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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday Wednesday Thursday (Part 1) Thursday (Part 2) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself.

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win.

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!”

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them.

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points.

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders.

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed.

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough.

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once.

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed.

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation.

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out.

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history.

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test.

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test.

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them.

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain.

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike.

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match.

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump.

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down.

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did.

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly.

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them.

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly.

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home.

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out.

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot.

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!”

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually.

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp.

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders.

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations.

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all.

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better.

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you.

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest.

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears.

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.”

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient.

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back.

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang.

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway.

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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I Would’ve Stayed (FNTO 4)

Any mess we had to deal with was way more worth it than any clarity without you.

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that!

Warnings: foul language, heavy drinking, lots of kissing, penetrative and oral sex (not too explicit; a condom is thrown in there somewhere but bbs please be safe! and also, I tried) (18+)

Word count: ~8,000

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the cafe, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist

A/N: Here it is! OC hates confrontation so guess what happens - that! Listen to Yours by Raiden x Chanyeol ft. LeeHi & Changmo and Moon, 12:04 AM by Offonoff.

It’s been 3 days and Jungkook still hasn’t reached out.

You would have, but somehow that time he completely ignored you for a whole week before he left still plays in your head and has made you quite traumatized, if you’re being honest.

Add to that, you recall how you both left things that day. You don’t know how he was doing in the 2 months he was away. Maybe he just got ahead of himself and realized he didn’t really feel that way about you, maybe he’s still angry. Maybe, and this scares you the most, he realized he’s better off and doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore - too much crazy, you think.

None of the guys have reached out to you too since they’ve arrived aside from Jimin’s message, perhaps too sorry to even say anything.

You’ve followed the same routine you’ve had the past 2 months - cafe check-in before and after your actual job, weekends for exercise and chores and whatever work you can sneak in, and Saturday nights with your friends. You even volunteered to babysit your cousin’s kids for 2 weekends and accompanied Jaehyun to the orphanage for the bi-annual party he throws for the kids just to keep yourself preoccupied.

It feels so different without Jungkook. Even when he was away then, you were always video calling for at least a minute, and sending each other funny videos or memes to keep the connection, that string that neither of you wanted to break. How you both managed without each other these past months is surprising, but that's just made it clear to you, more than anything else, that you truly want him to be part of your life, and you, in his, in whatever way he’d have you.

But his radio silence is once again driving you insane. You keep typing then deleting whatever message you thought to send him.

You: Hey, I heard you’re back. How was the tour?

You: Hi, Kook. I’m so sorry again. I was wondering if we could catch up?

You: Omg help, my neighbor got another cat!

You: Can’t wait for the final concert! Excited to watch you guys.

But nope, you’d deleted them as fast as you’d typed them. You know you were at fault somehow; you’ve accepted that you could’ve done something like talk to him at the first sign of a problem, but you always hated confrontations and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that with him.

More than anything, though, you want him to be the one to reach out this time. Not just because he said those hurtful things to you before he left, but also because you want to know if he still feels whatever it was he said he feels - or felt - for you before he left.

You let your mind make up reasons. Maybe he’s still tired. Maybe he’s still catching up on sleep and isn’t in his right mind yet to talk to you. Maybe they got caught up with more work when they got back. All these maybes are sending you in a whirlwind of emotions again, and you’re trying so badly to get out of your head and just settle things once and for all.

It’s finally Friday and you’re zoning out at work before your phone’s incessant ringing breaks through your thoughts.

Jieun is on the other line, convincing you to go to The Third tonight because a DJ friend of hers is spinning. She misses you, she says. You don’t have the heart to tell her that you don’t feel like going out and being around people, but she pleads. The guys will be there too, she excitedly shares. She charmed her way into having them accept her invite after they’d met up at a dinner party earlier in the week.

“Dinner party?” You ask.

“Yeah, remember Yoonah? I wrote some music for her. She had a birthday party last Tuesday,” Jieun innocently says.

Of course you remember. She’s one of the pop stars that Jungkook has been linked with countless times. He never dismisses it though when you’d ask. He just always says they’re close and enjoy spending time together when they can.

You feel your heart break a little, thinking of what his appearance at her birthday party could mean. You’d done yourself a favor and stayed away from social media so you don’t know if there are new pictures of them circulating in the web.

But you do like to torture yourself. As Jieun went on about her schedule for the rest of her stay, you checked online for any photos of the two to ease - or worsen - your panicking brain and speeding heart.

Yep, there they are. Some public photos of them laughing at the party, Yoonah so stunning in her red dress and Jungkook looking incredibly gorgeous in his dark blue suit. You scroll further down to look at the same photos and people screaming at how good they look together and wait, are those photos outside of a cafe?

Eyes wide, your heart quickens even more as you type “Jungkook Yoonah cafe” on the search bar because really, you’d been torturing yourself these past months too, why stop now?

They seem like unofficial photos, judging from the quality, but you can’t be mistaken that it’s him - you know that sweatshirt because it’s yours; the few clear photos show the clay mark on the left side of the clothing that you haven’t been able to remove. What kind of jerk wears another girl’s clothes when he’s out on a date with another?

You’re fuming. So much for making excuses on his behalf that he’s tired or busy. Well, he was busy, alright. You saw in the news that Yoonah was in the U.S. too for some photo shoots; some tweets were saying she was at one of the shows. Guess Jungkook was preoccupied in those 2 months too, you think to yourself.

“Y/N, you in there?” Jieun asks on the other end.

“Yeah, yeah sorry. What were you saying?”

“I said a lot… but I just wanted to know if you’re game for tonight?” She asks, excitement laced in her voice. It has been awhile since you’ve gone out to party with her anyway.

“Sure, I’ll be there.” You force the excitement out of you.

“Great! Tell your friends. Can’t wait to see you!” She hangs up, and you’re still fuming.

Fuck to feeling sorry for yourself. Fuck to being a responsible adult. And fuck to saying no to hook-ups. You were never one for drinking her problems away and finding a temporary fix in another’s body and the pleasure they could give but that’s exactly what you’re gonna do tonight.

Jungkook has made you do and feel things you’d never done or felt before anyway, and you aren’t gonna stop now.

You wait until 6PM before heading home and fixing up. You and your friends go to a nice restaurant for dinner, a change of scenery from your usual Saturday night take outs, before finally heading to The Third for a night you hopefully won’t regret.

You and your friends arrive at the bar at 10PM, Jaehyun the designated caretaker of everybody (more like of you, though, since you’re the only one with a plan).

You do the mandatory socializing, especially with Jiuen, and before you know it, you’re on your 5th shot of tequila, sips of other people’s beer or cocktail in between, and suddenly, a hand is pulling at yours and an unfamiliar voice is asking you to dance.

He’s funny and has well-manicured and soft hands. You can’t tell the color of his eyes or the shape of his nose or if he has plump or thin or chapped lips. He seems to have nice hair, though.

He says he’s a little awkward but he was beside you at the bar and heard you laughing and thought it was the nicest sounding laugh he’s ever heard. He apologizes for sounding sappy and a creep, but he thought he could at least ask you to dance, confident in at least that since he used to dance in college.

He asks if he could put his hand on your waist and you consent. There were no red flags, and you’d seen your friends give you a thumbs up to indicate they’re looking out for you in case something unsuspecting happens.

Something unsuspecting happens, alright. One minute the man’s hand is on your waist, fingers gripping you a little tighter as the song transitions to the next one, and another it’s gone. You turn around to make sure he’s still there but lo and behold, there stands the man you’ve been trying to get your mind off, hand on the other man’s wrist, and a glare that could cut through stone.

“I’ve got her,” the man says, voice cold and stern, it gave you chills.

It takes a while before it registers. Hair parted at the middle, black polo, black leather jacket. Even under these party lights he still looks breathtaking. You scowl at Jungkook.

“What the fuck, Jeon. I was dancing with Ye-jun!”

“It’s, uh, Yu-jun,” you hear the man say. Was he now stuttering?

“You’re drunk,” Jungkook responds, tone steady, head now turned to you.

“So? I’ve been drunk many times before. It’s nothing new,” you snap back.

“Yes, but you don’t do this,” he says, voice calm and patient.

“And what’s this? Enjoy myself? Find a man to dance with, to go home with? Maybe to hook up with?” You bite back, arms crossed, a little less drunk now that you feel anger consume you. You don’t see the surprised but intrigued look of the man staring at you, but Jungkook does and it takes all of him not to smack the guy’s face right then and there.

But really, how dare he? He ghosts you again and now he decides to show up and crash your little dance party?

Jungkook lets out a low grunt. He turns to the man, jaw clenched, eyes piercing. “Seriously, I’ve got this. You can leave us now.” He continues to stare at the man who knows he’s got nothing on Jungkook.

“Well fuck me,” the man says and walks away.

Jungkook grabs your wrist to take you to the bar, forcing you to drink 2 glasses of water.

“What the hell was that?” You shout. Jungkook eyes the bartender, as if to tell him to give both of you as much privacy as he can in a venue like this.

“You’re drunk and the guy was trying it with you,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“He actually had the decency to ask if he could put his hand on my waist, seeing that I was drunk!” You shout back.

He rests his right arm on the bar and looks at you blankly. “You’re still drunk and he’s still a stranger.”

At this, you completely lose it. “And you aren’t? What are you now, my friend? My fuck buddy I don’t fuck? My almost lover? The guy I can never have? The guy who’s too afraid to have me?”

You eye the bartender nearby preparing 2 shots of tequila. You walk the short distance towards him and down both shots, one after the other. “Make him pay for them,” you shout to the man, pointing to Jungkook, and you walk away.

Seven shots of tequila in and you’re quite the mess, physically and emotionally. Why you think it felt cathartic to down those shots is beyond you; now your head is spinning and your feet feel like death.

You see the light at the end of the tunnel, an empty chair a few steps away. You make it, thankfully, without much fanfare. You look around for your friends but it’s all dancing silhouettes and unfamiliar faces. The lights are now blinding and suddenly it feels stuffy that it’s hard to breathe. You drag your arms to the table and drop your head onto them, slowly succumbing to sleep.

A voice wakes you, repeating your name countless times until you start to resent it. You lazily look up to find Jungkook, crouching down to level with you, holding a plate of chocolate cake and a pitcher of water.

You look at what he’s holding before your glossy eyes rest at his face. He sighs, puts the pitcher on the table, and proceeds to take the fork and feed you with bites of the cake.

You drink water in between, and after 3 mouthfuls, you look up at him and flash your teeth, as if to ask if there’s some chocolate leftovers on them. He lets out a short laugh and removes a crumb hanging on the corner of your lips. “All good,” he says.

“Take me home, Jungkook.” You plead. “Please take me home.”

Jungkook doesn’t know why he suddenly got scared. He’d made up his mind that he would message you when they’d landed, drive to your place to see you, and talk things out the next day, but his mind had other plans.

He got so caught up at the thought that he’s finally home, finally breathing the same air as you, that you were just 30 minutes away from him - so near yet so far - that he’d zoned out and completely forgotten to message you. He was so anxious about finally talking to you that he’d ended up falling asleep at 5AM and slept through the rest of Monday afternoon.

They had a scheduled meeting on Tuesday and had Yoonah’s dinner party that night, and he had wanted to message and see you on the same day because he was that impatient.

The dinner party wasn’t a big event, but photos from her agencies were soon released that obviously included Jungkook and Yoonah laughing and talking. He knew what was about to happen next. What he didn’t expect was Yoonah’s pleas that night to go out the next day for their routine stunt that they’d do every once in a while.

Jungkook and Yoonah went to the same middle school and high school in Seoul, both trying to balance education with their responsibilities in their respective idol groups. They ended up being close and confiding in each other, but never went the dating route. They were both so young then and happiness, at that time, equated to success in their field. It’s later on that they’d come to realize how lonely that would feel.

Jungkook had his hyungs and felt content; Yoonah, who eventually went solo, felt the loneliness eat her up. She’d been dating a friend from her childhood and she knew the only way they could stay together is if their relationship was kept a secret.

She’d enlisted the help of Jungkook who’d willingly agreed to be her decoy when needed - anytime the media or even fans would catch wind of Yoonah’s relationship, it was automatic for the pair to be seen going out. They never admitted nor denied the rumors. It was enough to throw the scent off the real man she was dating.

He agreed that Wednesday for a quick lunch out at a cafe. No need for overkill, they agreed. As long as they’re seen together, that should be enough. Jungkook didn’t have the heart to turn her down and instead, kept mum about his own relationship trials with you. He knew that whatever photos that fans would take would be all over social media, and he could only hope you stayed away from it long enough until the issue died down.

This was another dent in his plan and he had to regroup. Another day has passed and he still hasn’t reached out to you. He was beginning to think it was a stupid idea to wait it out in the first place.

He entered the bar that Friday night, half sure that he was going to see you. Jieun has been away a while and would definitely want you there.

It didn’t take long for him to spot you. He was half expecting you’d be dancing with your friends or laughing about in one of the tables.

He didn’t expect you to be dancing so closely to another man, his hand on your waist, his mouth so dangerously close to your ears. You looked like you were having fun, what with your half-lidded eyes and teeth constantly biting on your bottom lip. He’d never seen that look on you before, and it scared the shit out of him.

He saw your friends who confirmed the man is someone you’d just met and that you’d gone on about getting shit-faced drunk and hooking up with someone because “Jungkook’s being a jerk right now.”

“Please grow up, you two, and talk things out,” Chaewon shouted at him, tired and exasperated in dealing with your whiny ass, before she stormed off to shout at her boyfriend. Jaehyun went on about their lover’s quarrel, and Hyejin had discovered the allure and deceit of cranberry vodka and had been puking her guts out in the washroom.

“Please look out for her,” Jaehyun told Jungkook. What your friends didn’t tell him is why you’re acting this way. Was it the radio silence? The photos you might’ve seen? Or both?

That’s when Jungkook proceeded to shoo the man away. Of course you wouldn’t go without a fight. From the dance floor to the bar, you had a go at it. He deserved all that, he was sure, even if he was angry at the situation as well.

It took another pep talk from his hyungs - who were watching you from afar, as you laid your head on the table, and making sure no one would try with you again - convincing him to swallow his pride and just talk to you.

He hated seeing you like this, moreso since it’s the first time in 2 months he’s seeing you, and considering how things have been during the time you two were apart.

The sweets and water combo always works. Two washroom trips later, you were on the passenger seat of his car, fetus-laden and drifting in and out of sleep.

Jungkook is frustrated. How bad had things gotten that you were willing to hook up with some stranger at the bar? What were you thinking? Why didn’t you reach out this time? He was just making excuses again but regardless, he looks at you, a snort escaping your mouth as you catch yourself snoring, and thinks you’re still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

You wake up underneath two thick blankets and a mountain of pillows surrounding you.

Clawing out of your fort-like surrounding, you see a glass of water and aspirin on your bedside table. You sigh and try to recall the night before.

You were lucid at some parts. You recall the guy with the soft hands, both of you dancing so close together, his whispers of sweet nothings on your ear. You remember a bit about your little outburst at Jungkook at the bar, the chocolate cake, vomiting your insides in the toilet, and climbing to your bed.

You force your eyes shut, trying to remember more. Your throat hurts, the kind that isn’t just from alcohol. You feel the crusty bits on your eyes, at both corners and on the sides.

You cried. You were probably shouting too. What the fuck were you going on about last night?

And then it hits you. Jungkook was there. He totally cockblocked you. But he also fed you cake and probably took you home. Now you remember a bit of his calloused hands drawing circles on your back as you tried to puke all the alcohol out of your system. He probably helped you brush your teeth too, you conclude, seeing as your mouth doesn’t feel extra disgusting this morning.

“What else, what else?” You think aloud. But your mind draws out blank. Knowing yourself though, and the anger and hurt that built up inside you before you stepped foot in that bar, was enough to let you know that you probably gave him shit, for what, you’re not sure.

You decide it’s time to get the gunk off your body so you get off the bed, pop the aspirin, and head out your room.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee is what welcomes you as you open the door.

You stand by the kitchen, looking for signs of the other person with you until you see the blanket on your couch and a familiar-looking black leather jacket lying at its back.

The bathroom door opens, revealing a freshly washed Jungkook, clad in a white shirt and boxers, clothes of his that you know he got from the second drawer on your dresser.

He pauses on his steps and stares at you. “You’re awake,” he says.

“And you’re here,” you reply, a bit of irritation laced in your voice.

You both stare at each other for a couple more seconds, not sure how to proceed. This is new territory for you.

Your mornings were never like this. They were always full of lazy greetings, games of rock-paper-scissors on who would get up first to brew coffee, soft singing in the kitchen, laughter.

“You uh, got drunk,” he starts, hand scratching the back of his neck, which he usually does when he’s nervous or shy.

“You uh, cockblocked me last night,” you deadpanned.

Jungkook stays put where he is, face faltering a little bit. “Were you really planning on hooking up with that guy?” He asks.

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say. You were so close, though, even if you knew you wouldn’t. Part of you is thankful that Jungkook made sure that didn’t happen but no, you can’t fall for this so easily.

He continues to look at you, eyes blinking constantly, teeth biting onto his lower lip, you’re afraid it’d start to bleed. Why is he so nervous?

“For goodness’ sake, Jungkook! I wanted to hook up with him, or anyone for that matter, because I’m fucking pissed at you! And if you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been doing things I don’t normally do because you’re messing me up!” You shout at him.

You’re closer to him now, and you can clearly see the flushed look on his face. He can’t focus on you, he’s biting his lip even harder and looking down on his feet. In the silence, you both try to find your own words to express the emotions that have been eating you up inside.

“I’m…” you start gesticulating, trying to find more words to express all the anger and pain and frustration you’re feeling.

And then your stomach grumbles, really loud, and it’s the mood killer you didn’t need.

“I’m fucking hungry,” you whimper, head falling on your hands as you make that sound of a cry that borders on a laugh. You look and sound utterly ridiculous right now. You’re losing your resolve, and you’re slowly cracking in front of the man you’re angry at.

Jungkook suppresses a small laugh. “I hate you,” you say, your tone not matching your words.

“You said that last night too,” he says, looking up at you.

“I probably meant it. I still do,” you respond, meeting his eyes.

“I know. But I said last night we’ll talk about it today. That shut you up.”

You laugh to yourself, imagining how you probably looked, drunkenly shouting at him last night. You tell yourself you’ve got to face this now, no more excuses.

“Good, because we’ve got months’ worth of shit to talk about,” you say, as you head for the bathroom.

“Bacon or sausage?” He calls out before you close the door. “Bacon!” You respond immediately.

Jungkook puts his utensils down and stops eating.

“I’m not gonna lie, Y/N, you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

You continue to glare at him, as if to say that making you breakfast doesn’t mean he’s off the hook.

“Seriously, your nose is flaring, you’re looking at me like you want to rip me into pieces…” he peers at your hands, knuckles white at how hard you’re gripping the fork and knife. “You look like you want to stab me for real this time…” he trails.

You grit your teeth and scowl at him. If looks could kill he’d be dead by now. He responds with a smile, the kind one would have if they want to get out of something.

“You’re not funny,” you deadpan.

“I wasn’t trying to be!”

You cross your arms, anger still painting your face.

“Okay, Y/N, let’s calm down and talk this out like mature individuals,” he continues, arms up as if he’s trying to tame an animal. This pisses you off even more.

You feel tears form in the corner of your eyes out of anger. “Yes, because ghosting me the second time around is soooo mature,” you shout.

You drop what you’re holding, push your chair backwards, and turn away to walk the very short distance to the living room. You let out a loud groan.

He runs to you, now even more worried than before. He stops in his tracks when he sees your shoulders start to shake. He’s really outdone himself this time, he thinks. What a way to try and “fix” things, he scolds himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“You think?!” You shout, now facing him, tears already trailing down your cheeks. The look on his face, that of sadness, guilt, of regret, pierces through you like a knife, the same way the look of pain and dejection on yours cuts through him, rendering him speechless. He’d never seen you this hurt, this angry, this tired.

“You ignored me for a whole week. I went to your house to see you but you just…” you exhale. You couldn’t even say the words because just thinking about that day hurts you so much, something you realized you hadn’t really gotten over. The realization and the guilt you felt were enough to ease that pain but the recent radio silence from him only served to resurface those feelings.

“And you come back and what, nothing again from you?”

Jungkook stares at you, trying to name the emotions written on your face. There’s too much of everything he sees and it causes anger to course through him at what he’s done and what this could mean. So he does what he usually does when he’s hurt and scared - he deflects.

“Why didn’t you call?” He starts, earning him a scoff from you. “I confessed my feelings that day but you didn’t say anything; you just got angry that I was leaving and when I was away, all I got was a text for an apology,” he continues, jaw tight at how he’s trying not to cry.

You stare at him, wide-eyed. You did greet him on his birthday, but you opted to let him speak.

“I come home after 2 months and I don’t hear from you and I see you at a bar dancing with some guy. What was I supposed to do?” He grits his teeth. He knows he’ll break, he’s just trying to hold out as long as he can.

“You call that confessing? You barely gave me anything that day, Jungkook! We always talked about things but you drop that bomb on me from out of nowhere!” You stomp towards him, motioning him to look at you.

“We had such a good time before that. That trip, that morning… and then you ignore me a whole week and then you leave.”

“I…” Jungkook stammers. He always knew he handled that whole situation terribly. He didn’t give you time, he didn’t give you an option.

“I torture myself by replaying that weekend because I can’t help but think that might be the last time I’ll ever get to have you like that,” you mewl.

This is when he breaks, he thinks.

He takes in a long breath.

“I woke up before you that morning and you just looked… so beautiful, so peaceful, and I just wanted to get used to that, you know?” He sighs, forlorn eyes focused on the floor as if he’s watching the scene he’s committed to his mind play out before him.

“I didn’t think much of it before, just that I wanted to be with you all the time and when I was, I wanted to stay a bit longer, or the night. And when I did I just wanted to sleep next to you and have you close to me until the next morning… and the morning after that. And I just wanted so badly for you to feel the same way.” He covers his face with his hands.

“But you… you thanked me for being a great friend and I guess hearing it like that, confirming that I’m just that to you, broke my heart because right then I thought…” he looks straight at you with his glossy doe eyes and suddenly you forget how to breathe. “I thought that I wanted so much more.”

You blink at him once, twice, a couple more times. He’d only implied he had felt something but this… this isn’t what you were expecting.

“I avoided you because I didn’t know how to talk to you without feeling sad and angry,” he explains.

“You still could’ve said something! You were the one who was being selfish and unfair, not me. You kept that all to yourself and didn’t give me a chance to tell you how I felt.”

He lets out a small laugh, sounding resigned. “You made it clear that day of what I was to you. I mean, with the amount of time we spend together, with how close we are? For fuck’s sake, Y/N, we kiss and sleep next to each other and even after all that, I’m just a friend? What more did we - did I - have to do for it to be more?”

“You could’ve told me, Jungkook. You could’ve told me because I would’ve told you that I felt the same way.”

He looks at you, a pained expression on his face.

“Then why say that, huh?” he turns away from you, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He should be happy but somehow he’s upset - at himself or you, he’s unsure. “Why do all of those and keep me at a distance like that?”

“Because I didn’t want to feel that way for you! I couldn’t.”

“Why not?

“Because I was scared.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know it’s a crap excuse for anything but it’s how I felt. Because I knew, long ago, that you’re the one who wouldn’t want anything more. All those PR stunts? The women you’d casually dated? I got your memo, Jungkook. Any feeling or thought I had of us being anything more disintegrated the moment you said that you had too much crazy going on to even deal with relationships… and I let it.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“This is really how you want to play this, Jungkook? Why didn’t I do this? Why didn’t I say that? I always do, okay? I call, I ask you over, I kiss you, I ask you to stay. And you always do exactly those, just those. Nothing more, never anything more. What would saying it do?”

Jungkook looks defeated. He understands you, more than you think he does.

That night when he’d gone to your apartment after your ex showed up - when he’d ditched drinks with the guys to help Seokjin take his mind off the girl he’d lost because he gave what he only could and it wasn’t enough until someone else could give more - seems to be as vivid to you as it was for him.

Going to you was reflex for him, especially after he’d heard your sniffles over the phone. Seeing you cry pained him even more. He’d cursed Jinyoung internally multiple times; how someone could be scared of someone as beautiful as you was beyond him.

That night felt like he saw you for the first time - your strength, your passion for life, your desire to be a better version of yourself. He’d enjoyed your musings about the innate goodness of people and the human’s incredible ability to love, hurt, heal, and love again. Even your thoughts on fate and destiny that were contrary to his had caused him to question more, think deeper, live more ardently.

Beneath those puffy eyes and shivering body, there was no sign of insecurity. You were just so sure of yourself, so free, so unapologetic, and he wanted to bask in your radiance, in your glow; he wanted front-row seats to the unravelling of you.

And he didn’t feel like he could be enough. Between his responsibilities, his restrictions, his commitments because of his own dreams and the life that he chose, he just knew that he would always fall short and he would lose you. And that frightened him more than anything.

So Jungkook did what he always does when he’s hurt and scared - he deflected. He said there was too much going on in his life - that’s why he can’t try, why he can’t commit, why he can’t want more, because he can’t be more, at least not what he wants to be for you.

He never finished that sentence though, felt like it would be final if he said the words. Looks like you convinced yourself of these thoughts of his for you, he concludes. And he sees it now. He was just as scared as you. Probably still are.

“I would’ve stayed, you know?” You break him out of the internal monologue he’d immersed himself in.

“I walk away when things don’t work out but I realized that I would have stayed. Whether it was I who felt differently and you didn't, or you did and I didn't… I would’ve stuck around.” You look at him, eyes now devoid of all the anger you were feeling not long ago.

“I was angry and sad because of you but you were the one I wanted to call about it,” you continue. “God, it felt stupid but that’s when I realized it, you know? I wanted to be with you. Any mess we had to deal with was way more worth it than any clarity without you.”

It’s all Jungkook needs to hear.

He marches over to you, two strides are what it takes until he’s palming your cheeks and softly resting his lips onto yours, waiting, wanting, for you to meet him halfway.

And you do.

You push yours onto his, tasting those saccharine chapped lips, causing your body to relax at how right this feels. The kiss is gentle, similar to the ones you’ve shared before, but different in what this means, different in what it is trying to say.

He pulls back and you feel hazy, like you’d just been woken up from a dream right when you were about to get to the good part.

He looks at you so tenderly, like if his eyes could sigh a relief they would. He’s thumbing your cheeks repeatedly, searching your misty eyes as if there are still questions he needs answered.

“Why did you want to kiss me? That first time. Why?” His tone is rushed, desperate.

“Because I wanted to know if I still felt it, whatever it was I felt before, I wanted to know if I still felt it.”

“And did you feel it then, and every time we did it?”

You close your eyes, causing the tears that have now accumulated to fall from your eyes. “Yes, Jungkook. Always.”

He thumbs the tears away as they fall down one by one. He looks at you as internally, he’s gathering the feelings of the past months - the anger, desolation, the regret - readying himself to let it all go, he just needs to hear you say it, whatever it is. He needs to know that you felt everything he felt.

“What did you feel just now?”

“Like I want more, Jungkook. I want more,” and you open your eyes to meet his satisfied ones, both of your breaths hitching at how you’re feeling a flurry of emotions that you can’t tame.

Jungkook pulls your face towards his once again, meeting your tear-stained lips; this time he presses harder, slightly parting his mouth and you angle your face for better access. You feel like that moment when two puzzle pieces finally fit together, when they finally find their way, like two lost souls following the north star to find each other.

