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#doing research for this was so funny it was just me reading up on paranoia and going 'lol me'

intoseaa · 3 months

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write about jeff the killer

ok so basically one fun thing about me is that every original creation ive ever made has had Jeff the Killer in it because hes public domain and i find it unimaginably funny to think that he's in every setting ever

in the process i have thought about how id improve the original jeff the killer (including elements of other "fixes" and retellings with my own spin of hereditary nonsense and generational trauma) . jeffin it up under the cut . Sorry if i repeat his name too much its just really funny to read out loud that way

content warnings: sh, extremely lightly implied incest, homophobia, implied parental neglect, Jeff the Killer

When grandpa died, Jeff, 7 years old as he recalled, as if he could ever forget every little moment of his birthday, heard a lot of terms to describe it. Though no celebration before had been especially glamorous, Jeff's excitement for the day was bashed rather fast when there was not only not so much as the scent of cake in the kitchen, but the grim news of his grandfather's passing and his mother weeping in the kitchen.

Around the point he found out that what had occurred was apparently hereditary, in hindsight, Jeff thought that was probably the point where his life began to go downhill.

Fatal familial insomnia is a rare genetic condition, provoking dementia, muscle twitching, and most prominently, total inability to sleep. Like many prions, there is no treatment, prevention, or really anything you could possibly do if it happened.

He knew because the days he was allowed on the computer were mostly spent researching what happened to his grandfather. Something about it scared his little mind so much that it generated what his mother titled an "obsession." His older brother Lou was kinder, dubbing it an interest in learning or some other equally flowery way of saying Jeff was thinking way too fucking much about this goddamn disease.

His father did not notice. Indeed, the whole ordeal from his grandpa's death to Jeff randomly getting too scared to sleep (counterproductively...) seemed lost on the salaryman.

----

Somniphobia is the irrational fear of sleep.

As stupid as it was, Jeff found the news that his blood may carry something that will kill him through the lack of something so inoccuous to be a vessel to avoid it completely.

The standard age of onset was 50 or so, but it could be as early as 13, and Jeff's constant self-torture went above and beyond in developing paranoia that he had finally gotten FFI. At that point Lou's endless empathy had somehow been expended, and even he had to giggle when Jeff opened up about it.

Jeff didn't like being laughed at.

Lou shooed him out of his room, and the young Jeff went back to reading case after case from Reddit to 4chan to forums with inconceivable names he didn't even remember, all throughout the night, up until he inevitably conked out whether he wanted to or not. Little awaited him but nightmares.

----

Jeff's first time seeing a dead body was rather formative. At 14, he and some friends (far be it from him to remember their names,) went out into the woods, and there it was: a dead boy around their age, charred beyond recognition. They gazed at it wordlessly, and when each went home, the image stayed in most of their minds in a place of horror, a reflection of something that could happen to them.

Not for Jeff.

Jeff saw the closed eyelids, and in a moment of awareness admittedly rare for the boy, he saw rest he noted he was keeping himself from getting. Every day was marked by the lack of it, and for a moment he envied that dead boy, not in the sense of death, but in the sense that he looked like he was asleep.

That night, his nightmare consisted of his grandfather, finally waking up in the coffin he was buried in. Not dead.

Merely an unfortunate subject of sleep debt.

As he clawed at the wood, as his nails sloughed off in his desperate attempt to escape, as blood began dripping down onto him, Jeff got closer and closer to waking up, but, well.

For a nightmare, when he eventually did shoot up in his bed, he noted he got such restful sleep.

----

Lou was frequently bullied. The poor guy had a birthmark that made it look like one half of his face kinda smiled all the time but not really. It was actually kind of uncanny to look at to a few kids.

This bothered Jeff. He cared a lot, maybe a little too much about his darling brother, and seeing it really upset him.

Because Jeff didn't like to be laughed at.

So it was up to a few dumb ideas on his part. He admitted it wasn't a very smart plan, and he would probably be caught. A cop was gonna come to his house and take him away for the rest of his life, maybe. But on the off chance that that wasn't true, he decided to play a little prank on the main 3 guys that picked on his darling brother.

Contrary to his expectations, there were no survivors.

Secondarily, there was no suspect.

The case went cold. Maybe Lou had an idea, but of course, his loyal big brother chalked it up to paranoia.

Jeff didn't like to be laughed at.

----

Jeff had problems making friends.

He didn't have a good memory (symptom 2, dementia), was frequently tired (symptom 3, total insomnia), and came off as what a teacher might refer to as "special." His mother disagreed, and he listened to his mother because she was always right, even if she was clearly wrong.

A misplaced "hey Charles" to a delinquent named some shit like Bob might have even gotten him hit. He didn't want to be hurt, nor did he want to have to hurt someone. He saw that as a rather steep inconvenience that took a lot of planning, one that can easily go wrong and send them straight to what he referred to, in his mind, as sleep.

He was scared to send the rest of them to sleep. Jeff was afraid of sleep.

Eventually, though, the band of delinquents at his school invited him to a party. Admitting it openly, he kind of idolized them. They found him kind of funny and almost cute, and more than one boy stared at him a little too much. Jeff didn't understand because he thought that was what boys did to girls, and Jeff wasn't a girl. Maybe the long hair made him look like one.

He appreciated the attention in any case. He liked to stare at that boy too. He actually bothered to remember that boy's name (or he did back then.) He couldn't tell you now.

----

At the party Jeff sat on the other side of that boy during spin the bottle, next to some guy named Bob apparently or some shit like it. He mostly recognized him because he had brought this bottle of whiskey for him and only for him. No one noticed or pointed it out, but he could hear his mother at the church going on and on and on and

The bottle landed on him, and the delinquent bunch started laughing.

The boy in front of him looked hopeful for a moment, but that disappeared with the first chortle and the bottle quietly spun again. Jeff felt disappointed.

He didn't know why.

It showed on his face, because first the girls started laughing and then went the boys and then went his mother in his head going on on and on and on and on. He was getting very tired of it.

Jeff didn't like to be laughed at.

He pretend to giggle as well for a moment. "I need to pee."

Blurting it out really awkwardly seemed to convince them. It sounded repulsive to him, personally.

Coming back from the bathroom, some girl had left. The boy he liked more than the rest and the boy apparently named some shit like Bob were, for whatever reason, squabbling.

He couldn't tell you now what they were going on about, but he remembered what he said.

"It seems like you're overreacting a little bit."

The boy named Bob(?) stared right at him, eyes like the headlights of a car, as he wrestled his lighter out of his pocket after unscrewing the cap on his bottle of whiskey.

"You little shit, I'll make you pay for that," he slurred.

----

At the hospital, he was informed his burns were relatively mild. Lou hugged him and sobbed and Jeff let him even though he thought he was just overreacting a little bit.

Jeff didn't like to be cried over, either.

He wondered if the boy he liked more than the rest would see him.

Of course he didn't.

When he was released, the looks he had originally boasted were fading. His hair was no longer the natural, deep black it originally was, and suddenly it seemed entirely ashy and generally upsetting and gross. The scars pockmarked his body, and they reminded him somewhat of a fractal he saw once, at least in shape. He looked awful.

Jeff stopped coming to school about as soon as Lou stopped forcing him.

He didn't really feel the same. He felt like there was a big wad of burning cotton stuffed in his skull, something the alcoholic flames had set alight.

The night he was discharged from the hospital, he took a good look at his darling brother. He saw a certain beauty in the "smile," and in the unblinking, teary eyes. He felt bad.

He felt ugly.

Standing before the bathroom mirror with a knife, he thought he could make it better. His pale face was reflected back at him with such a hideous series of scars that it felt like mockery.

Jeff didn't like to be laughed at.

----

Right as Jeff felt beautiful, his mother saw the devil.

He felt safe now that it hurt to close his eyes. The cuts on his eyelids burned, blood in his eyes, and dear god, what a radiant smile!

He would never have to sleep again, the way it hurt.

As she called for a priest nearby, his father finally looked at him as if Jeff mattered. Armed with a baseball bat, he saw the devil in his son and-

----

Blood on the floor. His mother face down, and his father face up, eyelids forced shut. He decided to give them smiles they didn't have in life. Jeff liked to make people smile.

Unfortunately, as Lou gazed down at Jeff, he was so unimaginably scared that not a single thing even comparable to a smile graced his face. He looked almost like one of those split masks, between tragedy and comedy.

Jeff cared a little too much about Lou. Killing their parents had felt good, but it felt a lot worse now that Lou didn't like what he had done.

"You see?"

Jeff uttered. The smoke in his lungs gave the quiet boy a rasp.

"I look just like you now."

His darling brother was too beautiful to kill.

As he turned and walked out the door, Lou waited for the police to arrive. He didn't run. Jeff's loyal brother didn't do a thing.

He saw his parents, sound asleep.

The police had taken him, but when more and more bodies turned up just like the ones they'd found, the cops found it harder and harder to justify keeping the catatonic boy.

#the talker #the writer #jtk #creepypasta jtk #jeff the killer #jeff the killer creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta #jeffery woods #jeffrey woods #18+ mdni #answers #ilove writing requests give me give me give m

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teecupangel · 1 year

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Submitted by @saberamane

Been seeing a lot of Edward Kenway and James Kidd/Mary Read and it just got me thinking, Edward never noticed that ‘James’ was a woman, so wouldn’t it be funny if someone had an oc who was a man, but dressed as a woman as a disguise, like mary did, and poor edward never could tell?

Like the first time he met this guy was with Blackbeard, and they were there to collect the oc because Blackbeard got word that the oc’s female alias was under investigation, so they were there to basically pull him out before he was caught. Blackbeard know the oc, so he knows the oc is a man who just makes a very convincing woman, but Edward meets a new beautiful 'woman’ and flirts. And is then horrified to find out it’s a guy.

And then every time Edward is in a new port with the crew, he’d end up hitting on a woman in some tavern, and it turns out to be the oc in a new disguise nearly every time.

And so then Edward begins to flirt less with woman, because he is getting seriously paranoid about flirting with that guy again. And then he finds out about James Kidd being Mary Read and it’s like the last straw for his sanity.

And somehow Blackbeard can tell the oc apart from actual woman, and so is technically cheating in the crew wide betting poll at each port on whether or not Edward flirts with their undercover informant again.

Edward and oc become friends in the end, and maybe the oc becomes the live in 'nanny’ for the Kenway’s and is able to stop the Templar’s from killing Edward and abducting Haytham.

=============================

Addition by teecup

All I can think is Edward going “the boobs, check the boobs, he had flat boobs before so this time…”

Two hours later…

(Pokemon text) Edward has learned PADDING.

I like to think of this OC as the pirate spy equivalent of Chevalière d'Éon. He’s an okay fighter, having spent years in Blackbeard’s ship, but he found his ‘calling’ when they were at port and some drunk idiots mistook him for a girl.

The easiest score he ever got.

After that, it would actually be Anne who helped him be more lady-like and Edward had actually flirted with him before Blackbeard officially introduced the two of them as he used to work as a waitress too (for research).

At some point, Edward just stopped flirting altogether because he has been traumatized so many times by the OC who kept flirting back, only to flash his balls when Edward is ready to do the do and leave while laughing. Edward never does anything because it’s all harmless flirting and they never get anywhere because the OC would always shows him the truth before anything can get physical.

Nobody realizes it but Blackbeard has a surefire way to know if their undercover informant is on port. He always wears something on his neck to hide his Adam’s Apple.

And he would actually be with Blackbeard during his last stand, being spared only because the soldiers believed he was one of the women and not a pirate. He managed to get to Edward and stay with the Jackdaw, following Edward because, well…

Blackbeard’s gone and he has nowhere else to go. So he took the job as their live-in nanny and pretended to be Edward’s sister so Edward’s wife wouldn’t think something is happening between them (there wasn’t, they had a more sibling relation at this point, forged from the high seas and the blood of the people they lost) and he does think of Edward’s children as his niece and nephews.

But years of being a spy and the paranoia of losing people he cares about once more (especially considering Edward’s occupation) made him more suspicious of people he didn’t know and Birch just pings at him.

He doesn’t find out Birch is the Templar though and the attack still happens but he had been able to take down the ones after Jenny, telling her to stay behind him while they searched for the others. He would be there to help Edward, telling him that it was just like ‘old times’ jokingly even though his chest would be beating too fast due to both adrenaline and fear. They tagteam the attackers and Edward lives but they were too late to stop Haytham from killing someone to protect his mother.

In the end, Tessa leaves the Kenway mansion because of the truth of Edward’s commitment to the Creed and Haytham’s actions.

But at least he wasn’t alone in raising his children.

Unorganized Notes:

For more drama, add hints that the OC may have felt something more for Blackbeard than just him being his ‘captain’. Perhaps he’d only say “He was my Mary Read” when Edward asked and Edward knew instantly what he meant.

He always call Edward ‘Ed’ because he used to call him ‘Kenway’ or ‘Cap’n Kenway’ but now that they were meant to be siblings and they have grown close, it was too painful to call him ‘Edward’ which was what he usually called Blackbeard.

Jenny always joked that he has prettier clothes than her. He just tells her to talk to Edward about that.

… It would be funny if having him as the nanny would teach Haytham how to crossdress and be more inclined to crossdress to get whatever he wants.

Just imagine Ratonhnhaké:ton going “This is my father. Sometimes, he likes to wear dresses and paint his face but he still prefers to be called ‘father’.”

