed him I caught him lightly chuckling. Ok, that’s weird.

“Alright. I was informed about your contribution during the expedition. You did well.” he declared.

“I-I just… I just did what I had to do, sir.” Gosh, I sound like Levi.

“I’m glad to hear that.” added Erwin.

“I think now I get it… I-I get why you are fighting, what you are fighting for.” I don’t know why I told my biggest enemy that thing, but… I kind of needed to get it out of my chest.

He glanced at me, letting a small grin appear on his face, and then stopped in front of a massive door. Towering me with his height, the commander asked me: “Would you follow me inside my office? I’d like to continue this conversation in private. Just the two of us.”

Fuck. What have I just gotten myself into?

I nodded and shyly stepped inside the room behind him. At a first glance, his office was way bigger than Levi's. Every piece of furniture was made of dark solid wood. A big desk was right in the center, paired with his personal chair and two smaller ones on the opposite side, maybe for his occasional guests. On the right side of the room, there was a little green couch, some other shelves, a couple of paintings and maps hanging on the wall, and a door just ajar. His bedroom, probably. On the left, a huge library. I took a rapid glance at how every single book was perfectly aligned and ordered on each level. I was secretly trying to guess which of those concealed the poem Levi had told me the night before, imagining him browsing and picking up some books from there. But I was suddenly brought back to reality by Erwin’s voice when I heard him asking me:

“And tell me, how is it going with your comrades?”

As soon as he sat down at his desk I couldn't help but notice how solemn and handsome Erwin looked. His cheekbones were now illuminated by a little oil lamp beside him, his posture was regal, and his shoulders perfectly matched the two huge windows behind him. If possible, I was suddenly way more nervous than before.

“Oh, ehm… O-Okay, I think.” I stuttered.

“Have you noticed something strange with them?”

“No, sir. Not before what happened yesterday… When the spy came out and-”

He stopped my confused babbling only raising his palm and then asked: “And with your superiors? How is it going?”

Fuck. Me. Fuck me. No. No. No. C’mon Daphne, think fast. Say something.

“Ehm… I-I got the chance to interact with just a few of them… But, well, Hange has been very kind to me since the very beginning. She’s a great leader. She-” I started to say.

“What about your captain, Captain Levi?” he interrupted me again.

“What do you mean?” Here we go. Fuck. Here we go.

“You know he’s surveilling you on my account, right?” Erwin added.

He has been surveilling pretty closely, sir. That’s the problem.

“I’m well aware of that, sir.”

“And how is it going?” he questioned me.

It sucks because I think I like him, but I screwed up everything and now he hates me, but I don’t care because I’m not here for him, but actually I do care, like a lot, and now I don’t know what to do.

All I could say was: “Ehm, we had our ups and downs, but… Levi is a great captain. I respect him a lot.”

Even though it doesn’t seem like I do, considering that I left without a word after we fucked all night. But besides that, yes, I respect him a lot.

“Excellent. Excellent… Well, what I wanted to tell you was that I’ve been thinking about your situation recently… I thought deeply about it. All things considered, you behaved all this time. Except for that little accident…” he said lifting his gaze from his knuckles as he rested his elbows over his desk.

The Underground, I thought. I swallowed thickly.

“But you are also very disciplined, neat, always on time. You demonstrate to be skilled and smart. Or at least that’s what Levi has always claimed.”

I wonder if they talked about me even today. I wonder if he still thinks about me this way as a soldier even if he hates me…

“You contributed to the expedition and even survived the female titan.” the commander continued.

Geez, I’d like to know where he’s getting at with this conversation.

“So, I want to inform you that I’m willing to go a little easy on you. To loosen my grip.”

My eyes widened at the sound of his words.

“Just a little.” he added, gesturing a little space between his index and thumb, almost sarcastically.

My face fell after a second. He doesn’t think I’m that dumb, does he?

“I sense a but coming, Commander.”

“Buuuut. But. On one condition. I think Levi needs some rest and we still haven’t talked about his plans for you and Yeager given that his squad doesn’t exist anymore… However, we have to act as quickly as possible right now, and find the spy.” said Erwin.

I nodded to make sure he knew I was listening carefully.

“Since you were one of the few people to survive the female titan, your help is crucial right now. Therefore, I’ll personally ask you to do things for me, like cooperate with my subordinates and-”

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.” I hurried to say. Calm down, you stupid. “Ehm, I mean, sure. I’ll do it. Tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it.”

“Good. Good.”

He made a little pause, standing up from his desk. Then, walking toward me, he spoke again: “You’ll run some errands for me, bring me things, reports or papers from time to time, so just know that this office’s doors are always open for you.”

Should I be afraid of all this sudden kindness from the Commander? Or does he just need a lot of help?

I nodded again, then added: “Thanks, Commander.”

His shoulders relaxed and his eyes traveled down my body, examining my figure from head to toe.

“I saw you staring at the library earlier. Do you like reading?” he asked, moving his gaze toward the bookshelf.

“Honestly, I’ve never read a book, sir. I know how to read and write, but the only things I’ve ever read were...” Shit, how do I put this… “My… My former employer’s documents and letters. Pretty boring stuff.”

“I see.” He eyed me again, intertwining his hands behind his back, taking quite an authoritarian posture. “Well, feel free to take as many as you want from my library. Just remember to put them back afterward.”

“Really? I mean, I-” I blubbered, moving my hands anxiously. Can you not embarrass yourself for once, Daphne?

“Take one now.” he ordered me.

I gulped. “Ehm, okay.”

“I’ll take my leave now. I have a meeting with Hange. I suggest you find Wim and my other subordinates tomorrow morning. They’ll give you instructions about our research.”

I only nodded, following him with my eyes as he walked toward the door. But before he exited the room I spoke again: “Commander… Thank you again for your trust.”

If I behave and act accordingly, Erwin may even become my pass out of here. How the tables have turned...

He slightly rotated his head over his shoulder, softly smiled at me, and then just left without a word.

When the door closed, I started to walk back and forth in front of the library for a while, wondering which one to choose. Half of them were war-related books, from the theoretical ones to actual novels, and even poems collections. A little part of me was still looking for that particular one, the one Levi was talking about the night before, but I knew that was the one I should definitely have to avoid. There were so many I didn’t know which one to pick.

Take a short one, just to see if you like reading stories or not. Just pick one and leave, for fuck’s sake.

At some point, I noticed a little book with a pretty fancy cover, it looked like it was a part of a bigger collection of fictions. That’s it. I’ll start with this one.

As I walked to my bedroom I realized how late it was getting, the sky was darker than before and I thought maybe going to sleep earlier wasn’t a bad idea. I had hours of sleep to recover. But once in my room I figured that was easier said than done. Of course, all I could do was think about Levi, that night we spent together, and how twenty-four hours could make such a difference.

That book I took from Erwin’s shelf was a blessing. It helped me to distract myself, even though, from time to time, Levi’s face appeared between the lines. Whenever I brought my digit to my mouth to wet it or just touched the page to turn it I believed I could still feel his skin and the thought alone made me go insane. However, the story was so fascinating I read it all in one breath until I fell asleep still holding it in my hands. Without it, I would have probably stayed up all night thinking about him.

And then another day came, another day of Levi totally ignoring me. And then another one. And another one. Almost an entire week passed and his eyes were still injected with hate and other things I couldn’t figure out yet.

Luckily, the days after the expeditions were - to use a euphemism - busy. I went back and forth from Erwin’s office to update him about our research and progress, bringing him papers, letters, and whatever he needed. Even coffee or tea sometimes.

It came out that Armin had a theory about the spy, a really good one, and the commander decided to trust his intuition. From that moment the kid cooperated with us to see if that was the right path to follow.

I hardly ever happened to be at HQ, yet every time I set my foot there, it always seemed as if fate wanted me to accidentally meet Levi. It happened that I saw him even just walking by, for a few seconds or that we both ended up being in the same room, for several minutes or hours, even just a meter away from one another. His lips were always stitched and the few times they parted it was only to weave a few, cold, and terrible words against me. His eyes ignored me, like I was not in his line of sight, and whenever they found me, even from a distance, it was just to throw me deadly glances. Ignoring me was so deafening that I almost had the impression that all his attention was upon me.

So is this how it will go from now on?

[ AN: Guys, just to clarify, Daphne’s/your nausea is caused by the whole situation, she’s/you’re not pregnant, just stressed. Also, I know I shouldn’t be here explaining the story, but I hope no one is hating on Daphne right now. Poor girl, she is so scared of her feelings since she never felt like this and also feels like she betrayed her sisters (and herself somehow). However, stick around because the next chapters are going to be pretty animated. How do you think Levi is doing right now? I’m genuinely curious. Hope you’re all doing well and enjoying the story so far. See you next time! ]

[sunnomnoms]

How would Todoroki comfort an emotionally burned out S/O? (I really love how you write Shoto because just reading about him makes me so relaxed, like drinking tea)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO AAAAAAAAAAA

I had a bit of an emotional burn out myself recently I guess, hence the unannounced hiatus. But I’m back, and I have ur Todo content!!!! I wrote this as headcanons, I hope you don’t mind!! Also, I’m glad you like how I portray him, i do my best to be accurate but also realistic to his character!!

TW: mentions of animal and child neglect. I guess I’m in a bit of a morbid mood? I felt giving some details would make this feel more real, I’m sorry if it’s too much!

It had been after a tough mission that you two happened to be on together. It was an emotionally exhausting mission. It wasn’t one of epic proportion, it didn’t have any super heroic battles, no villainous empire to tear down, no evil overlord to stop.

Instead, the two of you had been working along side police force. Of course, you were recognized and respected as heroes, the two of you were doing work studies and were recognized as legitimate heroes. But the mission wasn’t a huge one.

Or so you thought

To bring things long story short, what you expected to be a quick wellness check turned out to be a horrifying sight of child and animal neglect. Owners of the house seemed to have skipped town, and completely abandon their pets and children. The neglect seemed to be long term, the owners skipping town seemed to be out of fear due to police suspicion.

It didn’t help that you were the one who initially discovered the neglected children. If Shoto hadn’t been there with you, you would have hit the ground when you fainted at the sight.

The next few days after the incident, you seemed to keep to yourself.

Shoto didn’t like this. It wasn’t that you weren’t giving him attention that bothered him, no, he didn’t mind when you wanted alone time. But this was abnormal. This wasn’t right, something was wrong. No text message telling him you were okay and just needed some time alone, no good morning or good night text (you always did those, no matter if you were distant or not), nothing.

He was worried. No, beyond worried. You were his significant other, you meant a whole lot to him. Sure he didn’t know exactly how to express that all the time, but he did everything he could to get it across that he was there for you. And you always seemed to know and appreciate that. Why is it any different now? Is it something he did? What happened?

It struck Shoto then that you and him had just been on a... harrowing mission. He had to mull over it a few times before it kind of hit him how awful that situation actually was. Shoto had kind of... disconnected himself from the situation despite everything so he could just kind of do what he had to. He learned to do this a good bit throughout his life, to disconnect and disregard emotions at certain times so he could get to the point and work.

But you? You had always been a companionate person. It’s one of the many things he loved about you.

He should have realized sooner. Of course you’re upset. Of course you couldn’t disconnect. He shouldn’t have expected you to.

It didn’t take long for him to make his way over to your dorm. He would have sprinted there, but given the hour of night it was he didn’t want to gain any suspicion. He stopped in front of your door, knocking oh-so gently.

“[Y/N].” Shoto called for you softly. A small rustle was heard within your room, then silence. He knocked again. “[Y/N], please let me in. I’m worried about you...” At first there was nothing, until he heard soft shuffling towards the door. A small click was heard, as well as some more shuffling. Shoto grabbed the nob gently, twisting it and entering your dorm slowly.

It was a bit of a mess, sure, but he wasn’t really worried about that. Instead, he made his way to your laying form on your bed. He sat on the bed gently, sitting near the foot of the bed as you back faced away from him. He looked over at you, unsure as what to do.

“Hey.” He started, hoping his greeting would get you to carry on the conversation. But you were silent. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, so instead, he just spoke.

“You don’t have to move or get up. You don’t have to even speak. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I know you’re struggling from that mission, I should have known you would. I know that kind of stuff gets to you. I was too busy disconnecting myself from it all that I didn’t even think about how you felt. I’m sorry.” Shoto speaks softly, his head slightly hanging. He truly did feel bad, he should have realized you didn’t feel okay. It just never striked him as an issue until now.

“Please don’t apologize.” You croaked back to him, your throat sounding slightly raw.

Shoto sighed, crawling into your bed and at your side, before laying on his back to stare at the ceiling.

“You did amazing on that mission. She’s gonna be okay because of you, you know that, right?” Shoto offered. You curled up a bit more. Shoot, maybe not the right thing to say.

“I’m proud of you. And... I’m also here for you. I know things are rough, but... I want to share the weight. I know it’s not easy to open up all the time, but... Please try to talk to me. I want to help you.” He spoke softly, barely above a whisper. Again, he wasn’t the best with words, but... he was trying. It was all a shot in the dark for him.

With some more shuffling, he felt you huddle up into his side. He wrapped his arms around you gently as you rested your face in the crook of his neck.

The truth was, you cried all of your tears and threw all of your fits over the situation. You were tired, and you had barely anything left to give emotionally. Shoto knew how this felt to an extent, his internal emotional battery would occasionally run out of power here and there as well. This on the other hand was different. You weren’t the stoic type, so it didn’t go unnoticed.

It lasted a few days really, but within those few days, Shoto hardly left your side. He wasn’t annoying you, no, he was a bit of a reminder that you truly weren’t alone. He also reminded you to eat, shower, and so what and so on.

Shoto would tell you gentle stories of sweeter points in his childhood. some of the happy stories and good memories. You knew the background Shoto came from, so it was delightful to hear that an occasional ray of light came through the darkness for him.

Shoto would just... be in your presence. He didn’t want to leave you alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you or anything, no, but he just wanted to be able to feel you around him. For those handful of bad days you had, he’d do his homework and even sleep in your room just to keep an eye on you.

He wasn’t just lying around or anything, no. He was helpful, too. Knowing how mentally burnt out you were, he helped with your homework and even would fetch things for you, wether it be across the room or in the common room. His main thing just seemed to be keeping an eye on you and coaxing you out of sulking completely all day and actually eating and caring for yourself. He probably would have been willing to bathe you too if you would have let him.

Shoto spent probably half of his time trying to talk to you at least a little, always giving you some loving words of support. If you weren’t much for talking with him, he’d just sit in comfortable silence with you as he did other things. Neither of you minded this, it was nice to just... exist around one another for awhile. Nothing about it was unfulfilling or boring about it, it was nice to just have him around.

After you had gotten yourself in orders and back to your normal self, Shoto was a bit more attentive to your emotions.

It’s never been easy for him to process emotions, much less other people’s emotions. But he’s willing to learn for your sake. Just give him some time.

He often would ask how you are, and if you weren’t feeling well he’d ask if you wanted him around or not. He never took offense if you wanted some alone time, even if it made him worry a bit. But if you wanted him around, he’d usually be quiet and just exist in your presence. If he spoke he spoke quietly, and if he touched you he’d warn you first. He did most anything to keep you comfortable when you weren’t feeling well.

[reddit-tales]

What one experience made you completely rethink how you viewed a certain individual or group of people, either in a positive or negative light?

I used to be absolutely terrified of homeless people. When I was little, a homeless man set up camp behind the office of our Church. The parents saw him just lying there in his blankets, and decided they wanted to help him (not call the cops). However, a few kids and I decided to be little jackasses, and dared eachother to touch the only part of him sticking out of the blanket; his bare feet.

Now the thing is, it's not necessarily *bad advice* to tell a kid not to poke the bare feet of a homeless guy. But it was certainly bad advice to take it to a much greater level, and say homeless people were dangerous, disease-ridden, and wanted to hurt us. Because for years afterwards, I couldn't go close to a homeless person, not even in my teens. I'd see them just sitting nonchalantly in front of a convenience store, and I wouldn't make eye contact.

In my senior year of high school, I decided to do a human interest piece for the school paper. It was a common addition, usually documenting the history and lifestyle of well-known local restaurants, former star athletes retiring in our quiet slice of suburbia, or up and coming entrepreneurs.

But there was one guy everybody knew, a man we called "Santa Bum." He was a homeless man who would share the waves with the school's surf team, and he existed mostly down at the beach. He was easy to spot with his very long pearly-white beard, which was his pride and joy.

I decided to do a piece on him. The journalism teacher thought I was joking, but I polled the class. Show of hands. How many of you guys know who Santa Bum is? Boom, all hands. Of course everyone knows this guy. You can't spend a week in that community without seeing him patrolling the beach or traversing the main boulevard in his bright red trunks.

He's Santa Bum. Of course he has bright red trunks.

I found him with the surf team, introduced myself, and he was immediately receptive to my questions. I was expecting maybe a 10 minute interview or an awkward end to it, maybe being asked for food or money or booze. Thing is, I was before one of the most well-known local celebrities in our community, but I also knew he was homeless. And man, I was a little scared too. The only thing that helped was knowing he's been a part of the community for a long time, the trusting assurance of "if he's actually dangerous, he probably would've been put away a long time ago."

The interview was amazing.

His name is Ryan. He graduated the same high school I did. He attended two years of college, but had to drop out when he lost his job at a closed pet store and couldn't pay tuition. One of his good friends started a business using a lot of his own money, and he jumped on board with him, working for free and burning through his last savings to stay afloat in the hopes of developing computer components for audio equipment and making millions. That never happened, and he ran out of money completely. He used his experience to try and find a job as an audio engineer, but ended up at a record store. He had a mental break in the 80's, decided he didn't want to work anymore, felt he gave the world enough of a chance to say he tried, and made the deliberate choice to live the rest of his life out of his van.

Ryan knows a *ton* about 70's era computer technology, audio mixing, and always has an infinite list of unknown garage bands confined to memory that he could always recommend with the fervor of a lifelong fan. I described his expansive knowledge of obscure and small local acts, writing "He knew more about opening acts than headliners."

And he just hit a wall. He proposed to his girlfriend, but she declined and left him shortly afterward. His deadend job, his inability to utilize his limited college education, and a rapid pace of computer evolution left him feeling unwanted, unmotivated, and on the brink of a nasty drinking addiction. One morning, he realized the destructive path his life was taking, decided to quit his job, and just take a meditative afternoon to recollect his thoughts at the beach.

And the beach never let him go.

He made his money collecting cans from garbage bins and turning them in to the grocery store. Most of his food came from what the local shops threw out; the greatest year of his new life was when Noah's Bagels opened a shop down there, because they would throw out several weeks worth of delicious high carb food items every evening. He was fortunate to kick his drinking habit before it got too out of control, and expressed how blessed he was that he could simply overcome the urge with a nice afternoon nap on the sand.

He wasn't just aware of the "Santa Bum" moniker. He invented it. When he realized his facial hair was turning white early in his homeless life, he grew out the beard, thinking it would make him more approachable. He believed people would be less likely to hassle him if he looked like Santa Claus, because who would call the cops on Ol' Saint Nick? With his distinct red trunks and beard, he didn't look like some homeless guy sleeping on the beach. He looked like a friggin' postcard. Kids would be delighted seeing him surf, making him a valued member of the community.

By far, this was the most enjoyable interview I ever did for that newspaper. And the article got a tremendous response from the students as well, a lot of the school surf team started greeting him by name every morning. The surf team's coach personally complimented me for the article, saying I did a great job capturing his story and assuaging the apprehensions some parents might express seeing him there. The coach used to surf with Ryan and got to know him years previous, so his approval meant a lot to me.

Since then, I'm still a little wary around the homeless. I've walked through skid row and the fashion district enough times to know there are some legitimately unstable and off-kilter individuals who aren't all there. But the thing is...I've *walked through skid row.* I wouldn't have gone anywhere close to that place before.

But Ryan undid a lot of the mental damage that one mother did in my formative years. He reminded me that there's still a human behind every one of those downtrodden faces, and they all have a story to tell. A story of dreams, attempts, successes, and failures. They all have reasons for being there. And if you lend them an ear, they can take you on a wild ride of a story that makes you appreciate who they really are, and not just the circumstance they've ended up in.

Ryan passed away from skin cancer in the mid 2000's. The local paper had a quarter-page feature for him in the front bottom fold. It described his history in working a tech start-up back when they were super rare, his aspirations to be an audio engineer for local bands, and one particular line stood out. "He knew more about opening acts than headliners."

Logically, it's most likely coincidence. But a part of me thinks my own story influenced Ryan's remembrance in a more prominent publication, giving them more to work with. It might've just been another blip in the obituaries section, but by taking a morning to just sit down and hear him out, his memory is carrying on to present day.

[hetacon]

I Have Worth Now

Word Count: 1,504

Pairings: Logicality, implied Platonic/Paternal Analogical, implied Platonic/Paternal Moxiety

Warning: Stress, mental breakdown, crying, Logan curses once, kissing (Lemme know if I need to note anything else)

Note: Before we get started, Logan is a little out of character but I promise it is for a legitimate reason. I will explain my creative interpretation of this decision at the end, promise. I still tried to keep to his character the best I could. Anyways, enjoy!

______________________________

“What does your schedule look like this year, Patton?” Logan asked, eyeing over his own school schedule before looking up.

Patton, his best friend since middle school, smiled and showed Logan the piece of paper with all of his classes on it. Logan scanned over it and nodded.

“I’m curious as to why you chose creative writing,” Logan mentioned.

“Oh! Well, I just like getting my feelings out on to paper you know? It helps make sure I’m not cooped up with everything tucked away,” Patton explained before looking over Logan’s schedule that was put in front of him. He made a face. “Are you going to be ok with all of those AP classes?”

“Of course. I’ve handled them before and so I think that I can handle these now,” Logan chuckled a little. Patton thought for a moment before beaming and hugging Logan.

“Ok, I trust you! Let me know if you need help with anything! I might not know about calculus but I can give you a break anytime you need it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan nodded. “I’ll be fine though.”

That ended up being massively untrue. It was senior year, and while many of the advanced classes that Logan had taken in previous years were manageable, this year took a drastic turn. Patton didn’t even notice until Logan wasn’t spending time with him anymore. It had been weeks since they had a decent conversation more than greetings and formalities. And Patton was sick of it. So after school a month in or so, he went to Logan’s house to talk to him.

As usual, Patton was let in without question and was told that Logan was in his room. Patton found Logan doubled down on studying, reading his AP economics textbook. He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes before looking at the page again.

“Logan?”

The aforementioned’s eyes immediately flicked over to Patton and he could almost sense relief from the look.

“Is something wrong, Patton?” he asked, giving a genuine look of concern. Patton only shook his head.

“That depends on how you’re doing right now really..”

“I’m alright, thank you. Just preparing for a test tomorrow.”

“We haven’t spoken for weeks, I’m worried about you and whether or not you’re handling this alright,” Patton said, going over to the desk in the corner of Logan’s room. He sat down on the floor in front of Logan, placing his hand on the latter’s knee. “Logan, why do you do this?”

This was only met with a look of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you take all of these classes? You don’t need them, you’ve already met all of your requirements for college. Yet, you’re still taking AP classes in things that won’t affect anything if you took regular courses.”

Logan looked down at him, thinking for a moment. “I don’t have time for this Patton, I need to study,” he replied curtly before turning to his book again.

Patton frowned and grabbed it, snapping it closed. “You are not avoiding this. We are going to talk about this, it’s important, Lo,” he huffed.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I miss you and you barely talk to me now!”

“I need to focus on schoolwork for impressing colleges. It’s our senior year, Patton. Grades are important.”

“To who?”

“To me.”

“Why?”

“I..”

Silence.

Patton looked to Logan, expression softening. He took a hold of Logan’s hands. “Lo, why?”

Nothing and then-

“What do I have if not my intelligence?”

“... What?” Patton asked, looking up to him with a sad realization.

“There’s nothing to me if I’m not intelligent or making use of it.”

“Do you really think that that’s all there is to you?” Patton asked, trying not to tear up. Logan only nodded and Patton held his hands tighter. “Oh Logan...”

Logan couldn’t bring himself to meet Patton’s eyes.

“You’re a wonderful, funny person. Your intelligence is not all that makes you Logan, it shouldn’t need to be the key trait either!”

“I don’t want to take them..”

Patton looked to him for an explanation, letting Logan just talk.

“I don’t want any of these classes. I never have. School is so stressful but I only am worth..” Logan started.

He paused, took a deep breath, and then rephrased. “I only feel like I’m worth something if I take all them. Everyone expects it of me. My parents expect me to be a fucking NASA scientist or a doctor or anything prestigious! I.. I don’t want to...” he admitted. “Patton please don’t make me, god don’t make me,” he whispered, tears starting to run down his cheeks. He let out a loud sob and Patton was quick to hug him close.

With a little coaxing, Patton got them to Logan’s bed, lying down as Logan cried into his shirt. Patton stroked his hair and let him cry it out. Logan was inconsolable for an hour. Patton just made sure he didn’t move from his hold on Logan, letting him know that he was there the entire time. Logan went silent afterwards as he just buried his face into Patton’s chest.