He continues his motions, coaxing you to go harder just as he is, and you do. He licks onto your bottom lip, seeking entrance, and with your parted mouth, you revel in the way both of yours meld onto each other so perfectly, so fluidly like they’re meant to do this, like your lips are meant to fuse together like this. And it sets you on fire.

Your hands, which were only lightly touching his bent elbows as his palms continue to stroke your face, are now gliding on his arms, feeling the veins and ridges that dent his limbs. They proceed to graze over his hands, sending shivers down your spine as you imagine all the things those hands could do to you. You do this repeatedly, sensually, making Jungkook hungrier, needier.

You’re so lost in the feeling of him this close to you, like one of your drives where the windows are down and the wind is blowing and you feel unanchored, flowing, light, like you any time you can fly away.

His hands trail south, caressing your sides until they find purchase on your waist, grip tightening as his mouth continues its attack on yours, both of your tongues fighting for dominance. This time he wins, as a slight tip of his head gives him an advantage and he’s going deeper. You moan onto his mouth, hands pulling on his hair by the nape of his neck, as they have now found refuge there.

Push and pull you both go, from twirling your tongues and taking turns nibbling on each other’s lips. Your right hand slides down from his neck to his chest, and as you thumb his hard nipple that you feel through his shirt, he bucks his hip and you feel the dent on his crotch that causes adrenaline to surge through you.

You clutch on his shirt, eager to get it off. You’re desperate as you feel heat rise to your chest, as if it’s about to explode. Your senses are overloaded right now, making you lightheaded, intoxicated, a dampness in your core accumulating as your hips meet his, seeking friction to quench the intense thirst of your body to feel his own.

You pull away this time, feeling like your head will explode from the sensory overload - the strong and fresh scent of the white musk body wash, the sweet taste of coffee on his mouth, the erotic sounds of your heavy breathing and moans, the tingling feeling of his fingertips on your arms, and the sight of him on top of you.

Eyes wide filled with worry that he might’ve done something wrong, Jungkook asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” you let out a few continuous breaths, “I couldn’t breathe,” you continue, a short laugh escaping your lips.

He chuckles. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.” He chews on his bottom lip. “I just didn’t think I’d hear you say that.”

“That I want you?”

He nods shyly, suddenly very different from the man who’d just tried to swallow you whole.

“I do, Jungkook. What about you?”

Now it’s your turn to have a worried look in your eyes, nervous about what will happen next.

“I want everything with you, Y/N. I want this,” he pulls you back to him and rests his forehead on yours, “I want all of this.”

You close your eyes as he does, tips of your noses touching, breaths hot on each other’s skin. A smile forms on your lips as he kisses your cheek, left and right, then your jaw, and then your neck. He takes his time there, teeth nibbling on the flesh, tongue soothing the sting.

He licks a strip up until his tongue lands on a sensitive area below your ear. He grazes his teeth on your skin and your senses come alive again. “Mhmm, Jungkook,” you moan.

He smiles onto the spot, his breath causing that dampness on your core to pool once again. “You like that, babe?”

You laugh at the pet name, choosing instead to hide the overwhelming desire you feel to hear his low and raspy voice call you that everyday.

“I hate you,” you tell him, head leaning on his shoulder. This one has no bite, though. And he knows this, but he plays along.

“Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

The intoxicating feeling comes back, this time from just the mere insinuation of what he’ll do to you.

You nod and take his hand to lead him to your room. He follows, head in a daze because he didn’t think he could ever be with you like this. All the times you’d both walked to your room, you were drunk or tired or sleepy; you’d carefully lie on your sides of the bed, talk and laugh until you fall asleep. Just the thought of how different it’s going to be this time is making him feel dizzy.

He watches you walk towards your bed and as you stand there, turning to him, with the rays of the sun finding their way through your blinds and casting a heavenly glow on your silhouette, he thanks all the gods and the cosmos for planning this one out for him.

You look at him tenderly and his heart, which has been beating so rapidly since you’d woken up, steadies its beats. He feels the entire weight of the world, which he’d placed on his shoulders on his own, dissipate slowly.

He lives for moments on the stage when, in front of thousands of people cheering his name, he feels alive, like he’s got the whole world on the palm of his hands, like everything he’s ever wanted is possible. It’s just you and him in this apartment, in this room, and he feels the same and something else - he feels enough, he feels more.

He kisses you slower this time, lips aching to savor every inch of your face, of your neck, as he slowly caresses your arms, your sides, taking his time there too.

He pulls you by the waist, hands resting on the base of your spine and he rests his head on the crook of your neck.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You both stay there for a while, your arms around his neck and your warmth steadying Jungkook’s breathing that once again picked up when he’d realized he really could have completely lost you.

“You haven’t lost me,” you say, as if his beating heart had whispered to you his ultimate fear. He hugs you tighter and buries his head on your neck even deeper.

“I’m still scared though,” you confess, fingers brushing through the loose strands of his hair.

“I know, so am I,” he responds, finally coming out of hiding and facing you. “And it’s okay. But we have to promise to tell each other when it gets too much, yeah? We have to tell each other what bothers us, what worries us.”

“I don’t like confrontations,” you say.

“They won’t be. They’ll be discussions. We can’t let this happen again, okay?”

“Okay.”

He tips your chin up so he’s looking into your eyes again. “Now I think I said I was going to make it up to you,” the smug look on his face making its return. You missed this. And also, you’re in trouble.

He kisses you again, and again, and again. He ghosts his fingertips underneath your shirt and then he’s tracing patterns, constellations on your torso.

The clothes come off soon enough, until you’re both bare, uncovered, vulnerable in front of each other. He traces patterns again, this time with his lips, down to your shoulders, and then to your chest.

His mouth feels immaculate on your breasts, wet muscle hungrily laving over your pert nipples. His hands find refuge on your mound, ghosting the lips until the wetness sucks his fingers in. He draws circles over your clit, eliciting the most beautiful sounds from you. This rivals the screams of the fans for them, he thinks, but this one, he could have this everyday, definitely.

Everything happens the way both of you imagined, and you both commit to memory this moment - the satisfaction on his face when you buck your hips into his mouth, your dripping core coating his face with your wetness; the feeling of his soft but calloused hands claiming every inch of your body; his half-lidded eyes and his clenched jaw as he enters you, pushes into you, drags in and out of you; your cries of more, don’t stop, and I’m close, ringing in his head and prompting him to go harder, faster; and his moans as he finishes and your heavy breathing as you ride out both of your highs, heads still in the clouds, hands intertwined to keep you grounded, to remind you that this is real, that this isn’t the last time, that this is more.

You wake up to the sound of a phone’s incessant ringing, tempting you to throw the piece of device off the wall just so you could bask in this moment just a little longer. You try to reach for it, causing the morning sun that passes through the uncovered corner of your window to blind you slightly.

Jungkook groans next to you, head buried on the hair at the back of your head, his hand resting on your waist. You smile and let your fingers trace the ink that thoughtfully decorates his, settling them in the empty spaces in between. He deepens his head where it’s found sanctuary, hands now intertwined with yours, and pulls you closer. He greets you with kisses on your bare shoulder, soft moans escaping you as his hand now releases yours to roam the body he’d spend the whole day yesterday exploring.

“Mhmm, baby,” he moans to your ear, feeling the ecstasy of your hand soothing the ache he feels on his length. It’s all you need to turn to him, meet his lips, close the distance of your hips to his until he’s inserting himself into you again. Your bodies easily find a rhythm, your labored breaths harmonizing well.

It’s a softer one this morning, unlike yesterday (morning, afternoon, evening, pretty much). It’s lazy, tender; bodies just falling into each other, melding, fitting together, finding each other.

He cleans you up, like he did all times yesterday, and he lets you snuggle to him this time. He plants a kiss on your forehead, eyes dreamily tracing your features. He still can’t believe he’s here.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“And you’re so good to me, Kook.”

You hum as he kisses you once more, a satisfied smile displaying on your lips. He likes this very much.

His phone beeps again, and again. He lets his head fall back on the pillow out of frustration.

“They’re calling for you,” you point out, a smile still gracing your lips. You’re used to this already.

“I know,” he resigns.

You rest your head on your chest and wrap your arm around him tighter. “Stay a little longer, please,” you plead.

He returns the favor and hugs you back, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Your turn to make breakfast, babe.”

You groan but proceed to drag yourself out of bed. Limbs sore and legs feeling like jelly, you miss your footing and trip on your clothes and ungraciously fall to the floor.

You both explode with laughter. He could get used to this, he thinks.

part 3 <<>> part 4 drabble

series masterlist

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #bts jungkook #idol jungkook

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themetaphorgirl · 4 years

Text

in which Emily makes a poor choice

HEY Y’ALL I AM BACK!!! WITH A PATRON SAINT DRABBLE!!

Y’all can thank @linguinereid for this one!! Sweet Bee suggested this and I ended up writing part of it while I was in line for rides at Epcot.

I’m excited to be writing and posting again!! Please tell me what y’all think of this one, and tell me what I’ve missed in the past couple of weeks!!

---------

Emily poked at her ear, trying to twist around to get a better look in the mirror. “Shit,” she mumbled, wincing as she prodded a sore spot. She leaned across the bathroom counter, almost sitting in the sink. “I think I fucked up. Shit.”

“That looks infected.”

She jumped in surprise and fell off the counter, hitting the faucet on her way down and splashing water across her shirt. “What the fuck!” she exclaimed. Spencer stood in the bathroom doorway, head tilted and eyes wide like a very small owl. “You little gremlin, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing in here?”

“You left the door open,” Spencer said. “What’s wrong with your ear?”

She fumbled to turn off the faucet and pick up Hotch’s knocked-over toothbrush. “Nothing.”

“It’s red and swollen,” he said. “That’s a sign of infection. What did you do?” His eyes went wide. “Did you get that piercing after Hotch told you it was a bad idea?”

She smoothed her hair down over her ear. “Nope,” she said. “Why would you think that?”

“I heard you guys arguing about it,” he said. “Hotch said it was against dress code, and you said you didn’t give two fucks about dress code, and he said you were shit at cleaning the piercings you already have and you’d fuck up your ears, and you said-”

“Okay, okay, you and your eidetic memory can stop at literally any time,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that big a deal. There was a girl at the party last weekend who said she’d pierced like everybody’s ears at camp last summer, and she’d always wanted to try an industrial, and-” She paused. “Why am I explaining myself to you? You’re ten.”

“Nine.”

“Close enough. Why are you here, anyway?”

Spencer shifted his weight. “I have to pee,” he said.

“All right, I’ll get out,” Emily said. “But not a word to Hotch, understand? Not a single word. He cannot know about this. You know how smug he gets when he right about something.”

“Is he right, though?” Spencer said. “Did you fuck up your ear?”

“Okay, no swearing either, Alex will murder me if you pick up on me swearing,” Emily said. She stepped out of the bathroom and gave Spencer a little push inside. “Seriously, though. Don’t tell Alex either. You know she’ll be pissed at me too. I’ll- I’ll buy you that Star Wars lego set you want as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Spencer brightened. “The Millennium Falcon?” he said.

“Sure, sure, why not, just keep your mouth shut!”

She closed the bathroom door and went back down the hall to the common room. It was Derek’s week to pick for movie night; he was having a great time with whatever Will Ferrell comedy he’d chosen, but Hotch was focused on his homework and Alex was reading a book. Emily sat down in her usual spot, tucking her legs underneath her. Her ear was still burning, but she brushed her hair over it surreptitiously. She could keep it a secret, as long as Spencer did. It would be fine.

By Tuesday, she realized it was not fine.

Her ear continued to swell and throb, the skin red and stretched tight around the barbell in the cartilage. She’d had to actually style her hair every morning instead of throwing it up in a messy ponytail or bun, or asking JJ or Alex to braid it for her. It wouldn’t take long for Alex to catch if she kept this up- she was famous for rolling out of bed at the last minute, getting up early to do her hair was drastically out of character. But she wasn’t sure who to be more afraid of catching her, Hotch or Alex.

She sat down at their usual table in the dining hall and pulled her hair back behind her ear, hissing when her nails brushed the irritated skin. “Oh, fuck,” she mumbled under her breath. It wasn’t good. It really wasn’t good.

Spencer climbed up on the chair beside her. “Are you doing okay?” he asked.

She sighed heavily. “How bad does it look?” she asked.

Spencer knelt on the chair so he could lean his elbows on the table. “Pretty bad,” he said. “Ew, is it oozing? I think it’s oozing.” He wrinkled his nose. “You should tell somebody.”

“Like hell I will,” she said, pulling her hair back into place. “This is a hill I will die on.” She paused. “This...this won’t kill me, will it? I won’t actually die on this hill?”

“Probably not, but infection was one of the leading causes of death during the Civil War,” he shrugged. “Try rinsing with saltwater, that might help.”

“Really?”

“Couldn’t hurt. I mean, in a manner of speaking. It’ll probably hurt a lot.”

Emily blinked. “That wasn’t reassuring, babe,” she said.

Hotch walked over to them and set his tray down. “What are you two talking about?” he asked as he sat down and cracked the top of his yellow Red Bull.

“Nothing,” Emily said quickly, dropping her fork in an effort to pick it up fast.

Alex set a glass of milk down on Spencer’s tray. “Sit on your butt or you’re going to fall on the floor again,” she said.

Spencer tilted his head back to look up at her. “I wanted chocolate milk,” he objected.

“Plain first, darling,” she said, bending to kiss his forehead. “Now sit down before you fall out of your chair.” Spencer obeyed, sliding down from his knees to sit down.

Emily poked her fork around in her scrambled eggs. They were way too yellow and a little watery around the edges, and her stomach turned. “Emily, are you okay?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, fine, why do you ask?”

He gestured towards her tray with his Red Bull can. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything since you came back from the party on Friday night,” he said. “Are you still sulking because I told you not to pierce your ear?”

“I don’t sulk,” Emily scoffed.

“Yes, you do,” Hotch said. “You’re pissed because you know I’m right, and it would be a terrible idea to get an industrial. Especially since you don’t have a guardian over eighteen to sign off on it, so it’d be illegal.”

Emily stabbed her fork into the eggs. “I’m fine and I’m not sulking,” she said. “But you’re wrong. I’ll be fine if I get my ear pierced.”

She met Spencer’s gaze. His hazel eyes were wide, glancing over first at Hotch and then at Alex, but he kept his mouth shut. Her ear throbbed, but she wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they were right.

By Friday, she knew they were right, and she hated it, but damn, her ear hurt.

She huddled in the corner of the library sofa, her history textbook open on her lap but long forgotten. Her ear was an ever-present pain now, too sensitive to touch, and oozing something disgusting.

The library was quiet and peaceful, rain tapping steadily on the window. James was sorting through his anatomy flashcards while Dave pretended to write a paper while he was really working on the novel he claimed he wasn’t writing. Spencer was lying on his tummy on the floor, absorbed in a book far above his grade level. The rest of the kids were at clubs or practices, and Alex passed by in her own paths as she shelved books and answered questions.

She glanced up to see Spencer watching her poke at her ear; she dropped her hand and glared at him. “Don’t say anything,” she said to him sharply in Russian. “Remember the Millennium Falcon.”

He sighed heavily. “Your ear looks really bad,” he said. His Russian wasn’t as strong as his Italian, and his accent was terrible, but at least James and Dave wouldn’t understand them.

“Not a word!” she said.

Alex plunked down on the opposite side of the couch, jostling Emily and making her scowl. “I’m taking a break,” she sighed. “The sophomores are working on their poetry projects and I don’t want to discuss Ezra Pound anymore.”

Spencer pushed himself up from the floor. “Alex?” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, dearest,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “What’s up?”

“If I told you I wanted to do something and you said no, and I did it anyway, would you be mad at me?” he asked.

Emily shot him a dirty look, but he ignored her. “Well, I might be a bit disappointed, but I don’t think I’d be mad,” Alex said, squeezing his hands.

“If I did the thing anyway, and I ended up getting hurt, would you be mad at me?” he asked.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Alex said, drawing him onto her lap.

“And you wouldn’t tell me you told me so? And you’d help me?” he continued.

She frowned, clearly concerned over this line of conversation, and hugged him. “Of course I’d help you, baby,” she said. She stroked his hair away from his forehead. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer leaned around Alex’s shoulder to make direct eye contact with Emily. She sighed heavily. “So...you know how I wanted to get an industrial piercing, and you and Hotch said it would be a bad idea?” she said hesitantly.

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she said. “Why?” Emily tucked her hair slowly behind her ear. “Emily, holy shit!”

“It’s pretty bad, huh?” Emily said glumly.

Alex moved Spencer hastily off her lap and leaned over Emily to take a better look at her ear. “Oh my god,” she said. “James, can you come take a look at this?”

James pulled his headphones off. “Hm?” he said. “Oh shit! Emily, what did you do?”

She submitted reluctantly to his poking and prodding. “So a girl at the party last week offered to pierce my ear,” she said. “And it...kind of went wrong.”

“That looks like it hurts,” Alex said, smoothing her hair. “It looks super infected.”

“Yeah, that’s the medical term for it,” James said. “Holy shit, Prentiss, I can’t believe you pulled a Parent Trap.”

“A Parent Trap?”

“Yeah, when Hallie pierces Annie’s ear with a sewing needle, an apple, and...you know what, never mind.”

Emily winced as the earring shifted. “Can you just...make Hotch promise that he won’t say I told you so?” she said.

“I think he’ll agree that you’ve suffered enough,” Alex reassured her.

Spencer hovered at her elbow. “I would have said something sooner, but Emily said she’d buy me the Millennium Falcon set,” he said.

“Please don’t scold me for bribing the baby, either,” Emily said.

“Okay, I might scold you about that one.”

#au: patron saint of lost causes #patron saint: emily #patron saint: alex #patron saint: hotch #patron saint: spencer #patron saint: james #criminal minds fanfiction #caitlin writes things #linguinereid #alex is such a protective mama bear

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issamhysa · 4 years

Text

Being Frank Castle’s surrogate daughter would include:

A/N: AU where Amy never left and Billy's a good guy because I do what I want! Everybody’s happy, dammit!

You and Amy get along very well

Frank half expected the two of you to constantly be at each other's throats, but no

Instant best friends

Amy asks him to teach both of you how to fight, and he straight up teaches you both Krav Maga

You pick it up a lot faster than Amy does, so you play-fight a lot when Frank's not home

Call it practice

At one point, the two of you manage to spring up on him and take him down when he comes home

At least, that's what you and Amy think happened

In reality, Frank was way too tired to deal with the two of you, so he just let it happen

You got a lecture later

Frank's a little rough sometimes

But you both understand that all he wants is for the two of you to be safe

He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to you two

Moving right on, Frank kinda sucks at cooking

Okay, really sucks at it

Though he occasionally enjoys barbecuing outside in the summer

Anyway, it falls on you and Amy to cook most of the time

Frank buys the ingredients, you and Amy cook

Your go-to meals?

Dinosaur nuggets and smiley french fries

The first time you made them, Frank had just gotten home from getting his ass handed to him

Er, sorry, I meant kicking ass

No, I didn't

So you and Amy tossed everything in the deep-fryer and sat on the couch

"What the hell is this?"

"Dinosaur chicken nuggets? What, did you get hit in the head?"

Frank throws a pillow at your head but settles down with his food and his beer bottle to watch Frozen 2 with the two of you

Movie nights are very common between the three of you

Well, five when Curtis and Billy join the party

Frank hosts horror nights, you and Amy host animated, Billy hosts gore nights and Curtis…

Curtis just plays whatever he feels like watching on that day

Whether it be The Incredibles or the entirety of the Saw saga

Speaking of Curtis, he takes you and Amy out all the time

Breakfast at the diner on Tuesdays, the movies on Fridays

Sometimes he'll just stop by the apartment and drag the two of you out of bed to go to those free concerts at the park

Hell, he'll drag Frank out too

Last time it was some band playing country music

You all ended up inhaling as many hot dogs as you possibly could

Frank got you and Amy slushies, too

It was the best day

Now, Billy

He seriously spoils you and Amy

Takes you to the amusement park whenever you two want to go

Even if it means he has to miss a meeting

Besides, meetings are sooo boring

Billy actually takes you and Amy wherever you want to go

Most of the time he does it just to spite Frank

Because with FRANK

“Hey, Frank! Can we go-” “No.”

But with BILLY

“Hey, Uncle Billy! Can we go-” “What did your dad say?” “...He said no.” “Alright. Where are we going?”

He can't say no

Well, he can

He just doesn't want to

No, but seriously, Billy is the best uncle

He gives pretty good advice whenever he can

And scares off the boys at your door

He can be real scary when he wants to be

Never to you and Amy unless y’all screw up

But most of the time with Billy, he’ll just squeeze you and smother you in kisses

He’s so embarrassing

God bless

Dinah and Karen are like your cool aunts

Well, Karen's mostly the cool aunt

Dinah… She tries, but she's protective by nature so

It's hard

They take you shopping a lot

And their fitting-room feedback? Fantastic

They help you find Frank a gift for Father's Day

You and Amy decide on a mug with a dill-shaped handle that says you're kinda a big dill"

Because it's fucking hilarious

Frank pretends to hate it at first but refuses to use another mug after that

He’ll even take it with him on his stake-outs

It’s kinda funny

Frank doesn't want you around when he's working

Even though he knows you're both adults and can take care of your own damn selves

He doesn't like dragging you into his messes

Plus, you and Amy already have a talent for getting in trouble

You’ve both gotten like, super good at sneaking out

Most of the time you sneak out because you want to go to 7-Eleven to get slurpees and an insane amount of candy

When you come back, Frank’s waiting at the door with his arms crossed

Because it’s 3 fucking am and the two of you weren’t home

HOWEVER, you can easily shut him up if you bring him a slurpee

Well, he’ll still be grumpy but significantly less so

All in all, your little family is far from perfect, yeah

But you wouldn’t change it for the world

Neither would Amy or Frank

Well, at least not until Frank finds out about the goldfish in the bathtub

But you’ll worry about that later!

#these are short he deserves more #i'll write more soon bc i'm in love w dad frank #punisher #punisher x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle #frank castle x reader #billy russo #dinah madani #karen page #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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reneesi · 4 years

Text

i never would have thought // CH.10

CH.10 II the walk home

A/N: GUESS WHOS BACK?? I lived hoes 😎😎. So I've been feeling a lot better and I finally got enough sleep to remember how to write and I also got an editor!! so yay! Hopefully the quality will be a little bit better writing wise :)! We will be returning to semi-scheduled programing but for my sake I'm gonna change the updates to twice a week since three time was clearly too much for me to keep up with. Tuesdays and Fridays will be the new upload days! Anyways, enjoy the rest of the chapter~

WRITTEN PORTION

“I knew you’d make it!” Tanka roared, slapping Tsukishima’s back a little too hard as the blonde took a seat beside him. Tsukishima flinched ever so slightly, and grit his teeth as he reached up to rub his shoulder.

“I only came because this is a team event.” Tsukishima mumbled, rolling his eyes as more teammates piped in with hellos and comments of joking passive aggressiveness.

When Tsukishima had initially texted the group chat that he would be skipping that night's festivities the team had erupted into light disapproval and jokes of annoyance. Although (Y/n) knew she should have been angry, the feeling that overwhelmed her senses was much closer to disappointment. She’d tried her best to hide the way her stomach had sunk deep into itself by keeping her eyes low, but her slightly hunched posture had been a dead give away. Sugawara, ever so intuitive, had taken notice.

So while the rest of the team broke out into laughter and hypothetical plans to drag Tsukishima along, Suga had wrapped an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. (Y/n) had smiled back of course, as convincing as she could muster, but had mostly kept her head down for the rest of the walk.

And while the team was slightly annoyed with Tsukishima’s lack of presence, they weren’t the least bit surprised since it wasn’t the first time he had bailed on them. Yamaguchi, especially, had tried his best to defend Tsukishima at first. That is until he’d caught a glimpse of (Y/n)’s face. One look at her frown immediately made him go silent. A few minutes later he had broken away from the group, typing away furiously at his screen.

Now that Tsukishima was sitting right across from her, (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to erase the stress that was crushing her chest. She looked down at her food in confusion, he was here.. so why did she still feel awful?

“You didn’t have to come, you know?” (Y/n) finally burst out, looking up just in time to see Tsukishima’s eyes widen ever so slightly. In the dim yellow-ish light his blush was easy to miss. Tsukishima reached up to adjust his glasses and let out a signature tch.

“Of course I didn’t have to come, stupid,” He replied in irritation, looking away to avoid (Y/n)’s heavy stare. When she didn’t look away, he added “I came because I wanted to.”

“That’s convenient.” Yamaguchi cut in, unusual smirk tugging at his usual innocent face.

“Just gonna casually leave the part out where I had to basically force you to come?” Yamaguchi teased, reaching over to poke at Tsukishima’s increasingly red face. The blonde quickly swatted his best friend’s fingers away.

“You didn’t force me,” He scowled, sending Yamaguchi a glare “I just reconsidered is all.”

The latter of his words were much quieter, so much so that for a moment (Y/n) considered they may have been just for her. A secret message of reassurance that he didn’t in fact hate her, but rather had really just been feeling lazy. She turned those five words over in her head at least seven times, staring at him intently, before receiving another glare. She came to the conclusion that it was much more likely that he hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. (Y/n) thought about what it could have meant, narrowing her eyes as her vision lulled.

“Stop staring, it’s rude.” Tsukishima said flatly, reaching across the table to flick (Y/n)’s forehead abruptly. (Y/n) shook her head in surprise and finally noticed she’d completely zoned out straight ahead. Her eyes widened as a red tint flushed across her cheeks.

“S-sorry!” She squeaked out, looking away immediately.

If it wasn’t for Tsukishima’s light chuckle drawing her eyes back just seconds later, (Y/n) would have missed what must have been the first time she’d seen Tsukishima smile in what felt like forever. He rolled his eyes before turning to ask Tanaka a question, and being pulled into a long conversation about volleyball.

Following this example, (Y/n) turned to her upperclassmen and joined their conversation, but unlike Tsukishima, she was unable to focus. And although her eyes rarely made their way back to him for the remainder of dinner, (Y/n) couldn’t get her mind to do the same.

At around 9 PM, Hinata and Kageyama announced that they would be departing early, excusing themselves with a simple mention of early training. As he hugged her goodbye, (Y/n) could have sworn she saw a blush creeping its way across her cousin's cheeks, but when she tried to ask he’d practically jumped out of his skin and laughed a little too loud.

“I’m probably just sleepy!” Shoyo had chuckled, slapping (Y/n)’s arm with more force than necessary.

(Y/n) had squinted at the pair, watching as they made their exit, wincing as she rubbed her arm thoughtfully. She would definitely have to bring this up with Shoyo later.

As for the rest of the team, most of them had stayed until at least 10 PM. After that it grew even later and people began to bid their goodbyes until only Daichi, Sugawara, (Y/n), Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima remained standing outside of the restaurant.

“I never realized how late it had gotten!” Sugawara yawned, peering at his watch. Daichi took Suga’s school bag and draped it over his own shoulder, wrapping his free arm around his boyfriend’s waist. Suga rubbed at his eyes sleepily.

“Hinata-chan, will you be okay walking home so far this late at night?” Daichi asked, turning to face the first years.

“I think I’ll be okay… I’d usually just walk with Shoyo but he left early.” (Y/n) giggled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of her neck with her palm. Daichi’s eyes suddenly widened as he looked at something just behind (Y/n). She turned back quizzically only to be met with a sheepish Yamaguchi. (Y/n) narrowed her eyes and raised a brow.

“Yama..?” She asked slowly.

“Yes?” He replied, batting his eyelashes innocently. Tsukishima rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Okay, well i'm going home. Congratulations Hinata, have a good night everyone.” He raised a hand lazily, already turning to leave.