(Just additional information: The Forsaken Book does name Haytham’s nursemaid as Edith so if anyone wants to make this OC and can’t think of the name, there you go. On the other hand, Edith could also serve as the OC’s sorta-best friend and they could gossip about Tessa instead)

#submission #if it’s not yet clear #i don’t really like tessa kenway #the circumstances of his childhood does not absolve his latter asshole-ness #but haytham really had a fucked up childhood with a shitty mother #also crossdressing haytham kenway #make use of that hair ponytail man #assassin's creed #edward kenway #edward thatch #blackbeard #haytham kenway

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spookfished · 8 months

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big media roundup (july edition)

hellooo again welcome to my media roundup, where i talk about things i read/watched/played this month! (…and by last month i mean AN ENTIRE MONTH AGO. WOOPS in my defense i got sick [better now]) in july i downloaded tachij2k, which im going to be shilling forever as the best way to read manga on android (apk on github here) this also means that ive been reading like, a Lot of manga lol so i split books + comics into two.

books:

vita nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko: a metaphysics-ish novel about a girl who is blackmailed into going to a magic school. sort of a subversion where (unlike many magic school books) it basically is all about learning and stuff? im kind of a sucker for books written by married couples i think its really cute and also kind of fascinating... um i sort of disagree with its approach to pedagogy but its also sort of about the blood sweat and tears part of learning,, where i usually quit beforehand LOL. got that eastern european hopeless and drudgery (?) but idk i would definitely recommend

the great believers by rebecca makkai: historical fiction that swaps between an art curator-y guy living through the aids epidemic in chicago and his friend in the present who is trying to reunite w her estranged daughter. i really liked this!! super devastating obviously literally scooped me like a melon. very well researched! i hadnt really grasped like. the sheer terror and paranoia? that happened during the aids epidemic before..... thats my lack of contemp history knowledge but it was good i learned a lot. liked the theme of sort of surviving through tragedy and even after.. and the line drawn between the lost generation (war) and yales own exp (EDIT: found sth i wrote after reading the book which said "people are living their own intricate and mundane stories and then the stories of the world smash straight through them")

assassin of reality (vita nostra sequel): sasha knows what she will become--has embraced it, even. but theres always something that can be lost, and the institute still has a heavy hand over her.<or sth like that??? the reveals of the last book kind of make it a hard act to follow and the book definitely felt a lot more abstract... ik some people complained about the romantic subplots but i feel like it gives stakes and grounds everything else, yk? it gives you a thread to hold onto otherwise i mightve given up LMFAO that being said i did enjoy it :3 wondering if what happened to the authors will change the vibe of the next book... :(

you exist too much by zaina arafat: literary fiction about a bisexual palestinian american woman who struggles with her addiction to unattainable love, which has led her to cheat in several relationships. this book didnt really resonate with me.. um i actually ended up writing like 500 words of review for this but its pretty negative. so if youre interested check it out here https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/970847361775591466/1147613251933306921/image.png

movies/tv: room with a view: a young english girl travels to italy and finds love there--but has to choose between that love and a 'proper' life. ok this was fine. idk it was cute and funny sometimes but didnt leave that much of an impression sorry :T

past lives: two childhood friends reconnect, lose touch, then reconnect again. aughjjj those two silent minutes where they were waiting for her ride were so freaking agonizing. really good acting pretty film i just enjoyed it a lot in general! :3 i didnt like the boyfriend that much at first but the conversation they had in bed made them feel like a real relationship, you know? wish theyd had a 3some though maybe it will happen in past lives 2: paster life. idk its like most of the time we dont grow up to be who we thought wed be or do what we thought wed do... but is that really so bad? cant you still be happy? *clutches my head

nimona (movie): adaptation of the comic above! um this was fine i think i was a little disappointed bc the jokes felt a little overplayed/didnt really land? and i was mentally comparing it to the comic but then rereading i was like oh these jokes dont really hit for me either.. so who am i comparing this to LOL i think it would have meant a lot to me in middle school, so maybe it will mean something to middle schoolers now. also ppl fought really hard for it to be made so i feel like i need to give it more credit. my mutuals meta also made me appreciate it more :3 https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/687877902200471552/1126752893312184390/image.png barbie movie: not going to recap the barbie movie sorry. i actually watched this twice it was really fun :3 i wouldnt necessarily say it was a Cultural Milestone or anything but it was cute to see everyone dressed up for the movie.. plus i love velveteen rabbit type storylines. i think ken got the right amount of screentime (its not his movie!) but i loved his dance number and the battle scene :3 and the outfitss idk im not super caught up on the movie scene but it feels like there have been a lot of ugly movies recently. i enjoyed it

the rehearsal: a "reality" show about nathan fielder, who believes that any difficult situation can be rehearsed--and has the budget to put that belief into practice. ok like last year or sth everyone was like omg this show was sooo good but i didnt really get what it was about? but its actually really so interesting.. and the whole blurring between fiction and reality as well as the audience not really knowing which parts are staged and which parts are 'real' is so fun! i was a little bit disappointed when it diverged from the episodic format but that ended up paying off bigtime and was really like idk heartbreaking and funny and all of that. very recommend 👍

video games:

super mario odyssey: (replay)super fucking mario yay!!! in the long run, odyssey didnt have as much like. cultural staying power as botw did (they were both switch launch titles) but its still soooo imaginative and pretty and dense! i love platformers love 2 run and jump.

visual media: he was my brother: psych horror manga about a young girl who tries to grow closer to her recently-deceased brother's partner. omg i had so much fun with this the art is so atmospheric and delightfully creepy...REALLY mind the warnings though. i think i ended up reading all of it in one sitting lmfao

nimona comic (reread): classic villain ballister blackheart is looking for a competent sidekick, but what he gets is nimona, a shapeshifting weirdo kid with secrets. i remember trying to reread this and going wow.... is nimona not as good as i remember? am i old? but it was actually just like early webcomic weirdness nimona is still pretty good! yay :3 i still like the comic better but i respect how they are adapted to their respective mediums and also come from different phases in the og authors life

The story of how I came to know my favourite announcer has a side to her I would have never imagined: oneshot f/f w the premise in the title. whether i write down stuff like this is pretty hit or miss lol and i had to look this one up to rmbr what it was but the art is so cute...simple plot but i enjoyed it :3

crossplay love otaku x punk: romcom where two highschoolers fall in love with the other's crossdressing alter ego (m/m?). i really liked this one actuallyyy its so silly and im also a sucker for love square shenanigans. ok also now that someone else said they think hana/shuumei is endgame so im thinking about it. not the right perspective for this but the crossdressing isnt really overly fetishized or like seen as bad or anything? also ppl make some really funny faces in this

breathless momentum (vol 2+3): r two womanizing musicians find love... in each other!? this is also another one of my favorites :3 the leads are so fun and also music yay music! i really appreciate when a romance is still able to present an interesting story even after the couple has gotten together..

damekoi r: sequel to "please love this useless me," (damekoi is like.. useless passion? i think) which is about a woman in her 30s who spends all her money on her college boyfriend and goes into debt and falls in with her shitty former boss. omg it was soooo cute like i already said its a romance set after the main couple has already gotten together. which is my favorite. but these guys are really fucking weird so they still have a lot of problems. having Another Man who fits michikos type and isnt totally evil come in to destabilize shibata and kurosawas relationship doesnt feel cheap bc their relationship is already not very stable? lol i think the first one is worth checking out if you love pathetic women

mr villains day off: a gag manga about an alien supervillain on his days off. ok this one is pretty much just centered around this fluffy guy who likes to look at pandas but its extremely not very deep but its very cute... i like it... i also like pandas

how do we relationship/so do you want to go out, or (reread): f/f slice of life/drama manga about a girls first lesbian relationship in college. ok this is like "the" yuri manga for me i would recommend it to any fans of femslash its like sort of very realistic feeling? in the way that a relationship can sort of degrade slowly through lack of communication and being different people i think its really great 👍

ichinose familys seven deadly sins: psychological drama. an entire family wakes up with amnesia from a car crash. they dont remember themselves or each other, but pledge to stay together and relearn how to be a family and try to find their memories again. but is it really worth digging up the past...? man this one really goes off the rails. but like in a fun way? has an interesting arc going on rn about like... what allowances do we give, what are we willing to forgive in a stranger vs a family member. pretty interesting!

oshi no ko (catchup): psych thriller about the twin children of a famous idol trying to deal with the legacy she leaves behind. ive been talking about this manga for a while to my friends lol its kind of like riverdale in that its sort of very good, sort of very bad--but overall just super engrossing! which makes sense in a way bc its about the entertainment industry but also about the relationship between an idol and their fan... um not so sure about recent developments though lol. a little bit scared to see where things go

blue period (catchup): a delinquent boy used to going with the flow decides to go to the top art school in japan. yeah blue period is really good. hope this helps 👍lets all never go to art school ever ok ^_^

still sick: f/f about an office lady who finds out her coworker writes and sells yuri doujins (like illustrated fanfiction?) on the side. its a classic! was nice to finally get around to finishing it :3

liar satsuki can see death: thriller about a girl who can see peoples deaths and tries to prevent them--except everyone thinks shes just a liar. ok this is notable bc it has the exact same like adventures and gaybait as shounen but its all girls instead. its good light entertainment! sometimes is um kind of horny for sth about high school girls so ymmv on that one

farming for love: m/m romance about a pharmacist who moves to the country after a bad breakup and meets a ~strong but silent farmer~. pretty average, but fun if youre into that kind of thing! not sure if i would really recommend it lol

chainsaw man 2: set after the events of chainsaw man proper, its an action shounen focusing on asa mitaka, a girl who kinda sucks :3 chainsaw man is so fun yayyy im happy to be reading it again excited to get hit by some more bricks! asa is a wonderful protagonist and fujimoto continues to write comitragedy (?) in a way thats kinda obscene but also very cool 👍rip single father denji

skip and loafer (comic): slice of life about an ambitious but awkward girl who comes from the country to start her high school life in tokyo!!!! and some guy i guess. omg ok this is like the slice of life manga for me rn (the anime is really good! finished recently check it out) its just really warm and nice. autistic girls win always lol truly a comic that makes you feel like there is love in the world

no home: webtoon drama about two guys who are trapped together in a haunted dorm. ok this comic makes me really depressed but its also about people who make each other better despite their best efforts. and also violence and hatred its really really good 👍sad about recent updates though.. i guess maybe the characters werent really meant to be friends in the long term

this took me like two weeks to write and now im in a different state LOL so um if you got to the end...thanks for reading!

#txt #hmm its a bit harder to do these when ive read the thing so long ago... woops

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allkinds-oftrash · 1 year

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The Crown S5E7 Commentary

Non Spoiler Gist: Brilliant brilliant Diana centric episode - I loved every single minute of it! It was also interwoven well with Bashir prepping and manipulating Di into the interview, Diana’s romance with Dr. Hasnat Khan and a secondary C-plot of Lizzie having lunches with William and Margot.

Spoilers Under The Cut:

The Bashir Interview episode Let's gooo

We love a Diana-centric episode Gosh she sounds so much like her I'm getting emotional I just love her so much??? This monologue on being separated is on point

Oooh we're getting Tween William this should be interesting Is that Dominic's actual son?? Nepotism at it's finest I wonder what he thinks of his dad's irl cheating and if he finds him being Charles as ironically meta as I do

Awww Harry my babeyyyy

Also gosh the press really were everywhere and invading every aspect of their lives huh This is so taunting he's like a spectacle Not them fighting at his school too LMAO THE SPITE HUG YES SHOW HIM THE LOVE DIANA

Bashir is KNEE deep in his research era huh Honestly all the scenes of him so far is just me being old enough to love Diana on my own and just watch every available clip and read every article on her. I was in the trenches with my Diana phase as a tween

Why does the actor look like this Tamil actor I know I'm shook they look very similar and like they could be related Okay I googled him no they do not only in this get up for some reason hsjjsjs Damnnn he's an ambitious one isn't he What are they doing with these bank statements???

Holy fuck the Earl Spencer's casting is EERIE they look THE SAME

What the fuckkkk I knew how he got the interview was unethical BUT NOT THIS UNETHICAL This is so shady omg omg This man I swear to God like he didn't waver ONCE

Lmao Diana saw this man ONCE and is a goner for him. She's just staring hshahh I really thought we'd get her and Dodi around this time but Hasnat Khan is pretty cute too I'll give her that She's adorable omggg

DIANA YOUR FRIEND'S HUSBAND MIGHT BE DYING AND YOU'RE THIRSTING OVER A MAN I cannot this is too funny pls Diana babes please read the room

Not William being short with his mother Goddd her phones being tapped is so scary

Oh dear god not the guys trying to take a pic of her WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK HER BRAKES AREN'T WORKING What the fuckkkkk I had a heart attack that was terrifying

Lmaoo this interaction with the Spencers - PEAK siblings Her paranoia was really preyed upon huh Poor her Patrick would notttt Bashir is lyinggg This is so painful to watch Danggg the way Elizabeth's face went red so fast damn girl she turned it ON

Oooh Willy is having lunch with Lizzie this ought to be fun Damn this boy has got the voice down we love to see it I really like their dynamic it's really sweet and kinda humanises them for me despite my issues with the two of them

NOT CHARLIES STILL TALKING ABOUT GORDONSTOUN The trauma is real yall

Awwee Diana in the hospital I love her so much she was really the sweetest soul wasn't she Lmaooo Di's like Oh??? My crush has noticed mee!!! She's so into him this is so cute I'm so invested in this sldhddjd

Ohmygod she called him sexy hskdjsk Dianaaaa A HUSBAND I LOVE HER BEING FLIRTY This Diana is SUCH A VIBEEEE "I'm constitutionally single" Lmaoo I'm using that They are ADORABLE why did it end 😭😭

Boooo Bashir leave her aloneee Holy shit mans is really laying it thick and telling her everything she wants to hear

Not Oprah being name dropped as an alternate for an interviewer Imagine if she had gotten the Di interview and also the H&M one - that would have been a TRIP

Damnnn the duality of the two Pakistani men in her life during this time. It's a very interesting parallel to see. One manipulating and exploiting her and the other offering her safety, privacy and kindness

Lmaooo Bashir did not say "I think she has a thing for me" Okay but thank god he didn't mean it like That That 1991 tour meant a lot to her didn't it? Lowkey wish we saw it instead of the Russian ep We all have that special country away from home we fell in love with so I get it. I'm just glad they didn't make it out to be a exotic country or fetishise it in her eyes

Ohmygod she looks like Sophie Turner in that getup I got shook AWWE THEY'RE HOLDING HANDS I LOVE THEM OHMYGOD WHAT IS THIS FOREPLAY Their flirting is on point He keeps asking for consent it's so sexy

DR KHAN NO HSJDJJSJ Girlie was trying to be deep about her broken, neglected heart and this man goes "No your heart is fine. Quite a strong pulse actually." God he's SO endearing GJSHSJC DIANA I SWEAR She's sooo into him Bro she likes youuu and you like herr She did not call him a frog I'm screaming djdkdkd

Jesus Christ Lizzie we get it stop name calling and just say her name Yall are awful

Jesus Bashir are you trying to isolate her from EVERYONE Mans really using his mother tongue to his advantage I do sympathise with his struggles as an MOC in a very white industry Gosh this is all so complex Like yeah he was REAL shady about it but he also did let her feel understood and allowed her that platform to lay it all on the line

"You can trust me" K Bashir K 🤡🤡

Oh dip this isn't the actual interview ep. Aights gonna take a short break before I watch the next one!

#The Crown #The Crown Season 5 #The Crown Spoilers

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edgiestdude · 2 months

Text

So when I heard Roosterteeth shut down, I was debating on whether to make this post or not.

The last post I made was…

Wow, that was a year ago. A year ago I left RWBY because I lost interest in the show after my Weaboo self rose back from the dead. Not only that, but the more I thought about the show, the more I realized

“Wow that show wasn’t as good as people made it out to be.”