“You’re taking 7 classes and an extra course after school, right?”

Logan nodded.

“Are your last two classes APs?”

Another nod.

“Can you do me a really big favor and consider dropping them if you don’t need them? And then coming with me to creative writing during 6th?”

“I understand dropping classes but why the second request?”

“I have something I want to see. I think it could be good for you.”

“Alright, I can see. I’ve wanted to drop them since school started, I’ve felt obligated to keep them. Promised myself I wouldn’t give up on a class and chicken out.”

“How come, Lo?”

“Because that shows I’m not... I’m not able to push through and pass the classes..”

“I actually think it would be really smart of you to drop them rather than keep them. Logan, I know you liked learning when you were little but clearly something has made you hate it. If you keep pushing yourself, you’ll hate every single day for the rest of your life because you put people’s image of how intelligent you are over your own mental health and your feelings. I promise that you’ll feel better after the guilt passes ok? And if you don’t, I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” Patton smiled.

Logan looked to him and got up, going to the door.

“Where are you going?” Patton asked him.

Logan turned to him from the open door. “To tell my parents what classes I’m dropping.”

Patton couldn’t help but beam.

Logan actually dropped them with no resistance and decided to drop the extra class too. After that, Patton had the creative writing teacher make an assessment of Logan’s writing and Logan found it extremely therapeutic. It was too late to join the class but the teacher was more than generous to let Logan sit next to Patton in the back and let him write whatever he felt like.

Surprisingly, Logan took a gap year with Patton and became an author to the surprise of everyone, resulting in a lot of guilt for Logan. He realized, however, that Patton was the only person, he learned, that he actually wanted to be worthy of.

After finishing up a draft for the night, Logan went over to Patton resting on the couch and wrapped his arms tightly around his husband’s waist, pulling him into his lap.

Patton couldn’t help but laugh a little as he hugged back just as tight, feeling Logan relax at that. “Hi, Loggybear~” he hummed happily.

Logan raised his head and kissed Patton gently. Patton giggled more.

“I love you, you know,” Logan told him, smiling back.

“I love you too!”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Intervening before I went insane.”

Patton huffed. “You wouldn’t have gone insane and you know it.”

Logan gently kissed his lips again and Patton returned it happily, wrapping his arms around Logan’s neck.

“I would have and you seem to understand me better than I know myself. I would’ve hated my life if you hadn’t told me to stop striving for everyone else’s expectations of me. But because of you, I have a fulfilling job, a wonderful husband, and the best son I could ask for,” he smiled, kissing Patton again before breaking away. “You did all that, honey, not me.”

“Awwww, Loggybear!” Patton beamed, hugging Logan tighter, peppering his face with kisses. Logan returned the ones that landed on his lips and stroked Patton’s cheek, closing his eyes.

“I feel like I have worth now, Patton.”

______________________________

Hey guys! So as always, I’d love to hear what you guys thought of this! Feel free to leave me comments, I always appreciate it! Anyways, as I promised, I have an explanation for Logan’s OOC behaviors in this drabble. I’ve just started my senior year of high school and it’s been alright. However, out of the 5 classes I am taking, 4 of them are AP courses. I originally had 6 classes. The one I dropped was also another AP. So out of 6 classes, 5 were APs. I dropped the 6th class after the first day because I am already so overwhelmed by this year in general.

Recently I’ve realized that the one thing that I am only ever consistently praised for is how intelligent I am. I have received this compliment ever since elementary school and I always try to do my best. However, with my parents having such a view of who I am as a person, I only ever feel like they care about whether or not I take advanced classes and pass them. This has caused me to take on courses that I honestly don’t wish to and while I have always done really well in them, it takes a lot out of me. I am constantly stressed, I often don’t get as much sleep as I need to due to all the work, and I am just generally struggling. Along with dealing with some personal issues regarding my parents, it’s been hard to manage ever since going into high school.

That’s why I wrote Logan the way I did in this drabble. I know he is a tad OOC but that was a conscientious choice on my part. While as a side, he is the physical embodiment of logic, human AUs are different. Humans have emotions. Very complex, underlying, and confusing emotions. So it is not difficult to say that Logan would obviously be a little less guilty about having emotions in this type of world as he is not a part of Thomas but his own person. He’s known to be the most intelligent one and while in the series, he takes pride in it as it’s his job, the idea of this drabble was to draw an emphasis on just how this small bit of praise on how intelligent I am has caused me to struggle with seeing myself as anything besides my intelligence. Everything I have done in school is a result of this and I have heightened anxiety about missing anything when it comes to academics: due dates, days of school, and even extra credit assignments. I want to be an artist for a living and yet I feel that by wanting that, I’m disappointing people by wasting my intelligence.

Overall, this is just my way of saying that writing Logan in such a way was meant to help me come to terms with taking it easy on myself by dropping a class and wanting to have a creatively focused career rather than an intellectually focused one. It was meant to be therapeutic but regardless, I do hope you like it. And again, feel free to comment! I love you guys, thanks for reading!

[dropsofletters]

the language of hate

title: the language of hate pairing: dong sicheng/reader genre: designer!au/assistant!au/enemies to lovers!au summary: dong sicheng wants to work in the fashion industry, so when he sees the opportunity to get hired as the assistant of one of the most respected young women in the business, more specifically a designer, he takes the chance. once he gets to know her, however, he realizes just how much he hates her. little does he know that he would be the one capable of changing that egotistic, narcissistic and stereotypical rich kid into a nice person. genre: fluff/angst. note: you can find the creator of this gif here!

It feels good to be looked at, the wary eyes of people casted over her the moment she steps inside a room, expensive high heels clicking against the marble floor with squeaky clean surfaces that still don’t make her falter her step, always an air of arrogance filling the air with the tilt of her head upwards and a quirk of an eyebrow at most times. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t proud that her name could be found easily in the headlines of news, for it was a memory of how much wealthier she had gotten with her real job, but her family name will always be a boost for her in every situation, yet, she likes to believe that her own independence since her teenage years had brought her to be the woman that she was today…

A little bit over the legal age and ready to take over the world.

She also has a nice ear for rumors, she bathes on them as if they were champagne and she laughs at them like the sound effect of a sitcom, simply because the noise of chatter around her feels like the right amount of attention. Another word, another headline, another zero in her bank account. She wins, even when people want her to lose. It feels vaguely empty to sit late at night without friends as she watches her favorite shows or works on a newest project for her fashion company, but she doesn’t linger too much on that. Call her narcissistic, maybe, but she has learned that her success and her growth as a person is more important than a few friends here and there.

She has had plentiful of assistants, of all genres, races, and sexualities—what’s important is their capability of working well, of course, but the latest one had been lucky enough that she did not take him to jail, considering the numbers in her checks weren’t really correct, and she ended up filling a report on her jewelry that was stolen as she was taken a shower, but she had luckily discovered the man that had robbed from her. She is having a bit of a hard time organizing herself but she manages, assisting to red carpets and fashion shows as much as she can, but also preparing meetings with her staff and working on her newest opening of a store in Los Angeles, which becomes harder as time passes by without an assistant. She keeps a leather covered agenda in her hands as she walks through the seas of people and people wonder why she, out of all people, was alone…but she couldn’t find an assistant that would keep up with her exquisite and picky needs.

She doesn’t mind, maybe not having an assistant will totally ground her and keep her humble, but she, you know, absolutely minds. She doesn’t like the stress that has her constantly living with migraines and now the sound of the lonely mornings at her office or her own sports car (after all, she had grown a bit tired of being driven around by someone since she was a kid) becomes a dull silence that she doesn’t want to stand. No one would believe that the ever-so-known woman would have lonely nights, for everyone would think that she had a few men that she maintained just to fuck her and leave, but she rarely ever likes trusting people too much—let alone lovers. Assistants were the closest people she had to friends but she always cut them off, after all, people only love rich individuals because they are supposedly airheads with too many problems that make them ungrateful.

Surprisingly enough, she can’t live without an assistant and that means she has to host a few interviews to get the perfect individual to work by her side at all times; she’s conceited, barely looking up from the folders that hold their curriculums before swatting her hand as a way of sending them off because they are not even close to what she wants. She needs someone who is able to follow after every single one of her instructions completely and she is very specific about things, like how she likes her coffee and how many clients they had to call in order to have features designers in her fashion shows. All of that without stealing from her, of course.

The sound of someone’s shoes clicking against the floors of her office doesn’t catch her attention, although she recalls the way said person closes the door in a soft thud before returning to their trip towards the seat in front of her. She fixes the pearls that are wrapped around her neck, the sunlight seeping through the spacious windows of her office and casting over the gray, white and black decorations. Once she reads the name of the man she was interviewing, she says it out loud. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dong Sicheng.” She had learnt how to be both charming and scary when speaking. It started out when she got classes when she was a teenager on how to portray charisma and professionalism at the same time, then it delved into her personality. It felt as if she had all the power in the world in the palm of her hands when she did.

“Good afternoon.” His voice is slightly deep and she notices a bit of a smile on his tone, making her look up from her folders to watch the gorgeous man in front of her. From the fabric of his clothes, she can tell it’s not a Versace or Gucci suit but it fits him really well, a black button down underneath a fitted suit with grayish squares on the jacket, making a contrast with his gray tie. The motto of her company was that anyone could look expensive if they tried hard enough and this man looked like he was part of royalty. From his pointy ears to his heart shaped face, his eyebrows were thinner at the beginning and they ended in thickness, eyes starting with a curve downwards before aligning the ends together, his nose is small but a bit quirked to the side, thick lips showcasing a plumper upper lip but a, still, very full bottom lip. Dong Sicheng, it sounds like a name of power and she is enthralled by his looks, to say the least. Just like diamonds, she loved how he shined. “First off, Miss.  I really enjoy your work in the fashion industry, you’re so young and you’ve done a lot of things—”

“Thank you, thank you.” She swats her hand elegantly before moving her hair over her shoulder, showing her long, dangly earrings that showcase her off-the-shoulder fitted shirt. She looks down at his curriculum and then, she sighs. “I can see here, Sicheng, that you recently graduated university in the Fashion Design major.  Why not pursue that on the first place?” The male’s hands are fidgety over his lap and she looks up until her eyelashes are facing upwards, watching as a soft smile grazes his face before returning to being completely serious. Sicheng’s nervousness almost made her chuckle, simply because the man seemed to see a demon in her when in reality, she’s far from that. However, she likes to ask the good questions.

“I worked as an intern for…various companies as I was studying but when I graduated, I wanted to reach something bigger and I heard you needed an assistant.  I feel like you could teach me a lot, so I could later on pursue Fashion Design for myself—”

“I’m not a university graduate, Sicheng, but it’s nice to know that you think so highly of me.” She quirks an eyebrow with a small raise and then, she licks her lipstick covered lips before turning on her chair to the side, crossing one leg over the other and watching Sicheng smile lightly. “So, where do you see yourself in five years?” The typical questions for a job interview are asked in the matter of seconds and Sicheng lets out a soft sigh through his nose, one that meant that he felt relieved that she had told him something that he had prepared for. He was pretty predictable without knowing so, or maybe, he knew.

“Hopefully I’ll be able to launch my own brand by then, but I’d be happy to work with anything fashion related.” Sicheng adds with that sweet beam, one that she would resemble to glass shattering because she has a slight feeling that he is more of a heartthrob that he makes himself out to be. After all, one thing fashion workers or graduates have in common is that they are highly charismatic, hinting to being a bit of a hypocrite, and that comes in handy, but it is also very misleading. She nods her head and she watches his hair for a few seconds, realizing how he had brushed back the neat black strands.

She leans forward, positioning herself better in the seat before crossing her arms over her chest. “Good, that’s ambitious.” Though she doesn’t like competition a lot, she becomes friends with them because she needs to, but she also likes being the best at her work. Like any successful person. “And…tell me a bit about yourself, Sicheng.” She hadn’t gone this far with any of the other people that had applied to her job as her assistant but Sicheng seemed like a legitimately good person and that’s exactly what she wanted. Someone who wouldn’t want to do this simply to add it to a curriculum, but someone who had enough passion for their job to always need to be better.

“Uh…” Sicheng stops to think for a moment as he looks up before replying. “I come from Zhejiang, China but I live here since I became an exchange student.  Like I said, I have worked for other companies, too and—”

She cuts him off, again, testing his patience in the slightest motions, deciding to play with him a little bit to see if he’d fall into her teasing traps. “When were you born?”

Sicheng seems to be put off by her question but then he composes himself, smiling widely. “October 28th, 1997.”

“That makes you a Scorpio, right?” Sicheng nods his head after doubting for a bit and she chuckles for the sake of it, catching him off guard. In his life, he thought that someone as rich as her would consist of smirks and pretentious sayings, but she seemed to be a bit more on the professional side. She clicks her pen with her thumb and she writes down on his folder before speaking up. “I think I can trust a Scorpio, so you’re hired.”

Maybe, she needs to learn how to think about her decisions and plot them as future plans to fulfill and continue, but as expected she only took decisions that she felt like taking at that moment and life needs to be a little bit more planned in order to stop herself from disappointments. Sicheng gave her a nice vibe, a hunch that told her he needed a chance…or, she was already too tired of interviewing other people. The black haired man widens his eyes and he parts his lips. “Really?”

“Really.” She answers simply and then; she closes the folder with a loud thud before smiling a tight lipped smile. “I expect you to be here tomorrow at seven in the morning, organize everything for me, from meetings to schedules, you’ll also be following me around.” She stands up from her seat and Sicheng follows her step, walking slowly beside her and soon after, she can tell that he is a bit taller than what she had imagined. The sound of her heels is heavy as she opens the door and Sicheng stands outside, weary as she closes the door. She speaks over her shoulder. “I expect a lot from you, Sicheng.”

“I won’t disappoint!”

One last glance at him is given, fixing her sunglasses over the bridge of her nose before sending a small smile his way. Sicheng shows enthusiasm and she hasn’t had that in a long time, if ever, so she is more than excited to know that there is still a bit of that in this world. The last time she saw such passion for working was when she met her first nanny out of many, someone who truly wanted to take care of her instead of robbing her family behind everyone’s back. People like that always grow, always leave, but it is nice to have them around. Good things are not forever but she believes in the power of money to make people stay, after all: she has whatever she wants. “I hope you won’t.”

With those words, she turns around and continues walking towards her next meeting, eager to know that she won’t have to do everything on her own ever again.

The organization of a fashion show is always the hardest task a designer has to go through, much more if you are the creative mind in your team. Luckily, there are people that have the job of preparing everything from the decorations to sending the invitations to selling tickets to enter, but she is stressed out because her spring collection is about to launch and she needs to give a speech at the end of the runway show. She doesn’t show how nervous she is, though, it was only the morning and no one had arrived to the arena other than the staff and some of the photographers that worked for magazines and wanted to show a rawer version of the show. She is not wearing the outfit she is going to wear for the gala, but she looked spotless with the tight high-waisted pants that almost reached her ribcage and the gray turtleneck that she had tucked inside the pants. Her voice is loud even though she should be elegant, delicate and sweet as a flower—no, as honey! However, she is bossing everyone around and trying to make everything look perfect. Spring needed flowers and of course, she had gone for that but she had asked her decorations to be entirely based on orange and yellow marigolds. She wanted a pop of color and cherry blossoms were very overused lately so she was going one step forward. Classy, springy and definitely not done before.

 It’s simple—designers love to say they are unique, but unique is already a concept. She wants to go for done-before but with a hint of her way.

Still, there is a heaviness to her step and she doesn’t move as fast as she should for a reason, simply because she hears the steps of a man following after everything she does, he also goes anywhere she goes and she can’t help but silently squeal at her newest assistant. He had arrived earlier than she had told him to and luckily, he had gotten her tea order right—she’d go for coffee but it was too caffeinated and not so elegant, as well as not the best option when under stress. Sicheng tries to do his best, like the newest star added to the universe that wanted to get a spot in space, he wanted to be named, remembered and whatever else he had spoken about. He also catches the glances of a few people, mainly because he was her new assistant but also because he looked like the epitome of a model. His black hair was a little bit wet today, probably because he had washed it before going to work, his body decorated by a tight black sweater and some washed jeans. It was casual, yet she knew that the beauty of it came from the person who wore it.

She hears loud chatter from somewhere in the room, technically on top of the runway as the models practiced the way they were going to walk and at what time they will. She crosses her arms over her chest and she watches the instructor scream at one of the girls, the shortest one who had a bit of a hard time wearing the highest high heels she has ever seen. Maybe they had added insoles inside the knee high boots and that was why the model is having such a hard time. Sicheng is speaking to her but she cuts him off. Per usual, really. “Boss, we have already called the catering service and they’re going to deliver just what you wanted, but they’re asking if you want any alcohol or you just want to keep the orange juice—”

“Champagne and hush.” She tells him as she continues staring ahead, pressing the back of her hand to his chest to stop him from speaking and she hears the instructor speak louder. It seems like he had a thing for picking at the short girl, whose name she truly doesn’t know, but she had always been very open about the variety in the models that she hires. A higher spectrum of people could reach for her brand if she showed that everyone could wear it, which was true, so she has always loved that aspect of her work. She sucks on the lollipop that she had in between her lips (always being the woman who needed sugar to function better) and then, she releases it from her lips. “Marcelo, is there any problem with my model?!”

Marcelo, the best model coach that she has ever had, turns around thanks to his expensive shoes (“Not over a hundred dollars, just very shiny”, she thinks to herself.) and he shows her a charismatic smile, almost too sugarcoated…and she likes sugar a lot, but this is just the most obnoxious amount. “Oh, Miss, no, no!” He swats his hand romantically, like a flamenco dance that came directly from Spain and she raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest before tilting her head to the side. “I was just telling our model, Bori, that she needed to wear those high heels because she is twenty centimeters under the normal height of a model.” And he laughs, as if she could understand, as if it was a matter of laughing. She sends him a tight lipped smile, one that made Marcelo believe that he was on the right and she gives a few steps forward, her high heels clicking against the floor like always before she looks up at Bori, the model who seemed to be shaking by now. Sharp gaze. Nice lips. Moles around her face. Short, sure, but gorgeous.

“She’s beautiful.”

“A tad short, I’d say.” Marcelo adds in between his incessant laugh. Obnoxious, like him. All she can do is nod.

“But she could totally wear the flats that I added to my collection, the gold ones.  It contrasts with the skirt that she is wearing.” She replies mercilessly and Bori might think she has seen God when she heard those words, smiling weakly at the owner of the brand before she hears Marcelo’s laugh coming to a halt. “You see, Marcelo, I’m the one who makes the decisions here and knee high boots with that skirt look terrible.”

Marcelo differs from her opinion, though. “Miss, the designers and critics will go crazy if they see the height difference between the models.” His voice is shaky and he tries to convince her by placing one of his hands over her shoulder. The owner of the brand places her lollipop in between her lips, looks up at the tall ex-model with simplicity, no fear even added, she’s confident of her decision. “H-Hear me out—!”

“Don’t have time.” The sound of her voice makes someone laugh in the room and she turns in her heels to see that Sicheng is covering the sweet smile over his face, but Marcelo tries to talk to her and she has to continue with her step instead of faltering. Sicheng’s smile is like cotton candy and she can’t help but think that the man would look beautiful if he wore a bit of pink in his clothes, it’s a honeyed color that reminded her of him. Once she stands in front of him, she raises one eyebrow but she manages to return his smile. “What are you laughing about?”

Sicheng shakes his head, immediately getting serious as he looks down at the agenda that he needs to carry around everywhere. “N-Nothing, Boss.”

She can tell that Sicheng keeps a barrier in between the two, he doesn’t try to go out of his way to become her friend and he is naturally very respectful and charming. Her lips wrap around the lollipop once again and then, she wonders how rosy Sicheng’s lips would get if he had one, too, but instead of lingering on the fact that her assistant is very attractive, she should continue with her work. “Tell the catering that I need champagne, rosy is better, but also remember to call the bartenders, I need them here in four hours at maximum.”

Sicheng nods in agreement and he goes to pick up his phone but he sees her smiling to herself, making him speak up. “Do you want anything else, Boss?”

Her elegance reminded him of a true queen of hearts, always ready for her next move, for winning, so deadly yet so beautiful to the point he finds himself impressed by her, but at the same time her constant interrupting and overall over-confidence annoys him. Sicheng has heard about her for years, always knowing that she is one of the most youthful designers in the entire industry that had been able to keep their names up high in the magazines, which only lets Sicheng know that there are not two of her. She can’t be compared to anyone. “Nothing for now, Sicheng, thank you for your hard work.” She takes him by the collar of his shirt and she drags him behind her as they walk to another side of the arena and she can’t help but feel like she has a new friend.

But friends to her don’t really exist, yet, she’ll be able to have someone to protect her in the meantime. Her inner strength is always able to push people away so it gets lonely for her, but having someone that brought her coffee and helped her in her workaholic ways was more than enough. Surely, some people would say that her lifestyle was only a way of covering just how deeply immersed she is in pushing people out of her life, whether they are her family or her friends, but they truly don’t know a thing. She had her fair exchange of reckless memories of doing just what rich kids did, but now it was time to overgrow the family name that follows her everywhere.

Sicheng’s voice fills her ears as she watches the staff working on the lights that will cast over the arena and she raises her voice. “I want my microphone to be working perfectly for when I speak.”

“You got it, Boss!”

“Where’s my lunch, too?!  Someone bring it to me, please.”

Sicheng leans over her and he speaks near her ear, though she doesn’t want to show just how affected she was by the closeness of his body and the scent of his expensive perfume, maybe not as expensive as hers, though. “Do you want me to take care of that, Boss?” His tone of voice makes her turn around and she catches him off guard, making him stumble back and almost bump into someone, but he catches his step.

“Don’t worry.  You’re the one who’s having lunch with me.” She replies easily with a swat of her hand and then, she sees the bewilderment in Sicheng’s gaze.

“Pardon?” Sicheng almost chokes on his own spit when he speaks and she hums. In the matter of seconds, she feels someone placing a Styrofoam box filled with her favorite lunch to have, with a bit of a healthy twist, made by the chef that works for her. It’s microwaved but she really doesn’t mind, Sicheng also receives a box and he shakes his head. “Boss, thank you, but I really have to keep working.  I still need to call those guests that you told me to see if they’re coming or not and I have to see if some paparazzi can come over, too—”

She tuts. “Have you eaten, Sicheng?”

The black haired male responds easily. “No.”

“Then, we’re eating together. No buts, you’ll have the best food you’ve ever had in your life.”

And Sicheng must be enjoying his food as they sit backstage, the white leather of the couch they are eating on warm against her legs even when the room is cold. His plump lips wrap around the chopsticks in his hands and he eats the warm meal delicately, not saying a word throughout the entirety of their minutes together. Sicheng is a man of his job, he only wants to talk whenever he needs to and he wants to do his job really well and it’s stupid of her to think that her assistants should be people that she needs to be friends with, maybe that’s why most of them end up backstabbing her. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and she watches Sicheng carefully, realizing that he has a bit of a blinking habit that he would never admit and that, potentially, he thought that his boss was weird because she wanted to have someone to accompany her when she was having lunch. Her excuse is that she is stressed out and it’s a welcoming action for him, perhaps he should be thankful of her.

She gets the time to look at the way his eyes flutter and she thinks that behind his eyes, there is the humbleness that she has never lived. Sicheng reminds her of vintage cars, baggy cheap t-shirts and definitely, the sweet sound of laughter from someone shy in a big group of friends, it fits the mood—he fits the mold of a person who had spent his university years enjoying his life, whereas she only lived her life acting like the reckless piece of shit that she considered herself to be. Sicheng is not a thick wall of coldness and smirks, he is simply a person who tries his most, always. It inspires her, but at the same time she finds herself in awe that he can give such an aura…he’s calming, he’s soft, he’s tranquil, but people like that are the ones who surprise everyone the most when they needed to.

And she’s surprised, secretly, but the organization Sicheng has is obviously showing in his antics, even when he is clumsy at times…but his clumsiness was one of his few weaknesses.

“Oh, you finished?” Sicheng asks as he highlights a few things in her agenda, looking up at her to see that she was playing with her chopsticks, nodding her head before he picked up the box and put it to the side before patting his hands over his pants. He was probably trying to answer yet another call. “Excuse me, it’s from one of the sponsors—”

“Yeah, go ahead.” She mumbles and then, she stands up, straightening her back and walking out of the spacious room backstage before entering the arena. It was big, probably for concerts, but she had always thought that she either had to go big or go home and her home was already big, so she had to do even better. The moment one of the lights stops over her, she feels like this might be the night she had dreamt about the latest months. Her spring collection was something she was proud of and no matter how lonely she was, she was making a name for herself, a well-known one, too.