“Would you like me to walk you h-“ Daichi began before Yamaguchi, who had grabbed Tsukishima by the collar of his shirt at some point, cut in.

“Actualllllyyy Tsukishima is gonna walk her home! You guys go home! Don’t worry about it!” Yamaguchi beamed, waving at his upperclassmen in an almost aggressive manner.

“Looks like we’re being shooed away, goodnight everybody.” Sugawara chuckled lightly, following Daichi’s lead as he turned them both around and began to walk, arm still held tight around Suagwara.

“Goodnight everyone.” Daichi called back, footsteps growing distant as a silence fell over the three remaining first years.

“I’m not walking her home.” Tsukishima said, almost on cue, as he wiggled his way free of Yamaguchi’s gasp and began to walk away once more.

“Oh no you don’t.” Yamaguchi snatched him by the strap of his bag this time “You absolutely will be walking (Y/n) home! Last time you didn’t, so you still owe her.”

“H-hey it's ok! I can just walk home alone, I don’t wanna cause any trouble-“ (Y/n) tried, words wavering as her anxiety seeped through.

“Are you kidding? It’s almost midnight! No way you’re walking that entire way alone! What if you get kidnapped? Or worse! Tsukishima are you really gonna let some random killer get a hold of our teams precious third manager because you-”

“Oh shut up.” Tsukishima finally cut in, rolling his eyes in frustration. He glared over at Yamaguchi and ripped his friend’s hand off of the strap of his bag.

“Fine, I’ll walk her home…. But fuck you Yama.” He growled, turning briskly to walk in the direction of the Hinata’s house.

(Y/n) looked over at Yamaguchi in absolute horror, Yamaguchi only offered her a cheeky grin and two thumbs up in response before Tsukishima’s angry voice rose up.

“Come one idiot.”

The first ten minutes of walking were dead silent, with Tsukishima keeping a steady pace two steps ahead and (Y/n) trying her very best not to stare at the back of his head like a total creep.

“Sorry for being late.” Tsukishima eventually grumbled, not bothering to turn back.

(Y/n) was thankful for that, given that her cheeks began to glow pink almost immediately. She blinked at the back of his head for a moment too long before remembering she was supposed to answer.

“I-it’s okay!” She stuttered out, staring up at the sky in avoidance until her face finally cooled. After more silent minutes passed, (Y/n) furrowed her brows thoughtfully and asked,

“Why didn’t.. you wanna come… at first?”

Whatever Tsukishima’s face had done in response to her abrupt question would forever be a mystery, given that from behind he appeared completely unfazed.

“Reasons.” He finally said flatly, head tilting ever so slightly to indicate he was looking up at the sky.

“But I came didn’t I?” Tsukishima added after another long moment of silence.

“Thank you for showing up, even if you were late, it meant a lot.. to me.” (Y/n) replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Tsukishima’s shoulders seemed to tense, but not enough for (Y/n) to be sure. If only they were walking side by side she could gauge his reactions better… she quickened her pace ever so slightly but not enough to close the gap.

“Yeah, congrats on winning.” Tsukishima could have been smiling, it almost sounded like he was, but in all honesty (Y/n) never knew with him.

“You deserved it.” He added after another minute of silence passed.

The walk continued in quietude for a bit as the tension finally eased off of (Y/n)’s shoulders. Even if it was just one simple kind remark, (Y/n) understood Tsukishima well enough by now to know he didn’t go around giving praise to just anyone. His kindness was not to be taken lightly, even if it was barely notable at best. Maybe he had been mad, maybe not, but it had clearly passed given that he wasn’t being mean or ignoring her at the moment. If they were okay, if Tsukishima was tossing her light compliments and walking just a little bit slower until their paces matched up and they were walking side by side, then it didn’t really matter much to (Y/n) what had been going through his head earlier that day. They were clearly still friends, so she could stop walking on so many eggshells.

“You know you never did tell me much about your brother!” (Y/n)'s voice chimed up, bubbly syllables lifting her steps into light skips as she leaned forward and turned her head back to send Tsukishima a cheeky ass grin. He scoffed and reached up to adjust his glasses, breaking eye contact quickly.

“I already told you stuff about me. If anything you should be the one talking, idiot.” Tsukishima groaned, irritated brows crossing across his forehead.

“What do you wanna know?” (Y/n) asked, pestering tone vanished from her voice. Tsukishima only shrugged, eyes held taught to the sky.

“I could tell you about my family?” (Y/n) tried after neither first years said anything for a full five minutes.

“Ok.” Tsukishima said simply, glancing over as (Y/n) held a finger up to her chin thoughtfully.

She tried to ignore the way his eyes made her cheeks burn just a bit and looked up at the stars that had gradually begun to shine brighter and brighter.

“Well my parents are pretty nice people, they just aren’t so great at being parents.” (Y/n) laughed to herself softly, glancing over at Tsukishima’s confused face for only a moment. When he didn’t reply, she continued

“They love me, I know they do. The world back home is just… different. Honestly it's difficult for me to talk about this because I feel like it’s a hard place to explain to an outsider.”

“An outsider..?” Tsukishima narrowed his eyes, not in offense but in curiosity

“My parents are kind of… wealthy. The whole social bubble that comes with that is totally different from here..” (Y/n) explained cautiously, embarrassment seeping through the cracks of her words. Tsukishima’s face relaxed to an unreadable expression.

“Oh.” He mumbled, gaze drifting to the sky in tandem with (Y/n).

“Yeah. It kind of sucks..” She sighed, “And I mean I don’t wanna sound ungrateful or anything because I’m not! It’s just that everything has a price and mine was freedom.. My whole life growing up my parents were always motoring me like some kind of doll. I always had to dress a certain way and act a certain way and hang out with certain people and the more they made me the more I hated it.”

(Y/n) paused, sneaking a glance at Tsukishima, his brows furrowed again, but instead of frustration he seemed like he was deep in thought.

“Once, when I was 11, I remember overhearing them arguing about how I'd never end up happy if I couldn’t learn how to fit in. My dad wanted to send me away to boarding school and my Mom was absolutely opposed, but she agree with him that I needed to.. improve.. or I’d never find the right man and settle down and stuff. I was too young to really understand but it just seemed so unfair. I mean, I hated school. I was always having to hang out with these girls that would spread rumors about me behind my back and the guys were.. mean, and I was just so mad that my parents were blaming me for the way I was reaction to it all that I started pushing back as hard as I possibly could and-“ (Y/n)’s lips came to a halt as realization hit her

“I-I’m sorry I’m totally rambling about stupid stuff that you didn’t even ask abou-“

“Shut up” Tsukishima cut in, “if I didn’t wanna listen I would have just tuned you out.”

“H-hey!” (Y/n) protested, mortified blush still hugging her cheeks.

“I didn’t. So stop talking about pointless stuff and keep going.” Tsukishima scoffed, stretching his arms up to provide support for his head which was tilting back into his palms.

“Okay.” (Y/n) mumbled softly, embarrassment dying down to a subtle shyness.

“W-well, I ended up dying my hair brown two years later. I wanted to because I-I never really liked my hair but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do it mostly because I wanted to piss my parents off.” (Y/n) giggled out the last bit, tugging at a strand of hair unconsciously.

“It suits you.” Tsukishima said simply.

“Thanks!” (Y/n) lit up, too distracted by the prospect of talking about her hair to notice exactly what Tsukishima had just said.

“I did it by myself and I’ve kept it up all these years because I think it looks a lot better and-“

“Okay, I’m tuning you out.” Tsukishima yawned

“Hey! Don’t be rude!” (Y/n) glared, reaching over to punch his arm lightly. Tsukishima made a face of displeasure but otherwise ignored it.

“Anyways, AS I WAS SAYING before SOMEONE so RUDELY interrupted me,” (Y/n) began again, clearing her throat before delving into a ten minute rant about why dying her hair was the best decision she’d ever made.

Just as she was finishing up, the Hinata household came into view. The conversation fizzled to an end as Tsukishima walked (Y/n) all the way to the door, staying a good foot behind her. He watched her with the same bored expression as they made their way to the front steps and front yard respectively. (Y/n) paused and turned back to Tsukishima with a breath held tight in her chest, it would be rude to walk inside without even saying goodbye.

“T-thank you, for walking me all the way here.” (Y/n) stuttered, eyes trained on the ground that stretched between.

“Yeah.” Tsukishima shrugged, pausing for a long moment before finally asking “Hinata-chan?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes snapped up to him almost reflexively

“While you’re here, be yourself. It’ll be a waste if you’re not… I know we all want you to feel at home so if your other home is a bad place make this a good one.” Tsukishima’s tone was nearly impossible to pinpoint. It hadn’t been quite soft but his usual cover of aloofness was completely absent, it was the kind of comfort that was candid and honest in a way that Tsukishima rarely ever displayed. (Y/n) stared at him wide eyed, before slowly nodding. He stared back for another long moment, almost as if waiting for a reply before a look of finality overtook his features and he held up a lazy hand.

“Goodbye.” He said monotonously, before turning to leave without another word. His movement snapped (Y/n) out of her shock and she called after him,

“Goodnight, Tsukishima! Thanks again!” She exclaimed, waving a frantic hand even though she knew Tsukishima wouldn’t be turning back to acknowledge it. As she watched him go (Y/n) felt an unstoppable blush stream across her face as his words rang through her head once more. His kindness was so rare, and as a result it always ended up feeling like a special gift. She touched the heated flesh of her cheek with the tips of her fingers, why was she always getting flustered around him?

“Don’t be so loud, my parents are already asleep.” Shoyo hissed from behind her, sticking his head out of the cracked front door.

(Y/n) realized Tsukishima was gone and that she’d been staring stupidly at nothing, she turned around and offered a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” (Y/n) whispered, making her way inside once Shoyo opened the door fully and stepped aside.

“Why did you stay out so late?” Shoyo asked as (Y/n) leaned over and began taking off her shoes. After a pause she said,

“Tsukishima walks reeeeally slow.” (Y/n) smirked, lying straight through her teeth.

Shoyo’s eyes widened for a moment as he tried to do the calculations in his head, staring at her in utter perplexity. (Y/n) only snickered, slipping into her slippers as she began to walk away. Shoyo brain finally caught up and he burst out after his cousin,

“Wait, what the fuck?!”

previous I next

MASTERLIST

Tagslist: @domtamaki @kodzu-ken @clowninfortodoroki @kageyamasbabygorl @miya-yume @chaelysian @kittyddandnyla @chaseyui @it-was-just-a-ship @melanie09astrid @naorii-chan @chaoticalybiased @saltyteefff @aristatrois @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @raineedayze @freyafolkvangr @scftsugawara @genuinelytodorokisbitch @cleopatera @tskeiki @charliefredb @just-snog-already

101 notes · View notes

cherry-ber · 4 years

Text

Too drunk to fuck (pt 1)

A. N: so I originally wrote this as a very soft thing, while I myself was kinda tipsy and emo so I figured it was only fair to re-write this with a vibe that fitted the song that inspired it in the first place. I really hope this doesn't turn out shitty.

Anyway as if it needed to be stated, I have a soft spot for Mark but bad boy/ fuckboy / kinda punk - ish Mark??? Yes please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everybody seemed to know something about Mark Lee that you didn't understand. You've heard countless rumors about him, how he is agressive and how he's even been in jail a hundred times, how he got expelled from 20 different schools, how he got in a physical fight with a police officer, but after the first time you bumped into him you knew it was absolute bullshit.

The events of that damned day replayed on your head every single night since it first happened a month ago, and you felt like the dumbest girl ever for falling for him, and it was probably true.

That Tuesday morning, you were running late after ditching your alarm five times, arriving to your classroom barely on time, you ran into him, making him drop his phone and his helmet.

“Oh shit, man, I'm sorry” you said quietly, he could barely hear you, and went inside.

You should have known better, because you pissed him off, and you've heard, the guy was scary when he was pissed off.

So, after what seemed the most boring class ever, as you were putting your books in your backpack, he entered the classroom and went directly to your table, staring at you as if he was trying to look intimidating. Everyone noticed, except you.

“Can I help you?” you started almost annoyed, but when you turned to face him, you felt almost afraid “ah, it's you. Listen man, I'm very sorry and I should've apologized better but I was running late-”

He abruptly interrupted you with the cockiest thing you've ever heard, even from a jerk like him:

“I don't care, you should respect me better”

As much of an idiot you've heard he was, you never spoke to him, so hearing him speak to you like that ignited the flame of your very short temper.

“Fucking pardon? Who do you think you are?”

And it seemed like the first someone spoke to him like that, he looked almost amazed and for a whole minute he was speechless and his bad boy attitude wrecked.

“Fuck off” he said and stormed out, leaving you with everybody staring at you in disbelief, but to you, calling him out was just common sense, and you didn't even say anything mean at all.

And as if that first encounter wasn't bad enough, after school, he waited at the exit, and when he spotted you, he walked in your direction and stood in front of you, keeping you from walking away.

“We should go out someday”

And you did. Many days, actually. He would wait outside for you, say hey and walk you to the parking lot, you'd ride his motorcycle and stop in an old abandoned house, you'd go behind it and make out there for an hour or two. At first it was almost exciting, knowing what people thought of him, yet you felt like he was wrapped around your finger every day for some hours at least. But as expected, it escalated quickly. For a whole week and a half, you kept telling yourself that you were strong, that you didn't want to get involved with him, you were just helping him out to release his damn hormones, and that was it. But the day he grinned at you when he saw you walking towards him, you knew you were fucked; up to that point, you thought that Mark Lee was just a hormonal jerk, that built a bad boy image based on nothing but his arrogance and his feeling of being superior, you actually disliked him, but not enough to leave him, because he was almost a good kisser, and his hair was soft when you ran your fingers through it, and fucking damn him, he was actually kinda hot. That was the same day he accidentally grabbed your hand when you were walking to his motorcycle. You always walked close, but never really said a word to each other, and when you did, it was meaningless, maybe him saying you looked nice, maybe you saying you liked his jacket or a cold how was your day when he looked stressed, knowing he wouldn't reply until you were kissing and he was being rough, biting your lips or holding your hands so you don't touch him, he was just like that.

He made it look like an accident, he was lightning a cigarette, and as he was blowing out the smoke, you walking slightly behind him, he reached for your hand, but you immediately panicked and stop, so he just pulled you closer, annoyed by your response, as if he was expecting you to squeeze his hand and walk like any other couple would.

“C'mon, we don't have time for that” he said, dismissing what just happened, brushing away the fact that he liked the heat he felt when he touched you. You were hesitant to grab onto him while he was driving, but he always went so fast it was impossible not to do it.

When you arrived to your secret place, as he was taking off his helmet, and you the one he started carrying just for you, you couldn't help but feel nervous, and you were disgusted with the idea of him being the reason, but you followed him anyway, knowing that even if you didn't want to be there, you would never tell him, you were weak for him, but why would you?

He sat on the ground, and as always, you followed him, sitting on his lap, and you couldn't help but stare at his eyes, his beautiful, shiny eyes, and then his marvelous lips. He probably realized, and you looked away almost blushing, but that only made him giggle. It was the first time you ever heard him giggle, and it was angelic, you couldn’t help but smile. He put your hair behind your ear, and caressed your cheek slowly, as his lips were getting closer to yours, and when he finally kissed you, it felt like electricity running through your body. You caught feelings for Mark.

When he pulled away, you were petrified, you felt scared, but you knew better than showing him how he made you feel, so you kissed him, passionately, not giving him a chance to think, you didn't want to leave a single second where he could talk. As it often occurred, his hands were on your waist, moving through your body, from your thighs, to your chest, stopping for a moment on your neck, you pulling the collar of his white shirt, your hands roaming from his back to his shoulders and his precious hair, only pulling away again when you felt his bulge grow harder, thinking that what you felt before never happened, and that what you really wanted from him was exactly just that, but as you ran your hand over his jeans, he stopped you softly.

“We never really talk. I want that.” he said, squeezing lightly your thigh.

If you did as we wanted, you knew it would be over. You didn't want him to talk, you just wanted his lips, you weren't interested in meeting him, you knew he was a jerk, but he didn't think the same.

“Y/N, how was your day?” he asked with genuine interest, and as you were about to tell him how your teacher was being so hard on your group with pop quizzes every other day, his phone rang. You felt relieved that he was going to pick up when he checked who was calling, and got off him, fixing your clothes and your hair, then trying to fix his hair, he smiled when he felt your fingers playing with his hair, he hung up the phone and glanced nervously at you.

“I'm so fucking sorry, I have to go now, do you want me to drop you home?” Hesitantly, you said yes, and rode home, somehow feeling empty inside, wanting to ask if everything was okay everytime you stopped in a red light, but unable to speak a word, until you arrived home, you knew no one was there, and as you were giving him the helmet back, he asked for your number, “in case I need it” he said.

Head over the clouds, you waited for him to text you the rest of the day, and you were unable to sleep peacefully, hoping he'd call saying sorry for leaving early, and not calling before, but he didn't, and for the next three days, he was not waiting for you outside, you just saw him leave, riding alone, never looking back to you, and you knew then you made a mistake. You should have never kissed him, you should have never talked to him at all, and you sure should have never ever fell for him, but you did, and it was more painful than someone could ever imagine, no one ever warned you about feeling something for him.

Friday, 7:36 p.m: unknown number: “Do you wanna come to a party tomorrow?”

♡ Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GUYS I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND I NEEDED TO POST SOMETHING SOON OR I'D LOSE MY MIND, THERE WILL BE A PART 2 BUT I FELT LIKE IT WAS ENOUGH FOR A SINGLE POST

386 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 4 years

Text

the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 8

A/N: Again, I can’t thank you all enough for reading this! Let me know what you think! Remember that there is still the epilogue next Monday

Also, BE PREPARED FOR CLUES ABOUT MY NEW STORY. ONE CLUE A DAY (STARTING TUESDAY) UNTIL THE FINAL ANNOUNCEMENT IS MADE ON FRIDAY!

Fred didn’t know what time was anymore.

It had been months, probably, since he last saw Aleida. But he didn’t know how many. A couple, definitely. A few, maybe. Several, probably? He didn’t know. Everything was a blur now, and nothing felt real. He still “lived” his life, so to speak – he still played hockey, he still brushed his teeth every morning, he still ate food – but nothing had any meaning anymore. Nothing had purpose. Everything in his life, everything, felt empty and hollow, like no matter what went into it, it would never be whole.

Everybody around him noticed. Everybody knew. Word had gotten around the locker room, but whenever anybody tried to approach him about it, he simply walked away. It was his way of telling them he didn’t want to talk about it. Sometimes he’d even give them a glare and they’d back off, knowing better. The wives and girlfriends got word of it, too, and for lack of a better term they stayed away, for the most part. Steph didn’t gloat in his face, which was nice, although she did keep saying things to others – things he’d catch wind of thank to Mitch’s big mouth (or Steph’s own big mouth if she was in the same room).

Sometimes, he just wanted to forget Aleida happened. Other times, it was all he wanted to remember for the rest of his life.

He isolated himself. He didn’t speak to many people much. He’d stay in, not go out, order takeout. Auston called sometimes, texted often, but Fred gave him generic answers. Morgan would check in from time to time, mostly with the preface of “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but…”. Bee would call, demand she’d talk to him, but he’d give her the same generic answers he’d give Auston or Morgan.

Until she showed up at his condo one day with Chinese takeout.

“You’re talking to me,” she said as she pushed through the door, his big body moving for her easily as she walked through the hallway before setting her keys and the takeout bags down on the counter.

Fred looked down the corridor to see if Morgan was following behind, but he was nowhere to be found. He accepted the situation and closed the door, walking through his apartment slowly to find Bee already opening the containers of food. “What’s there to talk about?” he asked as he sat down at one of his barstools.

Bee shot him a look. “I’m worried about you,” she started. It brought him back to all those months ago when so many of the wives and girlfriends tried to approach him about Aleida. With Bee things were always different.

“What’s there to worry about?” he asked, voice empty.

“If you don’t smarten up and talk to me, I’ll leave,” she warned sternly. She wasn’t here to play games or beat around the bush, and she wanted to make it known. Her tone straightened Fred up a little bit. He knew he couldn’t get away with any bullshit with Bee. She’d been through enough.

“What do you want to talk about?” he mumbled.

“I don’t want to talk about anything,” she said. “You need to talk about what happened, because it’s eating away at you and I hate to see you like this.”

Fred sighed heavily. “I’ll start from the beginning…”

And he did. He started from the beginning – well, at least, what he thought was the beginning. And he explained everything to Bee – as much as he could – until he got to the final moments. That’s when he tried to include every detail. And when he was finished, and their Chinese takeout was cold, Bee’s face was stuck in a sort of stoic kind of reserve. She was clearly mulling over everything and didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. The situation was all very unique to Fred and Aleida, naturally, and she had no experience with this sort of thing because, well, nobody was like Aleida.

“I can’t believe that all happened,” was what Bee finally came up with. “I can’t believe…I can’t believe she said all those things.”

“You and me both.”

“She doesn’t mean them, you know,” she finally said, practically blurted out. “I mean, it’s so obvious. She doesn’t mean them.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well I do,” Bee said more assertively. “She doesn’t mean them at all. She said them out of fear.”

“Fear of what?”

“Fear of…I don’t know, love? Being with someone who actually appreciates her instead of uses her?” Bee offered. “She barely has any experience with that. You said so yourself. And when she was finally confronted with it in the form of you, she didn’t know what to do. Her fight-or-flight response was to self-sabotage.”

Fred shook his head. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to believe. “I don’t know, Bee…”

“Fred…” she said, moving around the island to rub his shoulder. “You’ve been a shell for months. Have you thought about trying to find her? Trying to talk to her and—”

“You think I haven’t?!” he asked, the first time his voice was barely above a mumble. Bee was taken aback a bit, but continued to listen. “Do you honestly think that I haven’t thought about doing that? She told me she didn’t love me, Bee. I told her I’d walk out that door and never see her again if she told me she didn’t love me, and she told me.”

“But Fred, she didn’t mean it—”

“She did mean it, she did,” he stressed, shaking his head. He was becoming emotional reliving that conversation in his head. “There’s nothing I can do about it, Bee. She doesn’t love me. She never did. At least not the way that I loved her. I just can’t…I can’t…” the tears were welling in his eyes.

Bee hugged him. It was all she could do. She held him tight in her arms as he buried his head in her shoulder and cried.

***

Fred was wandering. It was dark, late at night, he wasn’t sure what time it was, he wasn’t sure what day it was, he wasn’t sure where he was in the city, he wasn’t sure about anything at all. Everything was a blur. He was just wandering. Wandering to find a semblance of any feeling; wandering to fill a void that couldn’t be filled; wandering to find something that couldn’t be found. Every soul he passed on the street was empty to him. Every storefront that shined with neon lights – empty. He couldn’t find life in anything or anyone around him, because there was no life left in him anymore.

“Hey bud,” he heard a voice call out to him from where he was about to approach. “Bud, hey bud, you lookin’ for a good time?”

Fred stood stoic in his place. He looked up, trying to see a sign for the place, but either he was blind or there was none there. Not the greatest start, but Fred digressed. “A good time.”

“Yeah. A good time, you know? Good time,” he kept repeating. His voice was sleazy. “Twenty bucks cover. You wanna come in?”

What did Fred have to lose? If this man was telling the truth, he was telling the truth – he would have a good time. If he wasn’t and he was leading Fred to be robbed or to his death instead…well, that was the risk Fred was taking. Fred fumbled around with his wallet and slipped the guy a twenty-dollar bill before going down the few steps into the basement bar.

He was fairly surprised to see the bar full of patrons sitting at tables full of wine bottles and glasses, paying attention to something that was happening against a wall he couldn’t see yet. The further he got into the venue, the more he saw: a man was playing an acoustic guitar, crooning the audience with his voice and melody. Some middle-aged women were smiling and swaying along; their husband’s hyper-focused on their beers or watching the man on stage.

“Sir, you need to take the table all the way at the back,” a man tried to push him along. “Right at the back, sir. One of the last tables.”

Fred followed absent-mindedly – again, not knowing if he was being led to a mugging or death. When they finally got to the table, Fred sat facing the stage, and a waitress immediately uncorked a bottle of wine and pored him a glass. He gulped it all in one go. She looked at him strangely before filling up his glass again. He drank that one too.

“Save some for your date,” she said loud enough to be heard over the music as she poured him a third glass in a row.

“Who says I have a date?” he asked.

“I bet a guy like you has no trouble getting a date,” she smirked.

He didn’t even care that she was flirting. It didn’t even register to him. It went in one ear and out the other – just…completely devoid of any feeling. Maybe she was just doing it for a generous tip, anyway.

The patrons began clapping as the man completed his song, bowing dramatically and putting his hand over his heart as a gesture of thankfulness before walking off the stage. There were some rumblings before another man came out – who Fred assumed to be the host – in a suit and tie with a microphone in his hand. “Give it up for Michael Keyes, huh! What a performance!”

There was another round of applause. Fred groaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. He wanted to take the glass full of wine and the bottle and just do a mad dash out of there. He didn’t even know why he agreed to come in ninety seconds ago. What was he even doing? What was he trying to find?

“The next presenter of our open performance night…well, she really needs no introduction. She’s is a face you may know very well, as she is a performer here often. You’ll often see her at events around the city performing with her band. And you know what? I’m just going to let her singing do the talking.”

Maybe he should just get up and leave. He’d give the sleazy guy outside $100 to shut up if he yelled at him for leaving.

He heard another polite round of applause as he continued to have his eyes shut. Some clacking of heels and dress shoes walking across the stage. The bench of the piano being adjusted. Some strums of guitar. A clear of the throat. The quietest count in.

And then eerily familiar guitar notes, played along with the piano. Notes that sounded like they were void, depressed, like they were crying. Notes that when strung together made one of his favourite melodies. Notes that he’d listened to through a pair of headphones countless times. He knew those notes anywhere. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room by John Mayer. He smiled to himself, his eyes still closed as he readied himself for the lyrics to start.

It’s not a silly little moment

His body stiffened.

It’s not the storm before the calm

His eyes jolted open.

This is the deep and dying breath of This love that we’ve been working on…

He knew that voice anywhere.

Her.

It was her.

Can’t seem to hold you like I want to

Aleida.

So I can feel you in my arms

ALEIDA.

Nobody’s gonna come and save you

ALEIDA!

We pulled too many false alarms

His body felt like it was on fire. Like the fire of a thousand suns had just exploded within him. His heartbeat had stopped the second she started singing, and he was pretty sure he still wasn’t breathing. The world around him stopped.

We’re going down And you can see it, too We’re going down And you know that we’re doomed My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room

Aleida was singing. On stage. Oscar was playing the guitar on his vintage archtop. She was there, in the flesh, her voice cascading throughout the room like waves.

I was the one you always dreamed of You were the one I tried to draw How dare you say it’s nothing to me? Baby, you’re the only light I ever saw

She closed her eyes at that point. He swore he saw tears welled up in her eyes before she did, but maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe this was all just a dream, a sick hallucination his mind concocted. Maybe he’d officially gone insane.

I’ll make the most of all the sadness You’ll be a bitch, because you can You try to hit me, just to hurt me So you leave me feeling dirty ‘Cause you can’t understand

It was definitely her. Definitely. He still felt like he wasn’t breathing. He wanted to get up, but his entire body felt like it was full of cement. Just like when he first found her. He couldn’t move his legs, his arms, anything. He was stuck in his spot at his table, the fire within him burning.

We’re going down And you can see it, too We’re going down And you know that we’re doomed My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room

Oscar played the short guitar interlude expertly, just like Fred knew he would, as Aleida kept the tempo going on the piano.

Go cry about it, why don’t you?

He swore she was talking to him.