Throughout my RWBY fanself, I’ve done a lot of cringe things and decided to leave because: what was the point of sticking around and Criticizing RWDE and other RWBY critics who had some awful takes if I wasn’t interested in the show. (Fun fact, my memes are apparently popular in Facebook?)

It’s why I debated on making this post and decided: might as well. End it fully.

RWBY is a strange show. It’s neither good nor is it bad. It’s more…Mediocre. It’s not bad because the writers tried and did make a few good writing choices at times and didn’t go full on “Power fantasy!!!” (For those who think Jaune is Miles Luna self insert, go watch/read Isekais. Those are a different story). To be frank, as I thought about RWBY and its writing, I realized “RWBY was never as good as people made it out to be.”

RWBY, I feel, was never meant to be a fucking masterpiece like ATLA, Paranoia Agent, or Serial Experiments Lain. RWBYs more like Hellsing. It’s not thought-provoking, it’s more for fun. Now that’s not to say Miles and Kerry made some weird choices, like Faunus Racism and whatever happened in Atlas…

[Quick note if you want to write stuff on this: make sure to do research like reading books, looking at history, and reading up on websites (don’t just use Wikipedia kids). Oh and use appropriate timing and tone, that’s all]

So did Miles and Kerry write weird shit in RWBY? Yes. Should they get criticized. Yes. Were they planning on writing stuff like this on the long run? Maybe but I’m more leaning towards no.

RWBY was more of a show created by anime fans. Monty thought “hey wouldn’t it be cool if four girls fought and did cool things.” And with Miles and Kerry’s help created RWBY. RWBY, from what I saw, was more like a fighting game. “Fighting first, story second”

Now RWBY has been on a weird ride ever since Monty died, but I saw it more as Kerry and Miles carrying Monty’s torch. And that’s why I respected it. It could’ve just ended there, but they kept going. Also it’s worth noting that there was NO story thought of whatsoever, even when Monty was alive. It was more of a friend project that created a fanbase and franchise.

I came back to write this post because it was an interesting series that intrigued me back then. I was shocked that Roosterteeth shut down. The company that created Achievement hunter, Red vs blue, Camp Camp, and among other things.

Was it ever planning on coming? Ehhh…

Sort of. Roosterteeth did a lot of weird things and bad. But, be honest, how many companies do this? EA, Mappa, etc. Roosterteeth I feel had it coming since their founders were leaving left and right leaving very weird leaderships. And Roosterteeth was gonna be no exception to this. It’s why animation companies tend to be a pain in the ass for animators, especially in Japan. The thing about Roosterteeth is that it was more of an indie company, which later got swallowed by Warner, so I feel it was more prone to getting hurt worse. Roosterteeth was a sack of shit, but people tried to create content for people, even if they faced horrible harassment. No matter the issues that Roosterteeth had, may we never forget the memories and legacy they left behind. Every thing has an ugly side, that’s what makes us human. Roosterteeth had an interesting story with ugly and good, but it brought us memories and moments we may never get back. It’s a sad thing. But it’s life.

{Wanted to make a quick note: I read a RWBYcritics comment making fun of Canonseeker punching the air, which is funny because I forgot about Canonseeker a long time ago, so it’s kind of funny he lives rent free on some peoples head, even if he did bad shit back then}

Well, this is where it ends. I made this post to vent out my feelings about the situation and to finally close the book for good. I’ve might made some mistakes or bad calls, so I’d be interested in reading criticism, even if I don’t stick in tumblr for a while. Till then, farewell RWBY fandom and Roosterteeth, thanks for some of the memories.

#rwby #rwby discussion #rooster teeth #i guess #?????

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cupofteaguk · 4 years

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on the road (to you)

summary: as a young adult, one of the strangest revelations is the discovery that peers of yours from past fragile college years are getting married. so imagine your shock and excitement upon receiving a wedding invitation. there are, however, two problems: (1) you are a poor early-20s recently employed adult just beginning to adjust to your 401k plan, and (2) the only available ride to the wedding comes in the form of Jeon Jungkook—friend of a friend, attendee to that aforementioned wedding, and your old college crush.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: roadtrip au, strangers to lovers au | fluff/angst

warnings: recreational alcoholic consumption, definitely not an accurate representation of how a road trip might actually be, mentions of anxiety + insecurities, very minor book reference to: The Night Circus, equally minor movie references to: Mission Impossible and The Princess Bride because I have a problem, light makeout sessions, talks of DTR (define the relationship), some angst but this is me so there’s a happy ending.

word count: 27k

a/n: a birthday present for the one and only Jeon Jungkook, whom I love and respect so much and only wish the bestest of days for. Partly inspired by Taylor Swift’s song “invisible string” + a love letter of sorts to my own old high school crush for whom my memory of him helped build Jungkook’s character. This also turned out way longer than I ever wanted it to be lol oops!

update: i was actually able to do a writer’s audio tag on this fic!!! check it out if you want to hear about the behind the scenes process that went into writing this fic <3

When you land a job in the months following your college graduation, you feel as if you are on top of the world. How could you not? After all, the norm that follows post-college is one of disappointment and constant hunts online to find job openings for any position that could suit your background and previous work experiences. It’s a fear that plagues lots of your friends, both those in college and out. It’s the same paranoia you had in the months leading up to graduation and the few months after graduation—in which your days were measured by the boxes you packed to move out of your tiny college apartment and into an equally tiny new apartment you currently share with an old roommate of yours, as well as the days you spent hunched over your computer and scrolling through job postings.

You had gone through more than a handful of cover letters, resume submissions, and in person interviews before finally landing the job you currently have and have been working under for a month now.

Throughout the course of the recent month, you’ve continued to secure certain moments that solidify the confidence that you’re finally becoming an adult. Sure, a barely functioning adult who mostly still uses the microwave to heat up your frozen Mac and Cheese—but an adult nonetheless. From learning how to pay your bills online, to realizing that grocery shopping was something you needed to make a conscious effort to do, along with going to and from your nine to five job with your coffee order in hand.

All of those things have helped you feel like you were, perhaps, finally getting your life together.

And then you receive the invitation in the mailbox.

It happens when you unlock your box on a bright March morning, taking out the usual round of bills and fashion magazines until your fingers lock around an envelope bigger than the normal letter size. It’s much sturdier too.

You don’t know what to think of the letter, until you bring the damn thing back into your apartment and rip the opening. The mere sight of the content inside makes you feel like the hand of life has just taken your figurine and moved you back a good twenty squares.

The post in your hand reads:

WITH GREAT JOY, IRENE AND SEOKJIN REQUEST THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE FOR THEIR WEDDING CELEBRATION ON THE DAY OF MAY 25TH. COCKTAILS, DINNER, AND DANCING TO FOLLOW.

There’s a date at the bottom of the invitation. As you line the date up with your calendar, you realize that you have a week to RSVP to the event.

You toss the envelope onto the counter in the kitchen just to glare at the cardstock, maybe to convince yourself this is a dream or at least convince yourself that it’s normal for your friend from college to be getting married even when you have yet to land a successful relationship of your own.

You aren’t as close with Irene as you used to be, but the memory of your friendship is still at the forefront of your mind. The pair of you met during your final year of university, when you were assigned to work together for one of your many senior projects and immediately clicked. The months you spent in her apartment and vice versa pulling out all-nighters in desperate attempts to finish your project definitely earns you an invitation. At the very least, you are happy to see that Irene: bright and smart and funny, is getting married.

Not only that, but getting married to Seokjin. He’s a year older than you and Irene, but those two met when he was still enrolled and have been inseparable ever since. You don’t know relationships that well, but you know them enough to recognize that Seokjin and Irene were what everyone called the ‘endgame’. In truth, it was only a matter of time before you were to receive one of these from them.

But did she really have to one-up you like this? Not that it’s a competition. However, it does leave a funny feeling to see someone the same age as you display a much more put together handle on life. You groan at the thought.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Karly asks.

You turn to your roommate. She’s seated at the kitchen table, books out and everywhere as she looks over at you. Karly: fellow alumni, graduated from her undergrad program early to go straight into pursuing her master’s degree. She’s a busy bee. You wave the envelope. “Irene is getting married.”

Her eyes widen. “Ah shit, no way?” She takes the paper that you offer to her and looks over the invitation. “Damn, I knew it was only a matter of time before we started getting this stuff, but to actually see it happening…”

You groan. “I know right!” You take the cardstock back from your friend. “It’s only been six months since we graduated, how could she be getting married already?”

“Well, Irene did have a job lined up for her right after graduation,” Karly points out thoughtfully. She sees the look of bewilderment you give her. “What? It was on her Instagram.”

You pout. “Of course Irene would have a job lined up like that.” You run a hand through your hair. “I mean, that’s good for her. Really good, actually…”

Karly jerks her chin towards the envelope still in your hand. “So, are you planning to go?”

“I don’t know, do you have plans that day?” You wave the paper. “I’m allowed a plus one.”

Your roommate cracks a smile. “Are you asking me out? A little forward of you, we’ve been friends for so long…”

You whine, shaking the paper and little more frantically. “Karly, this is important! I don’t want to go alone, I won’t know anyone!”

She laughs. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. What was the date again?”

You provide the date to her. You approach Karly’s place at the kitchen table and watch as she opens the calendar on her laptop. Immediately, you are overwhelmed by all the deadlines she’s got under practicality every date on the screen. Yet, a “wow” is the only thing you can say at the sight.

Karly smiles, sparing you a glance over her shoulder. “One of the joys of being a grad student slash T.A. slash research assistant.” She scrolls down into May, and narrows her eyes upon May 25th. Underneath the date is an event—color coated to bright orange and typed out in all caps. CONFERENCE WITH PROFESSOR WONG. “Oh crap, I have a conference that day.”

“No…” You whine some more, trailing off as you grab Karly by the shoulders and begin shaking. “Karly! You’ve left me out for the bears! What am I supposed to do?”

Karly laughs as she lets herself be manhandled in this way. “I don’t know! Go and deepen your social life or something.”

You stop shaking her and glare instead. “Is that a joke?”

“What do you expect me to say?” She retorts, appalled by your answer. “Then don’t go.”

You whine again. “But this is Irene, and I’ll feel bad for not going and congratulating her!”

“Then go!”

“But I don’t have a plus one!”

Karly places her hands at her temples. “Oh my god, this is like the circle of stupidity with you. Then find a plus one! Or just don’t go!” She whirls around to face you. “I will help you find a dress if you decide to go. I will also sit with you on the couch and eat popcorn with you if you decide not to go.”

You continue to pout, knowing that you deserve that gentle attempt at a lecture but still not liking the reason why you needed such a talking to.

“Fine,” You eventually decide to say, sliding into the seat next to Karly and leaning forward to plant your entire upper body on the table.

Karly laughs at your defeated posture. “Well, you have the rest of the week to make your decision.”

She has a point. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

For the rest of the week the decision of whether or not you should attend the wedding becomes a weight in your mind. You spend the next few days pondering it, thinking over the pros and the cons.

As overdramatic as it is, you think about it during work, when you’re partaking in your home workout routines, and even when you’re about to fall asleep. You do want to go, you really do. It’ll be the first time you attend a wedding that didn’t involve a relative, which feels like a big deal in your adult agenda mindset. And Irene is someone you wouldn’t mind spending an evening with to catch up.

However, you wouldn’t get to spend the evening with Irene—after all, a wedding implies that she would likely be mingling with all of her guests and you would just be another attendee forced to find other means of entertainment. That’s where the plus one comes in handy. Except you don’t have a plus one. A slight problem.

You sigh. Work is a little slow today, as you are also experiencing the afternoon slump in which your mind drifts away more often than usual. You find yourself with a small laundry list of tasks (such as emailing companies, working on drafts for releases, and trying to set up different appointments) but without the motivation to do those things right away. Because of that, your afternoon slump takes the form of opening airline services to find information and prices about flying to Irene’s wedding. It’s in her hometown, about a five hour flight time from here to there.

You click on the various boxes that require information, finally allowing a search. As the search goes through, your eyes take in all the prices—both the amount to get there and to get back—and your lips part slightly at the totaling numbers.

“Five hundred dollars?” You mutter to yourself. You’re not sure how this would work with budgeting, but you’re still trying to figure out how to balance the cost of AC, the internet, and how to eat appropriate meals at least once a day. You don’t have five hundred dollars to spend on an airplane ticket. A slightly bigger problem.

You sigh again, resting your elbow on the desk and your chin in the palm as your eyes continue to scroll through the website.

Behind you, fingers curl around the top of your cubicle. There is a silence between the two of you: him, merely observing, and you, completely oblivious, until he clears his throat.

You jump, having not expected to be interrupted like this. A squeak leaves the back of your throat as you whirl around to see who is visiting you. “Jimin!” You exclaim, taking in the boy now perched along the wall of your cubicle. This is before you narrow your eyes. “Asshole, you scared me!”

If you just started working here and learned that you’d be cursing out Park Jimin for startling you, that past version of yourself might have turned red, shocked, and nervous at the thought. A month ago, Jimin was that coworker—as friendly as friendly people come by. With his pretty eyes, perfectly soft pink lips, and freshly dyed brown hair, you had been immediately taken by his charm and helpful nature.

Then the month went by, and you realized there were no romantic intentions on either end. Jimin then became your first friend in your new job. Albeit, he’s a nosy friend who enjoys asking questions and dragging you out to nearby bars and coming over occasionally with take-out, but a friend nonetheless.

“Sorry!” Jimin says back, then he glares at you. “What are you doing over here anyways?”

You shake your head. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean what do I mean? You’ve been sighing all afternoon.” Jimin pulls out a slip of paper from behind his back. “Fifty times in the last hour, I swear to god.”

You straighten out of your seat to get a better look at the paper, unamused to find fifty tally marks across the surface. “You’re lying, there’s no way that I sighed fifty times in an hour.”

“Of course you wouldn’t know, you’re the one doing all the sighing!” Jimin retorts, lowering his hand with the paper. “Is something up with you? Did something happen?” His eyes flicker to the monitor screen behind you and he frowns. “What the fuck? Are you moving away already?”

You blink. “What?”

He jerks his chin towards the computer. “You’re looking at flight prices.”

“Huh?” You turn around, having completely forgotten about your previous predicament in light of discovering that Jimin counts your sighs. “Oh! No…”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “No, you’re not looking at flight prices?”

You slide back into your chair, a silent invitation for Jimin to step further into your cubicle. You sigh again, and he holds the paper back up. Taking a pencil out of his pocket, he makes another mark. You look over at him upon hearing the pencil scratch and scowl. “Give me that!” You grab the paper from his hand. “I’m dealing with a crisis right now, don’t count my sighs!”