Her family was often rumored to have gotten their wealth because of drug dealing and while she can’t speak for some of her cousins, she knows that her closest family are just the consequence of years working in the entertainment industry, from actors to actresses, to musicians and producers, everyone had something to do with music but her. She hadn’t asked anyone if they were against it, she simply followed her dream of creating art in the form of clothing, fabrics, textiles and whatever was in between. Sure, she wasn’t specialized in it but once her life settled down a bit, she might go to university, see what’s good about it for once…she used to like studying when she was a kid, but then she grew to hate it.

People gather around late at night like paintings in a gallery, the same ones that she buys whenever she has time to shop around in museums or talk directly to the artists. The marigolds are standing up and shining with the flashes from the cameras, but she is more preoccupied on greeting everyone after the show that she had put up and her speech. Sicheng is behind her, reminding her who every person was and what they were doing her, enlightening her mind with who were the sponsors or not. Her left hand is gripping on a glass of orange juice because she had already had champagne and she wants to keep herself sober just to keep a bit of her consciousness of that precious night, one that she might remember forever. And she looks good, she looks damned good.

The long coat she is wearing reaches her ankles, big squares separating the jacket in four colors, going from cream to beige, then to pastel pink and hot pink. Underneath the long coat, she is wearing a tight black dress that hugs her curves nicely, ending mid-thigh and showcasing the opening at her leg with gold decorations, her platforms with decorations were also from her line. Sicheng is still wearing the same clothes as early but she thinks that the man looks gorgeous even after hours of working non-stop. His hand grips her wrist whenever he needs to remind her something and it’s a habit, but she doesn’t consider it bad, if she was honest.

The night was a reminder of the fact that she was a big influencer and she was happy about it, the attention that she always liked getting—that is. However, her eyes widen and her expression falters a bit when she sees the figure of her latest hook up…and he was holding hands with his oldest toy, his girlfriend, the same one he had cheated on with her.

Kim Hanbin is a nice, intelligent man. He is a producer and a rapper, a very excellent one, too, but she always had a thing for greediness and she liked the man ever since he wore one of her clothes to his airport whereabouts. She hadn’t investigated enough about him when she had asked her old assistant to contact the man because she wanted to make him one of the many faces of her brand. Hanbin’s manager had obviously accepted, but as Hanbin frequented more and more of her shows…she got to know more of him, as the owner of the clothing line that she has. The talks were languid and she loved the way the man spoke, the tone of his voice, how he would whisper to her and act as if they were friends. It was partly her fault for wanting to be more but Hanbin could have also mentioned that he had a girlfriend.

And that was a year ago, but she had never been one to go around reading news about the dating lives of stars, but she should have when she started frequenting Hanbin’s touring spots before she ended up with him in between her legs in Milan, out of all places. It wasn’t a surprise when the man had come around telling her that he couldn’t be around her anymore, crying that he shouldn’t have done what he did as she put on her clothes, realizing that maybe there was something that the ever-so-cool Kim Hanbin was hiding, in this case it was a relationship…one that had faltered that week and he thought that cheating was the best way on getting revenge, which obviously it wasn’t and she had sent him to hell after that.

She had made a lot of bad decisions but she is not a companion, she’s not a side dish, she wanted to be the center of Hanbin’s world but it was impossible. It’s a lie that she kept from everyone but she can’t believe that she had forgotten to take him out of her list of guest.

She grips Sicheng’s bicep and she brings him closer to her, looking up at him to speak closely to him before rasping out words that sounded nothing like herself. “I want Kim Hanbin the fuck away from here.” It didn’t help that Hanbin is wearing a shirt from her latest winter collection and it looks good on him. Her heart was untouchable for him, but she can’t help but feel like a slut when she sees the smile on his girlfriend’s face.

Sicheng, sadly, denies with his head before looking down at his agenda. “Hanbin…Hanbin was invited since two months ago.” The sound of his voice is still a bit dubitative but he manages to rasp out his next words. “We can’t kick him out, no one in here unless they cause a ruckus.”

Now, she didn’t like the fact that her assistant was unwilling to do something she wanted so she frowned, letting go of him before wiping her hand on her coat. “See, Sicheng, that man right there fucked me over and then I left him, I don’t want him near me.”

He doesn’t seem to be fooled by her gaze and she sighs deeply before continuing with her walk. New York is packed that night, though she should have drunk coffee even if she thinks it’s not classy, simply because she is running low on energy after working on the launch of her new store, then attending New York Fashion Week and finally hosting said event that soon turned into a party. The sound of her steps is heavy and she smiles warmly at one of the fellow designers, holding their hands and talking for a bit before she heard Sicheng speaking again. “This may offend you…but I find it unprofessional of you to want to kick someone out because you hooked up with someone. He’s one of the faces of your brand, no one knows about your encounter with him, you should just let it go, Boss.” And of course, there goes the snappy part of Dong Sicheng that she knew he had. She turns around and she grips the sides of her coat, rolling her eyes slightly before giving him a tight lipped smile that was followed by a sigh through her nose.

“You’re wrong.” She replies and then, she bites her bottom lip. “I’m the face of this brand, the creator of this line, one of the biggest influencers of this year and people know that I have great ideas. One of my many great ideas include that I should keep you, because no one has ever been brave enough to talk to me like that, but the second idea…more like a command, Sicheng, is that I want Hanbin out of this damned launch.”

 Sicheng presses his lips together and he gets his agenda out before licking his lips. She knows he is thinking of an idea but she has never seen someone as snappy as him. Sure, he is being the epitome of professional but inside her head there is not anyone more intelligent than her, more prepared than her, she knows what she is doing—not at all times, but most of them. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“That’s a bad start for your first day, Sicheng—”

“I’m willing to help you out in the best way that I can.”

“And how would that be?”

“I’ll ask security to keep him fifteen meters away from you at all times, away from your eyesight.  Is that okay with you?”

She puts on her pair of thin sunglasses and she shrugs her shoulders, turning around and walking towards another guest before speaking to him over the music. “Sounds fair, Sicheng.”

When in reality, the man behind her sighed heavily as he wondered how in the hell he had decided to pick this job. He did enjoy her clothing line but she was the epitome of the devil, always thinking that she was right, that there was not anyone in this world that could be better than her, her ego taking up three rows of the arena whenever she spoke. Sicheng thinks that maybe the fashion industry was far worse than people thought it was but he liked it, still, maybe he keeps being there because this will bring some luxury to his future jobs and perhaps, someday he’ll be the boss instead of being the one bossed around.

But for now, he has to talk to security.

His boss is not exactly the most festive in the mornings.

She loves her black tea served from her favorite tea place exactly at five in the morning, because no matter how high maintenance she was, she still needed to get up early to do everything she wanted to do. She is back in Seoul now, in her real office and preparing for other things to do, mainly helping smaller lines with their launches now that hers had been such a success. It’s not like she didn’t expect it and Sicheng knows it by the way she smiles at herself and brags about her importance in the fashion industry. Inside her head, she is the only one who can put out nice clothing…that there is no one that compared to her and surely, the man is annoyed by it but he is pretty much cold to her, never saying anything that he shouldn’t say but once she was talking about work, he is ready to put his opinion out there.

As a matter of fact, Sicheng dislikes his boss, which is very obvious. She wants to make a friend out of him but he can’t stand people like her. He needed to be her assistant in order to be more well-known, that’s it, end of story, plot finished. People could wonder who the man by her right is, then he could potentially start showing his designs to the world and maybe, if she wasn’t so blind about everyone’s works, then she would notice that he has talent, too.

It was a quarter after five when he arrives with bags under his eyes, her cup of chai tea—Sicheng has learnt more about tea with her than with anyone else—and his agenda, of course. He enters the big mansion in which she lives at and he calls her by the honorific that he normally uses, Boss, although he doesn’t receive an answer first. Sicheng walks further into the house before passing by the spacious living room with collections of furniture and decorations that highlight the colors of gray and white that she uses as a color scheme around her house. Sicheng peaks his head in the kitchen but he only finds her chef, which he greets with a smile and a wave of his hand before walking further into the house. She has many bedrooms but he knew that she is going to be at the gym inside her house, probably working out for the day.

She has to be quick when working out and she doesn’t like to do anything too extreme before work and without a trainer, so she goes for something easy like Pilates or Yoga. Even Sicheng does some stretching early in the morning but he thinks that his boss is not quite the best at it, always doing her stretches in the easiest way possible. The man enters the gym and he watches her stretching in front of the mirror, wearing the most expensive workout clothes he had ever seen. That morning she is wearing a crop top with a sports bra underneath and a pair of baggy shorts, which had been the most casual that he has ever seen her look but he really shouldn’t be watching her now, she’s trying to touch the tip of her toes and her back is turned towards him and—

Sicheng doesn’t really want to be caught looking at his boss’—and potentially the person he hates the most—ass.

But it’s there. Sicheng has eyes…and she is not bad looking, quite clearly.

“Boss, good morning.” Sicheng greets simply and he sees her straightening her back, looking over her shoulder as she gives him a small wave, then, she is turning around and placing one of her hands over her waist before extending the other, which her assistant takes as a cue to give her the chai tea. “So…” Sicheng tries to read over the words he wrote down but sometimes he has a bit of a hard time with it, considering he has to read emails in various languages and his boss has the time to help him translate sometimes, but other times he is completely lost. “You’re going to be looking at some designs that Krystal prepared for you, for the expansion of the spring launch that you planned on making.”

“What did she say it was about?” She asks after taking a sip of her tea and Sicheng looks up from the piece of paper before speaking up. Of course, she is going to say something about Krystal’s work.

“All black, casual—”

She scrunches up her nose, shaking her head as she clicks her tongue. “Oh, that’s not it!  That’s…ew, no, we’re not going to release that—”

Sicheng sighs deeply, already knowing that she was going to talk like that about Krystal’s idea. “Your clothing line had lots of color but we need something duller, something people our age can use to feel expensive but at the same time feel comfortable.” Sicheng explains with a frown over his face but she doesn’t notice that it was because her assistant didn’t like her tone, her attitude or her big ego. “The clothes are…like what you picked and designed for the runway, not the same…they are different, but they are also good.”

“I’m not releasing stuff that I’d wear to sleep.”

“Most people are into hoodies, t-shirts or anything comfortable nowadays.  Not everyone dresses like you, Boss.” Sicheng replies and she takes a look at his lips, though she has only seen him smile so little, she has a thing for Sicheng’s smile ever since he started working for her a month ago.

She sighs. “Yeah, whatever, I guess.”

Sicheng feels a little bit of mischief trailing over his body the moment he sees her lips wrapped around the corner of the cup to drink her tea, so he looks down at one of the messages he had written down before clearing his throat. Oh, this was going to be great. “Also, Kim Hanbin sent you roses to your office.”

Those words almost make her gasp, but she always has to keep up a front, a sense of elegance, as if she doesn’t care, so she simply raised an eyebrow before walking towards the door of the gym to walk away to her kitchen to eat something. “Burn them or keep them, it’s your choice, they’re yours now.”

The man lets out a soft breath when he hears those words and she can’t help but smile at his dumbfound expression. “Excuse me?  I didn’t understand.”

She turns around, a smile on her face when she replies. “You deserve roses more than I do, Sicheng.  Keep them.”

And he hates her even more when she is nice to him, as if there was actually some interest within her to help him. Sicheng nods his head, deciding that maybe keeping the roses would be better than burning them, but he still doesn’t believe in his boss—not even the tiniest bit.

Her cup of tea is at the same spot over her black desk, that picture with her first runway participation shining brightly as it faced the tall door of her office. The curtains of the office are withdrawn to show the harsh sun of the time of the day where the afternoon and the morning collide, her hands are still tapping against her keyboard to answer to another email and she is starting to feel a bit hungry, but she decides to ignore it to complete yet another email to send, reminding herself that the next day she had an interview to attend to and a photoshoot after that—luckily, or not so luckily for her, there were plenty of events she had yet to attend: from red carpets to fashion shows to shows about fashion in which she had to criticize people, but in the nicest way that had people wanting to try harder with their outfits just to have her judging them. There were plenty of things to do but she didn’t seem bothered, at least not completely, she still had Sicheng to organize everything and she just had to show up there.

Speaking of the man Sicheng, he is not there with her to accompany her. Normally, she liked it when her workers got breaks at lunch because she had some time to listen to the sound of tranquility and the latest album of one of her favorite artists, but no interesting music had been released and Sicheng is at least fifteen minutes late from his lunch break and she really doesn’t want to give him a call, but she should. Her fingers tug at the edge of her black dress and she feels a bit useless because she had listened to Sicheng’s fashion advice and now she was wearing an all-black outfit, the long sleeved dress hugging her curves lightly and highlighting her waist with a gold thick belt that wrapped around it, giving her a bit more of shape to show. She should really be wearing something more interesting but she had to portray her next release and Krystal’s idea had been approved because Sicheng made a lot of points—it was easy to match, easy to wear and definitely something someone with a nine to five work could style.

And she doesn’t know how that feels…since she has always worn very expensive clothing, but so Sicheng explains that she needs to be more open to ideas, letting her designers work along with her so she could reach bigger expanses with her work. She’s against it…but black looks good on her and she might as well take this opportunity to match with Sicheng’s casual monochrome style.

Her fingers reach for her phone as she stands up, already tired of waiting for Sicheng because he should be there and she needs help recognizing some of the people that had written to her through her email, so she presses his contact on her phone and as she walks out of her office, she puts her phone up to her ear to give Sicheng an earful, but she is surprised when she hears the sound of Sicheng’s ringtone filling the air of the cubicles outside of her office. The secretary seems unfazed by the look on her face but she is more than angry because Sicheng is standing at the office with someone she doesn’t know, certainly not one of her workers and she accepts visits during lunchtime, but not exactly after that.

Sicheng’s body is covered by a button up with black dots and a white background, tucked inside his black jeans and making him look casual yet ready to go to work. His hair was barely brushed away from his eyes by his hands as he heard the man in front of him speak, definitely in Mandarin, and by the way he looked down at his phone he was planning on picking up her call but she cut it before he could pick up. She walks over to them, definitely taking a glance at the man whom he was talking to, very cute looking but the white t-shirt and jeans combo was too much like what a college student would wear and she’s not used to that look.

Her manicured nails let one finger after the other down on Sicheng’s shoulder and the man seems to stiffen at her touch, looking over his shoulder to see that his boss was there with a soft smile over her face. The man that had been talking to Sicheng stops in his tracks and she takes that as a cue to speak. “Hello, I didn’t know Sicheng was bringing a friend with him—”

Sicheng shakes his head and he babbles out an apology. “I’m sorry, Boss.  I didn’t mean to get here late but I lost track of time and I was helping him with directions because he is not good with-”

She moves her eyelashes softly and she shakes her head, though she can already sense that Sicheng is stressing out. Highly responsible and intelligent, that’s the best way she would describe Sicheng but he panics when he thinks he will disappoint her, perhaps not because he cares about her but he cares about what she thinks. “I like it, don’t worry.  It’s always a pleasure to have people here.” She tells him through a smile and Sicheng’s friend seemed uncomfortable as he fiddled with his hands and she tried to ease the situation by telling him her name. “…I’m the owner of this company, Sicheng’s boss. Who do I have the pleasure to meet?” By the flirty tone of her words, always lingering in between her vocal chords, she could see a blush spreading across the man’s cheeks and he extended his hand for her to take.

“Qian Kun.” The young man says with a smile on his face and she takes his hand, bowing slightly just as he did before pulling away. “I’m sorry I caused Sicheng any trouble-” And he did cause Sicheng some trouble and inside her head, she is already planning a list of very detailed, picky orders that Sicheng had to follow, like asking for Caesar salad only to take the lettuce out of it and she enjoys to see the groggy expression on his face whenever she touches certain nerves inside his brain.

“Trouble?  Yes, you caused just that.” She adds in the sweetest tone she could muster but then, she smiles sweetly. “But I’m so glad to meet you—Sicheng never talks about his life outside of work.”

“That’s because it’s none of your business.” Sicheng mumbles softly and she catches what he said, so she decides to straighten her back and have the last laugh in the situation.

She moves her hair over her shoulder and she grips on her diamond choker before shrugging her shoulders. “I would love to keep talking to you, Kun, but if Sicheng plans on keeping his job, he needs to do more than just looking cute beside me so,” Kun widens his eyes the moment he hears those words escaping her lips, both brave and offensive but also a compliment at the same time, she fixes the belt around her waist before she tapped her finger against Sicheng’s temple, catching the male’s attention as he mumbles something to Kun in Mandarin. Suddenly, when she starts walking towards her office, she hears the sound of Sicheng following behind her and she would smile if only she wasn’t as prideful as she was. That’s the main reason why most of her relationships ended, she’s always better, always ready for the next step. “I’m not a crazy boss.”

Sicheng clears his throat, shocking in his saliva and coughing soon after. “E-Excuse me?”

“I understand Mandarin and you called me crazy.”

Sicheng looks like a deer caught in the headlights, fingers gripping his agenda tightly in his hands as he bows by her side, directly turned towards her to show just how sorry he was. “Boss, I am so deeply sorry—I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just mad-”

She interrupts him. “…Okay.” She breathes out, words lingering with acceptance as she drops her hands to the side of her body. Sicheng has noticed just how gorgeous she is, through the thick layers of arrogance and rich kid vibe, she simply puts on anything and she looks like she came out of the classiest magazine—and she thinks it through, she knows what looks best on her and what’s the worst option. Sicheng can’t help but let his eyes trail down her chest whenever she wears a low cut dress or sometimes he is simply astonished by the color of her lips, he had heard once that people get attracted to opposites and physically, Sicheng feels like she is a whole another woman that he would love to go out on a date with, if she starts speaking…that’s a whole another deal. “Now do something for me.”

“Whatever you want, Boss.”

“Call my second manager, Yesung, and tell him that his break is over.  I need him to get here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

And that’s when the fun is over, simply because she liked Sicheng best when he did what she told him to…but what was the fun in that?

It’s not rare to hear the sound of music in her house, this time it was a jazzy lo-fi hip hop track that had her walking barefoot around her big closet. There are coats hung on hangers neatly in various places, the room even bigger than Sicheng’s bedroom back at home, with hundreds of shoes and shirts, a place in which she keeps her most worn clothes and a few drawers in which she has her very expensive satin pajamas. There is a big mirror in the middle of the room with lights perfect for a photoshoot and she stands in front of it when she is looking at her outfit, but tonight she was simply sitting in front of it, taking the makeup wipe she had in her hand to take off all her makeup while Sicheng was standing by the side, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at his boss. She looked the simplest he had ever seen her, with gray sporty leggings covering her legs and a flowy white top that was the tiniest bit see-through, just enough for him to realize that she was wearing a sports bra and she must have been planning on lounging around for the time being.

She looks peaceful when she is not speaking highly of everything she does, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks when she goes to take off her mascara, her makeup smudges a bit with the makeup wipe but then it is gone with another swipe of the same material. The song changes and she can’t help but swing a little bit from side to side, still noticing the gaze of her assistant over her. She likes it, like she had said, she had always liked people’s attention but by the look on his face, she knew that he was totally judging her. This wasn’t the type of woman Sicheng would like—he preferred them humble and sweet, kind and cute, with so much innocence that it almost seemed fake and she wasn’t any of that. Strangely enough, she finds herself a bit astonished by the type of life Sicheng lives.

He wakes up earlier than her, he goes home later than her, too because he has to keep being with her even after work hours and then again, he still had friends. Sicheng was nice to the chef, to the cleaning lady, but he had never been nice to her. Sometimes she catches him laughing along with Yesung or simply listening to the stories the receptionist says…but he is never like that with her. She can’t help but throw her makeup wipe to the trashcan with a sigh, wondering if the closest thing she has ever had for friends were the kiss-ups that she dared to call friends when she was younger.

“Sicheng,” The sound of her voice startles him but he hums almost immediately, making her stand up as she looks at herself in the mirror. Makeup-less, the closest thing to a simple outfit she’ll ever get even when everything was expensive, the newest phone on the market by her side and a counter behind her where she has had the most luxurious, joyous and lustful adventures with the most well-known models, actors and producers and whatever there was in between. Kim Hanbin and Lee Minhyuk were people that had visited that closet, they were people that she once considered friends and yet, the only thing they did was touch her skin and call her beautiful, suck up to anything she had superficially before showing her their true colors. One of them was a cheater, the other was just as much of an asshole as she was and that was the truth. “What does it feel like to have friends?”

Sicheng frowns and it almost too cliché, how a rich kid like her felt lonely…when in reality, they were the ones who could find friends the easiest. He doesn’t understand why rich people think they need something else when they already have it all, but he answers, simply because she is his boss and he needs the paycheck that she gives him every week. “I don’t know.  It feels nice, you have someone to talk to.”

She scoffs. “You can talk to anyone.” Maybe Sicheng didn’t know as much about real friendship as she thought he did, but Sicheng begs to differ, speaking up as he plays with one of the coats by the hangers in the white room.

“They listen to your problems and they help you out with them.  They’re…honest and they make you laugh.” She frowns deeply at the sound of his words, simply because she is used to another terminology for friends. Friends like Hanbin, the guy whom she had travelled the world with only to be lied straight to her face—then, he wasn’t honest and not being honest was not being a friend. Friends like Minhyuk, who did everything in his willpower to bend her over any surface and she loved it, but he never listened to her problems and she never listened to his—they just talked about what they had and what they wanted to do to each other, so that wasn’t friendship. Friends like the ones she had, simple getaways for her to feel less lonely but not sincere in the long run.

A person that listens to her problems and they help her out with them, just like Sicheng, who woke up at five in the morning to be at her mansion in time and did everything in his willpower to make her happy, even if it was for a paycheck. Someone who is honest and tells her when her ideas are too closed down, just like Sicheng, who always told her what he thought was right and what was wrong with a frown over his face. Someone who makes her laugh…and that Sicheng does, too, simply because there are times where his absentminded cuteness gets to her… “You do all those things.”

“…Huh?”

“You’re my friend, then, because you do all those things for me.”

Sicheng wants to say that he is not friends with her, that he hates her enough to make himself gag whenever he thinks about her stuck up personality, but at the same time he can sense that there is a lost look in her face. Sicheng doesn’t answer, instead, he replies lowly. “Not…exactly, that’s not how it works.” Sicheng adds with simplicity and she turns around to look at it, placing one foot over the other to rub them together and create some heat. Their eyes connect and she can see a bit of a gush of pink over Sicheng’s cheeks, reminding her of one of her favorite colors. She raises one eyebrow and then, she rests her left hand over his waist before patting it softly.

“We could never be friends anyways.”

“Glad you know it.” Sicheng adds with a harsh expression over his face as he watches her walk out of the walk-in closet, making him roll his eyes as he trails behind her. Once they are inside her room, he catches with his gaze her body plopping down on her bed as she covers herself with the blankets, making Sicheng sigh out of happiness. “Boss, can I leave?”

She ponders for a moment and she flutters her eyelashes delicately before calling him over with several flicks of her index finger towards herself. Sicheng stands by the side of her bed as he hums for her to talk, but she opts to look into his eyes before wrapping her fingers around his wrist and she brings him down slightly, their gazes connecting with one another as she rolls her lips in a simple request. “Bring me a glass of water, please.”

“Sparkly or regular?” Sicheng asks in a tired tone and she responds the same as always, the answer that he already knew—cold water with two ice cubes, the glass should be halfway filled in because if she drinks too much before bed, she will have to get up to go to the bathroom several times. Sicheng knows enough about his boss to contemplate if the two are closer to being friends than he really thought, but he leaves the room with a nod of his head before he could think any more about it.

Looking at Sicheng and exchanging glances with him feel like long hours, or maybe it is because her gaze would always end up upon his as she takes pictures for a magazine interview, trying her best to look classy in the set…even though she was never one that enjoyed most of the pictures that were taken of her, mostly because she was picky about them. Sicheng seemed to laugh at her at times, by the way his lips twitched and how his cheeks would get fluffier whenever she gave another pose to the camera. Suddenly, she feels a little bit naked under the gaze of her assistant and she had never felt this shy, but strangely enough…she likes the way Sicheng is honest to her and while she would like to believe that it is not, she feels ridiculous in front of a big lens posing for a magazine in which she lied to every question that the interviewer had asked her.

She feels a pair of hands placing a fluffy coat over her shoulders as she is looking at the screen with her pictures and she is talking to the photographer about how she wanted some things fixed, like the colors and whatnot, she also asked for some of them to be deleted. Her fingers wrap around a cup that Sicheng gives her and she knows it’s her tea, making her drink it softly as she warms up at the taste of it. Sicheng’s hands are still placed by her shoulder to keep the coat in place and for a moment, she is lost in the smell of Sicheng’s clothes and how soft his skin was against hers by her side. She has had plenty of people in the same position as Sicheng and some of them in even wilder ones, but she loves the warmth that comes with Sicheng naturally.

Sicheng is not a night in Paris filled with lust, Sicheng is less than that and it feels more comforting. Sicheng is not the fabric of expensive clothing of overly used trends, he is the sense of authenticity. She wants to keep Sicheng longer than she would like to admit and when she finishes talking to the photographer, she looks over her shoulder to see Sicheng’s gaze over the screen, scanning her pictures before he pointed at one of them, specifically one that she disliked. “Don’t delete that one.”