Go cry about it, why don’t you?

He swore she was talking to herself.

Go cry about it, why don’t you?

He swore she could see him in the audience, but he knew she couldn’t because of how dark and how far back he was.

My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room

As she looked out into the crowd, she practically made direct eye contact with him. He shivered. And as the next music break came in, she and Oscar effectively switched; he kept up the tempo of the song on his guitar, while she freelanced on the piano, a delicate mix between loud and roaring but soft and crying – a definite anger in the notes but also a sadness. Something only Aleida could create.

Don’t you think we ought to know by now? Don’t you think we should have learned somehow?

He did know by now. He did learn.

Don’t you think we ought to know by now? Don’t you think we should have learned somehow?

The fire in him made him finally able to stand up. He did so dramatically, rocking the table loud enough so the people beside him looked at him. And as he made his way through the crowd, through the sea of tables and wine glasses so he could be within Aleida’s line of sight, he made even more noise. None of that mattered.

He needed to see her. He needed her to see him.

Don’t you think we ought to know by now?

Aleida sang out the last lines, looking out into the audience with definite tears in her eyes. Despite being in a room full of people, she had never felt so empty before; never felt as isolated as she did. Even with Oscar there. As she looked out, she noticed a giant figure in the middle of it all. She blinked once, to clear the welling of tears in her eyes.

Tall. Wide. Ginger hair. Ginger beard.

Freddie.

It was Freddie.

He was here. He was…he was here.

Aleida’s heart stopped beating. Everything around her stopped. Suddenly, she was not in a bar full of people in downtown Toronto performing with Oscar. It was just her, with her piano.

And Fred.

Don’t you think we should have learned somehow?

As they played their final notes – Aleida absent-mindedly – the crowd began a raucous applause. Fred was staring right at her, right into her soul, and she was doing the same to him. Her body went stiff. She couldn’t move. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

He was all Aleida had thought about these past months. He haunted her dreams. He haunted every waking moment she had because all she could think about was him. All she could remember was him. All she wanted to be remember was him. But she had been so cruel to him. She had ruined him like she knew she would inevitably. She’d left him broken hearted, left him because she was scared. And there was no way for her to rectify it. There was no way for her to make it better, because she was never supposed to see him again. She was supposed to go her way, and he his. They were never supposed to meet.

But in his absence, and as part of her punishment, she ached. Her whole body ached for him. Her mind was a torture chamber of thoughts. All she could think about was his soft touch. How he held her. How he made her feel when she was with him. In the middle of the night, her body would tremble from the cold and the void, desperate from wanting his touch, his warmth. And she thought she was bound to wander the earth alone forever now, after what she had done to him. It was her punishment. To never know a love like his again. To look for it, but to never get it.

To look for him, but to never see him.

Yet here he was.

In front of her.

Looking at her.

Seeing her.

The bright lights shining down on the stage were nothing compared to his eyes. He lost himself in her eyes when he first met her in that Shopper’s Drug Mart, and now, she found herself as she stared into his.

Aleida stood up from her piano seat, not breaking eye contact, and rushed over to him desperately. He did so too, taking three long strides to meet her at the edge of the stage. She jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him passionately. She immediately felt his warmth. She immediately felt how soft he was. She immediately felt his love.

Aleida began to cry as she continued to kiss him. He was here, in her arms, and she could feel him, and it was all so overwhelming. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled against his lips, her tears wetting both their cheeks. “I’m so sorry, and I love you, and I couldn’t say it, and I was scared, but I love you. I love you so much Freddie.”

“I love you too, I love you too,” he mumbled, kissing her again.

***

“Freddie…make love to me Freddie, please, please,” Aleida sighed out as Fred’s body was on top of hers, the both of them already naked and on his bed within mere seconds of getting back to his place. She had thought about this and ached over it for so long that she was shaking in anticipation. She never wanted to be without it again; she never wanted to crave his physical touch like she had been.

Freddie, for his part, didn’t need to be told twice, and entered her in one swift movement, causing her to cry out in pleasure. Her nails dragged along his shoulder blades and down his back as he pumped in and out of her slowly, passionately, making sure to make it last. He looked her in the eye. He made sure she was looking back at him. “I love you,” he finally said.

“I love you too.”

“I always have.”

Aleida nodded her head. She knew.

***

“You came back to me,” Aleida mumbled as they lay together in his bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Fred’s touch was soothing; her body no longer ached. “You just appeared out of nowhere, but you came back to me.”

“I went looking,” he admitted quietly. “I went looking to fill the empty I was feeling without you in my life. And there you were.”

Aleida shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow so she could look down on him. “I’m sorry for everything,” she said, barely above a whisper, as her fingers from her other hand traced shapes on his broad chest. “I’m sorry for everything I said. Everything I did.”

Fred shook his head. He grabbed her hand tracing shapes on his chest and cradled it in his massive hand. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“And I’m never going to leave,” she said definitively. He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles tenderly. “No matter how scared I get, I’m never going to leave again. I promise you.”

Fred knew Aleida meant it.

145 notes · View notes

ravenforce · 4 years

Text

Manhattan 5

Word Count: 3891

Pairing: Lou Miller x Fem!Reader, Background Platonic Avengers x Fem!Reader

Warning/Rating: Fluff because the world is dark and scary right now. I need fluff. You need fluff.

A/N: Thank you so much for everyone who likes, and follows this story. You guys are amazing. Please leave your reactions, bloody or otherwise, on the comment section. My inbox is open too if you’d like to pop by. Oh, and please note the ff:

1. If there are any grammatical mistakes I’ve still overlooked, I apologize.

2. I’m on a roll right now, since I have time while the city is on lockdown. I hope you guys are staying home and keeping up with protocols. Stay home, read fics. You’re helping your health workers that way. If you’re struggling to see the light, or experiencing anxiety about this pandemic and need someone to vent to, my inbox is open. Given probably time difference, please allow some time for me to reply. If you want to, drop me your Whatsapp, Telegram or wherever I can reach you faster. Be safe. xx

Manhattan Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

***

Monday - A week before the Art Week

Most of the preparations for the event are in order with minor details needs ironing out. So, Debbie moved the regular Monday morning meeting to late afternoon since everyone has been working at full capacity the last few weeks. Assigning you to spearhead not only the artists’ acquisition but also the whole opening night was one of the best decisions Debbie ever made. You were hands down one of the most meticulous floor directors she’s ever met, and she has met so many. So it only came as a slight surprise to her when they came in for the meeting to see you snoozing on the conference table.

“What the?” Nine complained when she bumped into Debbie’s back as she loiters at the entrance of the conference room.

“What’s the hold-up?” Daphne said peering behind Constance. Debbie shushed them and continued inside.

Nine laughed as silently as she could when she saw you sleeping on the table, surrounded by different things: your laptop with Nine’s security plan open, the guest list submitted by Charlie and Agatha, the final menu from Tammy, the brochure design mock-up from Daphne and a cold-brew. Nine pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of you with a chuckle.

Lou smacked her softly with a newspaper in the head. Nine glared even though it didn’t hurt.

“She must have been here all morning,” Lou surmised as she looks at your current predicament. Debbie looked at you and then at her best friend.

“I think you should take her home,” she said. She can’t have you burning out before the opening night and that’s in a week time. Lou nodded before she sat beside you and woke you up. It was a testament on how tired you must have been because you were pliant to Lou stirring you out of the room and into her car like you were sleep-walking.

“Uhm, Debbie,” Charlie said as he tries to organize your table. Debbie asked what it is.

***

“She finished everything,” Agatha finished for him.

Charlie nodded. “This one says the security plan is approved, and she finished installing the CCTV. There’s no more blind spot at the back patio,” He read the post-it on Nine’s laptop.

“This one says approved,” Agatha said while showing Tammy’s final menu. “This one says, needs everyone’s signature.” It’s the catering contract they’ve all been sitting on for weeks now.

Everyone then started to pick up post-it notes stuck on their tables.

“Mock-up’s all good and approved. I’ll send it to the printer right now,” Daphne sing-song.

“Mine said, ‘you rock’,” Constance read grinning. Some of them didn’t get notes on their work since they are already done and in order. So you just left them encouraging notes, which they showed off to everybody. Lou left you for a moment in her car to get her laptop to find her friends making such a ruckus because of some post-it notes.

“Lou, did you get a note?” Amita asked smiling broadly at the blonde.

“No.” No one believed her. Especially since Nine could see that Lou’s holding a piece of orange paper on her back. She swiped it out of Lou’s hand.

“Aww, look at that,” Nine says before showing everybody your drawing of a star with a small quote written at the bottom of it.

“Nine, please don’t,” Lou begged before trying to swipe it again from her friend but Constance and Amita were hugging her in place, chanting read it, read it.

“I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. Maybe we’re from the same star,” Nine read. Lou groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“That’s enough,” Rose swiped the paper out of Nine’s and gave it back to Lou. “That’s sweet. Now, aren’t you supposed to be taking one awesome girl home?”

Lou nodded her thanks, picked her laptop up and gave Nine the finger with a smile before leaving the room. Debbie then asked them to settle down.

***

“And here I thought Ocean’s workaholic,” Daphne teased just as everyone settled down. Debbie playfully rolled her eyes.

“I’m not workaholic. I’m just…” Debbie tried to defend her but struggled to find a word to describe herself.

“A control freak?” Constance teased while typing away in her computer. Debbie threw an eraser on her head that sent everyone laughing.

“Just admit it, you and Y/N are the same,” Tammy joined in. “That’s why they get along well.”

Debbie chuckled. “Like I’m the only one.”

The truth is everyone gets along with you, which isn’t a problem except for Lou. Since then, everyone seems to be trying to monopolize you at work while she’s away to do PR work with Debbie outside of the office. Causing you two to barely see each other in the office, or hang out after work.

That’s the last time Lou was able to spend time with you was two weeks ago. When you showed up on her front door at midnight on a Friday night asking if she could let you crash. You were so tired you fell asleep instantly the moment she pulled you in her arms.

***

Tuesday

The sun was high in the sky when you woke up Tuesday. You raised your arm to look at your smartwatch. It reads at 11 o’clock. You bolted upright and rolled out of bed in your haste to go shower. You were halfway towards the bathroom when you stopped on your tracks.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Lou’s teasing voice sounded behind you.

You turned to look at her, and then around the room. You have no recollection of coming to her place at all. The last that you can remember was coming in at work early to go over what needs your approval and whatnot. You also remember finishing them earlier than you expected, so you decided to take a power nap. Everyone was supposed to arrive after lunch anyway, you’d have sufficient time for a nap, and to clean up before the meeting starts.

“How did I get here?” you asked confused.

“I took you home,” Lou said before opening the newspaper in front of her again to cover her face. She thinks you look sinful wearing only your underwear and her huge ACDC shirt. “You know sleeping on the job is unbecoming for you.”

Shit, you thought. “I’m sorry, I was just tired. It wouldn’t happen again, I promise.”

“It wouldn’t because Debbie is…”

“Is firing me?” you gasped. Lou looked at you over the rim of her newspaper then she folded it and put it neatly back on the table.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, love,” she said smiling. “Debbie’s not firing you but she’s taking charge from here on out.”

“But why?” you asked before sitting down next to your lover on the dining table.

“Because you’ve done enough,” she said before putting waffles on your plate. “You did very well, love but now you’ll have to let the rest of us finish the job. That’s what it means to work in a team.”

You frowned at the delicious looking waffle. Lou is absolutely shit in the kitchen but she makes amazing breakfast. She poured you a hefty amount of coffee too on your favourite mug.

“Okay,” you conceded. Lou smiled as she watches you eat your food quietly. If she’s right, it’ll take a little bit of time before you can truly be okay with Debbie’s decision. Control is really hard to let go of, especially if you specifically built a life in which you have all of it.

“Oh, and you’re on house arrest for today,” Lou said cheerfully. She was so delighted when Debbie called her early in the morning to tell her that you’re not allowed to come into work for the day.

“Don’t sound so happy. She’s not to partake on any strenuous activities for the day that includes sex,” Debbie said seriously over the phone.

“Not even if she bottom?” Lou tried to reason out. Debbie laughed on the other line before yelling no and hanging up.

Nonetheless, Lou’s happy. Finally, after two weeks, she’s going to be able to have your undivided attention. She loathes to admit it but it’s not just about the sex anymore. She truly loves your company, even if all you two could do was watch Netflix and sleep.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” you grumbled with a pout. Lou laughed, it would have been effective if you don’t have waffle sauce on your face. She reached over and wiped it before putting her finger on her mouth.

“Don’t look so glum, baby,” Lou said. “Don’t you want to stay here with me?”

***

Wednesday

You and Lou arrived at work a little late than your usual time in. Thanks to Lou jumping in the shower with you, and positively making shower longer than necessary. If you know what it means. When you arrived at the gallery, Tammy was just serving the brunch she made for everyone.

“Y/N!” she yelled the moment she saw you. You smiled at the woman. For you, Tammy’s one of your closest friends at work. She sweet, funny, and she takes care of everyone. Only Lou thinks that Tammy’s taking extra care with you.

“Hey Tams,” you said as Tammy rubbed her face against your cheeks. Lou gritted her teeth.

She was in a bloody good mood when you two arrived especially since she got to spend a whole day with you, and got to wake up next to you again earlier. It was the kind of morning where she feels like she can conquer the world. Now, not so much. Now, she thinks she can murder a blonde.

“Sit,” Tammy said after forcing you to sit next to Nine who paused her eating to give you a kiss on the cheek too. “Here, I made these especially for you.”

“Ah, Tams. You didn’t have to but thank you,” you said as you look down on the special food, packed just for you. Debbie, Daphne, and Rose watched the scene unfold as well as Lou seething.

“Hey! Why does Y/N’s food always different?” Constance asked after catching a peak of your food. Tammy laughed along with everyone else.

“Ah! I know, I know!” Amita yelled before guessing. “Is it because Lou probably fed her take out all day yesterday?”

“Exactly, Y/N deserve home-cooked meals,” Tammy said before sitting down next to you. Lou schooled her face, sighed in an attempt to reign in her rising temper. It’s too early to engage. She decides to be the bigger person even though she hates it. Just because she can’t cook to save a life doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve you. Right?

***

Thursday

“Tell your girlfriend to take her hands off my Y/N,” Lou whispered beside Debbie as they watch Daphne talk to you about the printed collateral.

“Your Y/N?” Debbie asked softly. “Did you finally grew the balls to actually put a label on what you two are doing?”

“No. Labels are for clothes.” Lou frowned deeper as she continues to watch Daphne gripping your biceps as she laughs animatedly at something you said. Debbie chuckled softly as she watches Lou continuously fuming beside her, while you remained oblivious to her girlfriend’s teasing.

“Stop making that face. You know you’re only giving her ammunition,” Debbie said laughing before walking towards you. Daphne caught Lou’s eye from across the room and winked.

***

Friday

Her friend tested her patience all week long by being overly tactile, and flirty with you. It didn’t help that you were too busy and too oblivious to their advances. Not that she thinks her friends are truly competition but still. She likes to think that you’re hers and hers alone but Debbie’s right; you’re not. Not yet at least.

She was looking forward to today because she wanted to spend the weekend before the art opening on Monday together. She planned to stay the night in your apartment, call for delivery, and maybe catch up on some Netflix shows you two are watching. She plans to take you out to Coney Island for some R&R under the sun the next morning. She thinks you’re losing colour by being in the gallery too much but all her plans were foiled when she bumped into you in the hallway going to your door.

“Lou?” you asked while fixing the strap of your shoulder bag. You’re wearing a tight black dress, black knee-high boots, and nude overcoat. “Did we have plans?”

“No, I was just coming to see if you wanted to hang out,” she confessed reluctantly. “But you seem like you already had one.”

“Sorry. I already promise I’ll go out with Nat and Carol tonight.”

Lou’s face fell. “Oh,” is all she said before she nodded and took a step backwards. “Okay. Have fun.”

She tried to smile but it didn’t reach her eyes like it usually did when you know she’s genuinely happy. You’re about to tell her that you can see her tomorrow but Lou nodded at you one more time before she power-walked away from you.

***

It’s almost midnight and you’re about your third drink when Maria plopped down next to you at your table in the club. You kept your eyes on the dance floor to keep an eye out as Nat, Carol, and Wanda continued dancing to an upbeat song.

“Refill?” Maria asked leaning against you so she doesn’t have to shout.

“No, thank you, bubba,” you answered before looking at your sweaty, beautiful best friend. You wiped the sweat on her eyebrow. “I think I’m heading out.”

Nat, Carol, and Wanda heard it as they reach your table. “Already?” Wanda yelled before pouting and plopping down way too close to Maria to be classified as just friends.

“Come on, Cinderella. Stay for another hour,” Carol begged while doing her best impression of puppy eyes.

”Let her go,” Nat said as she offered her hand to you to help you out of the booth. “Big day on Monday. She needs all the rest she can get.”

You held Nat’s hand even after she pulled you out. “Thank you,” you said smiling broadly.

“What?” Nat asked when she noticed you smiling. You just shook your head and if it was possible smiled wider at the redhead.

You were just elated that complicated histories aside, you all found a more solid ground to stand on now. You’re happy that Nat and Carol are finally together. If you’re being honest, they look so much better standing hand-in-hand than glaring at each other like before. Maria and Wanda isn’t something you foresee but nonetheless, you can breathe better knowing that your best friend found a good girl to spend her days with. Not that they have admitted to dating yet.

“Thank you for coming out tonight.” Nat pulled you in a hug on the sidewalk while waiting for your Uber. Carol, Wanda, and Maria joined in too.

“Shut up, I like fifth wheeling with you guys.”

Nat and Carol laughed while Maria and Wanda blushed profusely.

“Tell me you’ll be there on Monday, please.”

Maria tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

It’s midnight when Lou and Debbie reached the bottom of the bottle of red wine she brought with her. Lou called her best friend after fleeing your apartment, and thankfully Daphne had plans with Tammy and Rose to go shopping that freed Debbie schedule.

“I regret asking you to come here,” Lou complained half drunk. “All you did was tease me. Very unhelpful.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Debbie said laughing.

“I was trying to surprise her.”

“Look how that worked out for you,” Debbie deadpanned. Before Lou can answer though, there was a knock on her door. Debbie looked at the blonde but she only shrugged and stood up.

“Whoever it is, just turn them away. I’m not in the mood,” Lou said while pulling her shirt over her head. “I’m gonna shower and head to bed after.”

Debbie was left to open the door. She didn’t know who looked more surprise when she did, her or you. None of Lou’s ex-lovers or ex-girlfriend ever knew where she lives. Not even Therese and that says something. Therese was one of the longest relationships Lou ever kept yet the woman never truly knew where Lou lives.

Where does Lou fuck her women, you ask? Well, a professional fuckboy like Lou keeps a separate apartment across town where she brings her women. Yet there you were, in the flesh, standing outside her best friend’s sanctuary.

“Hey boss,” you greeted, cheeks a little flush from the wind outside and the alcohol in your system.

Debbie pulled the door open wider to let you in. You thank her while walking directly to the living room, and placing your discarded coat on the recliner. Proving to Debbie her assumption that it is not indeed your first time there. When you turned towards her, she was already putting her coat on. You couldn’t stop yourself from cocking an eyebrow at her.

“Lou’s in the shower trying to wash away her bad mood,” Debbie said smiling. “Good luck.” Then she’s out.

***

“Debs, can we call Daphne and tell her you’re sleeping over?” Lou asked while walking directly to her open kitchen to grab some water. She completely missed the silence in the room and the familiar coat hanging on her recliner.

“Debbie went home already.”

Lou nearly shattered the glass on her hand in her surprise. “Jesus Christ!”

“Nope, just me,” you said smiling at her. She didn’t return it. Instead, she turned around and drunk another glass of water.

“What are you doing here?” Lou asked, voice is a little distant and detaches even after noticing that you’re sitting on your side of the bed and wearing one of her pyjamas that are too long for you. She flicked the light switch off, bathing the room in darkness to prevent you from seeing her smile.

“I’m sleeping over.”

Bold of you to assume you can after ditching me for Nat and Carol, she thought bitterly. Yet she didn’t say it. She asked a question instead.

“What happened to your date?”

You laughed, aggravating her a little further. “It’s not a date, Odinson.”

“Right.” She sunk down on the mattress and turned her back on you. You curled yourself on her back immediately and planted a soft kiss on her shoulder.

“It’s not a date, Lou. If anything I was fifth wheeling. Maria and Wanda were there too, and I’m 100% sure those two are banging,” you explained excitedly.

Lou visibly relaxes with that information. She turned on her back to look at you but before she can say anything, you surged forward and kissed her. She pulled you on top of her, so she could kiss you properly and she did. Your head was becoming heady from the alcohol you consumed at the club, and the way Lou’s mouth tasted like wine and home.

“Wow,” you said after the need for air took over.

Lou has one of her hand cupping your jaw, her finger tracing the shape of your mouth. The other’s gliding down your neck, skimming across your chest and breast and moving slowly behind your back. She can feel the heat of your core against her abdomen. She guided your waist to start grinding against her abs, you both groaned at the action.

“Ah! Fuck,” you moaned. She kissed you again, both hands on your waist now. She wants your underwear off so she could feel you skin-to-skin but she’s too far out to take it off you.

“Baby,” she whispered against your lips. You smiled at her.

“You kiss better when you’re jealous.”

Lou gasped and halted your moment at once. “What do you mean I kiss better? Also, me? Jealous? Of who?”

You laughed. “Ah, let's see. Tammy, Daphne, Nat, Carol? The list goes on.”

Lou pouted before reversing your position in the bed in one swift motion. She looked down at you before she started pulling your underwear off of you. “Okay, okay. I was jealous,” she admitted. “Can you blame me? Everyone just wants you.”

You sat up and helped her pull her t-shirt off. If you’re gonna be naked, she has to. Especially since nothing beats the view of her abs, illuminated only by the city lights outside.

“Well, I only want you,” you admitted before pulling her on the bed with you.

Taglist: @kaytoopio @marvelfansince08love @marvelb00kwolf @shycucumbersandwich @subject7creed @inkstainedhandsofgold

#avengers crossover #avengers x oceans 8 #avengers x reader #avengers x oceans 8 crossover #avengers imagine #oceans 8 imagine #lou miller x reader #cate blanchett x reader #lou miller #cate blanchett

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make-it-mavis · 4 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #33)

(cw: discussion of addiction) ----------

01/21/88 3:30 PM

Hey.

So… therapy.

Therapy, therapy, therapy.

If you were here, you’d no doubt want to hear how it went. Or how it didn’t go. How much I botched it, or what garbage mumbo jumbo it was. I wouldn’t blame you. Me, going to counselling? Group counselling? No way.

But I would also tell you to hold your horses, because before therapy came detox. Oh, yes. Me and my good friend, withdrawals. Not fun to hear about, I know. Less fun to experience.

I won’t get into the nitty gritty of how sick I was. I’ve described it enough times by now. Let’s just say that it was twice as bad as the worst withdrawals I had ever had before. It had all the usual intense illness, but peppered with little blackouts. I also practically went insane over the need for GC. But, being confined to my game, there was no way to get any. Fix-it endured a whole lot of my screaming and breakdowns… again. At some point he took away my brush for my own good, and as outraged as I was, I think that mostly snapped me out of it from then on out. I could have my brush as long as I stayed calm. I was being treated like a freakin’ child, but I had to just roll with it. I was too weak to fight him, and I couldn’t be without buffs and without my brush.

As I started to come to my senses, I began to remember and understand the memory that I saw in my trip more and more. But what was strange to me was that I could hardly manage to feel anything over it. I knew for sure that those memories were packed full of emotions that could have wrecked me. But at the time, I felt numb to them. As if they just weren’t a priority compared to all else I’d been dealing with. The whole concept of counselling was taking up a whole lot of space in my brain, and I guess I could only feel so much at once. I suppose I ought to have felt thankful for that, but honestly, I felt kind of guilty.

Why? I don’t know. Maybe I felt like you deserved to have someone hurting over you, even though I’d already offered up so much pain. And even though I knew I still had more to give.

Still, slowly but surely, I recovered. It took the full two weeks for me to fully detox. Even then, I wasn’t at 100%. I was, maybe, 85%. I wasn’t shivering and throwing up anymore, but I still felt like a damp, moldy rag.

It was around that point that I finally told Fix-it that I would try counselling.

I think he tried his best to play it cool so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed out of my decision by his enthusiasm, but I could tell he was overjoyed. Not disappointing him for once felt… different.

He went to tell Surge as promised, and he came back with a little pamphlet about the program for me to look over leading up to the first session. Just looking at the thing nearly turned me off from the idea, and actually opening it up and reading it was… so much worse.

The program seemed to be built upon twelve ‘steps’ (hurdles, more like): Honesty, Hope, Surrender, Courage, Integrity, Willingness, Humility, Love, Responsibility, Discipline, Awareness, and Service.

Yeah. That’s a lot of gross words.

As if that wasn’t enough on its own, so many descriptions for these supposed steps were so explicitly Devout, like my faith in the Devs would be what pulled me through this whole thing. Reading it, I almost wondered if I was being tricked into some kind of cult, or enlisted in some kind of military conditioning. Everything about it screamed that I would not fit in. At all. It wouldn’t work, I’d just humiliate myself, and I’d be locked up for two years anyway.

I wanted to quit. Really badly.

But one thought of Tapper was all it would take to guilt me back into it.

When I was ready as I’d ever be, I met Surge in our cord station, and he let me know just how things were going to work. Sessions were on Tuesdays and Fridays from 10:30 PM ‘til midnight, and they would be held in the center of Pac-Man. Yeah, Pac-Man, where some of the best GC is, and where I had my last hit that had been so devastating. I pointed out the bad decision to Surge, and he assured me that he was aware of the risks. He had a few volunteer guards attending all the meetings, making sure no one slipped into the maze to get high. Besides, the whole thing was run by that little orange ghost, Clyde. Why? I don’t know. I guess he’s a philanthropist or something. But keeping him in his own game seemed like the safest option on his part, which seemed fair.

I still think it was stupid.

Surge would escort me to and from the meetings, but I would go in alone. He has too much work to do to sit in on a group therapy session for an hour and a half. But then he told me the worst part -- I could not bring my brush and paint can to the meetings. My tools were to remain in my game. They were considered weapons, which, in the right context, they can be. That much was fair. Less fair was the fact that when too much distance is put between me and my tools, my code gets stretched out. I glitch, I get very, very uncomfortable, and am definitely put in a far less receptive state to counselling that I already don’t want to attend. I explained as much to Surge, including the fact that my brush didn’t even have its full spectrum at the time, but it was no use. Defective or not, I’m too powerful with my brush.

It would have been flattering if it didn’t suck so damn much.

But, I agreed to it. I just wanted to get it all over with. It felt so humiliating and futile. I’ve never been the sort to tolerate being locked in with a bunch of losers blubbering about their feelings, or whatever the hell. I automatically reject pretty much any and all advice, just by reflex. I could not imagine having someone tell me what to do about deeply personal, painful feelings and having it help literally anything. Knowing me, it might have just made it worse.

Yet, despite all that, there was a very real, very conscious part of me that was willing to give it a real shot. I was almost at the end of my rope, just holding onto fraying strands. I wanted to get better, I really did.

So I went into this experience holding onto that will like a lifeline.

Surge escorted me to Pac-Man that night, and, obviously, I went in alone. Inside, right off the train, there were these two big army guys from Front Line waiting at the entrance of the maze. Seemed like a good choice for guards, with how beefy they are. They walked with me into the dark maze, and as we wove through the bends and corners, I just kept thinking about how easily I could drop both of them and run off for a sweet hit of GC if I had my brush. Which just validated Surge’s decision to ban my tools, I guess.