“Alright! Alright!” Jimin slides behind you and leans forward to get a better look at your computer screen. “So where are you moving to this time?”

You press your lips together. “I’m not moving away. A friend of mine from college is getting married. I’m just trying to see how expensive it would be to fly over there.”

He whistles at the five hundred dollar price in your cart. “That’s pretty expensive.”

“I know!” You groan, throwing yourself further back into your chair. “I wouldn’t mind going, but I don’t have a plus one. And as you can see, flying there would be a challenge on my wallet.”

Jimin hums at that. “Well, regarding your plus one problem, I wouldn’t mind going with you.”

You turn to look at him. “Really? You’d go across the country and endure an entire evening with your coworker and her old college classmates?”

He shrugs. “If you’re desperate, I’ll keep my offer around.” He actually pouts this time. “Are you implying that you see me more as a coworker than a friend? After all the times we’ve hung out outside of work!”

Your eyes widen slightly, having not thought of that. “No, no, Jimin, I mean—yes, I do see you as a friend now but we met as coworkers so I just think of you as a coworker first—!” You’re rambling.

Jimin interrupts by patting your shoulder, the corner of his lips quirked up into a smile. “I’m just messing with you.”

You shake your head again. “Asshole,” You grumble, returning your attention back to your computer.

Jimin is still mid-laughter behind you. “Anyways, yeah, like I said. If you’re desperate to go, I wouldn’t mind going with you. But deciding how to get there is a different question entirely.”

You turn to glare at your friend for a moment. “I’ll let you know.”

He nods, before his lips part and he’s snapping his fingers. “Oh yeah! I wanted to ask you something.”

He backs up, allowing you enough space to turn around fully and face him. “Okay, what’s up?”

Jimin grins, lifting his leg up to nudge your chair slightly. “I’m going out tonight—you should come with.”

You don’t even give this a second thought. Your lips turn into a downwards curl as you shake your head. “Nope.”

Jimin looks appalled. “Why not? Didn’t you have fun the last time we went out?”

“If ‘fun’ to you is trying to drag your drunk ass home and staying the night to make sure you wouldn’t choke on your vomit…” You grumble, trying not to shudder at the memory. It has only been a few days since that ‘fun’ time.

“I told you that sometimes I overestimate my abilities, and I already apologized for that,” Jimin points out, although he does have the decency to look guilty for that mess. He perks up again. “But this’ll be different, I promise. I’m meeting up with some friends and we’re just gonna catch up. It’s at one of the quieter bars uptown: no loud DJ, no bright lights, no bottomless rum and coke. Promise. It’ll just be a lot of socializing.” He watches you hesitantly. Socializing has never been your strong suit. “And finger food.”

The mention of food does make you look up towards him—your first sign of interest towards something. However, another thought weighs you down. “Are you sure you even want me to go?” You ask after a moment. “I mean, this is a catch up with friends. Wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“Not at all!” Jimin brushes off, waving away your concern with his hand. “I told you, it’s a socializing thing. Besides, my friends are always bringing someone along. They were asking me when I’d have a friend tag along, so I thought you’d be a good selection.” He notices you still frowning. “C’mon! It’ll be fun. When I’m not vomiting over your shoes, I’m good company. And I promise I won’t be vomiting this time.”

You stare at Jimin for a moment longer, contemplating his words. This is very true. Jimin is an ideal friend to have during social gatherings—he’s good at keeping a conversation going so you don’t have to shoulder the weight alone, he’s good at reading when you’re in a good mood and when you’re ready to go home, and he’s excellent at keeping unwanted attention away. You know this. Jimin knows that you know this.

It takes one curl of your lips for Jimin to grin, knowing that he has convinced you. “Okay!” He says, finalizing the decision without having to hear the actual answer from you. He pats your knee. “We’ll take the subway after work, it’s just a few stops down.”

If your mind conjures up any second thoughts, Jimin leaves before you are able to express them.

True to Jimin’s word, the pair of you step into a subway heading westbound as soon as you’re finished with work. It’s much later in the day now, the afternoon sun has changed into a night sky with a chill spring breeze to match. The carts are filled with the evening crowd of adults, all done with another day of work and finding enjoyment for the rest of today by returning home or seeing friends. It’s a rarity that you would fall under that latter category, but the thought makes you excited nonetheless.

“Alright, so you wanna tell me a little bit about these friends that I’m seeing tonight?” You ask, gripping the handlebar above you but leaning towards Jimin so he can hear what you’re saying over the noise of the subway speeding down the tracks.

Jimin grins. “They’re just some friends I grew up with. We like to get together once a month to catch up and hang out, since everyone is so busy with their own lives.”

You smile back. “That’s actually really sweet of you guys, to plan hangouts once a month.”

He lightly flicks your forehead. “Hey, are you saying I’m normally not very sweet?”

“Well, not right now!” You protest, hand over your forehead. “That hurt.”

“You’re being a baby!” Jimin retorts back.

The pair of you continue to bicker like this until your stop is announced over the intercom. Jimin halts the further insults being thrown at each other as he gestures towards the approaching station, as seen through the window of the subway.

“This is our stop,” Jimin says to you, allowing you to step out onto the platform first. He joins behind you right after, leading the way as the subway’s three chimes signal the closing of the doors. There’s a breeze that follows, running through your hair and clothes as the subway zooms away to its next stop. The station itself is crowded, filled with groups of friends and individuals carrying on with the rest of their evening, overall looking so lively and you can feel yourself feeding off their energy.

With a gesture pointing up the stairs that’ll take the pair of you to ground level, Jimin leads the way. You make your way through people, following Jimin’s guide until you’re both exiting the station and entering the world of your new stop. It’s another area of the city you work in, so the change in scenery isn’t too dramatic—but it’s a place more catered towards restaurants, shopping areas, and hang-out sections. The bright neon signs protrude out from the building, flashing the various products or services the specific building offered: from manicure care to corner ramen shops.

“C’mon, let’s hurry!” Jimin calls back to you, picking his pace up slightly. He’s not running, but his long legs make it harder for you to keep up. “Everyone is already there.”

The pair of you continue to pace down the sidewalk, past the crowds of people waiting to eat, people lingering outside of clothing stores. Finally, Jimin slows down near a restaurant. He looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still behind him, before entering the establishment. He mentions something about knowing where their seats are, before continuing deeper into the restaurant.

As you look around, the place does look like a restaurant slash bar—not as crazy as some of the bars Jimin takes you with the intention of actually getting drunk, but there’s still a bar here and there’s still alcohol being shared heavily. It’s the same demographic of early 20s, young adults with friends, but there are actual tables and chairs and booths set up like a restaurant. So you suppose Jimin hadn’t been lying to you about this.

“There they are!” Jimin says to you, as you look up and follow Jimin’s finger to the table in the far corner that is completely filled with the exception of two seats. You vaguely make out the back of some heads, most belonging to boys, before your eyes land on one of the boys facing you and Jimin. He’s sitting at the far end of the table, currently laughing brightly at something one of the boys at the table has said. For all intents and purposes, the boy is cute. Extremely cute. When he laughs, his eyes and nose crinkle and his lips spread into a wild smile—and brings out the dimple on his cheek. He looks like the embodiment of all your ideal types mashed into a singular being.

All of those things. Yet, that is not the reason why you are staring. None of those things come close to why you stop dead in your tracks, why your heart drops in your chest, why your eyes widen. Even with the shitty lighting in this restaurant, you are one hundred percent positive. “Jimin!” You manage to choke out, having enough well power to grab onto his hand seconds before he is able to make himself and yourself known to his friends.

He whirls around, wide-eyed and curious and worried. “What? Is everything okay?”

You shake your head. The room feels too small. “I think there’s something I should tell you—!”

“Hey, is that Jimin? Jimin!” Your voice is very easily drowned out by the sound of another, much louder voice that seems to boom through the restaurant.

Jimin turns back around in time to face one of the boys from the table who has gotten out of his seat. You are able to see him from over Jimin’s shoulder—a tall boy with messy unkempt hair and a boxy smile. Jimin greets him with a “Taehyung!” before the boys embrace. “Taehyungie,” Jimin continues afterwards, turning around so both are able to face you. “This is Y/N, she’s a coworker of mine.”

Taehyung grins, a friendly gesture that makes you relax. But only slightly. “Y/N! It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a bit about you from Jimin. All good things, I promise.”

“W-Well, that’s good to hear,” You manage shakily, eyes nervously darting to the boy at the end of the table, who has stopped his conversation and is now looking at you and Jimin.

“Let me introduce you,” Jimin says, breaking your concentration as he rests a hand on your shoulder. He points right at the boy at the end of the table, who is still staring at you. His eyebrows are furrowed together. You want to bury yourself alive. “That one over there is—!”

A lightbulb seems to go off in the boy’s head. His face breaks out into a smile as he points at you. “Hey, Y/N!”

Jimin looks taken aback at the fact you are being recognized by someone at the table. His hand lowers as he looks over at you.

You, however, cannot focus on Jimin. You can only focus on the boy at the end of the table, the boy currently smiling over at you with all the light in his eyes, the boy who makes the memories flash through your mind. From that, the best you can manage is a tiny smile. “Jungkook!”

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Where do you even begin with him?

You met Jungkook during your second year of university. He had been an arts major (you were not) and yet, your paths crossed multiple times throughout the quarter as a result of sharing many general education classes together. You even were forced to pair up on a project for one of those aforementioned G.E. classes. Neither of you ran in the same social circle, but that didn’t change how sweet, funny, charming, endearing, easy-going, friendly, smart, and nice Jungkook was. It was very easy for him to make friends, very easy for him to go out of his way to say hi to you in the library or in class or in the cafeteria, and very easy for him to strike up a basic conversation with you.

Because of that, it was very easy for you to fall for him—to develop a deep-rooted crush that went on for the rest of your university experience. You would use the term ‘friends’ very loosely when describing what your relationship with Jungkook had been. You had never hung out with him outside the context of school, never went out to eat with him, and never saw him again after graduation. Until now.

Actually, ‘acquaintances’ would probably be a much more fitting term.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you since graduation!” Jungkook is saying as he stands up from his chair and approaches you. As if on autopilot, you return the one armed hug he gives you. His smile, while still pleasant, holds a surprising tinge of shyness to it.

“Woah, hold on a second,” Jimin interrupts, immediately pointing between Jungkook and you. “You guys know each other?”

“Y/N and I went to university together!” Jungkook provides.

Jimin looks like his eyes are about to fall out of his sockets.

“We’ve known each other since second year,” Jungkook continues. He looks over at you. “I didn’t know you know Jimin.”

“Uh…” You forget how to speak. You’re too busy looking at Jungkook as if you haven’t seen him for years. In a way, it feels like that. Seeing people from college outside of college after a graduation ceremony is like meeting them again for the first time—most of them develop a more independent look. Some look like their life is seconds from falling apart. Some look much happier without the institutional pressure to secure classes and grades and internships. Sadly for you, Jungkook falls under the latter category. Did he always have that twinkle of starlight in his eyes?

“Y/N and I work together,” Jimin provides, seeming to realize that you weren’t going to answer Jungkook’s question. “She started working about a month ago.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Jungkook replies, still looking at you. It is then he seems to notice that the three of you are standing in the middle of the restaurant. Although you are not distracting any patrons, the workers probably don’t appreciate it. “How about we sit down? We’ll be able to catch up more!”

Jimin seems to regain control of the situation quicker than you do, because he nods at Jungkook. “Let me introduce her to everyone, then we’ll join you.” You look over to where Jungkook had been sitting and immediately notice the previously empty two chairs right across from him—like fate, or something terrible like that.

So you watch as Jungkook makes his way back to his seat, and Jimin starts to guide you around the table. He only drops a name. Surprisingly, he doesn’t linger, he merely takes you to the next person. It only takes you a second to figure out why.

“You didn’t tell me you know Jungkook,” Jimin hisses in between the time it takes to travel in between people.

“I didn’t know you knew Jungkook!” You hiss back. You smile and nod politely at the person Jimin introduces as Yoongi. “Seriously, you never mentioned him once!”

Jimin only keeps his frustration for a moment before he’s introducing you to someone named Hoseok, a boy with a bright smile, the one who was making Jungkook laugh earlier. “Okay, fine,” He relents, the pair of you finally move to take your seats. “But what was that earlier?”

“What was what?”

“You were just staring at him! What, did you have a huge crush on him or something—?” Jimin accuses, but he stops. Just as the pair of you are about to sit down, Jimin parts his lips in realization. “Oh.” Then, he sends you an absolutely wicked grin. “Oh, okay.”

Your eyes widen at him, murder in your eyes. “Jimin!”

“So, Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through your little biting banter with Jimin.

You whirl around to face Jungkook, eyes completely devoid of murder and voice several pitches higher. “Hi, Jungkook!”

He smiles, such a wonderful little thing that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “Hi.”

Jimin ducks his head to hide the fact that he wants nothing more than to burst into fits of laughter.

“So how have you been?” Jungkook starts up. “I haven’t seen you since graduation. Since you landed a job, you seem to be doing well.”

“I am!” You manage, only continuing to try and keep a handle on your heart and managing well enough this time. “There were a few months of just scrolling through job postings and writing cover letter after cover letter though.”

Jungkook laughs, another beautiful gesture that makes you mirror his smile. “I definitely feel that.”

“Well, what about you? What have you been up to?” You ask. “I think I saw on your Instagram and you were traveling around for a little?”

His eyes light up at that. “Oh yeah! I don’t know if you remember Kim Mingyu from school?” You do. “Well, he and a friend of his got into some freelancing and had to do some traveling around to work on some filming. He asked me to come along because I actually have some photography experience. So that was a thing I did for a few months.”

You nod, smiling. “No way! That’s so cool.”

You do relax after a few conversational exchanges with Jungkook. He’s just as relaxed and mellow, yet friendly and polite as ever, and it’s easy to make conversation with him as it always has been. Eventually, you join in on the larger conversations with the whole table—touching on topics from your university experiences to tales from your new job. A lot of your role, however, falls to listening. Jimin’s friends are rowdy, funny, and out-going. They invite you in like you have been in this group for years—and are able to provide context on older memories they are revisiting.

Most of your evening, however, is engaging in conversation with Jungkook. Occasionally, Jimin will join in, but he does spend most of his time laughing along to something his other friends are saying. Since you and Jungkook have always been friendly with each other, long conversations aren’t out of the ordinary. You just never considered how well you and Jungkook got along, how easy it would be to transition from topic to topic.