“Why?” She asks, wanting to hear a compliment from his lips because she never gets them. Sicheng looks at her and then, he notices just how close the two were from one another. Sicheng pulls away from her with a blush dusting his cheeks in rose gold tones before he cleared his throat. “My dress looks like it’s bundled up.”

“But you look natural.  You look bossy, which you are.” Those words make her laugh as she raises her eyebrows, the photographer laughing along with her at the innocence behind Sicheng’s words. “And you also look very beautiful.” Sicheng moves his mouth absentmindedly and she notices the way he bites his bottom lip when he gets to look at her legs in the picture, she takes a glance at him and then, she realizes that not every single feeling that Sicheng had towards her were of hatred. She could see him falling for her if only they weren’t boss and worker, but that’s incredibly impossible to happen between the two.

She hums. “Keep the picture, Minho, I want it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She takes Sicheng by his tie and she pulls him with her to walk out of the studio, preferably taking a bit of time in case someone wanted something from her even when their hours with her were over. Her tongue is itching to make a comment about the attraction that Sicheng feels towards her, more like the slight sense of hate that follows him after every action of his towards her and hate and lust didn’t have a lot to do together, but the tension that the two possessed could get easily misunderstood. She decides not to be inappropriate, like she mostly is, and instead she goes around a question. “Sicheng, are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

Sicheng gets his breath caught in his throat and he runs his fingers through his hair before composing himself. His boss was just trying to get him nervous. “No, Boss, but that’s none of your business.”

“Oh my,” She mumbles in a sultry tone and then, she crosses her arms behind her back before chuckling. “I totally saw you dating. You’re cute, intelligent, very…responsive to commands.”

“Boss, drop it.”

“What leads you to being single?”

“It’s nothing.” Sicheng adds with blushed cheeks and she shakes her head.

“You see, Sicheng, we all have a reason why people break up with us.” She responds with a flick of her wrist and she watches as Sicheng opens the door for her, to which she thanks him with a nod before smiling like the Cheshire Cat would. “Like me, for example, people leave me because I’m so superficial and stubborn that they get tired of me. I’m the perfect example of a workaholic that thinks they are better than anyone else.”

Sicheng is glad that his boss knows how annoying he is but now her question is starting to haunt him. Most of his relationships ended because of natural reasons, people who lose interest in him and vice versa, but he doesn’t know any further from that. Sometimes, he thinks that maybe it is the fact that he is too bland that has his past relationships turning into dust…or perhaps, people didn’t enjoy the cutesy Sicheng that most people got to know. “I get people bored.”

“I can see that.”

“Hey!” The moment Sicheng’s annoyed voice leaves his vocal chords, she knew that she had a bit of a thing for getting him riled up. She waits for him to open the door to her car and he does exactly that. Once Sicheng is in the spot beside her, she instructs the driver to take them to her next schedule and after a few seconds of silence, she speaks once again.

Her hand ends up by his on its side as she lets her little finger touch with his teasingly and then, she leans over enough to look up at him with innocent eyes that she never knew she could use on anyone. “If it works for you, you don’t bore me.”

Sicheng scoffs. “Boss, I don’t mind what you think of me.” He replies curtly and she knows that he will try to be as sharp as he is with her forever, but by the way he reacts when she sits this close…she knew that there were some ways that she could have Sicheng liking her. She had always been a people-pleaser, and it would work just marvelous if she put her plan to work.

She liked Sicheng’s indifference, simply because he was one of the few people that wouldn’t try to become her friend specifically for her money, but she was far more interested in the fact that she rarely got to see the smile that he showed everyone and by now, she could already imagine how beautiful his smile would be if she was the reason behind it.

“And that’s one of the few things I like about you.” She answers and Sicheng doesn’t miss the way she smirks as she returns to her side of the seat, looking out the window after crossing one leg over the other with classiness. The devil wore designer clothing, that is for sure, but even angels like Sicheng can’t stop themselves from getting close to her.

Stress is her handbag, lemonade is her newest favorite drink because it distracts her, and she really is pondering about the facilities that coffee could bring her. The amount of outfit changes she has throughout the day are only endless reminders of the importance of her position in society and she wants to say she adores it, but she really needs a break. Her pores already feel clogged up with the amount of makeup she needs to wear on a daily, like shades of colors that really don’t represent the complexity of her personality. However, she is thankful that there are people who are able to work hard with her—waking up at four in the morning to prepare her for a gala, a grand entrance that could potentially make her the center of attention and also, bring that attention to her clothing line.

Her eyes are aching and normally, she would take a nap at that very moment, when her newest—and very sweet—makeup artist is pressing a beauty sponge to her skin to set the foundation over it, blend it to perfection and leave her like a little doll made out of glass. The seat is comfortable and the lights are a little bit dimmed, as long as she doesn’t get too close to the mirror in front of her that radiates white lights to accentuate her makeup and make it look as spotless as it could. Her manager is somewhere in the room, arms crossed over her chest and her face resting on her shoulder for some reason, but she is far too invested in thinking of the man that was supposed to bring her breakfast.

She already knows who it is. Everyone does.

She loves bickering with Sicheng, because she recognizes the amount of hatred he has towards her, and somehow she wants to change it, but that is not the reason why she needs to have Sicheng by her side. The problem starts with new, and continues with launch. A new launch had been the biggest of her problems, much more when she had been trying to create more of a casual style for men, that could sell more and at more accessible prizes (all courtesy of Sicheng’s advice). Someone like her with diamonds in her eyes, expensive rings around her fingers and a heart covered in stone cold could not understand the importance of saving money, but her assistant does and that means his opinions count as society’s, or normal people’s for that matter.

He is the image he had in her head when she created the concept of her newest launch. She wanted colors, from pastel blue to lemonade yellow (a drink, that according to Sicheng, is supposed to wake her up), with hints of peppermint shades and a few beiges to contrast, white cannot ever be too much, and the stylish suits for women and long jackets for males are the epitome of exactly what she had imagined. A punch of an eighties throwback to the gut, but not hideous enough to look out of place, but a rewind of style mixed with office and casual, pieces that can be thrown together just like they can be taken off and the facilities of buttons that make everything look stylish. She loves some color, and she thinks it should be more highlighted in the fashion industry, and the pop feeling of her line had some stylists from pop artists already reaching her phone, but she needs to make sure every piece is perfect.

Perfection is like sugar, sweet but not good in big amounts. People craved it, but it wasn’t good for their health. She learns that now, how she has always been criticized with a perfect standard in mind. “I am trying a red and black eye-look,” The soft spoken makeup artist, Lia, says as she picks up her palette after applying primer on her lids and she bites on her bottom lip as she looks at the colors. “I bought some glitter eyeliner, too, since we want it to shine.” Lia looks like a girl next door, with cheap cotton clothing covering her body, and a smile that never leaves her face. She is too pure for this world, even going as far as bringing cookies and coffee to the busy designer, and she speaks throughout the whole process of the makeup. Long eyelashes, beautiful thin lips and starry eyes that shined as bright as the glitter that she is going to apply to her eyelids. “Are you okay with that?”

“We’ve already talked about this.” She says tiredly, leaning her head back on the seat after she feels a small pull on her muscles. All she wants are five hours of sleep and potentially on her bed, not in some limousine while Sicheng reads her what she needs to do throughout the day. “Do what you need to do.” When she finally closes her eyes, getting ready to get lost on the hands of drowsiness and a sleepiness that carries her throughout life, she hears the sound of the makeup studio’s door being opened and she groans lightly, opening her eyes.

“No, no,” Lia says sweetly, moving her hands with the makeup brush on her hands. “Close your eyes. I’m going to start with your eye-makeup.”

“Sorry.” She whispers while closing one eye and with the other she catches a glance of the person that is entering the room. Sicheng is wearing a suit, although his hair is messy and his eyes are just as tired as hers. He lives off coffee and alarms on his phone, always rushing behind her, being her pretty little companion and her Atlas for the latest months. Just like how Atlas carried the world on his shoulders, he carries everything that she needs to do and keeps her company even in the toughest times, when all she wants to do is hide and pretend she was never famous to start with. “I’m glad you got here.”

“…I feel asleep, sorry.” Sicheng apologizes, just like she did a few seconds ago, and he bows to the manager before waving his hands cutely at the half-asleep woman. The designer, however, feels the movements of the brush against her eyelid coming to a halt and she opens her two eyes to see that Lia is catching a good glance of Sicheng. Tall. Gorgeous. Natural. Humble. Made for people like her, who love a good love story and a prince instead of a frog. Sicheng is that, a prince with a ceaseless need to speak his mind out about his hatred towards his boss. “Hi. I’m Dong Sicheng.” He introduces himself to the makeup artist, who only tucks a strand of her long hair behind her ear before smiling.

“Lia.”

“Sicheng?” She calls out in a whiny tone, raising an eyebrow and making her assistant look at her, starry eyes changing into bored ones once he shares a glance with his boss. He nods his head before going over to where she is, placing her breakfast on the table beside her before she starts speaking once again. “I need you to try the pieces of clothing that are in the bathroom next door, and I’ll be making some changes if I feel they don’t fit you right.”

Her assistant frowns at that. “I’m not a model. No.” But he might as well be, with his plump lips and tall height, as well as that mysterious aura that wraps around him that gives an enormous contrast with his sweet features. She thinks that Sicheng is more than he claims to be, but he will never let her know if he continues to be just like how he is right now.

“I’m your boss. You need to do what I tell you to.”

“Boss—”

“Come on. You’re the prettiest person I know currently and I trust your judgement.” Those words catch him off guard, and he cusses as he looks over to the side, the tip of his ears shining like cherry blossoms. She smiles to herself, closing her eyes once again and taking one of the cookies Lia had given her to bite down onto it.

Sicheng thinks that he has the upper hand in the relationship, a professional one that is, but she knows that is not true. He has served as inspiration, that is true, but it goes even further away from his great looks and his humble desires—his passion for work and his cute reactions had brought some kind of happiness to herself. Her work is no longer a need for attention and power, it became something more, like what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. “Okay, Boss. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m excited.”

“Please, don’t say anything.”

And the sound of the door closing has her leaning back on her seat, with a pride that swells up inside her body like a balloon, but it is quickly deflated the moment Lia speaks. “Uh…” Her nervous voice, lingered with shyness, is enough to make her open her eyes. “No, no, close them.” The repetition is not necessary, but she does as Lia says and then, the older woman clears her throat. “Is he…your assistant?”

She does not know what happens whenever she hears someone ask her about Sicheng, but it reminds her of that one time her parents took her favorite toys and sold them just because they felt like she needed to grow up. It is as if she is betrayed, but at the same time she doesn’t want to let go of what is within her touch. She swallows thickly, nodding her head and not saying a lot more, letting out soft breaths meant to relax her. However, a few minutes later she hears the sound of the door opening once again, when Lia is blending a nice transition shade on her crease.

What Sicheng is, in presence, in the scowl on his face and the sound of his voice, no one else has been to her. She has met a hundred men, slept with a handful, fallen in love with one rock-star once, but it has never quite felt like the admiration she feels towards Sicheng. He stands strong for his beliefs, even when he doesn’t completely like her, and the more she tries to become his friend, the less it feels like she has always been accompanied by people. She realized with him how lonely she is, but at the same time, that there are good people out there in the world. Those who don’t love the zeroes in her bank account, but hate her for what they made her be. What he is, is the burn that lemonade brings down her throat, with some taste of sugar but mostly bitter.

She would never admit it, how the border in between the two feels more like a frontier. How she wants to jump it and have him as a friend, or maybe simply hear him tell her the truth about herself. Perhaps, she should go to a psychic or something else, but she has never had a real person as a friend. Someone that cares about her for who she is. He doesn’t, but she feels like he could. No one would stand this job like he does, right?

Sicheng clears his throat, with cheeks made to kiss and lips that match his scowl. He is wearing one of her favorite pieces, the lemonade yellow button down, a perfect pair of trousers in a color of black and a paste blue leather jacket with a nice, handmade imprint in the back. She coos at the sight of him, clapping her hands together once before resting them against her chin. “Don’t say anything corny.”

“You look so handsome.” Without noticing, she stands up from her seat, not caring that Lia calls behind her to continue with her makeup. Once she reaches Sicheng, she opens the leather jacket by the zipper before fixing it slightly. “Don’t be nerdy. Don’t zip up the jacket.”

“The zipper is there for something. Don’t put it, if you don’t like it.”

“Ah, don’t be a grumpy ass.” She replies, looking up into his eyes before tracing the outline of the lace collar of the shirt. “How you like it? Did I do good with my color vomit?”

“Very comfortable, I might say.” Sicheng speaks his mind out, like always, and then he fiddles with the fabric of the jacket. “And the pieces are colorful, but not that…un-usable. I would wear it.”

She smiles, biting down on her bottom lip and giving a few steps back before nodding her head. “There are a few other pieces waiting for you at the bathroom. Come on. Give me a show.”

Sicheng huffs, throwing his arms to his sides and watching the two other women in the room for help, but Lia is too busy gawking at the designer and her assistant, and her manager is thoroughly asleep. He does not say much after that, but she takes a good glance of his broad shoulders as he leaves the room once again. She takes a seat, watching as Lia plays with her makeup brush before sighing. “I have a question.” Her high voice says and the designer hums, pressing another bite to the cookie on her hands, filled with chocolate. “…I’m sorry if it’s none of my business, but how do you feel now that you like someone?”

She coughs, the cookie being swallowed before it should have been, and Lia rushes to pat her back as repetitions of ‘I’m sorry’ spill past her lips. Then, she is reminded while she coughs that Sicheng has been working with her for months, and on a daily. She has seen his face in a million ways, but she hasn’t gotten tired of him. She has heard his voice, but she has never screamed at him. Although their distaste for one another is, more or less, a tale or myth of sorts—she feels like they cooperate with one another. They are a match made in heaven, like John Lennon and Yoko Ono once were.

But that is one thing, liking him as a friend or a worker of hers, but she doesn’t think she would ever like someone at that point of her life. She has broken plenty of hearts, and gotten her heart broken, too. The least she wants is to get involved with one of her workers, but it would not be a beginning for her. Love never meant a lot to her, but a crush sounds childish. Her latest relationships always started in kisses in the back of a car and ended in forgotten socks early in the morning after a night filled with passion.

But there are different types of passion, like the one Sicheng has whenever he arrives early—like he always does.

And she realizes then that people could misunderstand what has been going on with Sicheng, but she doesn’t know what pulls her to him, exactly, either. She is scared of the matters that have a meaning, but she had never thought of actually liking Sicheng. Flirting is something she enjoys doing, but she has never thought of it as something meaningful. “It’s cute.” Lia spills after starting with her makeup once again, realizing just how hot the designer’s cheeks are. “I have never seen you like someone…not even before I started working for you. Magazines have always portrayed you as a player.”

“I don’t know.” She replies, mumbled and lost in between her own lips. Suddenly, the sound of the air conditioner and the deafening silent is more of a response than anything else will ever be. “I won’t say I don’t, just like how I won’t confirm it.” Because she would rather have him by her side than have him by Lia’s. Perhaps, she is pulling in someone who doesn’t want to be by her side, but she knows that she is a bit jealous whenever she catches Sicheng looking at someone—and Lia is not an exception.

“That’s acceptable.”

The door opens once again as Lia is putting false-eyelashes on her client, and Sicheng rushes towards Lia’s side to be in front of his Boss’ line of vision. This outfit is mostly black and gray, although the sleeves have pretty shades of pastel that tie the look together. “I really like this one.” Sicheng admits with a smile on his face, one to enjoy darker colors while she likes the whole rainbow. She opens her eyes, fluttering her eyelashes slightly to get used to them before she looks at Sicheng. The smile on his face is priceless, although a bit tiny, and she knows Lia is looking at him, but for some reason they are the only ones existing in the room, inside her mind.

“I knew you would.” She confesses, thoughtful of what the man likes and doesn’t. She had never been like that with anyone, but she couldn’t show her weakness to a man. Never. A part of her wants to pull him in by the collar of his shirt and let him know who is in charge, but she is left like a blushing mess on her spot before she crosses one leg over the other. “Try some more and I’ll let you have my breakfast.”

“But Boss, I brought it for you—”

A glance to his eyes shows just how things have changed for her, how she has always cared about him to certain extent but now everything is different. There are effects that are unstoppable—like gravity, and the rain, and matters of the heart. “I want you to eat. You must be starving.” Sicheng can’t say a lot more because she lifts her hand up in the air to indicate his silent and a small ‘thank you’ is enough to bring a smile to her face.

Mornings were no longer gray as long as he was there with her. And she never knew colors could be so much brighter beside someone who could like dullness so much.

“Tell me about your first love.”

“Huh?!”

To have Sicheng talking to her when she is at her office, working on e-mails and sponsors for her newest launch, is not normal. Screw that, having Sicheng talk to her without spawning some hate towards her way of working is never a situation she has been in, but that Friday night he seems enthralled in staying by her side and while he could have left home, he decides not to do so. He is twisting around on a chair, watching her office that has a lot of professionalism but an unfitting Gibson acoustic guitar in the darkest spot of her office, holding onto a dusty corner. The latest months have not been one to linger on the thought of a guitar, out of all things, but now that he has some free time with his boss, he feels the need to know the meaning behind it. Just to scratch an itch, or know if the rumors that go around the office about his boss’ love life are real, or are even remotely close to the reality.

She stops typing, but then she shakes her head to look at her computer, finding it interesting that Sicheng is even curious about anything in her life. She straightens her back, not showing her discomfort but instead opting to cover her reminder of her only love with her faux yet so real confidence. “I thought you didn’t care about my life. Why would you want to know?” She asks and Sicheng stops twirling on the chair to press a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes after getting dizzy before speaking through his teeth.

“You don’t like playing guitar, and it doesn’t match the aesthetic of your office at all. I figured…it must have been something that reminds you of your first love. If the rumors are true.” Of course, her office is filled with rumors about her, but she opted to be a heartbreaker instead of being the heartbroken one. Even Sicheng had believed it for some time, that Hanbin or Minhyuk were her first heartbreak, but they were not even close to the pain Goichi once inflicted on her. A guitarist of some band with the softest lips to kiss, and insecurities that had crawled up on her, creating a mess of deep lakes of jealousy and screaming between the two. What was once beautiful, turned bitter rather slowly, like a painful death. “…And I do care about your life, just that I don’t voice it out.”

“It’s not like I didn’t know it.” She says, still typing, although that is a lie. She has always thought that Sicheng hates her, but to see such contrast brings a smile to her face and she remains silent, making Sicheng talk again.

“Come on. What happened with that guitar?”

Her fingers do come to a halt, only to look at the old guitar that is at that corner of her office, dusty with the memory of around fourteen songs that were written about her, some hits and some not. She remembers her ex-boyfriend, not her first, but it definitely felt like he was the only person that mattered at that moment, all the other faces in the world blurry and meaningless. She realizes that she hasn’t got rid of it, even after years of that relationship coming to an end. Her hand presses against the side of her face as she rests her elbow on her desk and she looks at Sicheng’s eyes, realizing that she has always liked that humble side of him, just like Goichi had it. “His name was Goichi. I met him while I was in Los Angeles, and he had some gig there. He played the guitar on some band…their popularity has dropped lately, but you know…he’s talented.” She breathes out softly, her red-lipstick covered lips puckering up at the action before she remembers that moment in which she met her first love. “I wasn’t that...I guess I was innocent, but I was flirty. I tried to get his number, and he promised to give it to me if we went to his favorite bar in Los Angeles. We had some drinks and he always left things for later, so he left me hanging for a kiss.”

Sicheng scoffs at that. “Someone would leave you hanging?” He asks and she smirks at that.

“Why? You wouldn’t?”

He flushes at that, crossing his arms over his chest before clearing his throat. “I’m saying most people wouldn’t.”

“Thanks.” She replies and then, she bites her bottom lip. “We started a long distance relationship. Although, not really long distance…I would visit him whenever I could, since I just jumped on a jet and I would be anywhere I wanted. I was young, and stupid, and I got that first kiss and a song written just for me.” The reminder of the tunes that he had sang just for her before they were released brings a bitter taste to her mouth. “So we quickly became a couple, and we were planning to move to a place people didn’t know us. We only wanted to run away…or some shit like that…the clichés, you know.”

“Was Goichi sweet?” Sicheng asks, humming after her reply.

“Oh, he was.” She confirms, but then she seats back on her chair, looking at the guitar once again. “He was until he showed me the broken part of himself.  I discovered that he wanted to run away because he was so insecure, scared of me going anywhere…scared of being abandoned…and no matter how many times I told him I loved him, he would always tell me that it was not true.”

Sicheng frowns at that. “And why wouldn’t he believe you?”

“Because, as my career grew, I stopped paying that much attention to him.” Then, she is reminded of how much her career has taken from her. Her life, altogether, is based on fashion, diamonds and money, but she has gotten little from that sentimentally. Sometimes, she wishes she would not be as lonely as she was. “And I got angry, because he had to be happy about my success, but he wasn’t!”

“You’re right.”

“Right?” She asks softly, sighing soon after before setting her fingers over her computer’s mouse. “So, I would get on a plane crying whenever we had a fight and he would release another song, and I would be back to him. It was a cycle.”

Sicheng hisses at that, and the way he looks at her makes her feel like she is the Goichi in the situation. Someone is trying to look at her as more than she is, see her past as nothing more than blurred lines, like her as she is instead of fixing her. “That’s not good for neither of you. How did things end?”

“He got a hit from one of the songs he wrote about me, and we were going to celebrate it and all…but I had to cancel because of the launch of my second store, and that meant that I couldn’t go to where he was.” She sounds like a complete heartbreaker at that moment, and then she realizes that the burn in her throat is guilt. That is why she has never gotten rid of that guitar, because she feels bad for what she did to Goichi. “When I got home that night, I had a lot of voice messages from him…and he told me I was a whore, that he wished he would have never fallen in love with me because I would always give more importance to something else when I was the axis of his world. I called him that night and broke it off.”

“And he agreed?”

“He did.” She replies and then, she bites her bottom lip. She stands up from her seat and takes Sicheng by the wrist before the man follows soon after her. “We are going to destroy that guitar because I am no longer tied to that man. I should not feel guilty for not fixing someone, when they didn’t want to be fixed.”

Sicheng tilts his head to the side at that, looking at the guitar in front of them before taking it in between his fingers. It is not heavy on his hands but when he passes it to her, she realizes just how many songs Goichi had written with that same guitar, and all about her. Those songs still played inside her head, and while she grips the guitar with both hands to slam it on the floor, she finds difficult to do it until she feels Sicheng’s hands over her shoulders. “Come on. Let it all out. You have enough money to buy a hundred guitars just like that.”

She nods her head. “Yeah, I do.”

“And he shouldn’t have called you a whore for growing in your career.”

“That’s right.” She squints her eyes and then, she slams the guitar against the floor, barely creaking it but the noise makes her flinch slightly. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—”

“Don’t be scared of not being classy.” Sicheng says in between a chuckle and then, he pats her back. “Get it over and done with.”

She hits the guitar against the floor, once again, letting out a smile when she sees it breaking slightly. She continues two more times until she releases it to the floor, turning to look at Sicheng and grip his forearms with a happy beam on her face. “I’m over it!” Sicheng has never seen such emotion on her face, like a child-like glow that can only feel like being reborn. He smiles down at her, as if he finally sees a side of her that he actually likes. “Wait,” She stops on her tracks and takes Sicheng’s cheeks in between her hands. “Did you say earlier that you do care about me?”

And then her confidence is back, with that smirk that makes him burn from within, as if his organs were turning inside out. “Oh…that.” Sicheng replies before frowning his eyebrows and lifting his nose with a scrunch. “I said it in the heat of the moment…you know.”

“No, you didn’t say it in the heat of the moment.” She says with a smile on her face and then, she pinches his side, realizing how he flinches slightly because of the tickling motion. “Look how cute you are, pretending you hate me when I’m probably your crush or something.”

Sicheng shakes his head, clearing his throat and pushing her by the shoulders slightly to keep her at arm distance. “No. You’re far from that. I hate you, Boss.”

“Oh, come on, call me by my name—” She smiles up at him and then, she sticks her tongue out playfully. “And you helped me get over my ex? Come on, you’re at least my friend!”

Her assistant rubs his temples with a sigh leaving his lips. “You’re so much like a teenager sometimes.”

“That’s good. I remain young, then.”

Sicheng shakes his head. “Stop it.”

She pinches his reddened cheeks before pointing at the mess of wood that is on the floor. “You’re going to have to clean that up while I finish working, but it’s not like you’ll mind—because I’m your friend.”

“I said stop it!” Although, Sicheng gets out of the room to look for a broom and she crosses her arms over her chest, always used to looking at his back as he leaves, but he always comes back. She thinks Sicheng makes her feel like how she should have always felt, happy and bubbly, as well as inspired and ready to fight back. He is not like anyone from her past, and she realizes then that Lia might be right—she might like Sicheng, but he is too precious to approach just now. Perhaps, she’d like to have him as a friend first, and that’s a start for her.