We arrived at the conference room, and my burly chaperones opened the doors to show me in. When I entered, I jumped. Everyone was already there. A group of around nine or ten sat in a circle, and all eyes among them were fixed on me. Along with the eyes of that little orange ghost himself.

“Make-it Mavis,” he called calmly. “Welcome.”

I did not feel particularly welcome, not with the nervous looks and spiteful glares pointed my way. I just stood there, waiting to be told what to do. I was not interested in pleasantries. I just wanted to do the work and go.

Sensing that, Clyde nodded to an empty chair next to him. “Come, sit. Don’t be shy.”

I wanted to throw a retort at him, but I just went with it. Every time I got the urge to screw it all up, I remembered Tapper, and hot shame in my belly put me back in line. I had to do everything I could to ensure that I would never do something like what I did to his game again. I had already spent too long thinking your blood was on my hands. I did not need to throw someone else’s into the mix.

I walked into the fluorescent-lit meeting room and took my seat, and noted immediately that the space around it was far more generous than anyone else was getting, like even the chairs were scared of me. I felt so low, so hot, so embarrassed. I was in a massive hole that I’d tunneled my own way into, putting me on the same level as all those other miserable suckers. I was only there because I had been too weak to stop myself from taking my last buff. I couldn’t stop berating myself over it all. I was lethargic, sweating, ashamed, with my code stretched clear across the arcade. At least the cold metal chair felt pretty good on my feverish ass. I had that going for me.

“Alright, everybody,” Clyde addressed the group in a non-threatening voice, “let’s open up this evening by welcoming our newest member, Make-it Mavis.”

Silence. There were a few hesitant murmurs, so quiet that I definitely would not have heard them if the room was not already silent as the grave.

“Come on now,” Clyde prompted gently. “Say hello, everyone.”

I folded my arms and sighed. “They all knew I was coming,” I grumbled to Clyde, before saying to the group, “Yeah, I know. I’m here. And you don’t like it. Well, TS, ‘cause neither do I. Better learn to deal with it.”

“Actually,” Clyde responded, “there is some truth in what you’re saying, Mavis. None of us wanted to find ourselves in these situations, but everyone in this group did. And maybe we don’t understand each other as well as we could, but that’s just because we don’t know each other’s stories. That’s why we share them here, so we can recognize that addiction arises from a feeling that all living beings share -- pain. We are stronger against pain when we are united, rather than divided.”

There were a few appreciative claps. I wanted to blow my brains out.

“Everyone did know you were coming,” he told me. “But why don’t you give us an introduction in your own words? Maybe let us know why you’re here?”

He was already placing way too much trust in me. Still, I sighed loudly and stood, looking out over the group. Some were big, some were small, most I’d seen in passing, but all were looking at me with full understanding of who I was. An introduction felt superfluous and quite daunting at that point.

"You…" I said slowly, leading into a sigh. "You all know. Or you think you know. There's no point. Just-- just forget it and get this rollin', okay?"

I sat down.

There was no applause, not even awkward and scattered. There was only silence, while some glared at me and others squirmed anxiously. Even Clyde was silent for a moment, but I could see him studying me out of my peripheral.

He then spoke as pleasantly as ever, “You’re not feeling ready to share. That’s alright. Everyone’s expected to participate, but we go at our own pace. Remember that there are no judgments here, and nothing leaves this room.” He then addressed the group, “Why don’t we welcome our newest member with our own introductions? We’ll go clockwise from my left.”

The introductions began, and I made a painful effort to listen. For the most part, they seemed to be the same basic sob story. The unplugging on the 7th put the fear of Litwak in them, and buffs were the only way to escape the existential horrors they had been plunged into. It was supposed to make me feel welcome, but it seemed to just piss me off. It felt like a punishment. I was supposed to sit in a room with a bunch of random losers and pretend we were going through the same thing. All of them could go home after the meeting and have a life waiting for them in the morning. They had roles. They had purpose. They probably still had plenty of sprites who loved them. I didn’t see how I could stand to benefit from the same treatment as sprites who had not gone through the hell I did. Sprites who could walk down Game Central free from harassment or attempts on their life. Who were not being blamed for a tragedy they had nothing to do with. Whose dead best friend was not being remembered as the most hated, corrupt, murderous sprite in history, while they barely had the space to mourn.

But as they carried on, I began to hear things I didn't understand. There was grief in their voices. Some said that buffs were their only escape from how much they missed someone. They talked about loved ones and game mates being lost to the 'Roadblasters incident,' and at the time, it made no sense to me. Up until that point, I thought that you, the twins, and all of Roadblasters were the only casualties. But according to these sprites, some were 'mowed down,' 'caught in the blast,' or even 'burned to death.' Apparently, you'd killed a handful of innocent bystanders somehow, which is… I mean, I’m not gonna lie to you.

That’s horrible.

Obviously, I remembered none of it. Well, I thought I didn’t. But there were things buried in my brain that burned like coals with every story that came. My mind didn't feel right, like it was suddenly struggling against the hold of reality, desperate to fly into another time. I felt so distressed by what I was hearing, so physically ill, that my sensitive, stretched-out code glitched slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for my hand to clip into the seat of my chair where I was gripping.

That was just what I needed. Another way to humiliate myself. It kept me distracted from the harrowing stories, at least, as I tried to find a subtle way to tug my hand out of the pixels of the chair.

Then... she spoke.

The sound of one of the group member's voices startled me so deeply that my hand glitched free again. Her voice was not abrupt or loud or frightening -- in fact, it was fairly low, just a smoky, raspy mutter. But I felt it wriggle down into the crevices of my brain, trying to connect with a memory.

I looked at her, but it did not help much at first. I had never seen her before, as far as I could recall. She was a bipedal insect creature, modestly bigger than me, with a dull, lavender carapace and yellow wings folded behind her. She had huge red eyes that took up most of her head, but her tiny slit pupils never seemed to look my way. I still remember exactly what she said.

"My name's Worluk, and I'm an addict," she said, as if she had said it many times before. "Senseless violence killed a sprite I considered a sister. I can't just accept a reality where that's allowed to happen. Where someone so innocent can just die and there's nothing I can do about it. Everything's wrong. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make it right. Buffs took the edge off, but… they didn’t end up righting any wrongs."

As she spoke, I watched her serrated teeth and mandibles move, and stared at her weird spindly fingers that gave me some disembodied, distant ache. I knew her voice, I swore I did. But it sounded off-key. Out of context.

She finished her speech, "Committing crimes alone is one thing, but, then I got my friends involved and, y’know… that’s on me."

Then it hit me. It hit me like an ice-cold tidal wave made of everything I'd been through, everything that had led me to that moment. The nightmares. The trips. The echoing voice in my head that blamed me for your death. I should have recognized that voice the second I heard it.

It was hers.

My attacker, the ringleader of the attempt on my life in Dragon's Lair, that sick, disgusting psychopath who broke my brush and carved your name into my skin, was sitting just across the room from me.

The blood in my veins froze. My heart clenched. I could feel every sick, weak muscle in my body tighten with intent to spring, like an animal with prey in its sights. I stared at her, and she finally met my gaze coolly.

I thought getting through counselling was going to be hard before. I had no idea.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #original character #homesick

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marvinswriting · 4 years

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tiny swap part three: gretchen and janis part one , part two

Monday, 7:10 am

Janis crossed her arms, blowing a raspberry to Damian.

Her friend, obviously, did not seem to take this as a serious insult as he chuckled, turning is attention elsewhere. "Okay, Jan."

They all shared a first period, one that Janis normally slept through with Damian.

But she was not with Damian and there would definitely be no sleeping since Gretchen sat in the very front row.

Fucking hell.

Damian said goodbye to the group as he made his way to the back and Janis frowned, wanting nothing more than to go with him.

Nothing against Gretchen.

Just-

She trusted Damian more.

A lot more.

Gretchen sat down and Janis allowed herself to be placed on the table, mindful of Damian's warnings earlier.

Just one week.

Tuesday, 7 am

Walking into school on Gretchen's shoulder felt new. Even in middle school, she would be with Karen.

Gretchen's right shoulder was reserved for Regina George and Regina George only.

Yet here she sat.

Janis threw Regina and peace sign for good measures and laughed as the girl returned a middle finger.

No real feelings hurt, Janis knew that.

Even Shane Omen didn't seem to know what to think of it as they passed him in the hall.

That was real power.

Janis didn't care for ruling the school.

But if sitting on Gretchen's shoulder as she and Karen walked the halls was all it took to stop getting harassed, she would have done this long ago.

Gretchen actually wasn't bad at the whole walking with a tiny on her shoulder. She had definitely improved since middle school at least.

The giant stopped at her locker, slipping books in while talking with Karen- something about boys.

Gross.

Janis gave no useful commentary to the conversation. The plastics didn't expect her too.

Maybe this week wouldn't be the most god awful thing.

Wednesday, 8:56 am

Janis frowned at her phone.

Regina was asking if she and Aaron wanted to stay after school just to talk. Call it English help.

Well, the nickname didn't make sense anymore since their giants knew what it entailed but, sure, Janis will humor her.

"Hey, Gretchen?"

The giant looked up from her school work.

"I got after school help today. Can you give me a ride?"

Gretchen sighed knowingly. "I haven't dropped you yet, dude. What could you have to whine about."

"Hey!"

Gretchen laughed, nudging Janis with her pencil. "Yeah, I can drive you."

Wednesday, 4 pm

"Thanks for giving me a ride, Gretchen," Janis said as the plastic stepped into her car.

"Of course, I wasn't just gonna let you stay at school overnight."

Janis smiled. It was only Wednesday but, she had grown to trust Gretchen a lot more this week. Gretchen hadn't dropped her- yet- and she was open and easy to talk too. It was something Janis never really noticed when she was always with Damian.

Huh.

Gretchen turned on the car, a pop song playing softly. She scooped up Janis, pacing her in over in the cup holder and buckled up.

"If something happened to you because you were on my shoulder Damian would never forgive me." She explained when Janis gave her a questioning look.

"I won't fall! I can take care of myself."

"Uh-huh." Gretchen pulled out of the school parking lot. "So, what did you talk about?"

"Oh you know- bitchin'." Janis grinned.

Gretchen knew full well that Janis couldn't tell her.

The specifics at least.

Hey, bitchin' wasn't a total lie.

But that was par for every meeting.

Maybe this week wasn't so different after all.

Thursday, 11:30 pm

"So," Gretchen's voice was a bit robotic as it came through the phone.

Janis sat at her easel, painting. "So."

"How was this week?" Gretchen asked. "I'm no Damian but I'd like to think I wasn't awful."

Janis smiled. "No, you weren't awful. At all. This week was great, actually. Regina is lucky to have you"

"-You think?"

"Yeah! Why wouldn't she?"

There was quiet on the other end. "I dunno. It's stupid but like-" Gretchen sighed.

Janis lowered her paintbrush, turning her full attention to her phone. "Gretchen, you talking to Janis Sarkisian about feelings. I guarantee it's not gonna be stupid. "

Gretchen laughed. "I know Regina hates all things that require feeling and having a heart. But I know she loves me and trusts me anyway I just- wish she'd show it more. I dunno. Is that selfish?"

"I don't think so?"

Gretchen continued. "Just, Cady and Aaron are so open with each other. You and Damian- well sometimes I'm convinced you share the same mind. Regina just won't let me in. Like- I can see something is bothering her, but she won't tell me what. I just wanna help."

Janis sighed sadly. "What you're saying now- it sounds a lot like a talk I had with Damian about a year into our friendship. After that, I worked to be more open. I tried to let him in more. And look at us now. You just gotta talk with Regina. I promise you it's not stupid."

"Thanks, Janis," Gretchen said. Janis could almost hear the smile. "Now I got to get to bed but- please don't stay up late painting."

"Oh, I will. I get Damian's pocket again tomorrow, I plan to pass out at lunch and sleep for a month."

Gretchen laughed. "Alright. Good night then."

"Bye, Gretchen."

Friday, 12 pm

Gretchen pushed her way past crowds in the cafeteria, steadily making her way to the gang's table.

Janis leaned closer to her neck as they passed. No matter who she was with, crowded hallways and cafes would forever be a no no.

Gretchen sat at the table first, nobody else was here.

"You excited to see Regina?" Janis asked as Gretchen lowered her to the table.

"Yeah. You ready to see Damian?"

"I'm ready for a nap."

Gretchen laughed. "I told you you should have gone to bed."

"Oooo! Look what we've got here!" A taunting voice cooed from behind Gretchen.

Janis can't see over Gretchen's head, but its a voice she knows all too well.

"What can we do for you, Shane?" Gretchen sits up straighter.

"I was just wondering how long you think little Space Dyke is gonna last?"

"I'm sorry?" Janis frowned as Gretchen stood up next to Shane.

"She's obviously replaced Regina. You really think she's gonna last long, Gretchen?"

Extreme distance filled Gretchen's features. "Janis didn't replace Regina."

"Then why have you been carrying around Space Dyke?"

"I'm allowed to carry around other friends." Gretchen crosses her arms, standing up straight.

Gretchen was short. There was no denying that.

But when she drew herself to full hight? She was intimidating. You just never saw it because she let Regina do the talking.

Janis blinked in disbelief at the argument going on in front of her.

Gretchen looked-

unnerving.

Shane didn't seem to feel the same uneasiness as he glared down at Gretchen. "What's it matter to you? This is is between Space Dyke and I."

"It's not space dyke. It's Janis. And Janis is my friend."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Why don't you leave caring for the worthless tiny to that gay kid?"

Woah woah woah. Janis frowned, standing up, but Gretchen beat her to the punch.

"Damian? Yeah, he's got a name too. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, maybe you didn't know! I mean, I know because I know everything about everybody. I know things about you that can get you expelled. I know things about all your friends that could diminish Northshore's giant football team. I know shit. Maybe you don't! So I'll let you know right now. It's Damian and Janis. And you better leave them the fuck alone."

Shane rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't do shit without Regina George's permission."

Janis was vaguely aware of a crowd starting to form around the table. She didn't like it one bit.

They had done so well this week! No one was dropped nothing went wrong. Of course, the period they are supposed to switch back everything goes to shit.

Janis tried to ignore the crows around them and the way she felt suffocated.

"I don't need Regina's permission to destroy your reputation," Gretchen said, her voice was dangerously low, almost a growl.

Shane swallowed, and momentarily, his bad boy look faltered, revealing a truly threatened Shane Omen. Only momentarily.

"Stay in your own fights." He said, glaring down at Gretchen.

A low 'ooo' admitted from some of Shane's friends in the crowd.

Janis stiffened.

Shane smirked, seeming filled with a newfound confidence now that he was backed up by the crowd. He turned to Janis, the familiar malice in his eyes turning her blood cold.

This was just supposed to be a fun week, a nice experiment if you will.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Shane reached forward and Janis instinctively stepped backward.

She couldn't back up fast enough, Shane was quicker.

Shit shit shit.

A hand slammed in front of Janis, blocking Shane and shaking the table.

"Fuck off." Gretchen all but snarled.

Janis stared wide-eyed at the hand in front of her.

Holy shit.

She felt nauseous from the spike of adrenaline and her body was shaking involuntarily.

Shane chuckled. "Seriously, Gretchen. Learn your plac-"

Gretchen reached forward, slapping Shane across the face.

There was a gasp as the crowd fell silent.

All Shane's friends who were there to back him up stepped backward into the crowd.

Janis hugged herself slightly, pulling her knees to her chest. There was still a crowd around her and it felt like too much.

Too many people.

Too much noise.

Her breaths felt shallow.

"Did you just- slap me?"

Gretchen nodded, stepping forward as Shane stepped backward. "You leave my friends alone."

"Psycho bitch." Shane spat, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Gretchen didn't turn around immodestly, she just watched Shane walk away.

Janis wrapped her jacket tighter around her, like that could protect her or anything. The crowd had dispersed but it left the cafeteria buzzing again and everything felt too loud.

She was vaguely aware of two more tinies on the table, people sitting all around, but her brain couldn't comprehend.

All Janis could do was tug her jacket tighter and tighter until it wouldn't go anymore. She stared numbly at her hands, knuckles white from pulling her jacket.

Fingers wrapped around her torso and Janis gasped, her arms shotting out to push at the fingers.

No no no.

"Jan- Janis. It's me."

Damian. Janis relaxed, the last of her adrenaline fueled fight leaving her body. She allowed herself to be gently scooped up as Damian raised her to eye level.

"You okay?"

"I- yeah. I think?"

"You think?" Damian frowned.

"No like- Shane didn't touch me. I'm physically fine. Just shaken up, I guess."

"We were so close to a problem-free week." Regina comments from the table. She walks back over to Gretchen who picks her immediately.

"Yeah." Janis sunk into Damian's hands. "So close."

Damian drew his hands to his chest, wordlessly holding Janis close.

Janis squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned into Damian's shirt, trying to will herself to calm down.

"I hate Shane Omen." Gretchen mumbled.

Janis laughed dryly, turning to look at her friends across the table.

Regina and Aaron had obviously already found way to their giant's shoulders and Gretchen was holding her hand against her cool water bottle.

"You okay?" Janis asked.

Gretchen grinned. "I hit him a bit harder then I meant to."

"Fucking good!" Regina said.

Janis grinned. "He deserved it."

"Agreed." Damian said, his voice rumbling through Janis.

She grinned, leaning into Damian's warmth.

The week itself wasn't bad. Yeah, it was a rough ending but it was in no way Gretchen's fault.

If anything, it would have been worse without her.

Janis grabbed onto the edge of Damian's jacket, pulling herself out of his hands and using folds in the fabric for leverage as she hoisted herself into the familiar pocket.

"Jesus, Janis. Are we back at this again?"

Janis popped her head out of the jacket. "I held back all week just for you. But I'm not with Gretchen anymore."

Damian looked down at her but a small smile played on his lips, betraying his disappointment. "Just be careful."

"Always am!" Janis gave a salute to the table before sinking into the pocket, getting comfy.

At the end of the week, while all the giants were her friends, Damian was her giant. And she never wanted to do this little experiment again.

fuck shane omen, man @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

#tss #g/t mean girls #tiny janis #giant gretchen #g/t #Giant/tiny #g/t writing

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 4 years

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Their Hero Academia – Chapter 58: An Exam Cometh!

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

There was a somewhat somber mood in the classroom as 1-A settled in Tuesday morning. The funeral yesterday had been the cap to a long week that stretched back to the Nomu attacks and had been a roller coaster for many of them ever since. But things looked to Isamu like they were finally getting back to normal. The class was back together again and even if they weren’t all up to their usual selves, they were getting there. Even Shinso had been in a slightly cheerier mood last night, joining him and Midoriya for a few rounds of Smash Fighters 3000 in Midoriya’s room.

The room fell into a hushed silence as Aizawa entered. They knew by this point not to screw around once he was there. Well, most of them did. He was pretty sure Mineta and Sero hadn’t gotten the same message as everybody else.

Aizawa stood at his podium for a moment before speaking. “Only three seconds to quiet down. An improvement.” His eyes swept the room and his face relaxed a fraction of a centimeter. “I know your Internship experiences were harrowing, but I’ve also had the opportunity to review the feedback your mentors provided, and you all acquitted yourselves well, even in the face of some concerns over discipline.” There was a glance reserved for Mineta and Sero again at that.

“However, that does not change the fact that your final exams will be in two weeks. Your subject exams will be the Monday through Thursday of that week, with the practical Heroics exam on Friday.”

That wasn’t a surprise, really. The dates for final exams had been in the syllabus on the first day of class. But that seemed like both yesterday and a lifetime ago. There was the phrase “time flies when you’re having fun”, but had the term really been fun? It seemed like much of it had been long moments of calm split by absolute and total panic.

Then again, in the time since that first day, he’d made friends, won the Sports Festival, interned with Deku, seen a monster, gotten a girlfriend…

Yeah, okay, there was some fun there.

Up in the front row, he saw Izumi raise her hand. Once Aizwa gave her permission to speak, she asked, “Will you be telling us any details of the exam, Sensei?” she asked.

A good question, and Isamu sat up a little straighter in his seat to listen. Regular final exams would be difficult enough—they weren’t kidding when they said U.A. was academically rigorous!—but he couldn’t imagine what the Heroics exam would be like.

And then something happened that sent a chill up Isamu’s spine. Aizawa… smiled. It wasn’t a normal person’s smile, but a rictus grin, and it looked deeply unsettling on his face. It was the smile of someone about to deliver a devastating smackdown onto a foe and take utter delight in doing it. A shrill scream split the air. It was Sero.

“Dude,” Sato said, “what was that?”

“He’s smiling!” Sero wailed. “We’re doomed! Dooooomed!”

“I’m too young to die!” Kaminari wailed.

“I’m too hot to die!” Mineta shrieked, joining in the wailing.

Even Midoriya, in the front row, seemed afraid. “Oh no, oh no, oh no, not good!”

Isamu felt his own heartbeat quicken, but he took a look to the opposite end of the row to decide what was the most appropriate reaction. Kirishima-Bakugo looked deadly serious, as opposed to her usual pissed off. And even she seemed slightly ill at ease at the prospects hidden behind that smile.

“Funny you should ask, Todoroki,” Aizawa said. “You all did an impressive job working together during the Sports Festival. I don’t know which one of you came up with it, but it was impressive tactical thinking. And since you all like working together, the teachers decided to change up some of the conditions of the Heroics exam.”

There was a mad glint in their teacher’s eyes now. “Either you all pass… or no one does.”

***

That night, Class 1-A gathered in the Common Room. As usual, Isamu sat on one of the couches with Shinso, Izumi, and Sora Iida. Midoriya and Tokoyami were at the front of their room, with a whiteboard. One of the other couches was occupied by Sero, Sato, Ojiro, and Tensei Iida. A third couch was occupied by Aoyama, Koda, Shoji, with Aoyama looking rather small compared to his two classmates. Mineta and Kaminari had pulled up chairs, while Kirishima-Bakugo stood behind the couch Isamu and the others were on, together with the class, but apart as always.

Most of them were chatting away, while Midoriya and Tokoyami, the Class Representatives (Yeah, that was definitely not a job he wanted.) tried to get everyone’s attention, unsuccessfully. “Hey!” Shinso shouted, putting just a little something into his voice to make it echo and pierce the noise. “Toshi and Asuka are trying to talk!”

That got everyone to quiet down.

“Sorry Mom and Dad,” Sero said. That got a laugh out of several people, until Kirishima-Bakugo moved to behind him and gave him a smack upside the head.

“Thank you, Shota,” Asuka said. Frog-Shadow was out again, sitting on her shoulder. “So we’ve got two things to discuss. The first is the formation of study groups for the subject area final exams. Math, Science, Literature, History, Science, and English.”

“We’re hoping to have someone who’s doing well in each class lead some study sessions or make themselves available to answer questions,” Midoriya said.

“We’re all going to die,” Ojiro wailed.

“Kimmie, it’s not that bad,” Sato tried to reassure her.

“This is just going to tank my grades, Kenta!”

“They couldn’t be any worse than mine, Kimmie,” Sero said, grinning.

She punched him in the arm. “That’s not something to be proud of, Takuma!”

“Hey, leave him alone,” Kaminari said. “He’s the only person who’s grades are worse than mine!”

“See,” Sero said, “when it comes to being the worse, I’m the best!”

Both of the Iida twins thrust their hands into the air. “We volunteer for science and math!” Sora Iida said.

Midoriya flushed a little at that. “Ah, actually, Sora, I was thinking maybe not you? Not that you aren’t smart! But, ah, you’re both a lot smarter than most of us. I don’t know if you could dumb it down?”

The hands went down. “That is… acceptable,” Sora said.

“We would not wish to hinder anyone’s progress,” Tensei agreed. “And we do have additional Support Class projects to complete.”

Reluctantly, Isamu put his hand up. “I can probably handle science,” he said. “It was mostly physics this term. I’m good at that.” He had to be, thanks to his Quirk. Knowing how much force to apply and where it was going to send him flying and how much he needed to break at a certain speed was vital.

“Excellent, thank you,” Tokoyami said. She handed her marker to Frog-Shadow, who looked at it curiously. “If you’d write that down?”

“Why me?”

“Because you asked to be more involved,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, right!” Frog-Shadow bubbled, before flying off to write his name down.

Mineta stuck a hand in the air. “I can take English,” she said. “Vocab and translations, anyway. Grammar’s still a little weird.”

“I guess that works,” Midoriya said, though he didn’t look like he believed it. “Just… be on your best behavior, okay?”

“When am I not?”

“If that’s your best behavior, Horse-Girl, I’d hate to see you worst,” Kirishima-Bakugo growled.

“Allow me to provide what Mineta cannot,” Aoyama said. He looked pretty smug about it. Of course, everyone knew that he and Mineta didn’t get along. He was probably relishing an opportunity to show her up in something. “I am reasonably trilingual, after all, n'est-ce pas?”

“And I can take History,” Izumi volunteered.

“Great!” Midoriya said. “Now we’re getting somewhere…”

***

Eventually, they came back around to the subject of the Heroics final exam. Midoriya cleared his throat and looked a little red from embarrassment. “So, this is probably my fault, guys. The whole Sports Festival thing was my plan. Sorry I got us into this mess….”

“Oh, bullshit,” Kirishima-Bakugo said, causing all eyes to fall on her and Isamu to jump. “Maybe you threw some gas on the fire, Toshi, but you have to know Aizawa was planning something like this. Him and his “logical ruses.’” She crossed her arms and nodded, as if that explained everything.

“She does have a point, Toshi,” Izumi said.

“She does?” Midoriya asked, surprised. Then he looked over at Kirishima-Bakugo, who was glaring at him. “She does!”

“You couldn’t have known,” Isamu said. “And it was a good plan. I don’t know if I’d have won if you hadn’t gotten us that far.” If he’d had to race and fight at the same time, without Mineta watching his back (making innuendos the whole way), he doubted he would have done half as well.

But it wasn’t surprising that Midoriya thought it was his fault. The guy always seemed to fall into a pattern of trying to take care of all of them, which meant he was just as likely to try and shoulder all the blame.

“None of us blame you, Toshi,” Tokoyami insisted.

“Besides,” Isamu offered, “I talked to Kana over in 1-B…”

He was interrupted by Ojiro. “Did you hear that? He’s using her first name now! Squeeee! They’re getting closer!”

Okay, he was going to pretend he didn’t hear that. He really didn’t need to end up the topic of conversation on her web show. “As I was saying, I was talking to Kana and she says Super-Ball told 1-B the same thing. Only not as scary as Aizawa was. They’re pass or fail as a group too. She said Super-Ball said it was about building up their teamwork skills.”

“My friend, Mizuno, from 1-C said much the same thing,” Koda said. “Battle-Fist also emphasized the need for better teamwork.”

“Looks like you sparked a revolution, Midoriya,” Sero said, only to be silenced by a smack from Ojiro.

“Okay,” Midoriya said, nodding, taking a couple breaths to steady himself. “So sounds like it was something they were going to do anyway. Not my fault. Good. Then if the Heroics exam is going to be a pass/fail for everyone, we’re going to need a plan.”

“How are we going to do that?” Shoji asked. “We don’t know what form the exam will take.”

Midoriya nodded again, now in his element when a plan was required. “We don’t,” he agreed. “But we do know, whatever it is, it’s going to require us to work together and it’s going to be bigger than anything we’ve had tossed at us before now. That’s the only reasonable extrapolation of the pass/fail condition.”

“So that means,” he went on, “we need to train like we’ve never trained before. Until anybody here can work with anybody else.