“I am really glad that Jimin invited you along,” Jungkook explains brightly after the pair of you are done laughing following Jungkook’s tale of another fuck-ups with Kim Mingyu. “Makes you realize how small the world is.”

“Oh, you should have seen her moping around earlier today,” Jimin interjects, choosing now of all times to insert himself back into your conversation with Jungkook. “She was sighing all afternoon—so maybe we should thank her misery that I decided to invite her along tonight.”

Jungkook turns to you, a sympathetic look across his face. “Did you have a bad day today?”

You try for a laugh, waving away Jimin’s words. “Jimin’s just overreacting. Actually, I found out a friend of mine from college is getting married, so I was trying to figure out my plan…” You start, trailing off as you look at Jungkook. “Wait, you didn’t know Irene, did you?”

“I did.” His eyes widen as his lips part in realization. “Oh my god, you were invited to Irene’s wedding too?”

“I was!” You exclaim, unsure whether you should be excited or even more nervous at the prospect of potentially seeing Jungkook at the wedding event. “Holy shit, this makes it an even smaller world. How did you know Irene?”

Jungkook is still mid-giggle at the pure coincidence of everything. “We both knew Mingyu! This is so crazy. Are you planning to go?”

You shrug. Jimin chooses to interject once more. “That’s what Y/N over here was sighing all afternoon over.”

You whine as you look at Jimin. “No need to sell me out! Listen, Jungkook.” You turn back to the boy opposite of you, who is still gazing at you. “I’m sure you understand my current predicament.”

“Sure.”

“You know how expensive flights can be.”

“Of course.”

You fold your arms over each other and rest them on the table. “So, are you planning to go to the wedding?”

He nods. “Most likely, yeah. I actually knew that the wedding was going to be happening soon, since Mingyu told me about it as soon as Irene got the ring. I ran into the flight problem pretty quickly too, so I decided to just drive to the event.”

Jimin whistles. “Drive across the country, huh, JK? That must be a four day trip, or something.”

“It was coming out to be,” Jungkook acknowledges with a nod. “But it’s okay.” He’s grinning, looking excited at the prospect. “I’ve never done a cross country drive before, so it was actually kind of exciting to plan the route. There are a few places I want to stop by and visit. I’m sure it’ll be fun.” Then, Jungkook turns back to you. “If you decide that flying would be too expensive, then you’re more than welcome to come along. It’ll be nice to have some company and not spend four days by myself.”

Entirely on instinct, you start to laugh. You think he’s joking—how could you not? This is probably one of the longest conversations you’ve ever had with Jungkook. Like you’ve mentioned before, you wouldn’t consider him a friend. Why would he seriously try to invite you on a road trip? “Yeah, I’m not too sure—I’ve never done a cross country trip before…”

The conversation shifts pretty quickly as soon as you reply back to Jungkook. Hoseok asks you a question that drags your attention away, simultaneously allowing you to forget about Jungkook’s request.

The end of the dinner happens soon after, when the bill has been paid and you suspect the long line of people outside waiting for a table are waiting for your party to be done. So venmo exchanges and money debts go around until each member of the table starts standing up one by one to make their move to exit the restaurant.

You and Jimin are one of the first to leave. Goodbyes are exchanged along with the polite ‘it was nice to meet you’ phrase thrown around. Jungkook is mid-conversation with Yoongi, but he still gives you a quick hug of parting before you and Jimin exit the restaurant.

The pair of you only make it out a few steps before there is a familiar voice calling your name. “Hey, Y/N! Y/N, wait up!” You stop and turn around, surprised to see Jungkook dashing out of the restaurant. He rests himself for a moment before he’s straightening back up to look at you.

You try for a smile. “Hey Jungkook, what’s up?”

He takes in a few more deep breaths to calm himself—either from the dashing he just did or to steel himself for the next question, you don’t know. “It’s about me inviting you to drive up to Irene’s wedding—I just thought I’d let you know it was a serious invitation. Having the company would be nice, and you wouldn’t be a burden to me, seriously. Besides, it’ll be fun to spend some time together.”

“O-Oh,” You stammer, wringing your hands together. “I’m not too sure… I still have to think about it.”

“Of course, of course,” Jungkook dismisses good naturedly. “Just thought I’d let you know, so you know that you do have options.”

Although the offer makes you nervous, you cannot dismiss Jungkook’s thoughtfulness. You give him a more relaxed smile. “I really appreciate that Jungkook, thank you.”

He smiles at your smile. “No problem! Actually…” He digs around for the wallet in his pocket and produces a little card. “Here’s my business card—my cell phone number is on here so just text or call if you decide to join me. Or,” He presses his lips into a more bashful smile. “You can just text me whenever for whatever reason. I just thought I’d let you know that it was good to see you again.”

You take the card slowly, unable to look away from Jungkook’s face. He looks so genuine and shy that it doesn’t help your own racing heart. “It was good to see you too, Jungkook…” You return, albeit a little breathlessly.

He smiles again, dimples pressing in his cheek (and your heart). He turns to Jimin “Oh yeah, nice seeing you too Park.”

“Hey.” Jimin hits him on the shoulder. “I’m your hyung, you should show me more respect!”

“My bad, my bad.” Jungkook doesn’t apologize though. His gaze flickers to yours one more time, gaze looking strangely hopeful. “I’ll see you guys around.” He walks backwards a few paces before turning around and returning to the restaurant. Maybe to see his other friends.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. You are still screaming internally regardless—as shown through your red cheeks, widened eyes, and singing heart. Jimin will certainly never let you live this moment down.

Now, you are screaming externally. You don’t even give a thought or an explanation. You simply walk into your apartment, nosedive for the couch, and start yelling into one of the throw pillows.

There’s a rapid movement of footsteps coming from down the hallway almost immediately, one that grows gradually louder until the owner of the steps starts speaking. “Who the fuck is out there? I’ve played softball my entire life and therefore will not hesitate to drive this bat so far up your ass—oh, Y/N.” The voice lowers significantly, as does the threat level it emits into the air. “It’s just you.”

You lift your face from the throw pillow, and immediately brush away at the hair that falls in your face. “What the fuck!” You croak, pushing yourself into a sitting position and pointing at the bat in Karly’s hands. “What are you doing threatening me with a bat? You’ve never played a game of softball in your life!”

“Oh, this isn’t mine. It’s Soonyoung’s.” Soonyoung is Karly’s boyfriend from high school, who used to play baseball on the high school team. How Karly has her boyfriend’s baseball bat is a mystery, but it’s something you think you are better off not asking about. She places the bat down on the carpet next to the coffee table. “But I should be asking you the questions, you bitch! You scared the shit out of me!”

You sigh, throwing your head to rest on the back of the couch. “Sorry, sorry. Had a crazy day.”

Karly ponders this as she moves to take a seat next to you. “You seemed fine when you texted me about you getting drinks with Jimin. Did something happen during the dinner?”

You straighten up again and grip Karly by the arm. “Okay, don’t scream.”

“You mean like you did?” Karly retorts dryly.

You shake her. “I’m serious!” When Karly doesn’t say anything, you take it as a sign to continue with your story. “I saw Jungkook.”

Karly blinks, then grabs your arm right back. “Wait, Jeon Jungkook, as in the guy you’ve been crushing on since second year?”

“Yes!” You whine, throwing yourself onto the couch all over again.

“The one you had to work together on a project with and nearly cried even though you guys just had to submit a paper?”

“Yes!”

“The one who said hi to you in the library that one time and you tried to put your elbow on the table afterwards but you missed and hit your head instead?”

You pause, scowling. “Okay, now you’re just being mean. Are you done?”

Karly is laughing. “Oh my god. What are the chances of you seeing him now?”

“There’s more,” You groan out.

“Really? Honestly that yell could have been just for seeing him again and that would have made sense—!”

You ignore her. “He’s friends with Jimin. He’s friends with Irene, too. He was invited to her wedding.”

“Wait, Jimin is friends with Irene or Jungkook is friends with Irene—?”

“He won’t pay for the flight though. It’s too expensive. I can attest to that.”

Karly holds a finger up, trying to connect the dots. “When did you look up flight prices—?”

“So he invited me on a cross country road trip to Irene’s wedding.”

Karly frowns.

You sigh. “Jungkook invited me on a cross country road trip to Irene’s wedding.”

“Oh! Oh!” Karly’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, that’s huge. Are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know!” You whine. “Jungkook mentioned it would be a four day drive to get there. I don’t know if I can survive four days in a car with him! We’ve never been that close, what if it gets awkward?”

Karly ponders this. “I really don’t think it’s in Jungkook’s nature to be awkward with someone—especially someone he’s had a history with.” She sees the look of disbelief you give her. “Well, even if that history was really limited. What makes you think it’ll be awkward? Was it awful seeing him tonight?”

“No!” You cry, straightening into a sitting position so your legs drape over the side of the couch. You force yourself to calm down. “It… it was pretty good actually.”

Karly raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Really now.”

“Yeah…” You reply, trailing off. “We sat across from each other during the dinner and we talked most of the night, surprisingly. I guess because we were sort of acquaintances we’ve always known about each other, so it wasn’t like we didn’t know how to ask questions to each other. And Jungkook… he’s easy to talk to as he’s always been and he’s so nice and positive and he has a dimple on his cheek when he smiles…” You finish slowly, noticing your racing heart that has come up as a result of this conversation and of your memory. You realize the predicament you’re in, further emphasized by Karly’s growing grin. You groan. “Shut up.”

Karly looks like a Cheshire cat. “I didn’t say anything.”

You grab onto one of the throw pillows and properly hit her in the face. “You’re saying many things right now, you bitch!”

Karly takes the pillow from you and proceeds to whack you in the shoulder. “Not outloud!”

“So you admit it!” You accuse, pointing at her.

Karly yells. “Just admit you still have a crush on him!”

Your groan turns into a cry. “Don’t say it outloud! Now I have to deal with it!”

Your roommate sighs. “Bitch, I can tell you exactly how to deal with this. You’re gonna go on this road trip with Jungkook and see if you guys vibe—you honestly will not find a better way to discover your compatibility with him. If it works out, then you get more than a plus one to the wedding. If it doesn’t work out, just skip the wedding and take the first flight back home. Cut off your friendship with Jimin while you’re at it—it’s the only way to ensure you’ll never have to run into Jungkook again.”

You pout. “That seems a little dramatic.”

Karly thinks for a second, then she nudges you. “Remind me again about that quote your high school English teacher used to always parade around.”

You stare at her for a moment, because you know exactly what point she’s trying to make. Still, you decide to humor her. And yourself. “‘You’ll never know if you’ll sink, swim, or float, until you’re willing to take the plunge’.” You level Karly with another gaze. Your friend has a point. You missed any chance to hang out with Jungkook during your college years—partly because your friend groups never intersected, but mostly because of your internalized fear of fucking up. But now that you are just a little older and just a little more versed in the art of conversing and befriending—maybe Karly is right. Maybe this is your chance to see if a different set of timing could make a difference.

So you sigh.

“I guess I should text Jungkook, huh.”

Karly pats you on the shoulder. “Take the plunge, my dude.”

You do take the plunge. You take Jungkook’s business card out from the pocket of your dress and dial the number. He expresses excitement—and also relief.

These things lead up to the current moment. Eight o’clock in the morning: you lingering in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, your suitcase by the door, and a roommate keeping you company.

You don’t realize how nervous you are until you get a text from Jungkook.

Jungkook (8:03am): i’m here! u can buzz me up so i can help u with your stuff :)

You (8:03am): it’s ok jungkook it’s just a suitcase. i’ll be down in a second!

You pocket your phone, and Karly can read the expression across your face before you realize what is going on. She straightens up. “He’s here?”

“Yeah.” You rinse your coffee cup and make your way towards the door. “Did you want to come down with me?”

Karly stops and gives you a look. “I thought that was already implied.”

“Well, thanks, that’s really nice—!”

��Someone has to give you an embarrassing goodbye.”

“There it is.” You sigh. You don’t say anything as you and Karly exit the apartment and make your way down the hall into the elevator. It only takes a few seconds for the elevator to lower down to the ground floor, where you and Karly exit and make your way to the front of the apartment complex.

You swear your heart beats just a little faster as soon as you see Jungkook near the front entrance of the building. He’s wearing a pair of black jackets with an oversized denim jacket and currently looking down at his phone—overall appearing so tall and pretty and otherworldly. For a brief second, you are taken by the fact that for the next four days, he’ll be yours.

Jungkook looks up as soon as he hears the door opening and he smiles. “Hey you.”

You smile, albeit a little lopsided and dreamy. “Hi.”

Jungkook walks towards you immediately. “Here, let me help you with that.” He reaches a hand out and gently takes the handle of your suitcase before you can say anything. Just as he’s taking the suitcase from you, Karly emerges from the building. “Oh, sorry about that.”

Karly waves him off. “Don’t be. I’m Y/N’s roommate—I’m just here to see her off.”

Jungkook stares at her for a moment, then he snaps his fingers. “Wait, I remember you. You went to college with us too.” He jerks his chin towards you. “You hung out with Y/N a lot, right?”

“Yeah, I’m Karly.” She holds out her hand for Jungkook to shake. “And you’re right, she and I hung out a lot. We were roommates back then too.”

Jungkook nods in understanding, before shoving his hand into his pocket. His other hand is still holding onto your suitcase. “Well, I promise to take good care of Y/N.”

Karly smacks her teeth against the side of her mouth as she points at him. “You’re a good man, Jungkook.” She pauses for a moment, seeming to contemplate a new thought. You recognize the look immediately, and your fingers twitch as if you want to strangle her. Or at least let her know you’re throwing her a look of murderous intent. But of course, Karly doesn’t see it. And even if she had, you doubt she’d care. “But no funny business, alright.”

You gape at her. “Karly!”

Jungkook coughs at that. “I-It’s just a drive—y-you don’t need to worry about that.” He does, however, turn away to hide the red that dusts his cheeks.

As soon as Jungkook’s back is facing you, you whirl around to shoot Karly with a glare. “Karly, you’re lucky I’m leaving for the next four days or I would not hesitate to figure out how to make stuffocation look like an accident!” You hiss out between teeth without taking a breath.

Karly glares right back. “You’re really dumb, aren’t you? The fact that he recognizes me because he saw you hanging out with me on campus doesn’t strike any chords? Even though, like you said, you guys weren’t really friends?”

You blink. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Karly widens her eyes. “What the fuck do you mean? Are you dumb with all the boys or just Jungkook?”

“What do you mean!” You snap back.

“So, Y/N, ready to go?”

You whirl back around to find Jungkook now standing in front of you and Karly. He must have finished packing your suitcase in the trunk of his car and is now looking over at you with a tilt in his head.