Waking up to Sicheng is almost normal occurrence, when he moves her shoulders when she takes too long to stand up from the bed, or when he enters just at the moment she is working out. Most of the time he brings tea, unless she asks for something else in her spoiled mind, but that morning is entirely different. She wakes up to a text from her assistant saying that he is extremely sick with a fever, to the point he is unable to stand up from the bed and that he is incredibly sorry, and while she could get Yesung to work as her assistant for a day, she thinks it is better to call it a day and take care of the poor man that has taken care of her for plenty of days, more like months and sometime, it will be an entire year of being her angel. Paid angel. Guy with a paycheck that cares about her even through that paycheck.

Or so she thinks.

She feels lost, that is not something she is going to deny. She puts on her planned set of clothes, brushes her hair back to give it a sleeked back, but slightly wet look, and when she puts on her heels to get ready for work, she realizes she really doesn’t want to leave Sicheng in his bad state, so she calls Yesung and he is suddenly the head of her company just for a day, or an afternoon, or however long it takes her to take care of Sicheng. It is until then, at exactly nine in the morning, that she really thinks of what she wants to do once she gets to Sicheng’s apartment. Does she want to give him medicine or is it better to take some nice food to him? She thinks the latter would be more heart-touching, but she is not that great at cooking. Well, not really one to cook, either.

With confident steps from her high heels, she gets to the kitchen to meet up with her cook, all filled with knowledge on the most excellent of tastes. She licks her lips, leaning her weight forward to look at the thirty-something men as she bends over the counter. “Good morning to my favorite cook,” That is not a lie, his food had always been the best and they have been working together for years. “Did you know Sicheng is sick?”

“Oh, Mr. Dong?” Always one for formalities and being called ‘cook’, the man questions as he prepares a perfect plate of waffles. “That’s unfortunate. I had prepared the second serving you had asked for.”

“Save it for later, I’m going to visit Sicheng.” Those words surprise the chef, and he looks over his shoulder with widened eyes. Soon after, his deep voice lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head. “I will be making some soup. What kind of soup should I give to a man with the flu?”

The chef actually cackles at that, loud as he sets the plate filled with waffles in front of his boss, and he presses his big hands to the counter. “Miss, I’m sorry—but you don’t know how to cook. I’ll take care of it. I can make a changed version of my Mom’s recipe for when I was sick, back when I lived in Rio—”

She takes a big bite of her waffles, eager to finish quickly just to get to Sicheng. She knows his address but she has never fully gone to his place, only staying inside her limousine to go pick him up if needed, yet this is completely different. The chef notices her seriousness and he lets out a sigh. “I’ll help you. Really, I want to help.”

“Miss, okay—yes, you can help me after you eat.” She nods her head, taking another big bite of the honey-covered waffles. “But…you don’t plan to go to Mr. Dong’s apartment with those clothes…right?” She looks down at her outfit, perfect and immaculate, with a pink top that hugged her waist and a marble-patterned skirt, paired with a fluffy jacket from one of her favorite designers, and the heels, although black, accentuated her legs nicely. She looks like an example of perfection, in her eyes. “He’s a very…tranquil man, and his neighborhood is not poor, but it is also not as luxurious as this one. You’d look out of place.”

“I don’t think I have anything cheap, though.” She says in a mumbled tone before continuing with her meal. “Would a white blouse and jeans work? That’s as casual as I can get.”

The chef hisses. “I was thinking more of t-shirt and jeans…but…whatever you want, Miss.”

Is that the type of people Sicheng liked? Not as outstanding as her, with enough bite to make him go crazy, but someone who is as dull as the water in a fountain. She is the whole Red Sea, unknown and out of her own head, always being an exception of the rule. She stands out, but she can’t do it now. “…Chef,” She starts. “Do you think…Sicheng…likes normal…girls?”

The chef already knows what is going on, raising his eyebrows and smiling sweetly, interlocking his hands under his chin before tilting his head to the side. “What is your concept of normal?”

Oh, she knows it—diamonds, breakfast to bed, and a lot of clothes in her closet. The concept of normal to Sicheng is probably cereal as breakfast and sweet laughter that comes with movie dates. “I…I am very spoiled, and rich. I don’t think I have a proper vision of what normal is.”

He nods his head at that. “I’m sure Sicheng does mind how…picky you can be, Miss. Stubborn.” He corrects himself before clearing his throat, going over to put Sicheng’s breakfast in a container before starting the process of making soup with his boss. “But you are not unlikeable for average people, Miss. Quite the contrary.”

“Really?” She asks, before rolling her eyes with a smile on her face. “I knew that much…but Sicheng makes me believe that’s not the case.”

“He’s just different from the men you tend to pick, Miss.” The chef says. “Although, that’s none of my business.”

“No, no!” She retorts. “Please, do speak.”

The chef closes the container with a soft thud before speaking, his back turned to her as a way of shielding his words—or maybe, he is only working. “All the men you pick are rich out of the crib.  They are used to getting what they want, and Sicheng knows he has to work for things—it is only normal for him to want others to work for things, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“He wants you to work for him, in some way. If you want to seduce him, he wants to have you wrapped around his little finger.”

Whether she gasps or not, that doesn’t matter because the events that follow soon after show how affected she is by the chef’s knowledge. As she ‘helps’ him make the soup—more like stands to the side and passes him what he needs—, she starts talking about how no man can ever have her wrapped around his finger. She knows what she is worth, perhaps a million dollars or a thousand more, she regards herself as a woman of power, but she is also not as little as an ant when being with Sicheng. He makes her feel equal, and that is different. She likes it, but she also finds it frustratingly slow.

Once she is changed out of her clothes, inside her cheapest car and driving over to Sicheng’s neighborhood, she realizes just how much he means to her. Past the professional source, the friendship title and others, Sicheng is someone she appreciates past any title. He doesn’t want to change her, but she feels the need to better herself thanks to him. There are enough mistakes on her shoulders to drag her down, but Sicheng always tells her honestly what he thinks about her. At first, he was too honest, but now he is the perfect complement of reality and dreaming.

His neighborhood is, to say the least, as cute as him—tiny, with kids playing on the streets and people buzzing with happiness. She feels a bit out of place when she parks her car and people keep staring at her, but she is used to this, why should it feel any different now?

She walks forward, opening the entrance of Sicheng’s apartment complex and talking to the security guard at the front. Once she is let inside, the elevator and the smell of air freshener meet up in a way that makes her feel dizzy, or maybe it’s the nervousness that buzzes inside her. All she wants to know is that Sicheng is alright, and she tugs at the fabric of her blouse as she walks to the apartment that she knows is his. Or it’s not. Perhaps, she made a mistake going there—

But she has already knocked, and she tries to remind herself that she has given speeches in fronts of thousands of people, had the most influential of people begging to have her attention, enamored the most handsome men that people continuously talk about on social media.

She has got this.

She knows what she is doing.

Until Sicheng opens the door while covered in a thick sweater, his blanket draped over his shoulders and his sweatpants hugging his slender hips softly as he lets out a noise of surprising, calling her name in a way that would have warmed her heart if only it wasn’t the first time she has heard her name from his lips without any honorifics in front of it. “Oh!” She calls out sweetly, widening her eyes and pressing the bag filled with food to her chest with a smile on her face, hands interlocked together. “You just called me by my name.”

Sicheng blinks sleepily at that, nodding his head soon after before saying: “Sorry, Boss.”

“No, no. Don’t call me Boss again—”

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds a thousand times deeper, opening his door wider to lean against it in efforts of staying up, but she can tell that he is feeling his worst. His body seems to be dragging against the material of his door, his hair is even messier and dirtier than other days, and his lips are chapped to no end. “Didn’t you see my text? I can’t—” He coughs his lungs out at that moment, speaking through short spans of breath. “I can’t…go to work…sorry!”

“I came here because I took the day off to take care of you.” She wants to look over to the side, but she is too prideful to do it. Sicheng looks at her with surprise when she says those words and the thick silence within them makes her cringe. God. What does one do in a situation like this? She waves the bag in front of his eyes before smiling. “I brought you some soup, courtesy of my chef and I, and waffles, courtesy of the chef only.”

Sicheng puckers his lips at that, although his eyes warm up at the sight of her. “No. Go to work. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to fire you if you don’t let me take care of you.” She replies and Sicheng shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, you don’t know me all that well, Sicheng.”

“…I—” He coughs after he says those words and she takes him by the arm, dragging him with her before closing his door with her foot.

“You are going to have your waffles and soup, because I’m sure you haven’t eaten, and then you’re napping. I’ll take care of the dishes or whatever.”

Sicheng’s apartment is casual, like the one a young man would have, with sheets sprawled on the coffee table with designs of his and reminders on sticky notes around the doors. The smell is of his perfume, not the cheapest but not the most expensive, and the colors are as dark as he usually likes. The kitchen is small, but he takes a seat and invites her to talk to him, though she does most of the talking as he slowly slurps on the soup and takes bites of the waffles until she feeds him. Sicheng wraps himself on his blanket and accepts the spoonful of food she gives him each time, chewing on the strange mix of waffles and soup, but he is too hungry to care.

She feels her heart warm up when he crawls inside his bed, thanking her with a smile on his face as she sits by his side, and although he complains when she runs her fingers through his dirty hair, his eyes closing slightly at the mere action, he lets her do it after a while. Sicheng’s hands are resting on each side of his body, his cheek tilting to the side while she continues stroking his hair. Then, he speaks in a husky voice. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you’re my friend.” She confesses and Sicheng whines lowly.

“But I always said I hated you.”

“And you still hate me?”

“I don’t.” He coughs after that statement and then, his hand rests over hers that finds a home on his scalp. “You’re my friend, too.”

It has never felt so warm, to be cared for, or maybe she has never been cared for this purely that she finds it so beautiful. She watches as he falls asleep by her side, his runny noise making a few snores leave his lips, and while he doesn’t look his best—she still sees what he is, what he makes her feel, and the magnificence within him. Sicheng speaks a few languages, and the language he spilled to her was hate, but now it feels like peace has settled within them.

Is being just friends really good enough?

That notebook is everything that seems to go through her brain.

There is a potential sponsor, investor and a colleague in the fashion industry in front of her, graced by her tall height and knowledge that she should be interested on, but she is far too distracted by the fact that Sicheng is carrying a new notebook around, and it is not her agenda—the one he uses to keep up with her schedule, updated on a daily thanks to his connections with her managers—, so whatever secret he is keeping from her, she needs to know.

The notebook is dark green, and it always stands behind her agenda on his hands, but he checks it constantly. Her first thought is that he has another person he’s working for, but Sicheng doesn’t even have the time to hang out with his friends with her busy schedule, let alone have another work—and he’s well paid, so he shouldn’t be looking for any other job. She thinks that as she is talking to the sponsor, not caring if her eyes look a little bit too lost. She’s committed plenty of sins, lying shouldn’t be a problem.

But when thinks of a second guess, she comes clueless with nothing inside her head and while Sicheng spends time with her throughout the day, they are too busy to talk about the matter that has her distracted. Her mind should be in Sydney, getting ready for a two-day trip there with Sicheng. He’s still there, she shouldn’t care about another notebook that probably is a continuation of her agenda with how busy she is, but something inside her mind tells her that Sicheng has been acting different and while they are closer, much more lively with one another, although bickering just as much, Sicheng is hiding something.

If that is her issue or not, that is unknown, because she thinks she deserves to know what is going on.

She finally gets the chance to talk to Sicheng when her heels are neatly placed on her walk-in closet, her body is cladded on her most comfortable pajamas and she is taking her makeup off with a wipe. Her eyes are staring into the mirror, but she looks at the reflection of Sicheng behind her, having finished his task of organizing her clothes neatly for her trip and now, he’s looking down at his notebook and writing down something. Then, she speaks. “What’s that notebook for?”

The man jumps at the sound of her voice, though he tries to feign innocence when he says a small: “Excuse me?”

“The notebook. It’s new. I’ve never seen you with it.” The air feels heavy on a piano tune that mocks the two as Sicheng stares at her in bewilderment, not expecting her out of people to be observant and detailed, but she is just for him. She stands up from her spot, pulling her pajama bottoms up with the motion before quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll know.” Though the smile on her face is mocking, the tone of her voice hides the indecision that aches within her. Sicheng clears his throat, fixes the fabric of her button down before looking over to the side.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

And when he looks into her eyes, brown and clouded, hazed, troubled, she realizes that whatever is bothering him is very important for him. Sicheng bites down on his plump bottom lip, rosy and covered in chap-stick, and with a sigh, he presses one hand down to her shoulder, as if he is trying to find leverage and support to say what comes next: “I’m…I’m trying to launch my own clothing line, and it’s going great. In the past eleven months that I’ve worked for you, I’ve been saving and—you pay me plenty, so I have been able to work on designs and find a little team to support me.”

She widens her eyes at that, a smile creeping up her face. “Oh my God!” She gasps out of surprise, but pride altogether, because Sicheng is hardworking and he deserves more than success. “Yes, I’m all for that. I could even go as far as working with you!”

“I want to do this alone for now, just to prove myself.” Sicheng says but then again, there is something bothering him, deep within him. “And if everything goes alright…” Like how it should. “I might leave my job.”

Now, that is something she did not expect and with a faux grin on her face, she stares at him with emotionless eyes. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I support you.” She speaks through her teeth, because she really is happy for him, but she knows she will miss him to bits. He is not her half, for she’s not incomplete, but hand in hand they create a perfect duo.

Sicheng beams at that, bright with excitement. “So, let’s revise over your schedule for tomorrow—”

Like her black tea in the mornings, sometimes there and sometimes not, she will miss him.

Very rarely does she get to see Sicheng in his office, tiny but immaculate at the same time, because he is normally at hers doing his very best to help her fulfill her tasks, but now that he is working on his own projects, she sees him use the phone more often, checking his designs and even going as far as replying his own e-mails with the partners he is looking for, all for his big launch. However, when she peeks her head inside his office as she is about to leave, she realizes that Sicheng’s posture is clear enough to show his distress. He’s hunched over the desk, holding his phone in one hand and frownin deeply at whatever the other person is saying.

She knows he is at the verge of screaming—she has been there, although she has had a handful of people to help her from the very start, but Sicheng is almost doing everything by himself and that means that his levels of stress are up the roof. She takes some time to look at the depth of his face, the way he leans back on his seat and gives the image of a boss in disguise. One day, she believes, she will be able to see his clothing line going on runways. She just knows it, classic and meticulous, Sicheng has studied fashion, unlike her who only knows what she likes and what she doesn’t.

“What do you mean you mixed the fabrics?!” His tone now rises in volume and she flinches a bit before a smile spreads across her face. She has always seen herself as the boss and Sicheng being the one bossed around, but he is a thousand times more attractive when sitting there with an air of knowledge. She bites down on her bottom lip as she finally enters the office, and he only steals her a glance before continuing. “No. I specified it a week beforehand, it’s not my fault that you never check your e-mails and when you do, it’s half-assed. I’ll have to fix all of this by my—” Whoever is talking on the other line interrupts him and Sicheng breathes in deeply, rubbing his eyebrow as a way of calming down his nerves. “Yeah, once you fix it give me a call, alright? We need to have this launch finished by the date I gave you.”

Once Sicheng hangs up the call, she whistles under her breath and crosses one leg in front of the other. “That’s hot. You being bossy.” Sicheng flushes red at her words but he doesn’t even smile, he is in another world floating in worries. She gets closer to him, the fabric of her dress hugging her nicely as she leans over his smaller desk. “Hey, I know how it feels, but if you continuously check on your work and make sure everything gets done, from there the rest is easy.”

Sicheng sighs deeply and he covers his face with his hands, for a moment she is scared that he will start crying, but then he uncovers his face. “I’m tired, and hungry. I don’t need this amount of stress.”

“Then, let me invite you to dinner.”

“I don’t feel like going to a restaurant.”

She trails her gaze up and down his body as he stands up, licking her lips at the sight of his black-cladded outfit. “Then, let me invite you to dinner at my place.”

“Yes, sure.” Sicheng mumbles, turning off his computer and then, picking up her agenda and his notebook. “Thanks.”

The car ride is filled with a different temperature, the golden lights of the streets bathing them as the chauffeur takes them to her house, and they bask on conversation about work. It is clearly noticeable that Sicheng’s perception of fashion is different, sexy but at the same time casual, enough to give normal people an edge, something that designers try on a daily but can’t ever reach. Sicheng is newness, like a sunrise, and she can’t help but feel thrilled to see what he comes up with.

But what really is clouding her mind is the way Sicheng seems more open to her, and the constant reminder that she has been into him for the past few months, but she has not tried anything out of utter respect for the man, too scared of ruining what took her months to create. They are friends now, so she should not ruin that, but it is difficult to not want to seduce him when his clothes fit him so nicely—no, when he is that absolute perfection of a person whenever he talks to her, eating with her in her balcony as they take bites of honey-chicken and a salad prepared by her chef.

“I’m proud of you,” She says as she looks at the night sky, blue and dark, but with enough stars to cast over them and the moon is slotted in a half. She stands up from her spot on the table in her balcony to press a hand to the railing, her leg slitting away from the open fabric of her long dress, black that matches his as she touches the necklace filled with diamonds she had opted to wear that night. Sicheng looks at her, glass of water pressed to his lips and for a moment, his eyes trail down the silky skin of her legs in full display. “I am sure you will be big, Sicheng. Like, I have never met someone as…given to their work as you are.”

“You really think so?” Sicheng asks and she nods her head, getting closer to him and running her fingers through his hair to get a good glimpse of his features. Nicely shaped nose, rounded eyes and a scowl that is always there, but that his smile seems to cover with ease. The air smells like seduction and she wonders if she wants to give a step or not. His lips are an energy drink and she is sleep-deprived. All she needs is a taste to feel energized, awake and alive. “I can promise you that I have learned a lot from you. You’re…difficult to work for, but you’re excellent at your job.”

“I’m excellent at a lot of things.” She brags before letting her hand fall from his hair, to his cheek and finally his chest. She presses against the taut surface to have his back resting against the chair and she flutters her eyelashes at that. “Even if you have a hundred problems, don’t let any of them get to your success.”

Sicheng looks up at her and she can tell he is considering the touch of a woman he had despised for a while and that he, now, looks up to. The cold air of the night hits her uncovered leg and she tilts her head to the side when he mumbles out something that she can’t quite understand. Upon her look of confusion, although adoration, Sicheng repeats himself. “Thank you for being there for me since the beginning.”

“Hey, I expect to be in a speech sometime.” She points out and then, she gives him a smile that is worth a million dollars. They look into each other’s eyes and sooner than later, she realizes there I something in between the two, like tension and gravity, meant to be there from the very start. Sicheng pulls the fabric of her dress down, with a soft caress that is barely felt and then, he looks down at the way his fingers touch her skin.

“Your dress was riding up.”

“Oh, really?” She puzzles sultrily and then, she leans her body forward slightly, until she grips Sicheng by his collar and can bring him closer to her. “How did you notice? Were you looking at me?”

Sicheng raises his eyebrows and then, he smiles, different from any grin that he had given her. It’s not shy, if anything, he can sense the change in the atmosphere. “It’s hard not to look at someone like you.”

Gravity helps them when it works to pull them together, his hands ending on the back of her thighs as she kisses him with slow yet passionate movements, as if she is not scared to drown in the sea that is Sicheng. Every movement of their lips feel different, considering that she knows Sicheng is not a one-night stand, he is more than that. They look at one another like pieces of art, and wannabes of Picasso they are when they are with one another. A soft breath leaves his lips when he stands up, holding her by the waist and smiling against her lips as she leads him back to her bedroom, or one of the many she has inside her house.

There is a song in between two, like the sound of his jacket falling somewhere in the room and his lips catching hers once again. She chuckles against his lips and he whispers something along the lines of how beautiful she is. There are no diamonds that can portray just how bright his eyes are when his hands roam her body once they end up over her bed, and maybe it’s a goodbye, or a see-you-later, but it feels like closure but the beginning at the same time. Diamonds on her neck turn into blossoming roses around her throat. The beat of her heart becomes a tempo for him to continue and his smile is her compass, finding her and losing her at the same time when he shows just how exactly he has her wrapped around his little finger as he takes off his shirt and stands within her with a smile on his face.

She touches his arms, leaning forward to kiss him but being stopped by a giggle that spoke too loudly, said too much, and it is the sweetest sound she has ever heard. “Hey, hey, take it slow.”

“Hush.” She adds but Sicheng takes her by the cheeks, looking into her eyes and chuckling.

“Come on, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” Sooner than later, his lips press to hers with a sweet melody, like honey dripping through her body, and she relaxes against the bed. This time it’s not like the others, he’s Sicheng—different from anyone else she has ever had.

The fabric of her beige coat falls on top of her shoulders when she hears the entrance door of her house being opened, the sound of her security guard’s voice filling the air. “Boss, your assistant is waiting at the entrance, but he doesn’t want to enter. Please, go over to him.”

She knows it has been tough for Sicheng lately, considering it is very cold and with each passing day of the two together after their romantic encounter it gets harder for him to leave, as well. Heck, she has been thinking about how much she will be missing Sicheng for the past few days, too, and all she wants to do is wrap him up in a hug and never let go of him, but his growth is far more important than anything else in the world right at that moment. She nods her head, fixing the fabric of her high-waisted baggy pants, pulling her bag over her shoulder and walking out of her house with confident steps and certainty on her bright eyes.

The coldness seeps through the fabric of her clothing and she cusses fashion for being a little bit useless when she needs warmth, but Sicheng is there to give her the heat she desires. She walks a few steps with a tempo, the snowflakes falling upon the beige clothing that covers her from her shoulders to her ankles. She sees the outline of a man that is sitting by the sidewalk and she lets a smile creep up her face. She doesn’t want to think too much that there is no future for the two, but she wants to keep whatever she can from Sicheng, so the moment she sees him in such a predicament, she knows it’s the end for the two.

Paris is cold around this time, just like love.

She rubs her hand against the back of his neck and that is enough to catch his attention, lending her his hand to take to sit by his side. Her legs press to her chest to keep herself warm, but she leans to the side to rest her head on his clavicle and Sicheng takes that as a starter to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He doesn’t say much, and that is the start of the end. “I’m guessing you have bad news for me.”

Sicheng nods, pressing his big lips to her head because they are alone, for she knows fully well that he is not one to show his emotions to the public. “The release date for my clothing line release is set…and I’ll have to work fully on that.” There are things that are bound to end, like fireworks and published books, that is just how life works, but she never thought that her time with her favorite assistant out of the amount she’s had would halt so suddenly. Sicheng pulls away to look at her, lips reddened and nose runny. He feels like a dream, touches her like she is reality and in his mind, everything suddenly becomes a dream-like nightmare. Why is it that saying goodbye to someone he hated hurts him so much? “So, I’m here to…say that I will stop working with you.”

He will stop working with her. She won’t have the opportunity to see him early in the morning, to tease him, to daydream about such a humble man that has moved her ground, turned her earth inside out and created a mess that she adores. She wants to say something, act as childish and spoiled as she has always been, but she cannot. This is his dream, and she can’t expect to be the one to replace it. “I understand.” Her fingers run down the bridge of his nose, looking down at his lips before parting her own. “I want you to be successful. Show all those people who never believed in you who is the real boss.”

He chuckles at that, gripping her hand and bringing it to his chest before sighing. A sigh so deep that it almost feels like a gush of breath against her face. “I kind of expected you to whine, and kick the floor, and beg me to stay.”

She scoffs at that, raising an eyebrow. “I never beg.” Sicheng quirks an eyebrow at that, the tip of his tongue holding a secret that only the two know and she presses her finger to his lips. “I rarely beg.”

“Rarely. That’s a better word.”

“Hey, we’re talking about you, not me.” She tells him, taking their interlocked hands up to her lips to kiss the soft surface of his hand, the fingers that sometimes hold rings, but they don’t that morning. “I’m proud of you. You shouldn’t feel bad for growing—after all, you took the job as my assistant as a way of learning from me. Not that you needed to learn much, you were already so good.”

Sicheng looks at her with adoration, looking around the place to see if there is someone looking at them and when he realizes they are alone, he wraps his arms around her in a hug that takes her breath away, her hands pressed awkwardly against his chest, in between their bodies. She breathes in his scent, that cologne that she has always called average but now represents him perfectly. She closes her eyes, holding her tears when he says: “Let’s make our last day as coworkers worth it, okay?”

“Yes.”

The clock is ticking, the air is filled with upbeat music and she has gotten tired of seeing painted nails and pastel clothes. Sometimes, she is there for when the stars that she advertises wear her clothes to concerts or award shows, this time around it is an award show of sorts that she is not fully interested in, but she is backstage as a group of people wear her newest launch, uptight and ready to perform to their best of their abilities. It is stressful, to be asked questions in the red carpet and also be in charge of making sure the stylists pair her pieces of clothing perfectly. Most designers are not this involved, but she has never learned how to care about her own business.