“Right now,” Toshi finished, “it doesn’t matter who your best friend is.” He looked over at Sero, Ojiro, and Sato. “It doesn’t matter who you don’t get along with.” This look was given to Aoyama and Mineta. “Or how mad everyone might make you.” A look went out to Kirishima-Bakugo.

“Right now, we’re all in this together. We’re Class 1-A and we need to come together.”

Shinso let out a cheer and a clap. Even Isamu had to admit, he felt pretty inspired.

“Fancy speech, Toshi,” Kirishima-Bakugo said. “But you got a real plan to back it up?”

Midoriya looked a bit deflated at that. “Not entirely,” he admitted. “But Asuka and I were going to discuss some likely scenarios. If you want to help, you’re more than welcome.”

“Damn straight, I will. I’m not letting any of you pull me down with you. We’re gonna pass even if I have to kick your asses every inch of the way.”

Midoriya’s confidence returned. Even Isamu knew this was just her way. “Well, you heard her, people. We’re going to pass!”

Somehow, this became a rallying cry.

“We’re going to pass! PLUS UTLRA!”

***

Izumi’s room always reminded Chihiro of the fact that while she was extremely well off, Izumi’s family was so rich it practically made the word useless. There was a four poster bed, an ornate oak desk, wood paneling added to all the walls… even the desk lamp looked like it cost way more than things like that should. “Don’t touch anything,” she warned Mika.

Mika shot her a dirty look. “I’m not a child, Chi.”

“You’re not always graceful, Mika. Like a bull in a china shop.”

“That’s hurtful. And possibly racist”

Chihiro facepalmed at that. “I’d like to apologize for her in advance,” she said.

“Please, do not worry about it,” Izumi said, standing as they entered. “May I offer you tea and sweets?” She indicated the tea tray and plate she had already laid out.

After she and Mika had accepted Izumi’s offering, all three took seats. “So what’s up?” Chihiro asked. Izumi asking to talk to her was one thing; they were good friends. But other than when she was around, Mika and Izumi didn’t usually have too much to do with one another.

“I need your help,”

Okay, add that to the list of things she never thought she’d hear. “I’m guessing not with homework or anything?” Chihiro said. “Because that’s definitely not me.” Izumi was way towards the front of the class anyway. So was Mika, for that matter. She belatedly realized she was the dumbest person in the room. On the other hand, she might still win the medal for most common sense.

“Not homework,” Izumi assured her. “The matter is more personal.”

“Is this about a guy? Or a girl?” Mika asked. “Because I was ninety-nine percent sure you didn’t go for that.”

Startled at her friend’s abruptness, Chihiro smacked her upside the head with one of her Cords. “Don’t be crude.”

Izumi, fortunately, took it all in stride. “You are correct that I do not “go for that.’”

Huh. Chihiro had always known that Izumi hadn’t displayed much interest in anyone, but given that her other best friend was interested in everyone, she’d figured it was just less interest, not none. How had she been that clueless?

“So what do you need?” Chihiro asked.

Izumi closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. When she opened them, she looked as serious as Chihiro had ever seen her. “I need to find my grandfather.”

“What happened?” Mika asked. “Was there a big tax scandal? Is Grandpa Yaoyorozu hiding out from the feds in the tropics?”

“No,” Izumi said. “Not him. My grandfather on my father’s side.”

“Endeavor?” Chihiro asked. “Why?” A thought occurred to her, something that had come up during her Internship with Aunt Momo. “Wait, does this have anything to do with Plague?”

Next to her, Mika had pulled out her phone, but right now, her friend’s rudeness wasn’t her biggest concern.

Izumi’s eyes went wide. “How do you know that name?”

“Daddy called Aunt Momo. Said you’d found out about somebody with that name.”

Izumi took another moment to collect her thoughts. "What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room."

"Izumi, you're scaring me." Her friend was never this intense. Whatever it was, this all had to be deadly serious.

Izumi locked eyes with her. "Promise me, Chihiro."

Chihiro was worried now, but kept eye contact. "Okay. I promise."

"Do you remember when I was sick?"

That did very little to narrow it down. Izumi had had plenty of health issues over the years. Chihiro had visited her in the hospital countless times. "You're going to need to specify, Izumi. You've been sick a lot."

"The time I was very sick. The time that really started it all."

Oh yeah. That one. Chihiro looked at the floor. "I remember."

Izumi sighed. "During my internship, Uncle Denki let it slip that there was possibly something more... complicated behind it."

Daddy was in on whatever this was? "Complicated? How?"

"Complicated, as it was the implied that it was a villain, this “Plague,” who got me sick."

“Okay,” Chihiro said, her head spinning as she tried to make sense of it. Nervously, she tapped the ends of her Cords together. “Okay, did you talk to your parents about this?”

Izumi shook her head. "I did not. After the Nomu attacks, Mother and Father...they wanted to pull me from the school. I exhausted myself. Again."

Of course they did. She knew it was ongoing drama with Izumi and her parents.

Before she could speak, Izumi held up her hand. "I managed to talk them down. For now. Part of me suspects that at the next big incident, the next time I falter, they'll try again. That's why I didn't ask them. I couldn't. I didn't want to bring up the pain they went through again."

Izumi pointed to a plush rabbit on her bed, one which looked fairly new. “I am certain he visited me in the hospital. Things are… becoming complicated.”

Izumi inhaled deeply before continuing. "I've been thinking a lot since then. I've been remembering things. Things I thought I forgot. I want to find out what happened to me, but I can't go to my parents. I can't go to anyone, not your father, not Uncle Deku, no one, because they'll go to my parents. I know I can count on you to keep my secrets, both of you.

“I cannot burden Katsumi with this. She has enough to carry right now without carrying me as well. You don't have to help if you don't want to get in trouble-"

“Found him,” Mika said, looking up from her phone.

“…How the hell did you do that?” Chihiro asked. It could not possibly have been that easy.

“Daddy never changes his login ID or password for anything,” Mika said. “I just used one of the databases available to Heroes to look up an address. It’s not even that far.”

Chihiro just stared. “Every time I think I’ve got you figured out…”

Izumi looked equally startled, worried, and pleased. “Thank you, Mineta,” she said, quietly.

Mika shrugged. “Hey, what’re friends for?”

***

Normally, Toshi did his morning jog with Katsumi, sometimes joined by Kana Tetsutetsu. He’d also occasionally convinced Haimawari to join them, though that was fairly rare. But this morning, he was alone. Katsumi had begged off for wanting to focus on weight training instead and Tetsutetsu was apparently busy with some emergency in her dorm, according to her text.

Which was fine. He could be alone with his thoughts. Like the thought that he didn’t have idea one what they were getting into with the exam and it would definitely be his fault if they all failed, bringing shame upon the Midoriya name and leading to Sora dumping him and Katsumi killing him.

Well. That had escalated quickly.

“Mi… Midoriya!” The sound of his name drew him out of his panic. It came with labored breathing and he came to a stop, turning and seeing Shiro Monoma, dressed in workout clothes, running up behind him. Monoma’s not out of shape, but it’s a wiry build, more suited to agility and gymnastics, than Toshi’s more muscular one.

“What’s up, Monoma?” he asked. Monoma hadn’t done anything antagonistic yet, which was a good sign. In fact, Toshi couldn’t remember seeing him at all during the past week, or even hearing him, which was even stranger. He didn’t have the same extreme dislike for the other boy that Katsumi did, but he would hardly say they were on friendly terms, even though they were neighbors. Honestly, he mostly did his best to ignore Monoma’s jabs at the class.

“I need to talk to you about the exam,” Monoma said.

“I don’t know what they’re going to do any more than you do,” Toshi told him. “I can make a few educated guesses though, based on our Heroics classes and all though. Happy to talk, if you want.”

He stole a glance at his watch. “Can we run though? I want to get this in before classes and my heart rate’s already dropping.”

Monoma looked rather pained by the prospect, but nodded. “Okay.”

Since he wasn’t completely unfeeling, Toshi did tone his run down to something slightly less than his usual, letting Monoma keep up. “So like I said, I don’t really know, but I can guess. Got to be something large scale, if they’re going to be able to score all of us on it. And that means something with a lot of different moving parts. Probably Villains to fight, people to rescue, maybe something to find like a bomb…”

Monoma was, to his credit, keeping up with Toshi, though he looked like he was pushing himself a bit to do it. “That’s… good thinking…,” he said, between breaths. “But not what I wanted to ask about.”

“Then what?” Toshi asked.

“I need to know,” Monoma said, with such seriousness that it took Toshi aback for a moment. “how you got… everyone to work… together.”

Toshi took pity on him and slowed down a little more. “Everyone. Teamwork from the get go. How do you get them to follow you like that? How did you get all those different personalities to work together like that?”

Shiro’s voice turned bitter. “I try and I try to make everyone better. I want them to succeed, I really do. But no one listens to me. I can’t… Hardly any of my class made it through the final round. And I got lucky as it was. I’m worried about them and the final exam.”

“Them?” Toshi asked. His phrasing there was odd. “Them,” he’d said. Not “us”.

Monoma frowned. “I had hoped to keep this a secret. Almost no one knows about this. But I’m leaving once this term is over. I’m not cut out for this. But with how the exam is going to work… I can’t cost them their futures just because mine’s going to be something else.”

Toshi couldn’t keep the surprise off his face, but fortunately, Monoma wasn’t looking at him to see it. “You’re…” he began. He actually came to a stop. Running was a good way to lose himself, and he needed all his wits now.

“I am,” Monoma said, finishing the thought for him. He bent half off, breathing hard. He righted himself after a few breaths. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Now Toshi frowned, but he nodded. “Not my place to do that. But I think it’s a mistake.”

Monoma shook his head. “It’s not. But what about my class? And what about the exam?” There was a moment of silence, and then, “Please. I can’t let failure be my entire legacy here.”

If he lived long enough to become the new Number One Hero, Toshi never would have thought he’d have heard Monoma talk like this. Usually, the blond boy was full of bravado and confidence, always trying to prove his class’s superiority over 1-A. And to be fair, 1-A contained the children of a large number of highly ranked Heroes, something that few of Class 1-B could claim. None of their parents were low ranked, but there was a certain degree of disparity there. And a much larger portion of Class 1-B had no Hero parents at all.

“Okay, the first thing you have to remember,” Toshi told him, “is that we’re almost all childhood friends. Some of us more than others and in some different combinations… but we grew up together. Our parents are close and they passed that onto us. Trust’s easy that way.”

Given that his parent’s Class A had gone through hell together over three years in a way that their contemporary Class B hadn’t, it was easy to see where stronger bonds might have been forged.

Monoma nodded. “My father’s class drifted more during the years. Kana is the only one I was anything close to growing up, along with Mika and Akaya.”

“The other big thing is… Look. My dad’s the Number One Hero. I wanted to do the best I could, but the Sports Festival was never about winning for me.” And sure, he’d managed to share third place with Kocho. He was proud of his accomplishments, and he’d gone in intending to give it his all, but it hadn’t been his main goal. Toshi would have been just as happy not to have placed, if it meant other of his friends did.

“So I went in it from the start doing it for them. And they knew that, so they went along with it. It wasn’t even about beating your class or anybody else in the race; I just wanted to make sure everybody had the best chance they could. Somebody like Ojiro or Sato would have had a real hard time doing that in the obstacle course. So I asked everybody to take a step back now so that they could all have something later.”

It hadn’t quite been as easy as he made it sound. Convincing Aoyama had been one of the most difficult parts, but the promise of future glories had eventually been enough.

Monoma looked as though he’d been punched. “…Shit.” His expression devolved further, becoming truly miserable. “During the Sports Festival, I was so concerned with… things turning out a certain way, I pushed for flare and making a splash. And not all of them even made it past the Obstacle Course. Maybe I really do drag them down. Maybe she was right.”

Toshi frowned. This was turning pretty dark on him. And he wasn’t sure who “she” was. “Look,” he said. “You want what’s best for them. That’s admirable. But if you go so hard on trying to show somebody up, then that’s all you’re going to see. That’s what Endeavor did for a long time, and you know what happened to him.”

Monoma sighed, then nodded. “Then I am more certain than ever I’ve made the right choice. But at least I know what I can do for them to help everyone else pass. Thank you, Midoriya.”

As Monoma left, Toshi wasn’t certain at all that he’d said the right things there. It certainly didn’t seem like a victory.

***

In the teacher’s lounge, Aizawa looked over the finalized draft of the Heroics practical exam. Talking All Might into it had been difficult, but worth it. He’d staked his job and reputation on it, but he believed the results would be worth it.

His students, all the students, were talented. But even with recent events, what they needed was a stark dose of reality to push them further along their paths.

He looked at the profiles spread out in front of him. The people he’d found would be just the ones to do it.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #izumi todoroki #mika (tha)#toshi midoriya #shiro monoma #chihiro kaminari #fan fic #fan fiction #isamu haimawari #my writing

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whats-the-story-tc · 4 years

Text

26th-28th of April, 2020

"The Ones with the Series of Unfortunate Events"

[LONG AS FUCK SORRY]

After what happened on Saturday, I could barely fall asleep at night. I had a splitting headache from all the crying and genuinely felt like shit. Morning came, and I immediately reached for my phone. Nothing from her. It still being quite early, I tried to go back to sleep, and spent a full hour tossing and turning, a head full of thoughts, until I couldn't take it anymore. I turned my phone on and checked the notification bar, only to see a very familiar name and face.

I submitted my essay to her already, way before it was due, so when she actually assigned it in Google Classroom, I just pressed 'Mark as done' and thought I was good to go. V has obviously seen it (two links here). And, even though I didn't submit jackshit this time, she still felt the need to send me a "Thank you :)". I was overjoyed. FINALLY. So, as I explained here already, I had an impulse thought and decided to respond. "And thank YOU for the "task". I had a lot of fun with it. (I mean, the [poet's name] one.) If you're ever curious about anything of this sort, don't keep it to yourself :)" Of course, I regretted it as soon as I sent it. And, of course, I knew I wouldn't get an answer.

I promptly took a full day of rest after that, like I was trying to recover from a bad break-up. I didn't expect to hear from her again the next day.

Monday morning. New notification. Same old love of my life. She assigned us a project we'd already spoken about last week — to reinterpret a monologue from the play I read, the one V really likes, in any shape or form. Painting, video, prose, or, to quote V: "tiktok (not that I know how that works, but it's your choice)". She also said that she wants to keep what we make, maybe even share them with our Geo/Art teacher. I got even mote excited than when she first announced this. I knew I wanted to draw something, to show her a side of me she'd never seen before. I'm starting it on Friday. Doing a bit of painting, too. Wish me luck.

At around 2 PM that same day, Pocketwatch Friend noticed V's reply to her essay and asked me how she should respond to her. Found it quite funny, not gonna lie, knowing my history with replies. And as my friends told me about the responses they got, I realised a fundamental difference. All of them were skimmed over going into detail. They noted them fine, but didn't take the time to explain why they were noteworthy. So basically, they lacked content. Meanwhile the only things she spent paragraphs pointing out about my essay were miniscule stylistic mistakes. This gave me a fair bit of reassurance about what I do. I did enough. I was enough.

Come Tuesday, I was a nervous wreck to say the least. I always am, when it comes to online classes, but especially so when I have class with V. I walked up-and-down in the room, listening to her talk, not daring to say a word. God, I wish I kept to that.

Before I get to the part where y'all laugh at my misery, a teensy bit of prelude. Here I mentioned that the first time I had spoken to V after class, the 11th of October, 2018, we spoke about Hamlet. In short, I was a bit oblivious, and didn't really know how to recognise the Oedipus complex I've seen associated with the play. We were covering the story of Oedipus anyway, so I trotted up to her after class to talk. I remember the afternoon Sun shining really bright that day, and V being very relaxed and fully in her element as she spoke, leaning against my desk (that I wasn't sitting at by then). I went home smiling, unable to get her out of my head after that. It should've been clear from that day.

Now, on to class. There were a lot of good bits, a lot of interesting bits... but I don't want to talk about those now.

Last ten minutes, V asks if there are any questions. "I might just have one." I said, and immediately regretted it, even though I could hear the smile in V's voice as she said "Off you go". Theatre/Literature buffs, I'm sure you'll know the line "Frailty, thy name is woman!" from, you guessed it, Hamlet. Now, in the poem we were talking about, there was a line with the exact same structure, only with different words in the place of frailty and woman. I tried to twist it and see if V made that same association, but luck didn't favour me that day. V had no last clue what I meant when I said the quote was familiar. I tried to explain it to the best of my abilities, though I didn't remember the exact Hamlet quote. Neither did V. "I don't really know Hamlet by heart." "Neither do I!" I tried to counter, but just made it more awkward. Bless her soul, V googled it there and then, but just by me saying it was said to Gertrude, it brought up another play with another Gertrude — coincidentally, the one V stroke up a conversation about with me on the very last day of actual school. Those being the results made V laugh, so at least that's a win from my part. I ended up looking it up myself, trying to remember the quote, and ended up answering my own damn question. "So it was the grammatical structure, then?" V asked, with that very same peace in her voice as last year, and I excitedly replied "Yes!". Conversation over. And even though she genuinely sounded interested, I hated myself for bringing up a totally unnecessary thing. Though I hope that I made V "pull [Hamlet] off the top shelf" after class, as she said she might, were it not for me finding the answer.

I was already feeling horrible. Then, V brought up the assignments mentioned earlier and sounded really excited about it, starting to list what she imagined us doing. "A rewrite of the scene in the play..." and as she was saying my name, I grinned and asked her "Was this an indirect reference?". I needed no further convincing that she, indeed, read what I texted her. But here comes the part I laugh at now, but right then it was horrible. She actually chuckled at my teasing question, and God I wish I remembered what she said. Then I said: "I was actually planning on something else, but..." because I found it an interesting idea, and I have been meaning to do that, too. And that's where it got awkward. V, the usually unfaltering and confident V, was startled. Proper startled that she might have accidentally changed my mind. She started saying "oh, no, I didn't mean it like that, I was just trying to predict things..." and that made me worried, so after the oh no, I immediately started rambling "no, no, of course, I know what you meant, I understand". So there we were, talking over each other, both of us a nervous mess that we may have said something wrong we didn't mean. Right now, I find it absolutely hilarious, because how on Earth did we manage that?? But there and then?

I started crying. Silently, of course, not to worry her even further. (I didn't want to turn my mic off because I was scared it would malfunction again.) But I was so tense, that all my gasoline pool of nerves needed was this little spark of awkward, and it caught flame. I stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks, blaming myself for speaking and thinking I should've just shut up.

Soon after, V told us not to stress about the assignment, because "it's just homework". Everybody's favourite Cynical Twat, who is even worse at social situations than I am, tried to express he was glad to hear that, but did so in a very confusing and sarcastic way that V didn't really understand. "It would be pretty shitty of me" to make us stress, she said. So I dried my tears and jumped in, because she deserved to hear the compliment. "I don't mean to speak for [Cynical Twat], but I think he meant that we're all glad you said that. Not many people do it like that." I told her something along the lines of that. "Oh, okay." she said, disbelief thick in her voice. Hey, V. We bloody love you. It's time you start believing it.

Class ended soon after, and I spent about twenty minutes sobbing and cursing myself. The message from Pocketwatch Friend saying "I can't believe [V] replies to everything" as they were talking about her essay, only made it worse.

That night, I had a conversation with one of my underclassmen I talk to every once in a blue moon. We were discussing school and teachers, and I intentionally didn't bring up V. I waited for her to. Though, okay, I did provoke it a teensy bit, but just slightly. So, we talk about her, and through the things the girl says, I find out that... heh, of course, I'm not the only one she strikes up convos with. Turns out, after a joke, V even winked at her! (Okay, she did that to me once, too, when I stood up for her in class, but that's not the point.) After that, I was carrying the convo on just fine, but inwards, I was spiralling into a great big void of 'You ain't special to her, bitch, the fuck were you thinking'. The girl ended the conversation with "the woman's weird (...) but that's how we love her". Right. Yeah.

Now, two days later at current, I'm back in the room where all the crying went down. Bit surreal, thinking back. I'm sure I won't forget this for quite a while. Will my unlucky strike stop anytime soon? I don't know. We'll see. But I don't think anything could surprise me anymore.

You may take that as a challenge, V.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

#tc #tcc #teacher crush community #female tc #female teacher crush

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shawnsorangeglasses · 5 years

Text

The Opposition - Part 3.1

3.1k words

Shawn is a tightly wound, Type A law student in college. For the most part, he has his life figured out and planned to the minute. Then comes Caroline, a charming Type B and his unlikely equal.

thank you all for being so patient. ...

It's Wednesday. Shawn fears the closer he gets to Friday, the less motivated he is to crash the frat party. This morning, Caroline sent him a text riddled with lowercase letters and several typos to discuss the plan. He's meeting her in front of the library a few hours after his first class. On Mondays and Wednesdays, it's ethics and his third criminal law course in the afternoon. Tuesdays and Thursdays is legal writing and criminal behavior. He loves the work, but it’s nice to do something else, even if it is scheming.

He walks by a group of senior women on the way. They smile and wave flirtatiously, but he keeps his eyes low and walks faster. They laugh.

Caroline is waiting for Shawn on the back of the library's lion statue, conducting her hands to music only she can hear through her earbuds. Of course that's where she is, Shawn thinks to himself. Her sweater, the one from last night, is tied around her waist. She doesn't notice him at first because the song is up at full volume. Bright yellow socks are the only vibrant color she's chosen to wear today in an otherwise plain ensemble.

"You're not supposed to sit on those," he tells her.

Her head snaps around, "Oh, it's just you. Where's Harry?"

"Theater club until 6 PM."

Caroline grunts and groans, rolling rather ungracefully off the metal beast. "How the hell am I supposed to sit through this without him?"

"I'm sure you'll manage." Shawn leads towards the double doors, but a tiny hand latches onto his elbow, stopping him short.

"Can't you just tell me right here in the sun? It's freezing inside."

Shawn taps his heel on the pavement impatiently. "I suppose we can go to the old greenhouse out back."

Caroline cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, he's taking me out back. How scandalous."

"Relax, it's not in use anymore and half the windows are smashed. It's the furthest thing from romantic.

"She circles him, "Uh huh, sure it is."

"It is."

Shawn takes her down a path that’s gone undisturbed for a long time. The greenhouse is obscured by a wall of untamed trees and shrubbery. The only entrance is a gate overrun by vines and ivies. Shawn unlatches the lock and its rusty chain falls limp with a clang.

"After you," he says, permitting Caroline to enter first.

"Are we allowed back here, Mr. Rulebook?"

"This is the only rule you'll ever find me breaking."

Caroline gazes up at the quaint structure in all its decay and ruin. Branches extend in and out of broken windows. She can just make out a misty rainbow in the fog at the very top of the roof. Ironically, it’s probably the prettiest part of the campus she’s seen so far.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Ms. Attie brought me here my first semester. It used to be kind of panic room for me, but I haven't needed it lately."

She takes two steps forward. "Is it safe?"

"There's broken glass and exposed wires everywhere, but you're smart enough. I think you'll live."

“Aw, you think I’m smart?”

He has to smile at his slip up. “I think you’re adept. Don’t get a big head.”

Shawn pats her shoulder and moves ahead. Caroline jogs after him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the tall grass.Inside are only vague reminders of what the greenhouse may have looked like before the wilderness reclaimed it. All kinds of weeds have pushed through the ground floor. Unchecked foliage has made the once spacious house small and humid inside. Caroline picks up one of the few plants that are still in a solid pot, then sets it back in its dust ring.Shawn stops at the iron staircase leading to a platform above.

"This way. Attie said the steps are too corroded to be safe, so we have to use the ladder."

The ladder leans against the second floor ledge with cinder blocks at its feet to keep it in place. It goes straight up into a sunnier ledge, closest to the ceiling. It's the only part of the greenhouse with all the windows still intact. Caroline again goes ahead of him, but loses her footing on a loose rung. Shawn's quick to catch her, grabbing onto her hip. He doesn't let go until she's regained her balance, and even so his fingertips linger on her midriff.

"Any other surprises," she huffs.

"I don't know, maybe? It's been a while."

She smirks down at him, then continues to climb. Each step, she tests the rungs with a few taps before proceeding. Shawn is trying to keep from looking, but she's right there above his head, in shorts. He concentrates on his own steps.

Caroline's feet patter around the platform. "Hmm, I don't know Mendes. This looks pretty romantic to me."He's about to protest again until he makes the top of the ladder. A picnic is set up on one of the metal tables, but clearly abandoned. Shawn sighs.

"Harry must have been here recently with some guy or girl, most likely showing off." He can feel Caroline's eyes on him. "Which is not why we're here, for the last time."

"Alright. Did he leave any non-perishables?"

Shawn sifts through the picnic basket's contents. Every single bag is torn to shreds. "No, looks like the raccoons came through— oh wait, there's a jar of raw honey."

"I call dibs."

"You can have it," Shawn chuckles. "Harrison keeps our kitchen stocked with the stuff."

She takes the jar, holding it up to the sun. "Why did we come here, again?"

"Going over the plan."

"Oh yeah."

Caroline hops up onto a shelf in between two flower bushes, securing her jar of honey at the bottom of her bag. Sun spills shafts of light on her hair, making them a rich brown around the edges.

"The party's on Friday and I know I'm your plus one. We definitely shouldn't stay too long though. What's our out going to be?"

"I could get 'sick' or 'too drunk' and you have to take me home."

"That could work. I say we try to avoid attention altogether though. Kate knows I don't do parties and I won't know how to explain myself."

Caroline pokes a fern and its leaves retract. "Just say you're doing research on college party scenes and how they affect academic accomplishment or something."

"That's...actually a good idea."

She flips her hair and shrugs. "I know."

"Okay, don't get cocky." Shawn nibbles on his thumb. "I guess we're ready?"Caroline tilts her head at him. "You don't sound ready."

"I am very nervous, yes."

"Well don't worry. Just think of it as extreme eavesdropping."

"There's still so many margins of error," he mutters to himself. "Argh, this is why I hate parties. I have no way of actually preparing for this. What if something stupid happens? What if the cops show up? Cops always show up in the movies. Listen to me, comparing real life to the movies-”

"Hey," she slides down from the shelf and puts two hands on his shoulders. Her inky brown eyes penetrate his own. "Don’t spiral. That's why I'm coming with you. We can always improvise. It's gonna be fine. In the name of love, right?"

Shawn takes a deep, shaky breath. She'd been saying this to him since Monday. In the name of love. But Shawn isn't even positive he loves Kate, whatever that means. She just makes him tingly all over. All girls make him a little nervous once they show an interest in him. It isn't even all about love at this point. He just wants everything to go back to normal.

"Right," he says anyway. "In the name of love."

"Okay then," she gives him shake and lets go. "How much time do you have?"

Shawn checks his watch. "About two hours."

"Wanna go eat?" …

The dining hall is flowing with students coming and going. All the major groups have found their respective tables for the hour. Caroline seems to know at least a few people in every clan they pass by on the way to the kitchen, and every person is happy to see her or has some inside joke to share.

"Uh Caroline," Shawn taps her shoulder, "What exactly is your major?"

"I don’t know yet. I really like everything. Why?""

You just seem to know...well, everyone."

"Oh, I had psychology last year. Between surveys and case studies, you kind of meet people. And I made mine so they could be interesting and fun, so they’d come back."

Shawn gazes at a few of the people they passed. Music majors, science majors, even the business majors knew Caroline. A few are looking in his direction. Most people know Shawn from the mock trials because they get published in the school newspaper. His serious reputation has preceded him for quite some time. So naturally, they'd be curious as to why he's suddenly at breakfast with Caroline.

"Everybody's staring," he tells her in a hushed voice.

"Well yeah, it's me standing next to you," she said much louder, already having read the room.