So you force a smile. “Of course,” You say, turning to Karly. “I was just saying bye to my roommate.”

He nods in understanding, sparing one more glance at Karly before seeming to decide against it because he looks away. He’s still a little red at Karly’s previous comment. “We should get going then.”

“Sure.” You look over at your roommate. “See you, bitch.”

Karly waves back, grinning wildly. You just know she has several other thoughts she’d like to share with you, but has probably deemed you embarrassed enough. Lucky for you, she keeps her mouth shut.

Unlucky for you, without Karly to be a barrier of distraction, this leaves you alone with Jungkook. You slide into the passenger seat of his car, still not yet processing the weight of what you’ve just agreed to. You fiddle alone for a second before Jungkook is opening the driver’s side and shifting into his seat.

There is a silence as Jungkook is starting the car, and a part of you wants to die. Or at least have the ground swallow you whole. Holy fuck, what did you just sign up for?

Your mind somehow takes five seconds to turn into complete shambles that you almost miss Jungkook’s question.

“Here, I’m giving you an important mission,” Jungkook says, rummaging through the various chords that lay over the center console before producing an aux cord. “Should you choose to accept.”

He’s got on such a serious expression you momentarily forget about your anxiety. His usage of the iconic line from Mission Impossible makes you laugh—a breathy sort of noise that escapes when your mind is too full. You still take the aux cord. “Oh my god—ever heard of bluetooth?”

He pouts. “It hasn’t even been five minutes and you’re already insulting my beautiful Celia!”

You raise both your eyebrows. “Celia?”

“Yeah, that’s the name of my car.” He catches the bewildered look you give him before angling himself back to face the steering wheel, where he shifts his console into drive and makes a turn onto the main street. “If you’re already weirded out by the fact I have a name for my baby, then you’re in for a very long four days, Miss. Y/N.”

You giggle, feeling that distraction of nerves start to come off your shoulders. “Not weird at all.” You pause. “Ryan is the name of my car.”

“Ah!” He holds one arm out in a grand gesture. “You see, not so strange after all.” He steals a glance at you, watching as you’re about to connect your phone to the aux cord. “Wait!” He says, pointing a finger at you.

You look up at him, wide eyes.

He’s still holding an arm up. “How’s your music taste?”

You’re still giving him your surprised expression. “You scared me!”

He laughs, returning his hand back to the steering wheel. “Sorry, sorry. I have to ask though—I’d rather know now than later, so I can kick you out and not feel as bad about it.”

Your laughter seems to melt away the last of your nervous energy. “Nice to know you’re putting all your cards out now.” You look down at your phone. “Regarding my music taste… it’s whatever you want dude! I have some lo-fi on here, some pop, alternative, Broadway, anime openings… an ‘everything’ playlist. Honestly, the world is your oyster.”

“How about we start with your ‘everything’ playlist,” Jungkook suggests. “That way I can judge you immediately.”

“Were you always this charming, Jeon Jungkook?” You retort. “Or has graduation changed you?”

“Oh, I’ve always been this charming—you just never noticed.”

That comment, however, goes over your head as you focus down on your playlist. You look over, selecting the shuffle option as Taylor Swift’s soft music from her newest album fills the air. Another silence fills the car, but it’s much more peaceful and comfortable. You allow yourself to settle further into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car.

“So,” You start after a moment. Jungkook hums to let you know he’s paying attention. “What inspired the name Celia?”

Jungkook brightens at the question. “She was this character from a book I read when I was younger. The Night Circus? Anyways, the book is about these two illusionists who try to one up each other with their skills of magic, but they end up falling in love. Celia is the name of one of those illusionists.”

You grin. “Sounds like a very cute crush.”

Jungkook grins back.

The drive out of the city continues like this. The pair of you cover the topic of books, of music, of your favorite animes. Jungkook just has this magical power of ensuring the tension dissipates from your mind and stays gone—whether it’s through his relaxed nature or easy-going teasing or his ability to ease the conversation from one topic to the next. It feels like every conversation you and Jungkook had in college, whether vague or circling around classes, all have led up to this moment. It seems like everytime you or Jungkook run out of things to talk about pertaining to a certain topic, you would bring up memories from college and just continue from there. Everything feels natural.

It continues to feel natural even as you and Jungkook slowly start to see the edges of the city landscape fade away. The high rises fade into shorter buildings and smaller business areas that surround the bustling city scene. You watch as those buildings and business areas become rows of houses. Residential areas in the suburbs, passing by the occasional school or corner restaurants.

“Before we enter the wide unknown,” Jungkook starts up, breaking the quiet that has enveloped the car. “You want to pick up lunch? You hungry?”

You haven’t even realized how much time has gone by until you look at the clock on Jungkook’s dashboard and notice that it’s past noon. You widen your eyes at the sight. “Wow, I didn’t even realize so much time had passed.”

“Yeah, we drove through a few cities. Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?”

“You wish,” You tease, sticking your tongue out. “So, what, do we stop at a Cheesecake factory or something?”

Jungkook blinks. “I thought you were poor—why would we stop at the Cheesecake factory? And why is that the first restaurant that comes to your mind?”

You wave your hands. “It was just a suggestion!”

“Well, I’m realizing that I should probably let you know that the motel I picked for us to drive to tonight is pretty far out—Google Maps says we probably won’t get there until midnight, and that’s with us driving straight through.”

“Midnight? Fuck, Jungkook. Will we make it to the wedding a day early or something?”

“Ha, ha, no. I’ll go over the schedule I planned out tomorrow. Basically, I want to try and cover most of our ground on the first day so we can take the rest of the trip easy. But I thought I’d let you know now that sitting in a restaurant probably won’t be the most time responsible idea.”

“That’s true.” You look out the window again and see the golden arches of McDonalds appear within your line of sight. “Let’s just stop at McDonalds.”

Jungkook follows your gaze. “Alright, down. Let’s do it.”

He exits off the freeway, following down a route that takes him almost immediately towards the McDonalds parking lot. Since this restaurant is still within the lines of the city, it’s not completely deserted. There are a few cars in the parking lot, even fewer cars in the drive-through line. Because of this, ordering the food only takes a few minutes. Both of you get chicken nuggets, sodas, and large orders of french fries.

“You know, we’re really living like kings,” You comment as Jungkook drives out and makes his way back onto the freeway. “College graduates, both somehow able to secure a job, and still ordering chicken mcnuggets.”

Jungkook shrugs. “I wasn’t told this is what adulthood would be like. But I’m not complaining. My 10-year-old self is singing in so much joy right now.” He says this as he’s stuffing a handful of fries into your mouth. You laugh, and hand him a napkin.

You turn the music back on. The pair of you silently munch on your chicken nuggets, as you angle your head towards the side window once again. As Jungkook drives, the numbers of structural spaces become more scattered the longer you both continue down the freeway.

The anime opening to Haikyuu starts playing when you turn back to Jungkook and realize that he’s trying to close the box of his chicken nuggets. You move right away, taking the cardboard from him and closing it yourself. “Let me know if you need anything, Jungkook. Think of me as your co-pilot.”

He laughs gently. “Is that the rule of the passenger seat?”

You shrug, putting the empty box into the McDonalds bag near your feet. “For me at least. Everytime I do one of these drives with family, the person in the passenger seat has to open the snacks, make conversation, and always stay awake with the driver. It’s just courtesy.”

Jungkook is smiling softly now, mostly to himself, but it lights the corners of his eyes that makes you momentarily unable to look away. “You wanna tell me about your family?”

So you do. Your voice becomes softer as you continue, but Jungkook listens to every single word you say.

True to his observation, it’s not long before the pair of you are surrounded by the wide unknown. Houses in the suburbs become farmhouses and farms. Conversations fade from your family to another comfortable silence as you continue gazing out the window. Jungkook requests your lo-fi playlist at some point, filling the car with the soft and distorted hums. It allows your mind to wander as you stare out the window. The empty stretches of land around you are filled with greenery, with mountains, cutting right through the perfect blue of the sky above you.

By 4:00PM, your entire body is starting to feel the ache of having been seated for long hours on end. You feel the tightness in the muscles of your thigh, the bones in your knees.

Jungkook must be feeling the same, because as soon as a sign for a rest stop comes on, he exits the freeway and pulls into a large parking lot. There’s a restroom on the side, but the area is surrounded by trees with mountains standing in the background.

Jungkook stops the car. “We should get out for a bit to move our legs.”

You’re already tugging on the latch that’ll open the car door. “I’m already feeling it in my knees.” You open the door and immediately extend your legs out onto the solid ground beneath you. You let out a sigh of satisfaction, and Jungkook laughs from next to you.

He’s opening his own car door soon after, but he straightens up into a standing position pretty quickly and stretches upwards. He closes the car door behind him, watching as you eventually pull yourself together to do the same.

You turn to face Jungkook. “I’m gonna use the restroom.” You gesture towards the building and earn a nod from Jungkook, who mentions something about doing the same thing. You meet back at the car a few minutes later.

Jungkook gestures to the trees surrounding the parking lot. “Want to take a walk around the area? Keep the blood flowing to our legs.”

You nod. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Why don’t you get started. I’ll catch up.” Jungkook watches you leave, before opening the trunk of his car and rummaging around.

He does catch up with you, quickly enough that you hardly notice that he had sent you out first. You hear his footsteps, and the call of your name. You turn around. “Jungkook!”

The sight before you makes you waver slightly, as bouts of shyness overtake you. Standing before you is Jungkook, with his camera in hand. The lens is pointed right at you. As soon as you’re staring straight into the camera, Jungkook grins. “Say hi!”

You whine, whirling back around and covering your face. “Are you filming me right now?”

“I’m a photographer at heart, what did you expect?” Jungkook teases back. “Besides, it’s really pretty around here. You think I won’t film it?”

You snort, starting your walk around the parking lot. “Oh yeah, because there aren’t any parking lots and trees and bathroom stops at home.”

Jungkook is quiet for a second. “That’s not what I meant.”

You turn to stare right into the lens of his camera. “Then the mountains, right?”

He’s quiet for another second. “Sure.” He does, however, sound a little disappointed. You do not notice this.

The pair of you stay quiet as you make your round around the parking lot, taking in the mountains from different angles. The walk around is mostly just to rid of the sensation of your legs falling off, but it’s still a nice view to admire. As soon as you finish a complete round, you and Jungkook return back to the car. You watch as he carefully places his camera into his camera bag before you’re both back in your seats.

Jungkook turns to you. “Ready to get going again?” He looks at the control panel behind his steering wheel. “We’ll probably have to stop for gas in a few hours. But after that, it’s straight to the hotel.”

You settle back into the passenger seat. “I guess we already have our dinner plans then.” You’re referring to the gas station.

Jungkook grins. “I’m down for that.”

And so, the trip continues back on the freeway. With the lo-fi playing in the background, you watch as the sun tears through the blue sky, as the sun finally begins it’s dip to the other side. The singular color once spread across the pane of atmosphere now conjugates around the sun crawling behind the mountain—creating a diffusion of new colors. The corner of the mountain emits an explosion of oranges, pinks, and purples.

You lift your head from the window, eyes taking in the rainbow of pastels around the now fading sun. “Wow, Jungkook, look at that sunset.”

He snorts. “You wanna talk about things that you can’t see back in the city?”

You pout. “But it looks so pretty, see!” You keep gesturing towards the sunset.

Jungkook relents just enough to spare a glance in the direction. He hums. “Yeah, it’s pretty.” He looks back at the road. “Can’t really find a view like that in the city.”

You spend a little more time admiring the sunset than Jungkook does, for obvious reasons. You’ve seen a sunset plenty of times before in the past, but the context of this whole situation makes you unable to look away from it. You’re really out here, stuck in a car with someone you have never hung out with for longer than a few minutes. But you are enjoying yourself. There's peace in that.

So you watch until the sun dips below the mountain, momentarily leaving the sky in a navy color.

The next time Jungkook speaks, the area around you is much darker, and the sky is nearly black. “You hungry now?”

You lift your head from the seat, not even realizing you were drifting off. You’re thinking about Irene, wondering if you should have texted her directly congratulating her on the wedding rather than just simply sending in the RSVP. “Sure. We eat as the car eats, right?”

Jungkook smiles, a gesture you can barely make out from the headlines. “Of course.”

This goes on for a few more miles until the sign for a gas station comes up. A few other cars linger near the dispensers. Jungkook parks near his choice and gets out of the car. You follow behind him. He’s already sliding his credit card into the machine, and the sight makes you reach over to grab his wrist.

“I should pay, you’ve been driving all day!”

He shakes his head, waving you off. “We’ll take turns, okay?” He looks at you. “Buy me dinner tonight too, that sound fair?”

You pout, leaning back as you cross your arms. “Not really, but I guess I’ll have to accept it.”

He grins. “You are correct.”

As soon as the gas pump alerts you of the filled tank, Jungkook returns the pump back to the machine and locks his car. Together, the two of you make your way towards the convenience store, where the bell above rings to alert the workers of your presence. Nods are exchanged as you and Jungkook tear through the aisles to find anything that could satisfy your cravings. You return back with family size bags of hot cheetos and beef jerky, while Jungkook holds his selection of roasted seaweed and Doritos. You select your drinks together before returning to the cashier.

It’s nearing 9:00PM as you and Jungkook return back to his car, where you slide back into your seats and immediately tear into your bags of salt and sodium.

“How are you doing?” You ask as Jungkook finishes his first bag of roasted seaweed.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, scrolling through the final stretch needed to reach the hotel. “Yeah, about four more hours to the motel.” He looks over at you. “I’m good. The salt in this seaweed really helps. How are you doing?”

You nod immediately. “Great. Perfect.”

He smiles, shifting his console to drive and pulling out of the gas station. “I’m used to these weird hours. Remember how I told you I traveled around a bit with Mingyu and Wonwoo? There was this one day we only slept for an hour or something? It sucked, I think I almost passed out that day. But yeah, this is honestly not even that bad.” He turns to look at you. “I think the good company helps, too.”

You roll your eyes, grinning. “You flatter me, Jeon.”

Slowly, 8PM turns into 10PM. One glance at Google maps tells you that you’re still two hours from the hotel. Even though you’re not the one driving, and although you haven’t endured any physical activity that could result in this exhaustion, you still find yourself growing tired. Something about sitting under the sun, sitting in a vehicle that rocks side to side with a consistent hum—it makes your mind work slowly and therefore brings out the sleepiness quicker.

You settle deeper into your seat.

Jungkook giggles from next to you. “You tired already?”

You pout slowly, eyes closed just enough. “I’m not a morning person and you made me wake up at 8!”