There are a few rules that she has when she is working, one of them is to never pick up the phone when she is under stress, because she tends to scream or even worse, snap at the person on the other end, so she normally keeps her phone on vibration or gives it to her assistant. Although, it has been a month since Sicheng left the company and she has a new—gorgeous looking, seriously—assistant. Her name is Yuri and she is one of the most responsible people she has ever met, as well as charming enough to have people smiling at the mere thought of herself.

One of the indie stars that is probably going to win the popularity award that year in that award show calls out her name, but she is interrupted by the vibration of her phone inside the pocket of her jeans—thankfully, she had been able to change once she entered backstage—and she groans at the reminder that she is busy at any angle. She takes her phone out of her pocket, inspecting it to be the ever-so picky designer Ten Leechaiyapornkhul that seems to be all too excited for their collaboration, to the point she wants to slap him across the face thanks to their different points of view. “Listen, Ten, I am extremely busy right now and I don’t have the time to—”

“Sorry. Did I call at a bad time?” That voice…it’s not lightweight and lively like Ten’s, it’s deeper and a bit mysterious, hinting to what one would know as shyness. She widens her eyes when she realizes that Sicheng is the one that is calling her, making her swallow thickly as she presses her index finger to her free ear and moves to one of the free rooms backstage. A bathroom might do.

“Sicheng?” She asks, not having heard his voice for a few weeks…maybe even a month. He has only gotten busier with the launch of his clothing line and in all honesty, her outfit at the moment comes from his first few designs. A hum is heard on the other line, along with a laugh once she gasps. “Gosh, I missed you so much—! I, uh, why are you calling?”

Sicheng ponders for a moment, basking on the sound of her voice before sighing. “I was wondering if we could have dinner. It’s my first free night in a while and I would love to spend it with you, but you’re…busy, right?”

Curse her and her mouth, because she always says what she shouldn’t. Everything could be fixed, however, because she leans her weight against the wall of the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror before chuckling. “Oh, never too busy for you, Sicheng.”

“No, really, if you’re busy we can leave it for another time—”

“This award show can wait.”

“You’re at an award show?! No, stay there!”

“Nope. Let’s meet at my favorite restaurant in half an hour, okay?” Before he could give her an answer, she hangs up and smiles to herself, pressing her phone to her chest and almost waltzing in her step as she gets out of the bathroom. The room is buzzing with fear and excitement and as she tries to walk to her assistant, one of the stylists stands in front of her while carrying two jackets.

“Miss, Jay Park is getting ready to go on stage but we don’t know if we should go for the red or blue version of this jacket—” She sighs deeply, interlocking her hands in front of her body before pointing to the red jacket. Red has always been more outstanding on stage, in her opinion. “Such a good choice, thank you!”

“Yes. It’s nothing.” The sweet smile on her face only gets wider when she gets to where Yuri is, holding a stack of papers and her agenda. Her mind is filled with the idea of finally seeing Sicheng, but to be able to spend time with him—and also touch up her makeup—she should leave as soon as possible. “Yuri, cancel all my meetings for the night. You’re in charge of any decisions that need to be made—and is my chauffeur waiting for me by the entrance? I have to go to dinner with Sicheng.”

Yuri does not even know who Sicheng is, but the notice of being in charge for the night bewilders her. “No, Boss, I can’t do all of this alone.”

“Sorry, but I really need to attend this dinner. You’ll be fine.” The swat of her hand only serves to make Yuri even more nervous. What is she supposed to do without her boss? “Just remember…no bandanas, I hate those, and no backup dancer should wear red, okay?”

“Boss—”

“I’m late, I’ve got to go!”

It is only a matter of seconds until she is inside her limousine, touching up her makeup quickly and fidgeting with excitement in the backseat. She can only wonder how Sicheng looks like, although perhaps beautiful as always, and maybe she will be able to steal a kiss or two, as well as bask in conversation about their lives with him. The reminder that she hasn’t had dinner yet is palpable, and while the food sounds delicious and like something she desires, there is nothing that could top the reminder that Sicheng is only a few minutes away of being with her once again.

The atmosphere of her favorite restaurant has always reminded her of Sicheng, with violet and blue colors that calm her down, but at the same time excite her. It is not as packed as it should, for it is a busy Tuesday night at work, but she is welcomed with glee by the workers that already know her. When she steps inside the restaurant, she realizes there are only three tables taken—one with an old couple with a lot of Botox, other with some kind of singer that she knows but doesn’t really talk to (extremely famous, she might add) and then, there is one man that is barely taken a seat and she would recognize those long legs and broad shoulders anywhere, paired with dark hair and all black clothing.

That is Sicheng.

No, her Sicheng.

She walks over to where he is, tapping his shoulder and hearing the small ‘huh?’ that escapes his lips as he turns around to look at her. Sicheng widens his eyes when he realizes that his ex-boss is there, standing up from his seat quickly and smiling with his bottom lip stuck in between his teeth as he adds a barely audible: “…Hi.” Although she knows he is not one for public affection, she doesn’t mind showing the few people there that she is very much into Sicheng, and that she has missed him to bits. She wraps her arms around his middle, smiling with her cheek pressed to his shoulder and he chuckles awkwardly, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, we’re in public. Did you miss me that much?”

“Look me in the eye and say you haven’t missed me.” She replies while pulling away from him and Sicheng tilts his head before sighing.

“I can’t say such a lie.” The sound of his voice is enough to bring a smile to his face and then, he points at the table. “We should sit down, since you’re so busy and I should take advantage of every single second I have with you.”

She scoffs at that. “Me? The busy one? You should tell me how those sales are going with your clothing line!”

The world seems to start spinning as they talk through bites of food and a small cheer for the two of them in between drinks. She would give everything up just to see that smile on Sicheng’s face, as if his life is suddenly a thousand times happier. There, he tells her every detail of his clothing line, even going as far as showing her a few designs that he has been working on, and she is more than excited to see the way he has grown from a small piece of sky to the whole universe.

There is no mistaking that she feels like Sicheng makes her feel alive, past whatever experience she had in the past, he makes her live in sin but feel like an angel at the same time. The night passes by thanks to the deep conversation and she wonders why in the world they hated each other, or disliked for that matter, at some point of their lives. He feels like all the protection she needs, the type of man that she never hoped for but exactly the one she needed, with enough honesty to let her know that there won’t ever be a barrier in between the two.

After sharing dessert and sharing a few touches here and there, she holds onto his arm as they walk out of the restaurant, not fully caring if anyone sees them in such a lonely night, but she thinks they are the least important matter to anyone that night. She looks at him as he talks about how much he had missed her. “Now, I have an assistant and that’s…that’s crazy. I don’t boss him around as much as you did to me, though.”

She rolls her eyes at what he says. “I didn’t boss you around all that much.” She replies and Sicheng squints his eyes as if inspecting her, although he is only calling her crazy internally, from what she can perceive from him. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I only enjoyed your company, and annoying you. More annoying you than your company.”

Sicheng is the one to laugh at her remark first, and she follows soon after. “You really did annoy me a lot.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t like coffee. I had to look for tea every single morning.” He replies and then, he stops on his tracks before reaching his car. “Is your chauffeur waiting for you?”

“Yes.” She replies but then she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Do you want me to call him up and say I will leave with you?”

Sicheng smiles at that, the apples of his cheeks looking perfect to kiss as he rests his weight against his car, crossing his arms over his chest before nodding his head. “You’re really touchy, so I might as well take you with me.” He replies cheekily and when she pulls her phone to her ear to talk to her chauffeur, she feels his hands reaching for her waist to press her against his chest, his legs resting by her thighs as he writes unknown letters on her waist with the tips of his fingers. She is speaking to her chauffeur, who accepts with glee to have a free night, and Sicheng chuckles once she hangs up the phone. “You could have said please, at least.”

“Oh, sorry. Are you a manner teacher now?” She asks and Sicheng shakes his head, leaning forward to jot their lips together and taste the beverages they had on her lips. She hums against his mouth, her fingers running through his hair and taking handfuls as he parts his lips and lets their tongues meet one another. Anyone would say that their relationship is only based on their mutual attraction, but it goes past that. She feels like Sicheng is the only person that has gotten to know her fully and likes her for it. He shows it through the way he kisses her, as if the world is not important as long as they are there for one another. Perhaps, he is on sugar-rush, because Sicheng would not normally be as wild as he is at that moment, his hands trailing down and resting just over the back of her thighs. “Are you really needy or did you miss me that much?”

Sicheng bites down on her bottom lip before smiling sweetly. “I missed you. Shut up.”

She coos at the sound of his voice. “Have you already fallen for me?” It is a playful question that is thrown his way, as a way of boosting her ego like she always does, hot like the start of summer, but Sicheng looks at her with a deep glare on his eyes. His head tilts as his hand rests on the back of her neck, pulling her in once again to kiss her softly. Sicheng takes her breath away, fiddling with the pockets of his jacket to find the keys to his car before sighing against her lips.

“That’s for you to discover.” He says, setting her skin on fire more than anything else. A glass of wine does not have as much power as Sicheng does. Once he confesses such thing, she pulls away from his lips completely, holding onto the edge of his jacket and parting her lips to ask him something else, but the door opens soon after and Sicheng almost falls on his butt at the quick action. “Let’s just get in the car before I end up falling.” Although, she does not know if it’s rhetorically or literally.

The idea of love is weird. Even self-love is difficult to find, to create, and some people like to believe that love is a palpable concept of reality, but sometimes it becomes a nightmare that is hard to get over. Throughout her life, she thought she could only love two things—or three, for that matter—: money, herself and work, but every single day in her spoiled life taught her that it was difficult to even trust herself. A person can be measured by their stereotypes, and she was a victim of such thing, of the lingering glances and the words as faux as leather. The repetition of those three words of love only made it sound more unlikeable, until she heard it from someone who actually meant it.

It’s stupid, how she misses him even when is there, and when he is gone, it feels like he is there. Sicheng is so much like exactly what she had never imagined, humble and sharp mouthed, like a prince but not quite. Quiet enough to keep her calm, but wild once he explodes, only leaving her breathless. Her organs burn with the idea of a competition in between the two, of ever being compared with one another, as she works hard on her next project with her back aching with every movement of her hands against the piece of paper she is drawing on.

Yet, her train of thoughts is stopped when she feels a pair of lips pressing to her cheek, plush and soft against it with the perfect amount of pressure. The white fabric of the straps of her dress are pulled down slightly so someone could rub on her tired shoulders and she knows it’s Sicheng, but he should have been asleep by now, not in her home-office taking care of her. “Go to sleep, it’s late.”

“You haven’t even eaten, let alone slept, and you want me to go to sleep?” His voice is hoarse and husky and he turns her around on the chair to look into her eyes, the air in her lungs being knocked out at the mere sight of him. She licks her lips when Sicheng parts his lips to indicate for her to open hers, slipping a cookie past her lips before holding her chin with his fingers to close her mouth. “You’re going to have dinner and then, we’re going to bed.”

“You used to hate me, why do you care so much now?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend now. I have to care about you.” Sicheng doesn’t let her complain, instead, he places his hands on the back of her moving seat to push her out of the room, making her squeal as she holds onto the chair, laughing at his antics.

“Hey, I have to finish that project!”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

“Sicheng!”

However, it feels nice to have someone that loves her enough to take care of her, no matter how spoiled she can be, and even though he masks it as hate—the language of hate is complex to understand between the two.

[kuntrabida]

2. the axon snaps and thoughts can’t travel (a rant abt COVID-19, senior year spring, and college in the fall)

12 may 2020

the gap year. the fall sem. the jump cut. the FUTURE. much on my mind right now folks lmao (prob folk in singular since like one (1) person’s gonna read this ashvcxjkv)

okay so let’s break this DOWN ig. yea LET’S unpack my inner psyche and my mental baggage at this point because i’m sure that i can’t be the only one feeling this way and even if i am, i’d like to get it off my chest and not rant to the same five people who’ve heard me talk about the same sad subject throughout the entire duration of quarantine asdjfkvcxufdsw

let’s start with senior year haHA :) still haven’t gotten over that xoxo even tho i’ve tricked myself into thinking that i have! gonna refer to it as ye olde Jump Cut because that’s exactly what all this feels like... like mother nature just threw the video file of my high school experience into a fuckinn Premiere timeline or smth and slammed her fist on the W key (an esoteric reference, i know, i know, my bad, but iykyk). 

THE JUMP CUT – senior year’s over and i know it’s a stupid fucking thing to be upset about during a LITERAL GLOBAL PANDEMIC where people are losing and risking their lives and entire livelihoods are being upended but i still... can’t help but feel upset and terrified and devastated about what i’ve always viewed as this buffer period in my life between high school and college to just VIBE and figure myself out a little bit more being cut short. especially when, for once, things were going so well.  

god, the last thing i wanna do is sound dramatic and utterly tone deaf because I RECOGNIZE my privilege and how incredibly fortunate i am to have a roof over my head and food in my fridge and a bed with a damn duvet cover to sleep in at night but i’m... so fucking sad. i’ve BEEN so fucking sad, and i think what’s even worse is the fact that i’ve been DENYING how fucking sad i’ve been feeling because i don’t think i’m... allowed to be sad in this situation? but at the same time i consciously understand that my feelings are valid and everything... it just feels like legitimately everything else in the world right now dwarfs all my concerns combined. but alas. here i am, making a blog post about my feelings to finally try and sort them out...

i just aghsdfhxhzjlk i wasn’t finished. that really is the best way to put it. i wasn’t finished with any of it. and i suppose a lot of that is my own fault for taking all the good times for granted (but also lowkey the fault of idek who... american society? for romanticizing and commodifying the culmination of high school oop)/

i feel like so many people focus on those big milestone events associated with senior year: prom, graduation, senior awards, etc. but to me personally, and to nearly every one of the friends i’ve talked to, it’s the little things that matter most — the absence of which we feel the deepest. i miss spilling coffee on myself in the cafeteria and burning frozen pastries in the toasters and complimenting people’s outfits in the hallways and staying in the building from dawn till dusk and eating takeout on the floor and hastily texting my friends at the end of the school day asking if they wanted to hang out or if they could give me a ride home and i MISS spontaneous sushi and starbucks excursions and quiet heart to hearts in coffee shops and last minute target runs and stressing out about music events and belting in the practice rooms and learning choreography in parking lots where confused drivers would momentarily glance over and just KEEP ON DRIVING and lying on the ground in one of the school’s hallways facing the sun when the light would hit JUST RIGHT through the glass and i could close my eyes and pretend i was at the beach or on an island or in a canyon somewhere or SOMETHING, anywhere, anywhere but there. and i feel this chasm in my throat whenever i think about it because looking back at those moments, i realize that there’s literally no place i’d rather be right now than inside my high school building on a normal ass day dealing with normal ass problems with exceptional, radiant, life-giving souls there to have my back and support me and hug me wow, GOD, hug me. wow how i miss hugs. and I miss my friends. shit. 

hell bro i even miss the days where everything would become a little too much for me and i’d have to find recluse in a digital media classroom and the scent of old lemon-laced coffee grounds as they brewed into dingy styrofoam cups and wandered through the halls with me during the period, into the music room where i literally grew UP and found my voice and discovered validity in my own identity and all that JAZZ and into the bathrooms where i’d spend such subtle, unsuspecting mornings with friends still practically sleepwalking and FUCK bro. frankly i’m just not ready to jump into a life where all the things i hold dear are “remember when”s. i can’t imagine this entire world that i’ve built for myself being a thing of the past, a thing that i’ll look back on as one of the best fucking times of my life even though i never realized it when it mattered, a thing i still want so so so much more of, that i am not and may not ever be ready to let go. i want it all back. but i know getting upset over it is a futile pursuit, because there’s nothing i can do, and that just fuels this feedback cycle of anger and hopelessness and denial and back again. 

i do think of that good ol’ winnie the pooh quote, though. “how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” but it doesn’t really make anything hurt any less. and i guess i’m just tired of hurting lol. 

THE FUTURE – dawg what the fuck is happening with colleges in the United States right now bro what is the protocol what do i DO¿

pretty damn self explanatory. my defense mechanism has ALWAYS been, “at least things will be better a couple months from now!!!!” and yeah, with university and the reality of getting to attend my dream college fast approaching i did believe that for a hot second but CORONA DAWG CORONA just plunges everything into the sea of uncertainty. i know i’m not the only one frustrated by this damn virus and i should be comforted by the unity we all have in our confusion but lmao i do not feel any better! no! one! has! any! answers! asdjfkvlcxvjl being a graduating high school and incoming college student right now is so FUCKING confusing and frightening and once again i want to acknowledge what an incredible privilege it is to even have the option of a higher education open to me but it’s such a multifaceted and unpredictable issue this year and thinking about the future — again my go-to defense mechanism and at the very least a worthy consideration since i’ll be putting down hella dollars for it — has been the cause of so much stress... 

THE FALL SEM – i! don’t! know! if! it’s! gonna! be! on!line! and i am not planning on staying in my house any longer for a goddamn variety of reasons soo i have no clue how to plan for this! no one does right now! 

our administration keeps affirming that we’re planning for a return to normalcy in the fall semester but a considerable amount of students and experts alike are saying that it’s essentially a cover so no one’ll panic and decline or defer their acceptances. SO MANY OTHER COLLEGES are revealing their contingency plans to have an online semester and ahaHA if i have to STAY in this HOUSE for ANOTHER 4 MONTHS that would FRICKIN SUCK DAWG lmaO i’ll leave it at that! so i’m: very much panicking! 

i know that things are so uncertain right now and there’s really no point in trying to predict what’s going to happen in the next couple of months because so many unknowns remain. i know that a lot of universities are gonna be in deep shit if they don’t open in the fall but at the same time, if it’s a damn public health risk it’s definitely better to keep as many people home as possible. but i have no CLUE what institutions are gonna end up doing and again, literally no one does either! i was listening to a podcast yesterday about university plans for the upcoming academic year and i got asdhvjckxv so stressed when they said that we could be one week away from the start of the school year and things could still be drastically different the next week... there’s just no way of knowing much of anything and god i hate that. it’s making me so goddamn anxious. 

i really doubt things are going to be back to normal in New York in the fall sooo...? i don’t know man again it comes down to asking people questions they don’t have the answers to and that’s just incredibly frustrating because i just want to know ONE THING for certain right now. ONE THING! idk i just wish that my college would be a little more transparent about their plans as they move along and figure things out but i know that’s not feasible. at the very least i hope things will be safe enough for them to make dorming on campus an option — freshmen have a pretty ample amount of singles available anyway. but if i have to spend the first semester of college onLINE in THIS HOUSE that’s... gonna suck. especially because i’m still probably going to be paying thousands of dollars for it which is, as my grandmother says, foul! 

THE GAP YEAR – to defer or not to defer? that is the question. 

so naturally in preparation for a potentially wonky ass academic year i’m considering deferring enrollment. but lmao... the deadline to do so is in uh *checks watch* three (3) literal days so. don’t know about that chief! 

like, i know i’m PROBABLY NOT gonna end up taking a gap year. but i guess it’s just the fact that i have so much more canvas space to daydream about it that makes it so appealing... there are so many more possibilities that i can think of that are more likely to be open to me. then again, nothing’s guaranteed. not even my own health in the fall. which is also pretty fuckin scary as hell.

y’all wanna know where i get my gap year daydream fuel? UNJADED JADE. bruh i’ve been binging her videos like MAD especially the ones where she interrails Europe during her gap year and UGH. it seems incredible. and that makes things even more confusing because i really don’t know what the right decision to make is right now. to defer or not to defer... 

again it’s all so heavily influenced by unknowns. of all the things that could happen, i’d much prefer to have a regular freshman year fall with the people in my class whom i’ve already been getting to know pretty well through groupchats and social media and the like. they’re a pretty dope bunch and i think college with them is gonna be a hoot and a goddamn half. but if i’ll end up just staying home and watching zoom lectures in my basement anyway... i’d much rather be taking a gap year. 

and i’ve been brainstorming what i’d do during this gap year (again, thanks Unjaded Jade for the god-tier content agh) and there’s just like... so many options. i could get a goddamn JOB and start saving up for tuition instead of paying tens of thousands for online school. hell with the money i make working full time i could probably save up enough to afford an apartment so at the very least i could move out of my house into a place where i feel more comfortable. and lmao I: s a l i v a t e at the thought of using that time to focus on my writing, too. the amount of writing i could get done in a year of empty calendar space... glorious. what an utterly glorious prospect. 

and of course, i’d love to fucking travel, volunteer (with a reputable and well-intentioned organization) in a foreign country, do a workstay abroad, take a train across america, but again, i don’t even know if any of that’s going to be feasible in the fall. it’s so FRUSTRATING because i’ll think of a possibility and then another one comes in and completely shuts the former down. 

and it’s not like i can ask anyone for advice right now because we’re ALL none the wiser. plus, i’ve realized that frankly, even if it’s unreasonable, i don’t want anyone to tell me that my plans for a gap year aren’t feasible. it’s such a petulant thing to say... but i don’t want anyone to add to my sense of there being a limited amount of options that i can take advantage of because everything’s already so goddamn stifling as is. i guess the prospect of a gap year excites me so much because it seems like a year where i don’t have to be defined by anyone or anything but myself. and that’s so fucking liberating. 

i just want the freedom to imagine right now because that’s when i feel happiest, but at the same time i’m afraid to get my hopes up for anything because i have this sinking feeling that the absolute worst case scenario is going to become reality. lmao. people in my state aren’t even fucking social distancing correctly so i’m damn sure that we’re in for a second and a third wave and that’s gonna suck but people are stupid as hell :)  

lol on that positive note, thanks for reading this... increasingly depressing and chaotic rant. don’t really think i’m doing this “blog” stuff right but if you got this far, i love you. leave a note if you so please, comment your thoughts, reblog if you’d like (still don’t really understand the difference between reblogging and reposting on this app but lmao feel free to click the boxy arrow thing), and stay safe and healthy and all that jazz <3

[sebastianshaw]

36. — a chat with satan

(  I decided to go with the spirit of the A CHAT WITH SATAN trope, which is that a character has to face his own dark side and come to terms with it, and hopefully make the right choice. It is often brought to him by the Devil, but doesn’t have to be, so I went with the option of someone else.)Sebastian Shaw opened his eyes.He was lying on his side, shirtless, of course, in a dark place. Nothing was around him but blackness. It was like when Emma had wiped his memory. As he sat up, a figure stepped out of the darkness, perfectly visible rather than obscured by shadow.Lourdes.“Ah,” he said, “Either this is a coma dream, a hallucination brought on by near-death, or...I really am dead this time.”“For now,” said Lourdes. Her voice. God in Heaven, her voice.“For now,” he repeated after her, “Death is so temporary, isn’t it? For everyone but you.”“This isn’t about me, querido,” she replied, “It’s about you.”“I never believed in an afterlife,” he said, getting to his feet,“Some people find such superstitions comforting. I can understand why. I wanted to see my father again. But you...”“You did not want to see me. Or rather, for me to see you.”“You died in pain, Lourdes. Why cause you more afterwards?”“Yet you are not ashamed.”He turned from her,“No. I have no regrets. I know what you would think of me, and would prefer you not be hurt by that knowledge. But it does not make me ashamed of my accomplishments.”“Your accomplishments,” her tone made it clear what she thought of this choice of term.He sighed, “You can never understand, Lourdes. As many times as we had this conversation alive, we must have it dead now too?”Lourdes had originally supported him in his quest to make something of himself. Yet she never understood what it meant to him. He knew why---she was born rich, she couldn’t “get it”. She’d always had enough, so she could never understand wanting more. And that wasn’t her fault, he did not hold it against her. But he didn’t want to be going over it again now.“If your greed must be endless, can it not at least be benign?” Lourdes toned had turned to a mix of pleading and reprimand, “You are a genius, Sebastian, you can build your empire without hurting others!”Sebastian turned around,“You see? That is the privilege of your upbringing! My legitimate empire, my lawful empire, my benign empire as you would call it---all that was still built on the backs of laborers, Lourdes! Which I know because I once was one! You balked at the suffering of the X-Men when I allied with Lang and Buckman to capture them as scientific guinea pigs---yet did you ever shed a tear for all the boys just like me working themselves to death in steel mills? I profit from that, Lourdes. And I have no shame in it. But I also do not pretend to be unaware of it, while sobbing over the unfairness of suffering only when it comes to my doorstep!”Sebastian indeed had no shame, no pity for these people who worked under his boot for his bank account. The fact he had once been one of them, slaving away for the pigs on top, in fact made him MORE callous---he had gotten out, he had become something better, so why couldn’t they? They had no right to complain or to expect kindness. If they couldn’t get to the top like him, then they belonged on the bottom. But it wasn’t this that made him shout at her. It was the fact that he was finally seeing her again, and she seemed bent on arguing with him. It...upset him, hurt him, and Sebastian Shaw had never learned how to deal with that in any way other than anger, even at someone he loved. Once loved. Did love? Did he love her, present tense, or had he only loved her, past tense? He had put her away in his heart like tucking an unsent letter in a drawer, never forgetting it but never again opening it either. And now here it was, unfolded in accusation before his eyes, inescapable.Lourdes did not retaliate, did not escalate. She didn’t get angry. She looked...sad. He’d have far preferred she shouted at him.“Yes. I was a blind little rich girl, ignorant even in my own compassion. Do you think I have not faced my failings many times over here, Sebastian? And that was only the smallest among them.”“Oh, Lourdes,” he sighed, again, the momentary anger flowing out of him with his breath,“Your sentimentality was your only failing. If there is some greater force that says otherwise---I dare it to face me.”“That is what I am doing, Sebastian”Sebastian’s expression hardened again at the implication of those words,“You are not Lourdes. You only wear her face.”“No, Sebastian, it is me. I have waited a long time for you. I wanted to be here. To see you. To change you.”“Why? I’m dead. There is no point.”“You yourself have said it is temporary.”“But not for you. You will not come back with me. So what does it matter to you?”“You matter to me, Sebastian!” she cried out, suddenly impassioned again, “You matter! Do you think I want to watch the man I loved be destroyed by a monster! You have eaten yourself from the feet up, and I have forced myself to watch from here in hopes that one day you would save yourself as you always had! But you---you are the one challenge you could never overcome! Nor I, nor Tessa, nor anyone who tried! I hate myself for dying! If I had lived, maybe I could have--“No!” Sebastian grabbed her by the upper arms, oh god she felt so real,“We are responsible for no one but ourselves! Have guilt where it belongs, if you must, but I will not see anyone, least of all you, claim my sins for their own! What is mine---is MINE!”Lourdes looked at him fondly through teary eyes, smiling in a most peculiar way,“That is the difficult part for most people. Making them see their sins are their own. You though, you realize it easily. You can see your own wrongs. You simply fail to understand them as wrong.”Sebastian let her go, and stepped back, crossing his arms,“No one has ever satisfactorily explained to me why. Morality is merely opinion. One I do not share with the common her of the day. By my own morality, I am--”“A monster!” Lourdes was changing, growing larger, and suddenly Sebastian Shaw was looking at his younger self, around the age he had first met Tessa, yelling at him in his own voice,“You are not who I hoped to become! You are a mistake! A wrong turn taken too long! All you have done is DESTROY what we built, not add to it! How much time has so-called super-villainy taken you? How much money? How much happiness? If nothing else matters to you---those things do! And you’ve only lost them every step of the way, still thinking you’re acting in your esteemed rational self-interest? If you truly knew your own self-interests, you’d have given up long ago and left this nonsense to the spandex-suited fools you sneer at!”As it spoke, the doppelganger had aged before his eyes while shouting, til it was himself as he was now.  A self that was...making sense. No one ever explained satisfactorily to Shaw why he should turn away from this life, because they had always used THEIR morals, not his. They had always invoked things like compassion or love for fellow man or not doing harm or other things that meant nothing to him.But time and money and effort, and yes, happiness...were values of his. And he had to admit they had all been damaged by his activities as Black King since he begun.He hung his head, but he smiled slightly.“You know me too well, Lourdes,” he said, as the image in front of him returned to that of the woman he had loved in what seemed another man’s life and, in a way, was.“So now what?”“Krakoa calls,” said Lourdes, looking above them.And before goodbyes could be said, the naked for of Sebastian Shaw poured from a golden egg on the mutant island. He remembering nothing.But, perhaps, hopefully, retaining something.