Shawn has noticed the physical contrast of him Caroline before. His lean and broad figure just barely towering over her stocky, compact build is something to behold. They couldn't be more different.

"They might also be staring because of your face," she says as she makes a beeline for the pasta trays.

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Literally nothing. That's why they're staring, genius."

Shawn squints at her. "You have very interesting way of paying me compliments."

She gives him a tender pat on the shoulder. "What are friends for?"

He has to admit to himself, she is entertaining without trying. The honesty that comes with Caroline's words is refreshing. The few girls he's come across in the past hardly ever say what they mean or feel. Kate was one of them.

"Let's sit over there," Caroline nods at a small corner table well lit by a wall of windows. Empty booths are scarce in the cafe. A few feet away from that spot is Jared Price with a handful of law majors. Shawn grabs Caroline’s arm and pulls her behind a wall next to the vending machines. Without meaning to, he’s pinned her into a corner.

“What the hell’s your problem,” she snaps. “I almost dropped my pasta.”

“Shush,” he hisses.

It’s only been a few times that a guy has had Caroline on the wall in this fashion. Shawn’s approach is, of course, in no way romantic and definitely clumsy to say the least. Though she knows it’s probably not intentional, she can’t help but feel the tiniest impulse to misbehave right now.

Shawn’s still tensed up and peering around the corner. She takes a peek. There’s plenty of people to look at and her heart was kind of hoping to see Kate floating in between some of the tables. No one seems to fit the description Shawn’s given her in recent conversations. In fact, his panicked eyes are completed transfixed on a table surrounded by what look like carbon copies of him.

“Must be a law thing to dress like the dean,” she says. “Don’t you want to talk to your kin?”

“Not necessarily,” Shawn says with a shake of his head.

"Well, do you mind," she says looking him up and down. "I'm kind of stuck between a vending machine and a... well, a hard place."

A harsh blush seeps into Shawn's face and neck as he realizes the position he's put them in. Caroline holds her takeout box of food close to her chest in one hand and pushing back on his abs with the other. A wry, all-knowing smile pushes her dimple deeper into her cheek. Shawn bolts backwards.

"S-Sorry, I wasn't trying to-,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping his thoughts would gather up easier that way. “I'm not- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry."

"No worries Mendes," Caroline pats his chest. "If I have to pinned against a wall by anyone, I'm fine with it being you."

Shawn shields his face with his hand, which is already starting to get clammy and prickly. "Why do you have to make everything so weird?"

"It’s only weird in your head, Shawn. Come on.” She nods in the direction of the other exit, away from the law school table and the rest of the cafe. “We can go eat on the lawn.”

She trots over to the double doors. Her thick messy curls bounce on her shoulders in a manner that's almost teasing. With one backwards shove, she pushes the door open, making room for Shawn to follow after her. He unbuttons his collar, then trudges through the uncomfortable air he’s made for himself. It amazes him how nothing else in the room changes after an encounter so awkward.

The outdoors presents a hot and dry midday heat. As nice as it would be to sit in the air conditioning and eat, Shawn would rather sweat than be stuck arguing about the ethics of this assigned case with Jared Fucking Price.

“Right over here,” Caroline says.

She’s pointing towards one of the few crepe myrtles on campus in the middle of a green lawn. The tree is still young, so it’s shade is small and requires them to sit close if they want to cool off. She’s already made herself at home on the petals scattered at its roots. In any other setting, this whole picture would seem staged, but Caroline looks like she belongs there more than anyone. Shawn takes this brief moment waiting for her to sit down to observe again. Another nuisance of a sensation settles in his gut. He dismisses it as a hunger pain.

He crouches down at her side stiffly. Even in such limited space, he maintains the usual respectful distance. The shaded parts of the grass are soft and cool beneath his palms. Shawn expected to just eat in silence since that’s usually what happens when he’s out with someone other than Harrison. Every time he’s met with Caroline in the past few days, she’s allowed the silence to happen. Now, she’s practically itching to talk.

“So,” she sighs, “are we gonna talk about what that was?”

“I already said I was sorry. Please drop it.”

“Not that,” she sighs. “You totally ghosted your friends the law majors’ table. Why?”

It almost slips out, how much he hates Jared and his elitist herd of followers. Caroline has this way of talking that makes you forget you have secrets. It’s for this reason that he bites his lower lip and chooses his next words carefully. The law department is already a tough enough crowd without them knowing he doesn’t enjoy their miserable company.

“I didn’t ghost anybody worth calling a friend.”

“Oh,” she says, light and flippant in her tone.

“Oh what?”

“It’s just a little cold,” her eyes skirt around his face. “Even for you.”

“You don’t know them, Caroline.”

She throws her hands up. “Hey, I get it. That law department is quite the dickhead factory.”

He shakes his head, well aware that she was throwing him into that lot. “Touchè,” he mutters.

“You always this distant with peers?”

“Do we have to talk about it?”

“No. We don’t have to talk about it,” she eventually says, and she almost sounds sad when she does. “But Shawn, we’ve had these meetings for a few days now. I get that you don’t talk much, but it’s kind of weird not knowing you at all by now.”

"Funny. I believe I've said more about myself in the last four hours than I've told anyone in the last year."

It’s one of those jokes that Shawn thinks is funny at first until no one laughs. It’s even worse in a conversation with only one other person.

“How generous of you,” she deadpans. For the first time since they’ve met, she sounds genuinely irritated with him.

He looks around the environment as if he’ll find something to talk about there. Nothing appears of course and Caroline is still quietly pulling weeds from the grass. Quiet was the intention, but not if it meant her shutting down. He leans back on his hands in the mulch and dirt to stretch his legs out into the sun.

“I wanted to be a musician, you know.”

Caroline’s ears perk up. “That’s...random.”

“Guitar and piano was as far as I got. Long time ago.”

“Were you any good?”

“I was told I was good. I always thought I could’ve been better.”

She snorts, “Yeah sounds about right.”

“Obviously, I changed my mind. Got into debate and ethics in high school.”

“Is that what changed?”

He nods. “So many times the system gets it wrong and sends innocent people to prison. It’s insane, I mean, the amount of laws we have overlapping and changing everyday would surprise you. No scenario is ever so thought out. Not to mention ethics aren’t always in black and white. I could talk for hours about the-”

Shawn grinds to a halt when he finally notices the smile slowly breaking his face. Caroline’s given him her full attention. Somehow, he’s leaned in closer to her, like he does every time he goes on a tangent.

I’m getting carried away,” he sighs.

“No, it’s wonderful,” Caroline cooed. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

He cocks his head to one side. “Nobody likes a rambler.”

“Guess that makes me the biggest nobody of all.”

She shoulders his arm, rocking him slightly. Shawn’s ears start to burn. He looks down. Caroline’s sweater sleeve has ended up in the mulch somehow. He carefully picks it up, pulling the wood chips gently from the threads before setting neatly onto her thigh. She doesn’t say a word while this is all happening. In fact, she watches his movements intently. He’s going to ask and she wants to be ready.

“I have a question,” he says. “The other night, when you came back to my room for your sweater, why were you— well I thought you were, I don’t know. Maybe I was seeing things-”

“Bawling my eyes out?”

A faint grimace flashes across Shawn’s face.

“I’m not touchy about it,” she assures him. “Short answer is that it belonged to my mom. Then Dad gave it to me when I graduated high school.”

Shawn steals a look at her and she’s smiling softly. “Can I have the long answer?”

Caroline leans back. “It’s a real sob story,” she says loftily. “I’d hate for you start feeling sorry for me.”

“Please, ‘sorry’ is the last thing I’ll ever feel for you, Caroline,” Shawn quips

“Shawn,” says a familiar voice. “Shawn Mendes?”

Shawn looks up and to his disappointment finds Jared Price standing over them casting a condescending shadow at their feet. The other law majors aren’t far behind, coming closer to their spot under the tree. ...

taglist:

@tnhmblive @rulerofnocountry @matchamendes @damselindistressanu @gxccicoffee @yoelleex @5-seconds-of-mendes @darling-shawn @imaginesofdreams @nervousaroundmendes @hiyabich @sinplisticshawn @peterbrokenparker @sauveteen @allaboutthatdrummer @particularnarry @shawnwyr @1am9root

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes law!student au #shawn mendes x oc #the opposition

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mjihkaaaa · 4 years

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Transcript: “Randy Writes a Novel” by Randy Feltface

I have transcribed this hour-or-so-long comedy piece. if I put the transcript on tumblr, it might pop up in the search results of some poor sod wondering whether it’s a thing that exists. fAiR uSe DiScLaiMEr or something, I’m making no money off of this and am posting it out of the goodwill of my heart, and also I sat down for two hours to make the transcript so it’s probably work. /original date of transcription, not that it makes a difference: 2019-07-16 /link: you can find the actual piece yourself or buy the dvd like a good consumer