“Sure, sure, of course.”

There’s a pause.

You ponder a question for a moment. It’s something that you would never dare ask Jungkook if you had been more awake and more alert. But you’re tired, and your defenses are lowered, and it means you are more prone to asking questions. “Hey, Jungkook? Did you have any girlfriends when we were in college?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. “Where’s this coming from?” He asks instead.

You shrug, making a dismissive noise as your shoulders rise up. “Curiosity.”

A pause. “I went on a few dates, but I never had a serious relationship.”

“No way.” You lift your head up from the seat. “But I remember seeing you hang out with the occasional girl in the quad, or at some restaurants around the school.”

Jungkook smiles. It’s hard to read the look in his eyes. They’re focused on the road in front of him, but they seem almost hazy and faraway. “Like I said, I went on a few dates. I did really want to get into a long term relationship in college. A lot of my friends had them, that’s where my parents met, so I was really open to the idea of at least experimenting. There were a lot of girls that I thought were nice, easy-going, or just really pretty, so I tried my hand in the whole dating thing.”

“And it didn’t work out?” You coax out gently.

“Not really,” He continues. He steals a glance at you. “We’d go on a few dates, but none of them ever felt substantial. I think girls see me and have a certain expectation—an expectation I couldn’t meet. So I never could picture myself in a long term relationship with any of them.”

You tilt your head towards him. “There must have been someone…”

“Well… there was one girl.” Jungkook starts after a moment. He’s not looking at you this time. “We had a few classes together earlier—we weren’t in the same major program. I don’t even know if I’d say we were close or anything. We just had a few classes and saw each other around on occasion. But the conversations we did have during class or outside of class just felt more real. Honestly, I could have been totally wrong about her. I could have just been blinded by all these expectations I was putting on her, which is ironic. But she was the only person I could actually see myself being in a long term relationship with. Or at least try.”

You hum, still facing towards him in your seat. “Why didn’t you try anything then? You’re a good guy, Jungkook. I’m sure she would have wanted to try with you too.”

“I guess I was just afraid of pushing it and scaring her off. I thought it was better to stay friends with her than try to pursue something. She never gave me an indication that she felt the same.”

“And how do you feel now?”

There’s a pause this time. “I don’t know honestly. We remained friends up until graduation but, uh, never saw her again. I do wonder from time to time how she’s doing.”

“You should reach out to her,” You advise softly. “Since you guys were friends before, I’m sure asking her out just to catch up won’t seem so weird.” You grin at him. “You need to make your move.”

It is then that Jungkook turns to look at you. He looks for a little longer this time, eyes focused entirely on you. Underneath the small crescent of the moon above, you are still able to make out his facial features. His cheeks, his nose, his eyes—the latter is glimmering, like he knows something that you don’t.

“I’m working on that,” He mumbles softly. You turn your head back towards the road.

You wake up the next morning feeling groggy, dirty, and messy. Your head lifts up from a pillow you can only vaguely remember falling on, laying on top of a bed you only vaguely remember throwing yourself in. There’s sunlight pouring into the room, but it feels like early morning sun. There’s a crisp in the air that you can feel, that you see out of the window. Right outside is the gathering of bushes and trees, a bright blue sky.

You are in the motel.

Slowly, you push yourself into a sitting position, until you’re resting atop the white linen of your bed. Across the room, snuggled in his own twin bed, is Jungkook. His lashes are fanning across his cheekbones, his lips are parted, and his breathing is slow and soft.

It isn’t until Jungkook shifts in bed that you realize you’ve been watching him like a creep. Hastily, you tear your gaze away and decide to focus your gaze down. You notice immediately that you are not underneath the blankets. Instead, you are lying underneath Jungkook’s jacket.

You roll the jacket off your frame, discovering that you are still in last night’s clothes—which explains why you were feeling so groggy and discombobulated. You look across the floor of the hotel room. Your suitcase is near the foot of your bed, and your phone sits on your nightstand connected to your charger.

Vaguely, you recall what had happened the previous night—how Jungkook drove into the hotel room nearing midnight and the exhaustion was so overpowering that you and Jungkook blindly asked for any room with two twin beds before following through and practically collapsing into your respected beds.

You definitely did that, which explains why you were on top of the bed, why you’re still in yesterday’s clothes, and why Jungkook’s jacket was your blanket. Stealing another glance at Jungkook: underneath the blankets and in a different t-shirt—you can assume that he was able to take a shower before lying down.

With a sigh, you push off Jungkook’s jacket and lay it down on the bed next to you. Hoping not to disturb Jungkook, you slide out of bed and lower your suitcase to the ground. After fishing out a new set of clothes, you decide to take a shower.

The warmth from the shower is the best breath of fresh air you’ve gotten since hitting the road with Jungkook. It feels like your body is going through a battery recharge, and it’s one you take your time with. You step out of the shower, running the towel through your hair and drying yourself enough to slip on your outfit for the day. The towel is thrown around your neck as you step out of the shower, letting the steam follow you out of the bathroom.

Jungkook is still sleeping as you step out, which is good otherwise you’d feel bad for having disturbed his sleep time. After all the driving he did yesterday, you figure he deserves a few extra hours regardless of what the schedule calls for.

You continue running the towel through your hair as you pick up your phone. Strangely, you do not remember connecting it to a charger before knocking out, but you pick it up regardless to see the 9:00AM time across your screen.

There’s a quiet that takes over, in which you’re sitting perched comfortably on your bed and scrolling through your phone as Jungkook continues to drift a few feet away from you.

About thirty minutes seem to pass before Jungkook is moaning softly to himself, letting out a puff of air as he slowly opens his eyes. His arms extend above him, knocking into the headboard and making him curse softly to himself. His eyes open as he lowers his hands to inspect the damage before immediately looking over towards you.

He blinks, a tired smile overtaking his lips as he arches his back into a stretch. “Hey,” He greets, voice rough and scratchy and making your heart clench. Damn thing. “You’re awake. You knocked out pretty quickly as soon as we got the room.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I honestly figured that.” You pick up his jacket, as if he hadn’t been the one to lay it on you those hours ago. “Thanks for trying to help me get comfortable.” You gesture towards the nightstand. “Did you find my charger too?”

Jungkook sits up as he continues a small round of stretches and yawns. “I did,” He says. “You were barely coherent, but made enough sense to tell me where it was in your bag. Sorry for going through it, by the way.”

You shake your head, waving him off. “No worries. Thank you again, Jungkook.”

The pair of you stare at each other for a few moments, before that silence is broken by Jungkook’s phone going off. You look down as Jungkook snatches his own phone off the nightstand. He scrolls through something, before placing it back.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” You ask, bringing your fingers through your hair to comb and give you a distraction.

“Oh! Right.” Jungkook swings his legs off the side of the bed. “We have a slower day today. The hotel I picked is only about five hours away? We’re driving through the mountains today, so there’s this place I want to visit that has a little restaurant and everything. It’ll be a cute pit stop.”

You nod. “Awesome, okay.” You curl your fingers around the strands of now loose strands of hair.

It takes another hour until you and Jungkook are packed up again and ready to leave. A quick stop to the lobby provides both of you with a bagel and cup of coffee each as your breakfast. All before you’re once again sliding into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car.

You roll your shoulders before clicking your seatbelt in. “Ready for another long day?”

“Of course.” He digs through his center console, producing his aux cord. “Your mission,” He says dramatically, not unlike yesterday. “Should you choose to accept.”

You laugh gently, taking the cord. “You in love with Mission Impossible or something? This is the second time in two days you’re quoting it to me.”

And this is how your day starts off—talks of Mission Impossible films that bleed into conversations about movies.

The day at 10 o’clock in the morning is bright and blue as Jungkook drives back onto the freeway and continues down the road. The first few hours consist of the surrounding flatland, of green grass and high mountains all around. Conversations between you and Jungkook are a little more scattered today, but there’s a new level of comfort about the situation. With both of you well rested, it invites a more relaxed atmosphere as you pass the occasional joke or story time between the pair of you.

As the sun continues to travel higher in the sky, Jungkook’s car starts it’s approach up the mountain. The trees start enveloping the pair of you into a newer, higher world. Not only that, but whenever you and Jungkook reach a clearing, it exposes a dip of lakes, grass, and mountains. And you, always having enjoyed the views of nature, keep an open eye for every single thing.

You see Jungkook’s choice of destination before he does, and you gasp excitedly.

Up ahead is a cloud of pink, white, and red flowers covering an entire mountain side. There is an occasional pop of cedar trees amongst the covering of pink, white, and red, but the colors are so poignant that it captures your attention immediately.

You point to it. “Is that where we’re going?”

Jungkook grins. “Surprise!” He’s selected this spot before offering the invitation to let you come along, but you’re not complaining. You’ve never been to a flower farm before, despite having heard about them and seen pictures of them for most of your childhood. You continue to watch with wide eyes and bright smiles as Jungkook drives closer and closer to the destination, finally parking in the appropriate lot after paying the fee.

You’re practically vibrating in your seat with excitement. “Jungkook, Jungkook, c’mon let’s go, let’s go!” You push on the latch and nearly tumble out onto the ground. You straighten to stand on your feet, before meeting Jungkook near the trunk of his car. Surprise, surprise, he pulls out his camera and loops the strap over his head.

He’s grinning as he closes the trunk. “You’re a little excited, aren’t you?”

“A little?” You echo, clapping your hands, seemingly unable to wipe the grin off your face. “Jungkook, this is a flower farm! It’s so exciting!”

So you dart off with Jungkook following closely behind you. The parking lot is located at the top of the flower farm, so the tour around the fields is a downwards one towards the bottom. A small pathway maps out a route for you to follow as you take in the various lines of flowers and colors. One short glimpse at the brochure tells you that these are spring flowers, and that you and Jungkook are visiting during the perfect season. You and Jungkook continue through your makeshift tour in silence, taking in the flowers as well as the view that extends out far beyond your line of sight while Jungkook snaps photographs behind you. Words don’t need to be said when everything around you says it all.

At the bottom of the field is a cafe, a small brick building with an outdoor seating area facing the now upward flower display. You and Jungkook order sandwiches and soda, and take your seats outside as you wait for your number to be called. There are a fair amount of people today at the field, most of which you can see ahead roaming through the flowers ahead.

“Have you ever been to a flower farm before?” Jungkook asks, as he glances over at you to see how bright your expression is.

You smile as you turn to him. “No, never. But thank you for bringing me here, it’s beautiful here.”

Jungkook smiles, looking a little smug. He looks proud of himself. “I’ve always wanted to come here, so I’m glad I was able to bring you along.” It looks like he wants to say more, but the number that rests between Jungkook’s fingers is called out, interrupting the conversation. He returns a moment later with the food. “I actually wanted to ask you something,” He says, taking the sandwich plate off the tray and placing it in front of you.

You take the napkins that are being offered to you. “What’s up?”

He settles down into his seat. “I didn’t get to return the question that you asked me last night.”

It takes you a second to realize what he’s referring to. Immediately, you feel yourself turn red as you press your lips together. You were definitely drowsy last night, and hadn’t put too much consideration in the aftermath of asking Jungkook about his college relationships. You instead try for a laugh, as you wave him off. “Well, you don’t need to ask me. It’s pretty boring.”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook brushes off, taking another bite of his sandwich. “So tell me, did you get into any relationships in college?”

You laugh, albeit a little nervously. “No, not really. I never even went on any dates before—I guess, like you, I just couldn’t see myself in any long term relationship with anyone that seemed to like me.”

“Well, how about crushes on your end? Did you like anyone?”

You gaze over at Jungkook—taking in his wide curious eyes, his soft voice, his contagious laugh. The memories of him waving at you in class, of him catching up to you afterwards to continue previous conversations, of him going out of his way to say hi to you in the library. Jungkook has always been thoughtful, considerate, and soft along the edges. How could you not have crushed on him during college?

And how could you not continue to have these lingering feelings for him afterwards?

You think about your own advice you had given to Jungkook. You should reach out to her. Since you guys were friends before, I’m sure asking her out just to catch up won’t seem so weird. You need to make your move. Could you even follow your own advice?

You look down before Jungkook could start asking questions about your staring. “There was this one guy,” You start, trying for an uneasy laugh. “But I don’t think he ever noticed me. Well, that’s a lie. I guess we were kind of friends? I think it’s more along the lines of me being out of his league.”

“That’s depressing,” Jungkook notes as he finishes his sandwich. You hardly even noticed him inhaling the thing. “How could you be out of a guy’s league? You’re so smart and funny and easy to talk to—if anything, a guy would probably be out of your league.” He leans forward, bringing you close enough where you can clearly make out the mole underneath his lip. “Tell me about this punk. So I can tell you he’s not good enough for you.”

You laugh, keeping your gaze on him. You doubt he’d be so confident had he known about ‘this punk’. “He isn’t a punk,” You remark quietly. “He’s really nice, and really sweet. I was pretty quiet in college. Definitely introverted and kept to myself and had a hard time making friends. Although I would have honestly barely considered him a friend, he just made me feel like my time was meaningful and my attention was valuable to him.” Jungkook’s eyes continue to bore into yours. “If anything, I just wish he knew how much I admire him.”

Jungkook’s gaze is unwavering across your face, once again displaying that unreadable expression. Yet, despite that, something glimmers in his eyes and he seems to come to an understanding you yourself don’t know about. That glimmer keeps swimming across the orbs, even as he switches his gaze between your eyes. They flicker down to your lips for a second, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Jungkook coughs, pulling away from you as he seems to hyper-focus his attention on the soda still in front of him. He looks shy as he steals another glance at you from across the table. “He might not have made you feel that important if you were too scared to tell him how you felt.”

You look down at your sandwich and take another bite. Something about the way he’s staring holes into the side of your face tells you that he knows something that you don’t. You wonder what he’s thinking.

Jungkook wears that thoughtful expression for the rest of the visit to the flower field, as the pair of you return back to his car and slide back in your seats. He stays quiet as you resume the trip, slowly making your way back onto the freeway and towards your second motel.

This kind of quiet is different than the previous silences the pair of you have grown to share over the past twenty-four hours. Unlike the comfortable moments of unspoken words, this is more tense. Like he knows something that you don’t.

You don’t know what to say, or how to break that silence. You don’t know if perhaps you said something you shouldn’t have, or said something to make him uncomfortable. All of those thoughts are not pleasant ones.

Jungkook stays quiet for most of the drive through the mountain. The music you have selected is loud enough that seems to drown the tense atmosphere, but the questions still press themselves deeply into your mind. What is he thinking about?

And worse of all: did he know you were talking about him?