[sotheywrotestories]

The Spy and the One Who Wasn’t |bucky barnes| Chapter Three: The Problem With Fear

Warnings: A bit more violence. Yelling. Fear

Summary: Wherein Wanda finds out

Read Chapter Two Point One Here

Bucky felt as though (Y/N) had been lying to them all, just for the attention.

The more he got to know her, the more he drifted back to the idea that she wasn’t special at all. That she didn’t have some mind-blowing power and that she was just like Natasha, raised in the Red Room and sent out to assassinate who knows.

But Tony swore up and down that she had something special about her. That she most definitely belonged on the team. It wasn’t until Steve walked out of her mission de-brief, eyes wide and face pale that Bucky had someone to believe.

“So what was it,” Bucky pestered Steve. “What does she do?”

Both soldiers had taken residency to the kitchen, one with the newspaper in front him, the other sticking magnet on his arm to see how many he could have while still having full mobility of his arm.

“I can’t say, Bucky, it’s confidential, and you know that,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Besides, even if I could tell you, it wouldn’t be my place to. That’s her decision to make, not mine.”

“Well I think we can all damn well see that she won’t be making that decision anytime soon-“ Bucky started to growl.

“And, do you have a problem?” (Y/N) bit back, having just walked into the kitchen to make a smoothie.

“A little bit,” Bucky admits. “I just want to know who you really are, doll.”

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” She moved to the fridge. “For the past three months, I’ve lived with the Avengers. I have thus far gone on one solo mission, which was successful, might add. I came from Hydra, from a group that S.H.I.E.L.D. has deemed so classified that I am not allowed to even write down my own feelings on my past from Hydra. What else do you want to know, James?”

“What can you do? What makes you so special to this team?” Bucky snapped back.

“What makes you so special?” (Y/N) blurted.

“Guys,” Steve stood up, his voice stern and commanding. “Don’t fight about this.”

Bucky and (Y/N) continued to glare at each other until she tossed her plastic mixer into the sink and stormed off.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed disappointedly as he folded his paper and placed his yogurt bowl into the sink. “You know how you don’t want to tell someone you don’t know anything about your past? Maybe she doesn’t, either.”

***

Bucky did feel bad about how he had treated (Y/N) earlier that day. But he had trust issues. And at some point, if she really wanted to be his friend, she would have let him in.

But when could he stop using his trust issues as a crutch?

And he wanted to apologize to her because she didn’t deserve what he said to her. He knew she was useful, she managed to drag home three agents by herself. Bucky might have even had an issue with that, especially since they both came from Hydra.

And he was going to apologize. That was legitimately why he was walking back into the commons area. Not that he didn’t want to see her right away, but he wanted to talk to Steve first, to be sure he wasn’t going to mess something up.

But this was what lead him to discover (Y/N) anyway, cowering on the couch as Wanda yelled accusations at her.

Wanda wasn’t typically a very confrontational person, only when she needed to be. Which lead Bucky to believe (Y/N) had done something awful.

“You’re a spy,” Wanda spat with finality.

“I’m not,” (Y/N) shook her head, then continued to whisper that under her breath over and over, to herself.

“Then why is what I see-“ Wanda began.

“You looked into my head?” (Y/N) screamed, her hands flying into her hair and her knees drawing up to her chest as tight as possible.

“Not on purpose,” Wanda backpedaled a moment. “I didn’t mean to! But…I am happy I did. Because now I know I need to report you to Fury.”

“He won’t say anything,” (Y/N) jumped up. “Wanda you have to understand those thoughts aren’t mine-“

“So you’re being controlled?” Wanda yelled.

By this time, Steve, Tony, and Sam had all run into the room, geared for a fight but not expecting what they found.

“Wanda, back off,” Tony warned.

“What are you hiding for her,” Wanda narrowed her eyes at Tony, now stepping closer to him.

“Wanda-“ Bucky began, knowing all too well the look of fear in (y/N)’s eyes.

“She wants to kill us!” Wanda screamed.

“(Y/N)?” Natasha asked, moving from behind Steve. Where Bucky assumed, she had been waiting. “(Y/N) wants to kill us?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Both girls yelled.

“I don’t want to-“

“-you haven’t seen-“

“I swear that it’s not-

“-don’t lie again-“


“That’s what they want from me!”

(Y/N) had tears running down her cheeks, now, and her hands were firmly planted on her chest.

“They’re not…,” (Y/N) heaved. “They’re not. Me.”

“Kid,” Tony put his hand out. “You don’t have to prove yourself.”

“I do,” (Y/N) stood straight. “It’s clear I have no place here until you know what I’ve done and I am sick and tired of all of you treating me like I’m some sort of danger!”

Bucky caught her eye and immediately felt guilty. He didn’t mean to make her feel unwanted, he just wanted her to open up a little bit.

“I um…yeah-“

“(Y/N), don’t,” Steve warned. “It’s not worth it.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I’m either going to be seen as a killer or as a spy, so I might as well clear my name.”

Bucky held his breath, his hands shaking. Tony had a deep frown on his face, clearly, he didn’t like the idea of (Y/N) sharing her life story, but Wanda and Natasha looked slightly intrigued.

“I’m a Hydra product,” (Y/N) whispered. “I’m a Hydra product and to this date, I have killed 42 people.” She winced. “44, sorry. And It’s terrifying, what I do. Because it’s not quick, and it’s certainly not painless. But I get the job done, and it’s not messy. And Hydra loved it. Because I clean up.

“I take your deepest, darkest fear, and I bring it to light. I make you live through every regret, ever pain, every last nightmare you have, until you can’t take it anymore.”

The more (Y/N) spoke, the more he realized why she didn’t want anyone to know what she did. It was terrifying. And he will admit, he is a bit scared of her, now.

“But I don’t have to see them.” (Y/N) bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “I can just…do it. And then…I started to do it on accident when I was still at Hydra. My guards would keel over and die at random times.

“Hydra sent me away and Fury picked me up. And for two years I lived on the raft. Learning how to control myself.”

Natasha had a look of pure horror on her face, silently dropping into the nearest armchair as she understood how dangerous (Y/N) was.

“The downfall to this-“

“Is the amount of pain you’ve inflicted? The guilt you carry?” Sam interrupted, his voice gruff.

Bucky couldn’t tell if he was unhappy or not.

“No,” (Y/N) winced. “I mean yes. Of course…that…kills. But…the more I suppress reaching into everyone’s mind and learning about your deepest fears, is that I absorb them, instead. And I don’t mean to. But that’s why people find it calming around me…because I’m slowly taking away your fears.

“After I take them, they become my own. And each one of my fears gets amplified a little more.

“That’s what you saw,” (Y/N) turned to Wanda, her voice quiet. “Me, killing you all. That’s the fear that’s been slowly building the more and more I’m around and one day I’m going to snap.”

Steve and Tony had looked away, already knowing what the girl’s fate was, should they not find her a way to channel the fear somewhere else, somewhere other than her own head.

Bucky felt horrible. He wasn’t afraid of her. She wouldn’t hurt them, he could see it in her eyes. She didn’t have the guts to do it.

“Doll,” Bucky rasped.

“Don’t,” (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows. “Now you know. Go ahead. Tell everyone what you know. I’ll be in my room.”

***

Bucky didn’t fear (Y/N). It appeared that neither did Tony or Steve. Natasha did.

Or, maybe it wasn’t fear. Maybe she was more worried about what (Y/N) WOULD do now that Natasha knew what she COULD do.  It didn’t help that (Y/N) had locked herself in her room, avoiding all questions and not even trying to defend herself against what Natasha had to say.

There wasn’t much Bucky could do to defend her, either. As much as he wanted to, he knew nothing about her. I mean…he knew, now, why she was so terrified to share her past, but how could he defend her against that? What could he do?

What terrified him, was when some man showed up at the tower. He was tall, dark skinned, with dark, curly hair. He didn't introduce himself, just walked through the compound, waved at Tony, then disappeared into (Y/N)'s room. Bucky knew it was more jealousy than fear that he felt in his bones, but he still didn't appreciate this new guy.

"His name is Al," Steve said, watching Bucky glare at (Y/N)'s door. "He's here to help."

But when Bucky laid at night, listening to her screams, he wasn't so sure.

Tags;

@thatcluelessone @ima-fucking-nerd​​  @embrace-themagic @fireboltrose5737@whatdafricklefrackle@peeterparkr @sherlokiantheatrenerd @legit-fandom-trash​ @abitchformarvel​​​ @dark-night-sky-99​​ @dreams-of-feysand

[gillzilla]

A Treatise on the aTROSity, Including How Hope Came to Me in the Form of The Lego Movie 2, Knives Out, and Little Women

I will start out by saying that I have never made a real, detailed post on Tumblr, mainly because social media kind of scares me. But the Reylo community's amazing kindness, strength, openness, and willingness to speak the truth in their writing over the last week and a half is honestly what has gotten me through the heartbreak and depression caused by the stabbing in the chest that was this movie. I am one of the people who loves Kylo/Ben Solo because I have mental health conditions and an abuse/trauma history within my family, which is also why the holidays are hard for me, so a big thanks to the people in charge of the story for TROS for making it even harder this year. After a week and a half of legitimate mourning for the butchering of the themes of Star Wars and of all the characters, but particularly the sequel trilogy characters, I am ready to add my two cents to all that has already been written about this movie.

First off, I have not been a Star Wars fan for my whole life. My parents tried to introduce me to the original trilogy as a kid by taking me to see A New Hope in the movie theater for the 20th anniversary screening in 1997. I fell asleep for most of it and was terrified by the trash compactor scene, so you could say the movie did not resonate with me. It actually wasn't until Phantom Menace came out that I started to get attached to Star Wars. So many older fans love to shit on that movie, and it certainly has many flaws, but a lot of us who were around the same age as Anakin when that movie came out and are now adults have started to speak up about how the movie was a gateway into Star Wars for us. Anakin gave me a window into the Star Wars universe that I could understand and relate to. I could relate to Anakin being a kind-hearted kid who wanted to help others and just wanted adults he could look up to, and I liked the podracing scenes. As with every single other sci-fi/fantasy hero's journey story that I loved as a kid, I empathized with and related to a male hero. Now, the wooden dialogue/acting/directing of Attack of the Clones and the tragic ending of Revenge of the Sith that left me so emotionally devastated that I vividly remember calling my friend to tell her I was so depressed I couldn't focus on studying for my eighth grade English final, kind of took me out of Star Wars again. There had been a spark there, but at that point I figured, eh, I guess it's not really for me after all.

I didn't rediscover Star Wars until the end of the first semester of my freshman year of college. This was a very difficult time in my life, as I was in what I would now consider to be a mental health crisis that unfortunately lasted for five years because I was too ashamed and uneducated about mental health to seek out help. I was very, very lonely during that time. It was close to finals week and I was sick, so as I sat in my dorm room I decided, why not pop in those DVDs of the original trilogy that I got at Costco last month. After watching them, I remember thinking, "Why have I not been watching these my whole life???" The original trilogy hooked me after that point and I started watching the movies every year around Christmas in commemoration of my rediscovery of them.

I was just as surprised as anyone when I found out that Disney bought Lucasfilm and that they were going to make a sequel trilogy. I had thought there would never be any more Star Wars, so I was overjoyed, though tentative, because I knew that though I loved Star Wars, it also had a tendency to make missteps that were somewhat endemic to sci-fi/fantasy hero's journey stories, such as poorly written dialogue, emphasis on ridiculous plot points that took away from the deeper overall themes, lack of diverse characters, and objectification/misogyny against female characters (I do not like watching Return of the Jedi because I hate, HATE the Jabba's palace stuff for what they did to Leia, honestly they gave Leia nothing interesting to do in that whole movie basically, but that's a whole nother essay).

So I went into The Force Awakens not really knowing what to expect. But oh my god, was I blown away. I am not lying when I say that I cried for at least an hour after the scene where Rey and Kylo are both reaching out for the legacy saber and it goes to Rey as the music swells, oh my god. I FINALLY realized what it meant to feel seen in the stories that I loved. My whole life I had been attached to and empathizing with male heroes, because they were pretty much the only heroes out there. To see Rey as this amazing female heroine who was not objectified and was a compelling character with an intriguing backstory that I related to as a child with a trauma history who often grew up feeling lonely, and to see that she was going to be the main Jedi in this new trilogy, I was overjoyed. It gave me hope. And then, on top of that, we got Adam Driver. Need I say any more. So many people have written about what an absolutely incredible actor Adam is, and I swear he is the only actor who could have pulled off the role of Kylo/Ben. The first time I saw TFA I didn't catch all the nuances of the character and his dynamic with Rey, but something about him really intrigued me (and made me want to watch everything Adam had ever been in). My love for TFA led me to start investing time in the online Star Wars fandom, which I never considered myself to be a part of previously, as the fandom had always reeked of being a "no girls allowed" type of zone. I found out about amazing, female-led podcasts that I started listening to every week and whose hosts I value just as much as my friends. I also started following the Reylo fandom on Tumblr. Learning more about the mythology behind the sequel trilogy, including how the creators were writing Rey's story as a heroine's journey and her and Kylo/Ben as dual protagonists, added so much to my understanding of what was going on in the storytelling and gave me the words to describe why I was connecting with these stories so much. I can honestly say that Star Wars and the Reylo fandom generally have been instrumental in helping me to get through the last four years, which have been a very difficult and isolating period in my life.

And now I'm up to TROS. As so many have said, the vast majority of it is a steaming pile of trash. People have done such an amazing job of breaking down why this story and how it treated its characters and retconned the beautiful story and themes that Rian gave us in TLJ was so painful for us. Many have pointed out that this movie is a result of catering to the most toxic portion of the Star Wars fandom, the "dudebros." Going further, I want to state that, whether consciously or not on the part of the cis, straight, white, male writers/director/CEO of Disney, this movie is a reassertion of masculinist ideologies. I want to clarify that when I talk about "masculinist" vs. feminist ideologies, I am talking about how our society and culture defines "masculine" vs. "feminine" ideas, traits, etc. Gender has nothing to with biological determinism and is socially and culturally constructed. Masculinist ideologies include beliefs such as extreme individualism, competition, "us vs. them" dichotomies, and power and value being defined based on hierarchy, which necessitates the use of violence to perpetuate the hierarchy. Feminist ideologies include valuing community and collaboration, connection and empathy, the idea that every person has inherent worth regardless of their productivity, actions, mistakes, class, race, sexuality, etc., respect for all people, and an abolishing of hierarchies. Masculinist ideologies are those of the white supremacist hetero-patriarchy, which, as we can see playing out in various ways all over the world, has been rearing its head in a very obvious and ugly fashion the past few years (though of course it has been around for wayyyyy longer than that).

Anyone who has been reading the fantastic analyses of TROS by those in the Reylo community can likely see how TLJ and even the story as it was set up in TFA were communicating feminist ideologies. One big example of this is Kylo Ren/Ben himself as a character. As so many have eloquently described, this is a complex character that commits atrocities, but is shown to be a victim of immense abuse and trauma that was failed by everyone in his family when he needed them most. This is a character that, had he been able to have the full and well-written redemption arc that he deserved, would have had an extremely moving story of how toxic masculinity and masculinist ideology is destroying boys and men by keeping them from being full people who can express all of their emotions, be vulnerable, and be open to love and connection. Reylo resonates so much with me not because it is about Rey supposedly doing all the work to change Kylo in some sort of toxic, co-dependent way, but because Rey and Kylo/Ben were always equals to each other. They both pushed each other to be better, more whole people. The wonderful work that folks have put into analyzing the mythology behind the feminine and masculine symbolism in TFA and TLJ (again, to clarify, "masculine" and "feminine" being culturally defined terms), and even the more obvious original goal of the sequel trilogy for the force to finally be balanced by Rey and Ben themselves becoming balanced between dark and light all relate to these gender issues. Balancing the dark and light sides of the force is also about balancing the "masculine" and "feminine" aspects within themselves.

This is a beautiful message that has so many real world implications. In our world, for lack of a better term, everything "feminine" is basically shat on. Patriarchy hates anything "feminine." This is how sexism plays out, but it also has to do with the ideologies that we believe in, down to our basic understandings of empathy and whether or not people have inherent value. The world would certainly be a better place if the "masculine" and "feminine" were better balanced, specifically if "feminine," and feminist, ideologies were more valued. This is what makes TROS feel like a stab directly in the heart. This was a trilogy that clearly did have feminist messages, regardless of DLF's bullshitting about Star Wars being "for everyone." Star Wars has always been progressive, the original trilogy is about rebels taking on fascists for god's sake. DLF's pandering to the most toxic part of the fandom for TROS is therefore representative of a much larger cultural, social, and political battle that is going on around the world right now. We are at a turning point for humanity in which we are starting to face the devastation that has occurred due to masculinist ideologies being the most highly regarded and utilized by those in power, but those in power are also trying to maintain their power by strongly reasserting those ideologies. So I would argue that this is not just about one movie that I and many other people didn't like. This movie is a small representation of a much larger battle that we're fighting.

Now, that reassertion of masculinist ideology that was the stabbing in the heart of watching TROS has made me super, duper depressed for the past week or so because, as others have pointed out, it communicated to me that no matter how hard we fight, the white supremacist hetero-patriarchy will reassert itself and win in the end. It even re-triggered the pain I've felt over the past few years since our current president came into office in the U.S. However, as I near the end of this long treatise I would like to share the stories that gave me hope over these past few days. I re-watched The Lego Movie 2 the other day, and that story gave me hope. The "bad guy" in that story is a literal embodiment of toxic masculinity/masculinist ideology, and it ends with the male hero realizing that he doesn't need to sacrifice his humanity and connections to other people to be a hero, or even just to be a man. How to Train Your Dragon 3 also told a story about a male hero/leader that rejects masculinist ideology. Additionally, I was given hope by Rian's amazing movie, Knives Out, which I went to see solely because people on Tumblr recommended it (thank you folks!). Rian had a clear theme and vision for this story that was about exposing and dissecting what I would call "toxic whiteness," and what it does to a family and those around them. And lastly, I saw Greta Gerwig's incredible adaptation of Little Women today, and that gave me hope because one of its main themes is about the struggle that (cis, heterosexual) women have in asserting themselves as full humans with talents, dreams and goals for their lives outside of being in romantic relationships, but also wanting to have romantic relationships at the same time. As has been said by so many, "STRONG" WOMEN CAN FALL IN LOVE AND HAVE ROMANTIC/SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. Feminism is about giving all people the chance to be fully human, and for heterosexual women that includes being able to have a relationship with a man and still be valued and respected for everything that we are outside of that relationship. The above mentioned stories, and others (She-Ra, Dragon Prince, AtLA & Legend of Korra, I'm sure there are others) give me hope that there are creators out there that are communicating feminist themes, even in big-budget movies that lots of people go to see. We need more of this. Tied to this is that THE HEROINE'S JOURNEY OF THE SEQUEL TRILOGY SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN/DIRECTED BY A WOMAN/WOMEN. Folks, we need the opportunities to tell our own stories. All of the diverse folks out there, if you are a creator, please keep on creating! We need you out there and we value all of the beautiful, integral work that you do!

So in sum, I'm not going to let what happened with TROS ruin my love of Star Wars or of the sequel trilogy. The story belongs to the fans now, and there are so many of us out there to care for it. You better be sure that I will never stop speaking up about how wronged we were by TROS, that is the hill I will die on. But I am not giving up hope and I hope that you will also join me in not giving up hope. As Poe stated so well in TLJ (with one minor adjustment), "We are the spark that will light the fire that will burn the [patriarchy] down." End of treatise.

[mycaminodesantiago]

Trail Magic

St. Jean Pied de Port - The Start: 

Here I was, alone in a strange new land, staring at an array of things scattered on my twin-sized bed. I couldn’t yet make sense of it all, but it was everything I would have to my name for the next month.

My backpack was bright red, one I’d found on sale at REI just days before making the arguably unrealistic decision to fly across the Atlantic Ocean world alone and hike eight hundred kilometers. After cramming everything inside of it haphazardly, I clasped myself in and looked in the mirror. I felt strange in my hiking gear, like someone I hadn’t yet become.

My resident hosts for the evening told me as best as they could in their broken English to follow the yellow arrows out of town, wished me good luck in Spanish and kissed both of my cheeks before bidding me adieu. I’d flown into Madrid airport a few days prior and taken a long, tiring series of confusingly-routed trains and buses before finally making it to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, a small village on the border of France and Spain, and the starting point of the Camino de Santiago.

“¡Adios!,” I waved with a bashful smile as I stepped into the light, amazed that everything I needed to survive for thirty days could be carried on my back. I felt my soul dance inside my body as I began my first ascent out of the quaint, medieval town.

* History: St. Jean is the ancient capital of the Basque region of Basse-Navarre, with a resident population of 1,500. It is located in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains (pied-de-port translates to ‘foot of the pass’) just before the Spanish border, serving as the traditional starting point for pilgrims hiking the French route of the Camino de Santiago.

My first-day jitters and excitement were quickly drowned out both by the throbbing pain in my feet—brought on by my careless decision to not break-in my brand new hiking shoes—and the staggering heat of summer.

Three weeks ago, I’d come to the conclusion that this hike, though I had zero long-distance walking experience and hadn’t adequately prepared for it whatsoever, was perfectly justifiable. It’s just walking, I told myself. I’ve walked all my life!

I’d never, however, walked uphill for five hours in the desert-like Pyrenees mountains in early July with a heavy pack strapped onto my back. Although an otherworldly view of mountaintops, endless greenery and open fields surrounded me, I spent most of my time that first day of the hike? on the Pyrenees fantasizing in intricate detail about the taste of cold water. All the while, I’d nearly emptied my real-life bottle that was filled with water so hot it legitimately could have burned my mouth. I crept onwards, trying to tell myself that it was okay that I had absolutely no knowledge of where the next water source was. Feeling hopeless and stupid and contemplating why the hell I was doing this, I tried to convince myself that this just must be what being a backpacker felt like.