||[Beard guy] Hey Randy? Yeah mate? ||[Beard guy] Ready to do this? (exhale) Yup! ||[Announcer] Please, without further ado... Welcome to the stage... The purple one... Randy! (Applause) YEEES! HELLO! THANK YOU! LOOK AT YOU ALL, MMMH! This is so EXCITING! This is my favourite bit of the show, this bit; The expectation - You don't know what to expect, I don't know what to expect. I've got high hopes for you people. I think you're gonna be fantastic. Some of you may have never seen me before, there's probably a couple of you wondering what the fuck is going on right now - couple of people up the back probably regretting smoking that spliff before they came in... "... ... ... the fuck is that?" it's alright, just relax. Throughout the show I'm probably gonna walk from about here, over to here. Any further than that, it's gonna ruin the magic, alright? And, um, this is pretty much what it's gonna look like for the next fifty-fix-and-a-half minutes, so just adjust your eyeballs to this shit accordingly. Looks pretty good, we did my tech rehearsal today, and we set this lighting stand and was like that looks good, that's good, and Stu, my lighting guy back there, said "iS tHaT iT?" and I was like ehh... eh... no, Stu, we can turn on the lamp as well, like this ... (lamp turns on). Yes. So we did that just to justify Stu's certificate for... in fucking... theatre production. GIVE IT UP FOR STU! UP THE BACK! (Applause) Who's having an alcoholic beverage this evening? (wooing) Ah-WOOO! I don't drink anymore, I used to SLAM that SHIT into my FACE like a WEAPON but I quit ... and nothing really changed, you know, I didn't notice too many differences between being sober and being a drinker ... UNTIL ... the first time I got pulled over by a cop, and had to do a random breath test sober. Because my physcial and emi-seeonal reaction was exactly the same as it had always been when I was a drinker. Which was ... - "OOOOH fuck I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "wind down your window please sir" - "IIIII'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "one long breath into the bag sir" - "NAAAAAAAAAA I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm- (blow) I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "... you're free to go mate" - !!! ... oh yeah, I am, and the sense euphoria I felt was the closest feeling I've had to being drunk since I quit drinking. To the point where I now drive around on friday and saturday nights, LOOKING for cops. And if I get pulled over, I pretend I'm drunk just to get an extra rush... AHHH! Seriously, if you ever get pulled over, and you're sober, pretend you're wasted. Oh, the BUZZ! It's like shelving nine pills at once, it's fucking sick. Seriously, the next time the cop's walking towards the car, just be like - - "ohh, shush everyone he's COMING! act normal he's comin- put it down! put it down, he's coming! shush he's comi-!! he's here!" - "... ... ... Wind down your window please, sir." - "yeah, I'ma do that, I'ma do that, I'M DOING IT! ... Ah, it's electric. The button's in the middle 'cuz it's electric." - "... ... ... Have you had anything to drink tonight, sir?" - "NOOO ossifer [officer] not on a tuesday" - "It's a friday-" - "NO friday either mate!" - "One long breath into the bag please, sir." - "yes I will, you fucking champion ... y'know, people say youse are cunts but I don't reckon youse are, PBRRTT (blow) - WOOO! hahaaa..." (Cop checks bag, shocked.) - "Uh... You're free to go." - "FUCK YEAH! BRRRRRRRRR MEEPMEEP" (Applause) I took it so far once, I got down to the station for a blood test - ahhahaAA, gets addictive when you get to that stage... I've got track marks, it's out of control! and laDIES AND GENTLEMEN - you're very close, aren't you. Hello! (Shriek) Um... The reason we're here is because, didididii, didididi-didii, I wrote a book! Yes! Woo! Yeah, you can clap, but I'm concerned that it might be a bit shit. I don't know. It's weird - this is it here - I'm not sure if it's any good 'cuz I think I'm too close to it, y'know, I can't tell anymore. I'm concerned that it might be, like, an ugly baby that I'm looking at through the eyes of a loving mother? And it's not until I take it out for a walk in its little pram and people start screaming in horror and crossing the street to avoid me that I'll realize I've made a piece of shit baby? There's nothing worse than a piece of shit baby, is there... - "Ah, who's this little guy- WAUGH YOUR BABY'S A PIECE OF SHIT!" - "God... damn it..." But do I need to be told it's good to know that it's good? You know, that's how it goes with comedy; If I come up here and tell a shit joke, you tell me it's shit by not laughing, and I stop telling that joke. But with a BOOK I won't know it's shit until it's out there. Forever. Until I DON'T sell a million copies. Just wake up one morning, surrounded by towering boxes of unsold books, featuring on an episode of mentally deranged hoarders... We need to lay off hoarders, by the way. I think there's one too many television programmes "exposing the horrors" of people that like collecting shit. It's their house, let them do it! - "No we have to fix them!" No you don't, people are fucked up! If they wanna climb over a stack of cat shit stained national geographic magazines from the nineteen seventies to get to the kettle, fucking let 'em. THEY LIKE IT. - "Yeah but it's a mental illness-" Yeah, well, may be, but I would argue it's MORE insane to film them doing it, and then package it like a tacky microwave meal for one, so assholes can sit at home going "LOOK HOW SHIT THAT PERSON IS! They've got too many of the same thing..." ... Who's more insane in that sce-nario, I ponder... ANYWAY my book... My book is called "Walking to Skye", it's about a young man who walks from the southernmost borders of Scotland up to the Isle of Skye in the far north, retracing the footsteps of his great-great-grandfather and having a massive existential crisis along the way. It's a reeeeeeeeeeal HUMDINGER, and now that I've written it I'm terrified to let anybody read it, so what I've decided to dewwww, is; I'm gonna read bits of the book out, you're going to react, and then at the end we'll all collectively decide whether or not I should kill myself. Okay? Okay. Here we go. Hm-hm-hm. Ready? Everybody comfortable? No-one needs to go to the toilet, or get a drink, or anything? No? If you do, seriously, just go for it, because fucking... (waves hand in front of eyes). I'm not.. going.. to notice... Ahem, okay, ahem... Here we go. Alright. Here we go, here we go, okay. Khm. Blblbl. Okay. Phew. Alright. Here we go. Walking to Skye, chapter one. ... Phew. Okay. Khm. Blbl. Okay. Khm. Phew... (Sigh)... (Shivering) Read it... Just fucking read it... Come on man... Just... Son of a bitch... Pth... EHGgghhh... I'm too scared. (Audience goes "aww") No, fuck off. It's weird being scared for this, y'know, it's strange to be scared of something so intangible as JUDGEMENT. You know, I care what you people think, but taste is so subjective. Y'know, one man's "To Kill a Mockingbird" is another man's "Twilight" saga. Hello there, what's your name? (Matthew:) "Matthew." Matthew! N- where- right about there, mattie (adjusting line of sight)? Tell me, Matthew, what do you fear, what's your greatest fear, what are you scared of mate, we're all friends here, open up, unpack some shit, what are you-.. What's your biggest fear, Mattie? (Matthew:) "It must be rejection." Rejection? Same as me. <close> what do you know about my fear of rejection? </close> How old are you, man? (Matthew:) "Twenty-six" Twenty-six! The twenties are the time for rejection, my friend, it is the best time for rejection. Have you been rejected a few times? (Matthew:) "Quite a lot." Fucking rack it up, Mattie, rack it up mate, you just get- you wear those scars like a fucking warrior, mate! And then you get to thirty-six, my age, and you could not give a fuck, my friend. I'm telling you mate, rack up the rejection while you can, and then just.. fucking.. grab whatever's left. That's what you've got to look forward to. Let's hear it for Matthew! Yes! (Applause!) Rejection, eh? I think, actually, Mattie, Mattaroonie, Matterectomy, I think for me, Mattanoonles, I'm actually more scared of ... failure, in this case. I fear that I might've written a shit book, and as a result I'll fail, y'know. But I believe, Mattress, I believe it was Ernest Hemingway who put it best when he said "The first draft of everything is shit". And I often thought of that while I was writing my book, it's a great thing for young readers and young writers, sorry, to keep in mind, because it kind of lets you off the hook, y'know. And it makes you feel not so bad when you churn out something akin to Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction. - "Every nerve ending in my body tingled as he boldly placed his swollen member directly onto my left shoulder ... and whispered into my ear ... 'tickets please' ... suffice to say, that won't be the last time I catch the bus to Broad Meadows." Khm. True story, true story. Okay, I'm gonna read the book - Broad Meadows, good suburb, Broad Meadows, good name! (Audience member goes WOOO!) Hahahaha, WEEEEEW! Has Broad Meadows ever had that reaction anywhere ever? How good is Broad Meadows- WOOOOOO! WOO! Wooing is one of few things you can do in a crowd. You can't woo when you're on your own, can you... You can't just be walking down the street like WOO! - "What's wrong with that person?" But if there's a group of you going "woo!" it's like, - "Naw, they're having a nice time, aren't they..." Wooing in- when you're in an audience is one of the few times you can get away with wooing. You can't, fucking- don't woo at the butcher's, y'know? - "I'll just have a ... 2 pounds of some sausages and uh, some pound of mince, and let me- six pound fifty WOOOOO!" - "I no longer wish for you to purchase my meat products." What was I talking about? Ah, Broadie? Yeah, Broad Meadows, it's a good name, Broad Meadow, like it makes sense, there was an expanse of just fucking... no stuff, there was some broad meadows, and they went "let's fucking build it here" and it was an honest name. All these new subdivisions now, they're all fucking, just... - "What are we gonna call this deserted swamp?" - "Um... Spring Valley Mountview Niceface." Fuck that! Name them honestly, y'know? - "Where are you living now?" - "Shitty water feature." - "Ah!" - "Where are you?" - "Stabbyville." - "Ah! ... How's that?" - "Yeah, it's good, it's close to schools, which is great, but um... We do get stabbed a lot though, it's a... You know, we knew the risks..." - "'Cuz it was in the name?" - "'Cuz it was in the name! yeEEeeAh." I like an honestly named place. I was Broken Hill recently, that's an honestly named place. - "We had a hill, we fucking broke it. Welcome to Broken Hill." Actually, Broken Hill have gone one further, they've named all the streets in the centre of town after elements. 'Cuz it's a mining town, they went thematic with that shit. So you're walking down Chloride, and you hit the corner of Bromide, or Oxide, I love that! That makes sense to me! I live in Collingwood - it'd be much easier to direct people to my house if I could send them to the corner of Soy Latte and Hipster Fuckwit. That'd take out all the guesswork ... When you're heading to Frankston, don't forget to check out the beautiful parklands on the corner of Bucket Bong and Pregnant Teenager. They are just enchanting. Alright. Gonna read the book. Blblblbl. You cool Matt? Sick. I'm gonna keep talking to you so you feel included. Therefore, not rejected. Khm, okay. Alrighty. Okay. Here we go. Alright. Shut up, I'm gonna read it. Okay. Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one . . . Fascinating man, Ernest Hemingway. I didn't know a lot about him, but I kept thinking of that quote, "the first draft of everything is shit", while I was writing my book, and I started to think, "who are you to tell me my first draft is shit, Hemingway? What did you ever do that was sO fUckIng gOOd?" So I realized I didn't know anything about him, so I decided to do some research on him, and it proved to be an excellent means of putting off writing my book. And now I can tell you everything I know about him as an excellent means of putting off reading you my book, so... Swings and roundabouts, my friends, swoongs and rimbledibbledoodledoodoos, as they say in Scotland ... They don't say that. No-one has ever said that. Anyway, what I suggest we do, okay, is I'm just gonna tell you a little bit about Ernest Hemingway, bit about Hemmers, and then we'll just let the segway into reading the book develop organically. Like a runaway fungus at the bottom of a misplaced coffee cup. - "Aw, guys, how long has this been behind the couch? ... There's little people in it!" - "Save us! Save us from our porcelain prison!" - "wwWAAH!" (tosses cup) KSSSH - "We're free!" - (Running noise, tktktktktktk) - (Randy steps on the little people with an audible crunch) It's just for me, that bit, it's just for me!.. Okay. Okay, here we go, ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time I would wager in all of your living memories, I now am proud to present to you, the life and times of Ernest Miller Hemingway in approximately three and a half minutes. Go! (Background shifts) Born in Chicago in eighteen ninety-nine, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War One, got blown up in Milan and spent six months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs, fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life-long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Take note, Mattie. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommate's sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein, they kicked it with Pablo Picasso, he started writing in earnest, moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, converted to catholicism ... ... ... Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet, and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto his face, moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason, had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery - Karma! -, published another book, moved to Cuba, shot himself in the leg whilst aiming at a shark! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, published "For Who the Bell Tolls", sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer prize, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, became the self-appointed leader of a band of village militia outside of Paris, and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva convention and got away with it like a FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba, and spent most of his spare time on his boat, tracking nazi u-boats with a machine gun and a pile of hand grenades - I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got clawed while playing with a lion! ... Got depressed, drank, got fat, published a couple of more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals and barely survived two separate plane crashed in the space of twenty-four hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle - Karma! -, won a Nobel prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho paranoid that the feds were following him, which they were, because he spent most of the nineteen fourties working for the KGB! AGAIN, NOT-MAKING-THIS-SHIT-UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia, and impotence - Karma! -, got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got re-committed, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favourite twelve gauge shotgun into his mouth, and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF. WHAT A GUY!!! (Applause) Ah... That is all true! What a fucking unit! Hemingway is the quintessential anti-hero, the talented, charismatic, belligerent, suicidal, alcoholic genius that can't keep his dick in his trousers. And he still found time to write about fifteen books! I've written one, and it took me ages, because I procrastinate like a motherfucker! I only got this written by doing most of the work in my local public library, because it's very difficult to masturbate in the reference section without getting caught. It's... It's almost impossible, in fact ... Almost. I don't even enjoy masturbating anymore, I just do it to avoid other tasks. And if it's something I really don't wanna do, I can seriously just go back-to-back wanks, just AARGH, just 'till it's painful, like NAAAAAAAAH, like hurty cum, like MWOOOAAARGH, WOOOMMMHHH MHHHH MMHHMHMMM RMMMMMHHHHOOkay fine I'll do the fucking dishes. And you know the weird thing about books is that you only really need to write one to be considered to be a great writer. Until last year, "To Kill a Mockingbird" was the only book that Harper Lee ever published. One book in eighty-nine years. To be fair that one book did win the Pulitzer prize and sold over fourty million copies, so she didn't really need to do another one, did she... - "Hey Harper, you gonna write another book?" - "Nope! Did you read the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one. Just doing the one." Imagine if I did that. Came up here, told one joke, and then stared at you for fifty-eight minutes. - "You gonna tell another joke?" - "Nope! Did you hear the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one." There's not many jobs where you can just do the one, is there... Just... Writers, and... Suicide bombers. Hard to do two of those... Or maybe UFC fighters that get punched in the head so hard in their first bout that cerebral fluid trickles out of their eye sockets. - "Ohhh, that's fucked Randy..." It happens. It's pretty much the perfect example of why we're sort of festering in this evolutionary cul-de-sac, isn't it? - "Welcome to planet earth, there's approximately seven billion of us, as you can see there's quite a few of us that don't have any clean drinking water, OH! Here's a large group of us that get paid millions of dollars to knee each other in the face! Obviously still... Ironing out a few of the kinks." Martial arts, mixed or otherwise, should not be the domain of fat-necked roughians trying to stomp on each other's ballsacks. Just as yoga should not be taught by twenty-two year old gym instructors that did a one week yoga retreat in Bali and now get around in low-slung fisherman pants with a bindy and a plat talking about mindfulness like they've ever had any fucking life experience at all. I'm sorry, you can tell me to relax and center myself when you spend maybe ten or fifteen years considering what that actually means. Until then, go back to taking photos of the froth on your coffee and shut the fuck up. And I'm torn! I'm torn because I do yoga! I buy oragnic vegetables. I blindly sign internet petitions without reading the fine print, give myself a good old pat on the back and go back to downloading hardcore pornography... I'm trying to be a good buddhist, I'm trying... But it's even difficult to identify as buddhist in the current climate without coming off as some sort of new-age pompous twat dipping his toe into the "What does it all mean?" kiddie pool while holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and staring lecherously across the back yard at your cousin's tits. - "Geez, Tamara's grown up since last Christmas, hasn't she..." And I mean, Buddha was just a dude who found enlightenment sometime around the fifth century, and he decided to stick around and talk about it, y'know. But he made it clear that everything's optional, I guess, y'know, "here's the thing I've discovered, I think it's pretty nifty, but you can find your own way through it". He was kind of like a benevolent woodwork teacher, just overseeing the workshop, but allowing his students to discover for themselves which machine is most likely to cut their fucking head off. - BRRRRRRRRRRR-WAUGH! - "It was that one, Gareth, well done. A plus, matey, A plus for you." And there's been loads of other buddhas since, right, but they haven't necessarily felt the calling to stick around and talk about it. I guess they just become enlightened and fuck off. I think that's fantastic. But ... Are you only enlightened if you're able to share it with people? Y'know? If I write a book and nobody reads it, is it still art? What is the collective noun for monkeys? ... ... ... Seriously, does anybody know what it is? I was trying to think of it all day. Anybody? (Inaudible audience response) What? (Audience member:) "Gang" Gang? Gang of monkeys? Coming through on my gang of monkeys, we're a little gang of monkeys, ooh-A-A-A! It's not gang! Anybody else? If you come up with something stupid, I'll sing a dumb song about it ..? What else? (Inaudible audience response) What is it? (Inaudible audience response) ... Oh you people are fucked. Does anybody know what it is? It's not barrel, by the way. It's troop. What, what did you say, uhh... Gang. Who-what, what's your name, who said gang? Where are you? (Victoria:) "Victoria." Victoria? How are you, Victoria? (Victoria:) "Great." Thanks for coming to my show. Hey, Victoria, riddle me this m'sister, have you read "Go Set a Watchman"? Harper Lee's new book? (Victoria:) "Naw." Naw. Has anybody read it? (Audience member:) "Half." Half. That is the best book review ever. - "I read half." Has anybody read "To Kill a Mockingbird"? (audience responds yes) yEES we reAD IT at scHOOL, fuck off. For those of you who haven't- for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, "Go Set a Watchman" was the Harper Lee book that came out last year, right, and if you don't know the backstory, alright, I'll just fill you in. Victoria, listen up. Um... Basically, Harper Lee, right? So, Harper Lee, she had a stroke in two thousand and seven, and until she died earlier this year, she was in like, assisted care, she was in a wheelchair, she was deaf and she was blind, and her sister Alice had been taking care of all of her affairs, until Alice died in twenty fourteen at the age of one hundred and three, like a fucking boss... Anyway before Alice died she was pretty much the last line of defence between Harper and this 'lawyer' that had just sort of been loitering in the wings, right. And when Alice died, this 'lawyer' just happened to discover the manuscript for "Go Set a Watchman" in the locked safety deposit box in an obscure vault in a random bank, where it had been busy minding its own business for the last fifty-six and a half years, and according to the 'lawyer', Harper was delighted that the manuscript had been discovered, and suddenly reversed her life-long vow to never ever ever publish another book ever ever again, particularly not "Go Set a Watchman" which she actually wrote before "To Kill a Mockingbird" and didn't think was very good. Other people think that maybe the 'lawyer' was attempting to get filthy rich by brutally fist-fucking an eighty-nine year old stroke victim, but the question is; ... ... ... The question is, if "To Kill a Mockingbird" had've stayed in that vault, alongside this newly discovered manuscript, would it still technically be a work of literary genius? Or is it only when something's been evaluated by the world and possibly someone's made some cash off it that it's considered to be valid artistic expression? Is art only art once it's been witnessed? Acknowledged? If I don't take a bow at the end of this show, does it devalue the performance? Will you feel unsatisfied? Or rejected? ... I recently read that book "The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work" by Alaine de Button, and in it, he says; "we might consider art as anything which pushes our thoughts in important, yet neglected directions". Now, I'd like to consider what I do artistic expression, but that sort of poses the question - do people really need their thought pushed in the direction of old ladies being brutally fist-fucked? Is that my artistic legacy? Is that what I'm gonna leave behind? Y'know, "Randy... He was the old lady fisting guy, wasn't he? Eh. Very droll, very droll. Yeah." Because Ernest Hemingway is remembered more for his literary talents than for being an insufferable cunt with a penchant for killing shit and cheating on his multiple wives, does his artistic legacy outshine his tactless and unfortunate personal life? Is it better to be a mindful human that leaves no palpable remnants of artistry behind, or a violently unlikeable sexual deviant that shits handfuls of heart-breakingly beautiful sonnets and sonnatas out of his asshole before brunch? Because it's the image of the tortured, self-destructive artist that prevails nine times out of ten. Amy Winehouse was just a girl that wanted to sing some songs, do you know what I mean? So... Should I just keep my fucking mouth shut? And try to navigate towards enlightenment, leaving behind an intangible trail of good deeds? Or do I dive deeper and deeper into the inky, black ocean of self-destruction and self-indulgence until I nail my chosen art form, leaving an echo for the eternal wonderment of countless future generations that will just breeze over my asshole personality? ... it's what's keeping me up in the night times. Eh... (Pause) Y'know, from the moment we're born we become less than human? You know that? E-... E-hh... Eh... All the bacteria from our mother is passed onto us on the way out of the womb, and from then on, we just continue to collect shit, on the inside and the outside, until the day we expire. Occasionally, you get to choose what that shit is, but most of the time you have very little say in where it comes from or when. You just have to duck and weave your way through the shit for as long as you can, until the chunk of shit with your name on it finally-AAARGH! cleans you up. Look, I know this was billed as a comedy, but a-ha-ha-HAA! LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH! Woo! There are some pretty fucking ridiculous ways to die, though- OH, like that guy, that scuba diver they found when they put out the bush fire! *oh my go-od have you heard this fucking sto-ory?* They put out, like, a bush fire, and they found a dude in full scuba gear, and they figured out that the water bomber plane or helicopter that scoops up the water to put out the fire accidentally picked up a diver and dumped him into the flames! What a fucked up way to go! It's pretty much the polar opposite of "He died peacefully in his sleep", isn't it? Just dumped out of a plane into a blazing inferno... with a highly flammable gas tank instead of a parachute strapped to your back? - "NOOoo!" (Explosion noice) "I just wanted to look at the fish..." What do you say to his family? - "Uhh... At least he died doing what he loved." Well, he was a firefighter that enjoyed skydiving and water sports, but I'm not sure he ever wanted to combine the three... That's better, isn't it? - "Tell more jokes you little purple fucker." I had a good joke the other day - How do you know if a hippie has been to your house? ... They're still there. Haa... How do you know if someone's vegan? ... They'll tell you, yes, ahaHAHAA! Hahahaha, I'm vegan. Um... I initially became vegan for environmental and ethical reasons, and now I just do it to give people the shits at dinner parties. Like, - "Get it away, I can't eat that, meat is murder, STOP HAVING FUN EVERYONE!" It's a funny conversation, the vegan one, you bring it up, people just go - "... shut up fuckhead" But it's funny, 'cuz you know you don't actually need to eat meat. You don't NEED it. Nobody actually needs it. Unless you're on hemodialasys and you have to inhale a rare porterhouse steak every three hours to stop your kidneys backing in, you don't actually need it. That makes it a choice, and it's your choice. As long as you understand that that choice is born from belief and that particular belief is called "carnism". It's an inherited belief system that sort of conditions us to eat meat, and the notion is so... pervasive, I guess, it's viewed as a given rather than a choice. But it's totally a choice. - "Where do you get your proteins from then you little poofter!?" PEAS! (Gasp) It's crazy. And I know it's easy to just lump veganism in with all the other food allergies and just go - "They're the annoying fuckheads that don't eat the good stuff" which I get, I totally get... We're having Christmas at my house this year, right? Three months out, my cousin calls me to discuss her son, my cousin's son, which makes him... Someone I couldn't give a fuck about, anyway; She calls me up, the first thing she says - she doesn't even say hello - the first thing she says is "Brayden can't have blue." - "What the fuck? - "BRAYDEN can't eat BLUE FOODS." Apparently this kid, if he eats anything with a blue food preservative in it, he just KLKH (imitates death) just taps out. That is bullshit! Firstly, don't call your kid Brayden. Secondly... secondly, blue is not even a natural colour for foodstuffs. It occurs very rarely in nature- name me one blue food. (Audience member:) "Blueberry." BLUEBERRIES ARE FUCKING PURPLE! I'm talking about mentos blue, like seven eleven slushie blue, what flavour is that? Fucking highlighter? - "Ah no Randy, blue means mint-" MINT IS GREEN- if you planted mint and it came up blue, you would SET that SHIT on FIRE. - "And that's cool! It's cool! it's like ice, it's like water!" Water is clear. The only time water is blue, is when there's billions of tonnes of it and it's all in the one spot. And then it's got all sorts of shit in it, like salt, and SHARKS ... BLUE MEANS SHARKS IN IT! don't eAt iT it'S gOT SHARKS IN IT! You know, when sharks eat people, it's fucked, but it shits me how they immmediately go out and kill the shark like - "awrH it's gONe roGUe. iT's gOnE rOgUE!" No it hasn't, it's just doing what millions of years of evolution have programmed it to do, fucking swim around eating shit. - "yeeeeeeeah but ... ... ... it came into our bit. thIs bit's oUR bit oF tHe ocEAn." No-see that bit there? That big fucking wet bit? That's its bit. This bit here, all of this dry bit here, that you're standing on with your legs, your legs that have evolved to stand on the dry bit, that's your bit. You go into its bit, you're going to get bit. That's the lesson. ... Paddle out next to a seal colony and wiggle your ass around like a slutty little ol' dove, complaining when you get munched. It's that weird disconnect, y'know, it's the same thing as carnism, it's like if I imagine a pig is just a pig, and all pigs are the same, then I can detach what is on my plate from how it got there. It's just how most of us are brought up, y'know. But if you saw someone slit the throat of a Labrador, and then string it upside down to die an excrutiating death just squirming and bleeding out at the end of a steel hook, you'd think it was a bit fucked. How is a pig any different? It's not. It's actually not ... I said that on stage in Rock Hampton, in Queensland about four months ago. I was like, "how is a pig any different?", and a man in the audience yelled out "BACON!". Touché, sir. You win this round. He actually came up to me after the show - I was standing at the merch desk not selling anything - and he-.. I saw him coming from the other side of the room, just this massive dude, like - (stomping noises) - "Ah, you're a large man" and he said - "I was the one that said bacon" - "fucking don't kill me" and he goes - "nah, you alright mate, you alright mate, you alr-" It's the most passive-aggressive Aussie male thing you can say to another- - "naah, you alright mate, you-" It basically means "I wanna punch your fucking head in, but I don't wanna upset me misses. You alright mate." Anyway, he goes to me, - "Mate, you're not gonna make any friends in rock hampton being vegan. Did you know that Rocky is actually the beef capital of Australia-" - "ah fuck I didn't know that" - "-with over two and a half million head of cattle within a two point five k radius of the town centre?" - "fuck I didn't know that either" - "And that is a fair wack of the thirteen million head of cattle in Queensland alone, seventy percent of which is bred purely for export. Few fun facts for ya matey, few fun facts." I said - "thank you sir I did not know any of that" Did you know that, globally, cows produce thirty-eight percent more greenhouse gas than every single car, truck, bus, boat, train, and plane combined each year? That breeding animals for food uses up one third of the planet's fresh water? Takes up fourty-five percent of the earth's surface, and is responsible for a whopping ninety-one percent of amazon destruction, making it the number one leading cause of species extionction, resource consumption, and environmental degradation destroying the planet on a daily basis? FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA MATEY, FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA! Now, I'm aware this is in danger of becoming a TED talk at this point... - "jesus, a lot of statistics, is there gonna be a test?" It's alright, it's fine, I'll read the book, alright? I'll read the book. Not forcing my opinions on you, I'm merely saying them with a microphone, and you're paying for it. LOCK THE DOORS-no, seriously, okay, here we go. Khm. I'm gonna read the book. Y'know we've got McDonald's home delivery now? Does anyone do that? (Audience responds) You... You do? You know you can already get it in your car? You can get it without getting out of your car, but what McDonald's have now done is they've removed the gruelling walk from the front door to the car, so you no longer have to do that humiliating - "BWAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH- WUUUUUUUUUAHHHH! OOOOOOOAAAAARGGHHHH! Now I have to reverend carpool! Oh, God damn you, God damn you -click- MRRRRRRGHHHH! HMMMMMRGHH! MMMMOOUUHHH WHY CANNOT THEY JUST BRING IT TO MEIN HAUS?" Well now they can. I think it's a good thing. Keep the fatties off the streets, STOP 'EM HOGGING UP THE FOOT PATHS, if they wanna eat shit, let them do it in their own home- WHO'S WITH ME? (Audience starts applauding) Don't clap that, it's a horrible thing to say. yoU'RE moNSTerS! ... Okay. You all good Mattie? Sweet. Okay, here we go. Blblblblbl, okay, kh-hm, alright, here we go, buggedabuggedabuggeda, okay. Stop it! Okay ... Do you like my typewriter, by the way? Isn't it beautiful? It's basically here just as a prop, but occasionally I am always tempted to just go ... (humming). Eh? A few "Murder She Wrote" fans in the house? Heyo? Everyone else going - "What? What is that? Sounds like an old person's joke." ... it is! It is! It totally is! Alright. Here we go. Okay, fuck, here we go. Blblblblbl. Walking to Skye, chapter one ... I bought a bookshelf on Gumtree recently, um, it was an amazing experience, I'll quickly tell you about it and then I'll read the book, but- I found it strange, becasue it made me start to think about the way our, like, methods of communication have sort of changed over the years, y'know? In the old days, if you wanted a bookshelf, you'd just go see Gareth the Bookshelf Guy, 'cuz he was the dude in your tribe that made the bookshelves, he had a little bookshelf cave, he was REPUTABLE. Now any mad bastard can sell their shit on Gumtree, you know what I mean? As a species, we're sort of able to cope with knowing and gossiping around like a hundred, or a hundred and fifty people. That's like the limit of our tribe. Any more than that, it starts to get confusing, which is why we created abstract constructs like territories and deities to unite larger groups of people under an imaginary common factor. And it works the trick, because we only really gather en masse on special occasions, but I think like social media and mmmh... It's fucking all that up, y'know? I think we're able to deal with the thousands of people we're connected to on a daily basis, and as a result we neglect our immediate one fifty, y'know? That's why I never get invited to parties anymore. It's not 'cuz I ramble on about veganism and fisting old ladies, it's because I'm not on facebook and everybody just assumes you are. I am so behind on the births, deaths, and marriages of my friends that I feel like the time traveller's wife every time I go to a party, I'm like... - "This is Tim, he's our son, he's six now-" - "Fucking... Didn't even know you were pregnant." Anyway, you know smartphones, aren't they great? You know that, right, they're not, they're not that great, you don't need the internet in your pocket, you work at Cole's, okay? You're not working for the president, you don't need it, you don't need that much information. And also, what was the point of developing opposable thumbs for you to take a photo of your head, post it on the internet, and then just stand by for validation. No-one gives a fuck about your head! They'll only validate it in order to gain permission to post a photo of their own head on the internet and stand by for validation. The people who give a fuck about your head will at some point see it in real life. Fuck your head and the neck it rode in on. Your vanity is sucking up my bandwidth ... Anyway this is what's going through my head as I'm on Gumtree looking for a bookshelf, because- you know when you put something on the... on the... in like... in the search in booktree- in booktree? what the fuck- When you put something in the search on Gumtree - I'm having a stroke up here - When you put something in the search, right, and like, there's always a couple of things that come up in the list that are like the polar opposite of what you searched for, and like "get out of my head gumtree algorithms, CONSPIRACY!"? No but seriously, it's all you type, it's like "bookshelf", and it's all bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, grammophone? Huh. Bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, combine harvester? What the fuck? ... Huh, that's actually a pretty good price. Anyway, on this particular day, I found two bookshelves that worked for me, in terms of cost, and more importantly, geographical convenience, 'cuz I'd be fucked if I'm driving to Broad Meadows to pick up a bookshelf, right? So I type in bookshelf, and I see the two things, and I'm like okay, one seller is Cathy, the other is Morgan. I send them both the same text message, "Hello! I saw your bookshelf on gumtree, is it still available?". Cathy texts back straight away, saying - "sorRRY iT wENt thIS MorNING!" - "That's cool, Cathy, I'm sorry I gave you an annoying voice in the retelling of this story." Morgan's response came through a couple of minutes later, and simply read, - "It was my wife's bookshelf." ... HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT? Aside from the fact that it doesn't answer my fucking question... His use of past tense in that sentence unnerved me slightly. I'm like, aahhh, I should probably just find another bookshelf... And then I noticed he lived in the suburb next to me, so I replied; - "Is it still available?" He responded with the letter Y. Just a Y. Is he asking me why I wanna know if it's still available? Or is it a Y for "yes", and he's so in the throws of grief that he can't manage the E and the S? I assume it's a Y for "yes" and respond, - "Cool! I'll take it. When's a good time to come and pick it up?" No reply for fifteen minutes, I'm like... ah he's forgotten about it, fuck it, I'll find another bookshelf, and then when his reply actually does come through I realize he spent those fifteen minutes crafting his response, because it's a FUCKING THESIS. He must've felt so bad about only using a single consonant in his previous text that he just massively overcompensated with this one. Also, for some reason, felt that the use of punctuation? Entirely unnecessary. So it's just one obscenely long sentence, which reads; - "You must come and pick up now I only have short time here at house and also it wide so bring van or trailer and there's stair but I can help you carry it down stair if you come park out front walk up path ring bell and I will help you carry it to trailer or van I only accept cash and if you do not come now I will sell it someone else" (Shriek) Again I'm thinking, ahhh, I should just find another bookshelf at this point, but now I am FASCINATED by Morgan, and I simply must meet the man. So I drive over to his house- before I left, I sent him a message saying - "Cool, I'll be there in ten minutes" and he replied "ok", but spelled it OK-A-Y which just fascinated me more, that he'll use four letters to spell a two letter word, but only one letter to spell a three letter word, MORGAN IS OFF THE FUCKING CHAIN! And as I'm driving over to his house, I'm trying to picture what he's gonna be like, y'know... His pidgin English might suggest ethnicity of some sort, but I don't wanna racially profile him; Maybe he's an old man who recently lost his wife and is not that very good at texting, or maybe, and I'm really hoping this is the case, Morgan is just batshit crazy. So I get to his house, and I go up to the- ehe, I park out front walk up path ring bell, and I... I brace myself for the door to be opened by like, an old man in a smoking jacket, wearing fishnet stockings and suspenders, just puffing on an opium pipe while a butler just creepily polishes a goldfish in the background, and then a tiny pugdog wearing a fez hat just trots up the hallway, sits on the mat, looks up at me and says "RELCOME TO OUR ROVERY ROME!"... And then the door opens, and I am thoroughly disappointed. Before me stands an average caucasian male in his mid-thirties, dressed casually, hipster sheek, stubble, glasses with designer frames, expensive watch - I immediately think "architect?" but the house is too cheesy for that - it's like a double story doll's house with bay windows - but definitely a designer of some kind? Maybe a graphic designer? He's too skinny for manual labour, but he's too hip for the public sector, BUT THIS CAN'T BE MORGAN. Because Morgan's text messages would suggest that he's not that technically savvy, and then the man standing in front of me says - "Hello my name is Morgan" AND THE PLOT THICKENS! He invites me in, shakes my hand, closes the door, and twenty minutes later, I will be witnessing Morgan perform some of the most aggressive acts of violence I've ever seen in my life, and I will be speeding away in my car bleeding from the face. Here's how this shit went down... I go into the house, and I notice two things immediately; One, this is a house in the throws of renovation. Nothing too extreme, but there's like drop sheets on all the furniture, there's freshly painted walls, there's a bathtub wrapped in plastic in the hallway, awaiting installation- someone's doing some work on this house. The second thing I notice, on the way up the stairs to the second floor, on the first floor landing, is a wedding photograph featuring a very cleanly shaven Morgan with a very beautiful bride. Very much in love! The photograph is very much on the floor, and the glass in the frame is very much smashed. She's not dead, she's left him, and THE PLOT THICKENS A BIT MORE FOR MORGAN! And as Morgan unceremoniously like, kicks the photo frame to one side on the way up the stairs, I really wanted to pry into Morgan's life and ask heaps of inappropriate questions... But he was clearly a broken man. He had this terrible air of sadness around him, so I didn't wanna intrude. Luckily for me, though, I didn't have to, because Morgan immediately began oversharing and told me the whole fucking story aaAAAH! Thank you Morgan! I shall hang off your every word and then retell your tale to two hundred strangers and record it for a fucking DVD! He IS a graphic designer -YES!- and he's really good at it. He does like massive rebranding campaigns for large corporations, he gets flown all over the world doing this shit, right? About four years ago, a woman hired Morgan to rebrand her florist business, and he did such a great job she married him. And he thought everything was just fine, until about three months ago. Morgan had to do a presentation in Sydney, right? But he was on his way home from overseas and got stuck in Dubai due to a flight cancellation, so rather than cancel the meeting, Morgan suggested to these businessmen in Sydney that they do a Skype chat, because he's so technologically savvy, despite his fucking baffling text message style. So Morgan checks into a hotel, cracks open his laptop, and starts skyping with this room full of businessmen in Sydney, who are all watching Morgan on a massive screen on their boardroom wall, right? And everything's going great, Morgan is totally nailing it, until about halfway through; He realizes that a file he wants to show these dudes is on the desktop of his home computer back in his home office in Melbourne. And he decides to live share the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. He knows how to do that, he can remote control his computer from anywhere in the world, it's not particularly new technology, but Morgan makes it sound so impressive. So this room full of businessmen are all watching keenly, like - "OOAHP! MARGARET, BRING IN SOME BISCUITS, THERE'S SOME NEW-FANGLED SHIT GOING ON IN HERE!!!" as Morgan clicks a few buttons and (click) brings up the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. Now, what Morgan doesn't realize is that his wife has been using the "Photobooth" app on that particular computer to take pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself... doing some pretty fucked up shit. It's embarassing, to say the least, just as Margaret came back in with the biscuits- - "I've got you the b-WHUIEAAAAURRRHHH!!!" Now, those of you who are familiar with the Photobooth app will know that how it works, is it accesses the built-in camera in your computer and with the click of a button, (click) takes a photo of you when you're standing in front of your screen. And if you know that, you also know that if you leave that application open, the camera also stays open, witnessing whatever may be happening in front of the computer, in real time. Such as your wife, in your home office, fucking your best mate. OOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOOORGANNNN... Nooooo... Morgan then goes on to tell me she's keeping the house, his former best mate is moving in, and while they're out for the day shopping for fittings, Morgan must suffer the indignity of moving his shit out, and selling the stuff they don't want on Gumtree to this guy. Ahhh... It's at this point of the story that Morgan starts crying, he breaks down, and I do not blame the man, it's fucking horrible and I just wanna give him a big hug and say "Everything's gonna be alright, Morgan", but I am holding the full weight of a BOOKSHELF halfway down a set of STAIRS and Morgan is the only thing stopping that bookshelf from caving my face in- I was like, MORGAN! MMMMORGAN! And Morgan managed to pull himself together ... for about eight seconds? And then just went BAHHH and let the bookshelf go. I fell backwards, it literally rolled over me, and took out the light hanging above the staircase, I'm now lying on my back getting showered in broken glass, as the bookshelf turned end over end and just went FONK right through a freshly painted wall at the bottom of the stairs. I'm like, AAH. aaAAAh. aaAAAAAAhhh. aaAAAAAHHH. I've got a tiny cut on my forehead which is just pissing blood, for some reason - apart from that, I'm fine. Morgan, however - he's not fine! Morgan is the opposite of fine. Something happened when the bookshelf lodged itself in the wall and his sadness just (click) went away in a second, and he started PISSING HIMSELF laughing. Hysterical. And he had the creepiest laugh I've ever heard in my life- I'm standing there like "this is weird" and he's like "mwhueHUEUEEUEUEUE! mhhwuEUEUEUE!" like some sort of demonically possessed baritone cookaburra, - "mwhueEUUEUEE, a-HOGUGUGUGAGAGAGA!" - "Um... Uh..." - "mwueEUEUUEUEUE" - "can I still have the bookshelf?" - "yuuEEEEAAH" We extract it from the wall - the bookshelf, incidentally, showing no sign of having just rolled down a staircase and smashed through a wall. We carry it out to my car- we had to stop about six times, 'cuz Morgan was like - "Hang on a minute, mwueHUEUEUEUEUEE" We got it to my car, put it on the trailer, and Morgan was in such a great mood he let me have the bookshelf for free. Ohh! Hahaha... Mm... And that's where the story SHOULD end. But there was something about the bookshelf going through the wall that flipped a fucking switch in Morgan's head, and he is now hungry for more destruction. So as I started tying the bookshelf down to my trailer, Morgan just strolls over to like an upright mailbox on the front lawn and just starts trying to wrench it out of the ground. Really putting his back into it. I'm like, "are you okay buddy" and he's like "YEAP" (struggling) HUAH! He pulls it out of the ground whereupon he wields it like a fucking battleaxe and just starts smashing up the front garden, just beheading the daisies, fucking up the lavender... I'm like, "uhh, hey Morgan, maybe you wanna stop and think about that" and he whirled around and looked at me like Jack Nicolson chasing Shelly Duvalle up the stairs in the shining and said - "WHY DON'T YOU MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS?" ... yep, yep, cool, man, yep, yep... Now, I like tying knots. I'm quite good at tying knots if I tie something down I take my time because I want it to stay there... But as Morgan nonchalantly strolled up the driveway, rolled up the garage door, and put the mailbox through the windscreen of an Audi!? I must admit, I kind of rushed my knot tying job. I got in my car, I'm about to drive off, I'm like, looking at the house going "ah, I'm sure he'll be fine" and then an armchair smashed out of an upstairs window and just went DOINK DOINK DOINK DOINK down the front lawn. I was like "... what's my duty of care in this situation?". I didn't want to call the cops on him, I didn't want him to trash the house, I'm like - "daw fuck I'm gonna have to talk to Morgan" So I got out, I walked up the driveway shitting myself- you know when someone does something really violent and you're just like "ah, fuck, we're not supposed to do shit like that!"? Yucky, just yucky feeling in my tum-tum- and I'm standing there, standing there in the garage and there's like an adjoining door in the garage that leads into the house. I can see in through the door into the house, up the staircase, it's like a wooden staircase, and I'm standing in the garage just going - "ah fuck..." (gulp) "morgaaaan. Morgaaaan!" Like I was calling a cat for its dinner? "Morgan! Moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie!" And then I notice a small trickle of water start to come from the top step. And then a little bit more water, and then QUITE A LOT OF WATER, just pissing down the stairs like shitty water feature, I'm like "aw that can't be right" and then Morgan appeared on the top step holding a hammer like this: - "BAAAH!" (jumps out) I was like - "WOAH!" and he's like - "mwhuEUEUEUE" Starts running at me wielding the hammer, like "UEUEUEUE", I'm like "aw no no I just wanted to buy a bookshelf..." he's like "UEUEUEUEUEUE-.. RRAH!" runs straight past me, I'm like - "Where are you going?" he's like - "UEEEH!" made a beeline for my car, I'm like - "NO, MAN! STOP!" he's like - "UEUEUEUEUUEUE" - "STOP IT! JUST STOP!" He spins around and goes - "I just checked my phone, she texted me fifteen minutes ago saying she'll be here in fifteen minutes, WE'RE GONNA GO!" and gets into my car! - "fucking... jesus... fuck me" I run down the lawn, get in the driver's seat, I'm like - "What was with the water?" he goes - "Ah, I put plugs in all of the sinks and turned all the taps on!" I'm like - "Oh that's fucked" He's like - "JUST DRIVE!" I was like - "AAH!" I took off so quick, rounded the corner of his street, and the bookshelf just went "mrrreeUUWh-BOOSH" and exploded against the guard rail, just exploded in a shower of badly tied knots and broken dreams... So me and Morgan just fucking left it there, like a little breadcrumb for his ex wife to find on the way home to her destroyed gingerbread house. I dropped Morgan at a train station. I have never seen him again. And that, my friends, is why I no longer shop on Gumtree. Thank you very much! Thank you very much. (Applause) Haha, ah, fuck... You know my favourite bit of that story? I just made it up. Yes, not true. There is no Morgan. MMMH! It's very unsatisfying, isn't it? - "But I saw him in my head. I saw Morgan in my head." ... ... ... Why is it we can feel so robbed when someone tells us a story we just heard isn't true, and yet so satisfied at the end of a fictional novel? Y'know? You know that? ... You know the other great thing about that story? First draft. FUCK YOU HEMINGWAY! ... (sigh) Can't end on that, can I? - "Those LIES? WE DID NOT COME HERE TO BE HOODWINKED, SIR!" The truth, eh? ... The truth is, I'm... I'm not an exceptional person, y'know? Nothing interesting really ever happens to me, I'm massively flawed, and I think I'm quite forgettable, if I'm being a hundred percent honest. And this isn't the shit bit at the end of the show where I get on the cross, I'm like "lOve mE on the wAY OUt thE doOr". It's not that, it's just that I don't think- on a scale from one to memorable, I'm not that memorable. Not on like the Morgan sort of scale, not on the Ernest Hemingway scale, certainly, y'know... But if I tell a great story, maybe people will remember that instead. Remember the card trick and just... pretend that they don't know how it's done, y'know? ... But must we leave a legacy? MUST we make an impact? Do we HAVE TO leave a footprint? Is it okay to just settle, seek safety, nest, y'know? Or must we constantly shake our lives up, or suffer the indiscriminate cruelty of having it shaken against our will? Must we try to carve a path through the tall grass, feeling as though no-one has ever felt how we feel? Terrified at what may be lurking low in the grass on either side of us, but just pressing ever on with that paleolithic instinct deep within our chromosomes that the only way is forward, that you HAVE TO keep going? That eventually you'll stumble upon the edge of the field, hitch a ride from a passing car, and meet up with the rest of the gang for tea and sandwiches at the old town hall? ... (deep breath) Do we feel like the path that we are carving through the grass is all our own? Only to finally float above the field with the sweet relief of expiration and realize that the field is insignificantly miniscule in size, and that there's only one path through the grass - the exact same one that every human has trod before us will ever after, just stumbling blindly along a tiny hyphen between the words "birth" and "death". And when reduced to that level of crisp simplicity, fear cannot exist ... So. (pausing, readying) Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one: (Blackout) (Applause and credits)

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