Each time I reached the place that I thought was the top of the mountain, I was wrong. My only relief was found in the occasional short descent, which I soon discovered wasn’t actually a break in the misery at all, but rather was a brand new kind of misery as my toes jammed into the front of my shoes with every shuffle downward I took.

At only ten in the morning the sun had already been beating me down, but by noon the heat was so unrelenting and the trail so exposed to the sun I wondered honestly if I would live to see another day. When I finally spotted what looked like a water fountain in the distance, I felt more grateful than perhaps I ever had for anything in my entire life. I was so dehydrated that I filled my bottle up and chugged it empty three times over, unable to stop myself.

I’d been so fixated on the sight of water that I hardly noticed someone sitting in the shade beside me. “I did the same thing five minutes ago,” she laughed in a way that told me she understood exactly the desperation I’d just overcome. I’d soon become used to people approaching me along the trail with such friendliness and familiarity.

I continued walking alone in a little less agony than I was in minutes before and tried to notice the beauty surrounding me: an endless, magnificent, crisp green mountainous landscape in every direction, as far as the eye could see. This was my luscious escape, if only for a brief moment in time. It was here that I would leave my troubles behind.

Night 1 - Roncesvalles: 

After 23.6 kilometers of walking, a monumental relief set in as I finally saw a monastery in the distance, the first sign of civilization since I’d left Saint-Jean eight hours prior. This massive, medieval hostel was where I’d be lying my head down on the first night of my Camino. The whopping 110 beds in the newly renovated building were already fully occupied by the time I arrived late in the afternoon, so I was escorted by a nice, older gentlemen to a different building across a large, grassy field. 

“This is our winter building. We only use it when there’s no space left in the new place. You’re the first one that’ll be staying in here,” he told me, clearly unaware of the fact that I didn’t care where the hell I was as long as I could sit down. “Pretty standard,” he said before walking off. 

Other than the two rows of twin-sized bunk-beds, the room was musty, stark and empty. Connected to it was a much smaller white bathroom containing a mirror, two toilets, and two showers with something inside of them that I suppose could pass as shower heads once there was water coming out of them. The man was right—this was standard. It looked almost exactly the same as every other place I’d stay in for the next thirty days.

The shower I took felt like a holy experience, and by the time I stepped out of the communal bathroom, the room was already filled with an array of bodies and backpacks.

“Hey, you’re water fountain girl!,” a dark-featured, young girl said cheerfully in my direction. I was relieved to see a familiar face, even if the extent of her familiarity had been only a few moments in passing earlier that day. The two of us limped to the dining area together, talking briefly about our days and our lives back home. She was a Chinese girl named Lulu who spoke very little English, but I’d come to realize that finding our own little ways of communicating with each other was a big part of the Camino.

“I just feel a little lost,” she told me after I asked why she had decided to do this. I nodded empathetically. I understood.

We were soon joined by a couple who I recognized almost instantly. I spent the entire day awkwardly passing and then falling behind them again. Marta was from Peru, Andrew from New Zealand, both enthusiastic and good-looking. If they can do it, so can I, I repeated to myself along the trail each time I’d felt like giving up. I felt safe and encouraged in their presence. We all made small talk over warm red wine, stale bread, lukewarm vegetable soup, french fries and some kind of mystery meat that tasted like mud — and yet seldom have I ever consumed anything so amazing in my life. I would have been happy eating anything so long as I was finally off my feet.

“Eres una hermosa princesa,” Marta whispered in my ear with a wink as she hugged me and fluttered off to bed, hand-in-hand with Andrew.

*History: “Roncesvalles,” translated to “valley of thorns,” is the entry point of Spain for pilgrims traveling along the Camino. With a resident population of only 30 people, this tiny village is located at an altitude of 950km and is a part of the mountainous region of Navarre. With its open hill atmosphere, strenuous uphill and steep downhill, this first day of walking is one of the most demanding of the entire route.

When I rolled over in my bottom-bunk the next morning, everyone in the room had already left for the day, except for one. I had spoken a few brief words with most of the people in my room the night before, but this person in particular had kept to himself the entire night. Too groggy to attempt a conversation, we both got ready in silence. As I slipped on my too-small trail runners, I heard a voice ask how my feet were doing. This, I soon found, was a perfectly normal topic of conversation amongst pilgrims along the Camino.

“They’re holding up,” I laughed. “I have a lot of Compeed.” After all the research I had done about what to bring with you, Compeed was always at the top of the list. It acted as a second layer of skin to protect your charred feet from unwanted contact with your walking shoes. It was like a high-tech bandaid for blisters. This stuff was supposed to be some kind of magic.

“I’ve found that using normal tape actually works better,” he explained to me, mentioning casually that while on a hiking trek in India, taping up his toes every morning was what saved his feet. I felt a sudden wave of inadequacy wash over me as he tossed the tape in my direction. “Try it,” he said, charmingly sure of himself.

Following command, I used his tape on all ten of my toes before sliding my black, calf-high socks over my aching feet, a routine that became customary for me as the days went on.

“Have you ever done any kind of backpacking?”

“Not really,” I replied hesitantly, knowing very well that a hard no would have been a much more truthful answer. I had enjoyed gentle day hikes up the Hudson Valley mountain ranges from time to time. With that, I’d somehow felt adept enough to do this.

“I’m Joseph,” he said. I glossed over him as he folded up his sleeping bag. He was a classically handsome man, slim, blonde and blue-eyed. I wasn’t attracted to him, yet for some reason I hoped that he was attracted to me, which I knew was absurd.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Haley,” I said as I scampered away, unsure if I would ever see him again and eager to get back on the trail.

Night 2 - Zubiri:

I walked in a state of awe at the beauty and the silence of the trail that day, the yellow arrows every few paces like friends to me now. Several kilometers in, I came across a giant electrical box spray-painted with the words FIGHT ALL HATRED OF THE WORLD WITH LOVE in bold, black lettering.

My mind suddenly wandered away to a dark-blue mattress on a messy bedroom floor, a room that I knew all too well. After falling into an alcohol-fueled half-love with a bearded musician, I’d moved out of my mother’s house and into his studio apartment.

Emotionally detached and in my youth and sorrow, I was ready to self-destruct. And I’d found someone who would hold my hand while I did it. 

“Love is everything,” Chris used to tell me behind a cloud of smoke, words I once found to be so profound and poetically brilliant I’d considered getting them tattooed onto my body. 

He’d sit in his raggedy-red chair night after night, strumming his beat-up guitar while I cocooned myself around him playfully, listening to the sound of his voice in a drunken haze, grazing my fingertips gently down the tattoo on his spine. 

After just a few weeks of our cohabitation, I’d dug myself into a hole of intoxication so deep I wasn’t sure I’d ever crawl out. I could feel myself disintegrating inside myself.

This had been just six months ago, a time when sleepless nights and liquored-lips were the only things that I knew. I am not meant to be this way, to live a life so dark and bleak and empty, I told myself. Yet even now, I’d swear to you that I had loved him, in whatever twisted way that I was able to. I loved him still and I’d loved him instantly, from the very first moment I’d met him.

I had watched Chris play in bars, hypnotized by his devilish charm and angelic voice. Exactly one year ago, he started playing in the bar I’d been working in, and I’d known after his first set that I’d be breaking all of my rules for him. We introduced ourselves later that night over a shot of whisky, his brown eyes blazing. I gripped his tattooed hand, and let him take me home a week later. Before we knew it, summer was winter, and his love had become so full-throated and all-encompassing that I couldn’t run from it, no matter how hard I tried to. He was a forbidden fruit that I bit blissfully into.

It seemed so far away from me now, all that intimacy between two people who were so clearly imploding. Thinking about the choices I had made with him didn’t make me feel sad or happy. I only felt that in spite of all the things I’d done wrong, in getting myself here, at least I’d done one thing right.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of footsteps approaching from behind me. Finding myself in no mood to make casual conversation, I politely stepped aside to let them pass.

“Hey! I thought I recognized your backpack,” a familiar accent called out as I untwisted the cap of my water bottle.

“Hey, you!” I only half-remembered his name. I know it starts with a J, I thought to myself. 

I told him I was doing fine, despite the fact that all I could think about was the excruciating chafing between my thighs. We both took sips of our boiling-hot water and continued down the path, his trekking poles making a sharp clicking sound against the packed dirt with each step we took, a sound I’d soon have memorized.

As we walked alongside each other, we exchanged a flurry of information about who we were and where we were from and what we do. He was from Stockholm, but had been living in Bali for the last year, and India before that. He held a job in finance that he couldn’t properly make me understand, but it allowed him to live what he called a “digital nomadic lifestyle.” There was an ease about him that both intrigued and intimidated me. I listened in fascination as he told me about his otherworldly life, all the while wondering how I could possibly tell him that I’d been working in the same bar for four years and had absolutely no idea what I was doing with my life and also was trying helplessly to drag myself out of a drunken pit of regret and mistakes, in a way that would make my life sound even half as attractive as his.

Four hours later, the familiar yellow arrowheads lead us down a rocky slope, over a medieval bridge, and along a river into a town called Zubiri, where we would stay for the night. After rinsing off and deciding that our hunger overpowered our exhaustion, we limped to the closest restaurant, a treacherous ten steps away. The pizza Joseph and I ate was more reminiscent of a piece of cardboard than it was of pizza, but any source of food after ten hours of walking in the scorching sun tasted almost euphoric to us. Despite the fact I’d only known him for a day, he felt familiar to me, like I could trust him with close to anything.

Two young men soon joined our table, the drag of their walks instantly giving away their hiker identities. We all drank the local beer and ran through the Camino as a conversational topic, until we finally arrived at ourselves. Mike was young and blond and outspoken. He worked as a DJ in Germany’s capital, though the rest of us had found that hard to believe. His heavy accent and odd mannerisms were enough to crack the whole table up, even when he wasn’t trying to be funny. To my left sat Daniel, a middle-aged Italian man who’d just quit his job as a chef in Rome. He was dark-featured and reserved, but inquisitive. Later, we all hobbled back to our hostel with beers we bought out of a vending machine and attempted to play a Spanish version of Pictionary, even though our Spanish vocabulary totaled to about twenty words between the four of us. 

All of our lives were so profoundly different. If the four of us had met off the trail, I don't know if we would have become friends. But by the end of the night, they had already become dear to me.

The sunset was soft and tinged with the slightest shade of pink, so beautiful that my state of exhaustion didn’t matter. We sat outside of our hostel in an open courtyard on white plastic lawn chairs that had felt like thrones, laughing and telling story after story until the light faded from the sky.

*History: Zubiri is a small industrial town with a population of 400. The Puenta de la Rabia is a medieval bridge along the río Arga located at the entrance of the town. The name “Rabia” comes from a legend that says any animal led three times around the central arch would be cured of rabies.

When my alarm jolted me awake the next morning, my aching body felt like someone had beaten me senseless the night before. I didn’t have time to be hungover. 

The four of us scurried around the small room, aimlessly throwing things in our packs, groaning and smiling at one another, miserable and amused and too tired to speak. After doctoring my chawed-up toes, I realized that my feet had swelled so much that I could no longer squeeze them into my brand new trail runners. The only other pair of shoes I had packed were a pair of sandals, shoes that were undoubtedly not cut out for the terrain I would be walking on for the next 28 days. I sat on the floor motionless for a moment, paralyzed with dread. There wouldn’t be a sporting store until I arrived in Pamplona, another 20.9 kilometers away. I had no choice. I Velcroed myself into my sandals and walked up and into the searing hot day.

Night 3 - Pamplona: 

I was lost in a spiral of bitter thoughts, but thankful to have my new friends by my side, though we couldn’t muster much strength to talk as the last dregs of our hangovers sweated out of us. By midday, my inner thighs had scabbed over completely and my feet looked like they had nearly doubled in size. Any gusto that I had started off with two days ago had officially worn off.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached a small café, the sight of which had been such a tremendous relief that for a moment I’d forgotten about the pain in my feet. A shady place to sit and the taste of freshly-made potato tortilla was enough to lift my spirits enormously. I felt refueled and ready for what was left of the day when a sandy-blond, middle-aged lady approached us and asked what we were planning to do in order to detour Pamplona, the place we planned as our next stop. She spoke with a heavy British accent and was wearing Mickey Mouse sunglasses.

She told us that, unbeknownst to us, every single hostel in Pamplona would be shut down for their annual event called Running of the Bulls. After chatting with other pilgrims around us, we found out that almost every single one of them planned to continue walking into Pamplona, only to catch the public bus that would take them one town further. But by the time news got to us, all of the hostels there were already completely full. 

We had only two options: take the bus two towns past Pamplona in order to find a bed, cutting two days off of our Camino, or splurge on an expensive hotel room for the night in Pamplona. Mike and Daniel chose the former, while Joseph and I decided it would be worth it to see the festival and not skip over any days of walking. 

We spent the next few hours soaking in the last bit of time we were guaranteed to have with each other, their company making me forget how ruined I had felt just hours before. We took turns making fun of Mike’s monster of a backpack that had to weigh at least half of what he did—and he was not a small man. We practiced saying the German curse words that he had taught us the night before and we argued about the difference between rivers and lakes. We talked about nothing and everything and made up jokes and diversions in order to pass the time until we finally finished walking to the bus station together, all of us completely spent.

I liked Mike and Daniel immensely. We clicked. We had bonded in that way I imagined kids did when they spent a month away together at summer camp. It was a crazy and curious thing how strangers from opposite sides of the world, speaking different languages, could come together as a family in one moment in time and share this adventure with each other.

“Just take lots of rest days and wait for us,” Joseph and I joked nostalgically, knowing that it wasn’t likely we would be able to catch up with them. The four of us embraced and wished each other well. Joseph and I stood back and watched them board the bus that would take them out of our lives forever or for a few days, we didn’t know.

“Do you think we’ll ever see them again?,” Joseph asked me.

“I hope so,” I replied tenderly as I walked on silently next to him towards our hotel, thinking about all the stories Mike and Daniel had told me, still aglow from having met them.

*History: With a population of 200,000, Pamplona is one of the biggest cities along the Camino, its history closely linked with pilgrims. The Roman general Pompaelo founded the city in the first century B.C., and its patron Saint is San Fermín. The bulls run free in Calle Estafeta from July 6th to 14th annually. 

The final part of our walk was along busy main roads throughout the massive city of Pamplona. It was strange being in the midst of the noise and bustle of city life after the relative calm that the Camino provided us over the last two days.

Our tiny, shared hotel room felt like a palace. The feel of soft, fresh white sheets had become a delicacy to us after two nights of sleeping on rubber mattresses with nothing but a thin, silk liner. To keep my pack light, I had only brought two hiking outfits with me, along with one jacket and a big shirt to sleep in. I knew coming into this that every two days, no matter how exhausted I was, I would be forced to wash my clothes. As I scrubbed down my sweaty clothes in our hotel sink and then less successfully attempted to dry them with a hair blow dryer so that I would have something clean to wear  tonight, I regretted this decision immensely. 

Once the two of us rinsed our bodies off and threw on our best “real world” outfits, we made our way to the main square of the city. Although for hikers we looked relatively put together in our button-down sun shirts, we still felt outlandish in this big city full of well-dressed residents, huge groups of people dressed in red and white shuffling together through the chaotic, crowded streets.We found our way to the middle of the mayhem and before I could open my mouth, Joseph was ordering us dos chupitos de tequila from a crowded bar.

“I know you like tequila,” he said with a smirk as he handed me the shot. 

The night before, I had shared with him how was I was so widely known in my hometown for drinking tequila that I had been given the nickname Tequila Haley, a name which I now loathed entirely.

“But I’m a bartender, so it’s okay. It’s my profession,” I had told him sarcastically, both of us laughing, though I knew this wasn’t anything to be proud of.

“Cheers, to Running of the Bulls and a successful three days on the Camino,” Joseph said as I took the shot reluctantly. I swore to myself I wouldn’t drink liquor while I was here, yet here I was, only three days in.

We walked on, admiring the beauty of the city. The town was electrified with loud music and fireworks and we soaked up the atmosphere of the lively streets until the early hours of the morning. On our way back to the hotel, I felt the cool breeze of Spain flowing through my body. I had chills, knowing how lucky I was to be here, right now, in this moment. 

“I swear, I usually have pretty feet,” I chuckled as Joseph poked fun at my ridiculous-looking swollen feet.

“You have a pretty everything, Haley,” he smiled, and I felt a warm feeling inside of me. I wasn’t interested in him as anything more than a friend, yet still, it felt nice knowing that he thought I was pretty. I could tell that he liked me, though I still couldn’t tell how much. Joseph was a golden boy. His looks were polar opposite to any man that I had ever been attracted to—rugged, dark-featured men with dark personalities, long hair and tattoos who usually looked like they hadn’t bathed in weeks. In a lot of ways, with his short, well-combed blonde curly hair and beaming blue eyes, Joseph was even prettier than I was.

As we crawled into the real actual beds that were astonishingly ours for the night, I thought about how nice it was to have a friend beside me. I hardly knew Joseph, yet after just three days, he had become a beacon for me.

[killjoytigermom]

Chapter 5 - Pillars Of Sand

“A musical one, huh?” "Apparently," I replied to Jet's grinning stature at my wit's end as I shuffled through the now quickly cooling diner. The sun had set and the incoming darkness quickly covered the desert with a chilly wind. As the five of us began to hermetically close up the building, I started to realize how weird, hectic, and utterly tiring this day had been, with the Battery City trip and everything else.

Eventually I grabbed one of the blankets we had and walked around the bar of the diner, retreating into the old fashioned kitchen where I opened a few aligned cupboards, revealing the insides that I'd made into a makeshift bedroom over the past couple of years. I always kept the doors open, but liked the reclusiveness of it. I crawled in, on top of the few blankets that already laid there, and curled up underneath the one I'd just grabbed, sighing again and looking at the bread basket I'd put right next to the cupboards- there hadn't been any space left inside next to me. The nameless girl was still vast asleep after my karaoke session, and I was glad of it as I looked at her.

Before I could try and fall asleep myself however, one of the guys walked into the now quickly darkening kitchen. "Ty?," Party questioned quietly. I scoffed; "Yeah, what's up?" "I think we should go to Dr. D tomorrow, tell him the good news." "You think he'd be invested?" "Well, for one, he's a firm believer in the Phoenix Witch, so there's a start," the redhead said as he quietly slid down the drawer section I slept next to, before plopping down onto the tiled floor next to the basket with the girl. He stared at her solemnly before he spoke again. "If there's anyone who might maybe have some answers," he mumbled," it's him."

"I suppose you're right," I sighted, really not wanting to have this conversation at this time. "But I'm sleeping in tomorrow." "You're going to sleep through the morning cold?," Party chuckled, legitimately surprised. "Not just wait for the afternoon slur? Have a little siesta?" "Nope," I said, before shuffling myself further down my cupboard, hoping he'd pick up on my hints. “Not today.”

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tumblr removed line breaks this is fine :)

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“You think they’ll be okay out there?” I snorted as the guys walked out of Dr. Death’s radio station, laughing at something one of them had muttered on their way out. “Ah, they’ll be fine,” Death chuckled amusedly. “Show Pony knows how to keep people entertained alright,” he continued, turning his wheelchair to me and leaning back with a deep sigh. His build was reminiscent of my dad’s, whom I hadn’t been able to contact since the Analog Wars, and I wasn’t sure if I found it comforting or distressing.

His smile faded as his glare went down to the girl in my arms, sleeping soundly. “What to do with you…,” he said quietly, dragging out each word as if questioning himself. He quickly gathered himself however and faced me again. “Party said you wanted to talk to me specifically?” “Oh, uh, yeah,” I stumbled over my words awkwardly. “I always knew you were a spiritual one,” I continued, “but when Party mentioned you were invested in my suicide mission of getting her out of Battery City I was a bit surprised.”

“Well it’s not every day a Killjoy puts their life on the line by walking down Battery City’s streets,” the large man chuckled. “Party told me you had some vision or something, said that he thought it would be good if you and I sat down and had a talk.” “Oh, well…” I thought for a bit. “Then he and I had the same idea. ‘Cuz that’s why I wanted to talk to you alone.” He hummed and adjusted himself in his seat. When he didn’t speak up after that I decided to just rant and get it over with.

“You know how her mum and I were friends, right? Me and Bandit’s Grace? I mean I didn’t see her that much ‘cuz she operated in a different part of the Zones but when she got pregnant I was so ready to become the ‘aunt’ of this kid… And then our two groups met up and they had that ambush lying there, those Scarecrows? She was mere weeks away from delivery so when they’d shot her down instead of dusting her they put one of their Drac masks on her, and I saw them do that and as that happened, everything around me just sorta seemed to slow down, you know how they used to do that in movies? Like the sounds would be like you’re underwater and everything becomes slow motion? It was kinda like that and as they put that mask on her I feel these long, sharp nails in my shoulders, pinching, and I smelled birds - I know that sounds weird but birds DO have a smell, it’s kinda muffy and dusty? - anyway this raspy voice whispered in my ear and I knew I shouldn’t turn around to see who it was and I really didn’t need to ‘cuz when they started talking I knew who she was, and she goes and calls me by my real name and goes ‘you see what’s happening there’ as she points at Grace and as she’s pointing, Grace’s chest starts glowing but like, from the inside? It looked like when you take an old flashlight that had those yellow light bulbs and hold them against the palm of your hand and this little orb became smaller and smaller and moved from her chest to her stomach and the Witch just went ‘that’s what you’ve got to protect. At all costs. Tell them. There won’t be a next time’, and then everything just went back to normal.”

I was quiet for a moment and looked up at Dr. Death, who didn’t seem to have moved a muscle. “After that I got the worst headache and felt my knees shake and before I knew it I was lying in the dirt, limp.” Death remained silent. I waited for a bit but then plainly said: “That’s it, I’m done now.” Still nothing. He almost seemed lost in thought but the direct eye contact he was making suggested otherwise. “I don’t know why she chose me, honestly. Probably because she wanted someone to stand in for her mom, and she wanted to give me some good motivation for it instead of being all cryptic about it? I don’t know Doc., I truly don’t.” “And you didn’t tell anyone else besides the rest of the Fab Five,” Dr. Death suddenly asked. I shook my head, still holding the tiny human in my arms as it slept. “I didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone else.”

Death sighed once more and leaned back in his chair again. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “Y’know kid, I hate to admit this but even I don’t know all about the Phoenix Witch. I do know what she does: she helps those who got dusted in the fight to find some peace, and for that we should be thankful, but stuff like this?” He gestured with his hand and made a face. “This is beyond me too kiddo.” I sighed. “I know, and I don’t blame you, I just wish I could know why me? Or maybe there even isn’t a why, maybe it was just a roll of the dice….”

When we both remained silent I continued rambling. “And next to that it’s like, why is she being so cryptid about this kid,” I said while nodding at the baby in my arms. “I mean I’m not against getting as many people out of BL/ind.’s clutches as possible but why is THIS ONE so special? ‘Cuz she’s making it sound like this one is going to wake Destroya one day or something!” “Isn’t that android belief?” Death asked, an eyebrow raised. I shrugged annoyedly. “I don’t know what to believe at this point anymore man, but the Witch is sure making it sound like this is the new Messiah or something like that.”

Dr. Death chuckled at that. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’... then again, a Killjoy, born from someone who’s turned into a Draculoid? You never know,” he winked. I blinked a couple of times, registering what he’d said. “I mean yeah, when you put it like that…”

Then suddenly, Death briskly turned his wheelchair around and made his way to the minifridge across the room. “I’m sure the Phoenix Witch knows what she’s doing, I have faith in that. All advice I can give is follow her instructions,” he said as he opened the door and the blue light illuminated his face. “Soda?” “Sure.” He grabbed two brightly colored cans from the fridge and closed the door. “Well, either way, whatever happens, you know me and my crew are on your side. That includes Cherri and Pony,” he assured me as he handed me the can.

“If there’s ever something you need that you can’t get at Tommy’s, or just need someone to help out, you know where to find us,” he said with a smile before opening the sizzling can in his hands. “Which reminds me,” he said after taking a big swig, “how did you guys even manage to get that deep into Battery City? The place is sprawling with BL/ind. forces, they should’ve spotted you immediately!”

I opened my own can and took a small swig as well before explaining. “There’s a group called The Undead, they operate from within Battery City, even before it was called ‘Battery City’. While they’re not the biggest believers, they’ll support anything that can possibly help them bring back the city that they lost. Ghoul once got in touch when them when he needed materials for his explosives, that’s how we were able to get their help - Party probably mentioned it would help their cause if they helped us. They mainly operate from The Lobby, but have mastered making their way through town unnoticed.”

Dr. Death hummed approvingly. “Maybe Battery City’s built on more pillars of sand than we thought,” he mumbled with a small smile.