You and Jungkook only speak a handful of times during the trip. He asks you if you need to use the restroom, if you’re hungry, and if you could play him your favorite anime openings. The pair of you have a handful of laughs about your mutual love for Haikyuu and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, but most of the drive to the motel is ridden out in silence.

The pair of you reach the hotel around dinnertime, definitely nowhere as exhausted as you had been the previous night, but just as eager to finally reach your destination. The tension between you and Jungkook has eased slightly, so you can only assume that perhaps he has overcome whatever was bothering him. You yourself have pushed the thought of Jungkook knowing the truth out of your mind. After all, if he had known, you assume he would have brought it up. Or at least called for an Uber to send you home. You assume you would have provided some sort of reaction for the two of you to talk about. But alas, those thoughts follow a conversation that has not happened, and will probably never happen, because you’re sure that you’ll never have to be in a situation that forces your feelings to go out of control once again—!

“Hi,” Jungkook returns to the hotel clerk behind the desk, a girl to be about your age, who is flickering her gaze between you and Jungkook. A flicker in her eyes tells you that she already has multiple thoughts and assumptions about your relationship. “Do you have a room with two beds?”

“Oh!” The girl blinks, momentarily looking taken aback. “Of course, let me check.” She turns her attention to the computer screen in front of her. Her eyebrows furrow together. “I’m sorry sir, we only have rooms with one bed available—either a full, queen, or king-size mattress.”

Jungkook makes a noise in the back of his throat as he taps his credit card on the desk. Just watching from the side, you notice how he swallows, how he looks down, how his cheeks turn red. He turns to you after a moment. “D-Do you, uh, do you mind?”

It takes you a second to realize what Jungkook is asking. He’s asking if you’d be okay with sharing a bed with him. Him: your college crush, the guy you never really lost feelings for.

You turn red too. “U-Um…” You press your lips together and swallow. “S-Sure,” You manage, waving your hands out in front of you. “I-I don’t mind. I-If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I-I don’t mind either.” Jungkook, however, looks like he’s about to combust. He looks a little lost again. He blinks once, twice, and seems to realize that he’s supposed to hand the woman behind the desk his card. “Uh, whichever room is the cheapest.”

“That’ll be the room with the full-size bed.” She flickers her gaze between the two of you. “If that’s okay.”

“O-Of course,” He stammers back, allowing the girl to take the card. He looks at you. “Do you mind staying here? I have to go to the bathroom real quick.”

“S-Sure, go ahead.” A part of you wants to hit your head on the desk. What is happening to you? Why is the mere thought of sharing a bed with Jungkook turning you into a pile of mush? You’re a grown ass woman—!

“So the two of you on vacation or something?” The woman behind the desk asks. She’s still in the middle of scanning Jungkook’s credit card.

You try for a smile. “Kind of, we’re going to a friend’s wedding.”

“I see, that sounds fun.” She smiles. “You know, I have to be honest, I was a little surprised he asked for two beds. You guys would make a cute couple.”

At the label, you start to turn red. “O-Oh n-no, we’re not a couple at all. That’s very flattering, b-but yeah we’re not together.”

“Oh, I know,” The girl rebuffs. Her smile looks more like a grin. She places Jungkook’s credit card on the desk, along with a receipt and a pen. “I hope the full size bed will change that.” She gives you a wink.

You part your lips, unsure what to make of the situation. “What—!”

“I’m back,” Jungkook says, sliding up from behind you and making you jump slightly. “What did I miss?”

“Uh…” You wonder if your face is too red or not. It certainly feels that way. “Here!” You push him forward towards the desk. “She scanned your credit card. You just need to sign and we’ll be on our way.”

If Jungkook notices the stiffness in your posture, he doesn’t comment as he leans forward to sign the receipt. Just over Jungkook’s shoulder is the worker, looking at you with a now shit-eating grin across her lips. Several questions ping through your mind, but you don’t get to ask any of those because Jungkook is turning around with his credit card in hand.

“Uh, ready to get going?”

“Sure!” You say, voice a few several pitches higher and you return to wanting the ground to swallow you whole. Jungkook leads the way out of the lobby, and you dare one last glance back towards the woman behind the counter.

She’s waving a slip of paper in her hand.

You turn back to Jungkook. “Hey Jungkook, give me a second. I think we forgot to grab something at the desk.”

It sort of feels like a walk of shame to reach the worker behind the counter, who is still grinning at the sight of you and your internal struggles. She hands you the slip of paper, mouths something that makes you go red, before you’re turning back towards Jungkook. “Good luck,” She had whispered.

Before you’re reaching Jungkook, you open the paper. At the very top is the WiFi password.

Underneath the WiFi password, in what you can only assume is her handwriting, is one sentence. Fate said you guys only get one bed- don’t worry, I think he likes you too :-)

“What was that about?” Jungkook asks.

You shove the paper into your pocket. “The WiFi password,” You supply.

The walk to the hotel room is quiet as Jungkook leads the way through the different hallways, corridors, and numbers on plaques. That tense silence is back as he guides the two of you, stopping only when he reaches the number that matches the one on the index card. He gives you a look, and inserts the card key into the slot. The door beeps, and he pushes open the door to find, true to the word of the lady behind the counter, one full-sized bed in the middle of the room.

For the first few hours, it’s easy to ignore that full-sized elephant in the room. Jungkook takes out his laptop and you guys watch your favorite season of Haikyuu together—it’s season two—or you guys linger about on your phones. It isn’t until nighttime falls into your bones, into your minds, that you realize that you really need to address the new situation.

“I’m gonna take a shower first, if that’s okay,” You say, already sliding off the bed to gather your belongings from your suitcase. Jungkook is humming along to the Haikyuu ending song, but he stops long enough to accept you taking the first shower. He watches you as you fish pajamas out from your suitcase. “Hey, Jungkook…” You start. “Are you sure you’re cool with this?” You gesture to the bed. “I can sleep on the floor. They give you extra bedding for a reason…”

“What? No, of course not, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” He moves until his knees are pressed into the mattress. “And I’m cool with this. Promise.” He hesitates. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Y-Yeah,” You manage, straightening into a standing position with your clothes in hand. “I don’t really move around when I’m sleeping. And I trust you, Jungkook.” You keep your gaze on each other until you break it first, turning around to step into the bathroom.

You step out many minutes later, hair freshly washed and feeling much more relaxed than before. Jungkook has moved to the desk in the corner of the hotel room, typing away at some emails on his laptops. He does, however, whirl around upon hearing you exit the bathroom. The sight of you in your sweats, t-shirt, and damp hair makes his eyes linger.

You merely tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You can go now,” You say quietly.

Jungkook nods. “Thanks.”

Breaking that eye contact again, you turn to the bed and lift the blankets to slide under the covers. You rest your head on the pillow, and immediately start to drift away.

You are brought back after what only feels like a few minutes, when you hear a light switch turn off followed by the blanket next to you lifting up. You turn slightly towards the other side of the bed. “Jungkook?” You whisper.

A stillness. “Ah shit, I’m sorry. I was trying to be sneaky.”

“Mmm…” You mumble softly, turning your body 180 degrees in order to face him. You can vaguely make out the shadow of Jungkook’s outline. “Don’t worry. I’m a really light sleeper. Come on in.”

There is a shift in the blankets until you feel the additional weight of Jungkook’s figure crawling in next to you. The knowledge that Jungkook is lying right next to you turns your blood hot both with anxiety and because Jungkook brings in a new wave of heat underneath the covers. For a cool spring night, it’s comforting. But also further anxiety-inducing.

Jungkook shifts and even though the pair of you are on opposite sides of the bed, you can still feel the warmth radiating off his body. In the silence of the hotel room, you can hear Jungkook breathing.

“Is this okay?” It’s Jungkook asking. His voice is quiet, soothing, and very close to your face. You realize that you guys are facing each other.

Still, you have to give an answer. “Y-Yeah,” You reply softly. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

“Goodnight.”

You turn onto your back. You try to go to sleep, you really do. But your heart is pounding, and rather than the blood filling your ears, it’s the sound of Jungkook’s breathing.

“Y/N, you still awake?” Jungkook asks softly.

You snort. “It’s only been a minute.”

Jungkook smiles. “Sorry. I just… I have a question. A thought, actually.”

“What is it?”

“Well, okay, I don’t want to come off as arrogant or self-centered, but it’s just a question and just this thought that I have…”

“Jungkook.” You turn back to face him. “You can ask me the question. I don’t mind.”

“Well, alright.” Jungkook shifts. He’s a little closer now, you can make out the outline of his face. Everything looks slightly more defined now, definitely a result of your eyes adjusting to the darkness. “When you were talking about the guy you had a crush on… you know, when I asked if there was someone you were interested in while we were in college.”

“Oh, I remember.” Your heart feels fuzzy, even though you have no idea what he’s going to ask you.

“Okay, um. I guess I just wanted to know. Were you talking about me?

The world seems to stop tilting on its axis—and all the consequences of that follow along. Everything around you slows to a grind: your heart stops in your chest, and all the air drains out of your lungs. You hold your breath, feeling as if your body has just been dipped underwater. Thousands of thoughts ping through your mind. You feel like that episode of Spongebob where all the file cabinets in your brain are catching aflame. You suddenly feel like you have no thoughts, but too many thoughts at the same time.

Above all, one question rises above all the rest: how did Jungkook know?

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t hear your name being called. It isn’t until you feel a hand at your shoulder do you jolt. “H-Huh?”

“S-Sorry.” Jungkook sounds a lot more nervous now. “You weren’t responding.”

“I… I was thinking,” You reply lamely.

A pause. “What’s your answer?” Were you talking about me?

You swallow. Should you tell the truth? Or should you deny everything with the hopes that Jungkook will forget this conversation ever existed?

The words spill out before you can think of a proper answer. “What if I was?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment. “Well…” He starts up again, inching forward towards you. Every move he makes is amplified in your ear, every squeak of the mattress and every rustle of clothing echoed in the small space that is your hotel room. “I’d be kinda frustrated, to be honest. Because when I was talking about my own crush, it might have been about you.”

At Jungkook’s confession, the world seems to come crashing down on you as everything around tries to catch up to you. Immediately, you assume that perhaps you hadn’t heard Jungkook correctly, or maybe you’re completely misinterpreting what he’s trying to say to you.

In a perfect world, maybe you’d say something witty and smart. Maybe you’d play along until he snapped. Maybe you’d be fluent in courting talk and understand exactly what he’s trying to say to you.

But this isn’t a perfect world, and you are neither witty nor smart. You most certainly are not aware of flirtations. You need boys to be as straightforward as possible. Which is why you utter the most comprehensible: “What?”

You feel a warmth at your hip—Jungkook’s hand against your skin. “Ahhhh.” Jungkook starts, not at all sounding fearful but rather casual. Still the underlying case of shyness, however, because this is still Jungkook. “I forgot you sometimes need simple things spelled out for you. Remember when you emailed our Arts History professor three times because you kept forgetting what font she wanted the assignment in?”

You flush—Arts History was the class you and Jungkook were forced to pair up together for. Maybe you would have protested it more had you known Jungkook would turn out to be a little shit over it. “That was a one time thing! You’ve been bringing it up for as long as I’ve known you!”

Jungkook giggles, pulling you closer so your face is against his collarbone and his chin rests on your shoulder. “Shh, okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Your face is burning at the feeling of your bodies so close together, your fingers pressed against his shirt and your nose against his skin. He smells like floral fabric softener. “Jungkook…?” You whisper softly, breath fanning his neck.

Jungkook tilts his head to rest gently against your temple. He stays quiet for a moment, absorbing the moment. “If you did have a crush on me in college, it would be frustrating. Because I had a crush on you too.”

This time it’s straightforward, just like how you’ve always wanted it. Why can’t you seem to reply?

“Oh.”

“I know.”

You curl your fingers around Jungkook’s shirt. “What if…” You start slowly. “What if I said I still had those feelings?”

Jungkook seems to think about his answer. “I’d say that I do too.”

You swallow, nodding in a way that allows him to feel the movement. “Okay then.”

Without a warning, Jungkook moves to curl his whole arm around your frame. This brings you even closer together. He noses your hairline. “Go to sleep,” He whispers softly. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

A part of you wants to say no—that holding off on confessions isn’t what happens in novels or tv shows or movies. But the larger part of you knows that you won’t be able to have a proper discussion like this when you are weak, tired, and vulnerable. Your heart stalls at his consideration, allowing yourself to be content just like this: asleep, cuddling with Jeon Jungkook as you’ve imagined since you first developed your crush.

It’s much better than the fantasy.

You wake up the next morning with Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you, his soft breathing against your neck and his lips dusting the skin of your neck. There’s a new kind of comfort you find being held like this, and a part of you wants to melt back into his arms. You think you can pretend to be asleep just to stay here a little longer, but the urgency you have to pee and get the day started becomes too pressing.

Your previous assumptions of Jungkook being a heavy sleeper are confirmed as you manage to untangle yourself from him without so much as a whine from his end. By the time you finish with the bathroom, Jungkook is just beginning to push himself into a sitting position.

You linger near the foot of the bed. “Good morning,” You greet, almost nervously. For good reason to—the memory of last night is vague but defined well enough where you aren’t sure what the next course of action should be. It’s not like your college ever offered a course about what to do when your crush admits to liking you back.

Jungkook looks at you from across the bed. He gives you a small smile, a reassuring one. “Morning,” He says back. “How did you sleep last night?”

You twist your hands together. “Pretty good, actually. How about you?”

“Me too.” He adjusts his position so he can crawl over to you. He slides his legs over the side of the bed right next to you. He brings his hands towards you, palms up. Although he’s close enough to reach you, he doesn’t. Instead, he asks: “Can I?”

You don’t say anything, you merely rest your hand in his. He tugs you towards him, stopping only when you’re standing between his legs. He still keeps his fingers curled around yours, turning your hand up to play with your fingers.

He looks up at you, a soft smile across his lips. “Hi.”

You smile back. “Hi.”

He laces your fingers together, resting them between your bodies. “I guess now for the bigger question… how are you feeling?”

You look down at your hands, deciding you like the way his larger hands cover yours. “H-How did you know I was talking about you?” You ask instead, looking over at him.

Jungkook shifts his gaze away for a moment. “I don’t know,” He admits earnestly. “You were just looking at me back at the flower field and I had a feeling. And I really think a part of me was hoping you were talking about me.”

Unable to help yourself, you feel the side of your mouth quirk up into a small smile. “What would you have done if I wasn’t talking about you?”

He exhales in a laugh. “Honestly, I might have just driven out in the middle of the night and gone over a bridge or something.”

You laugh, trying to diffuse your smile by pressing your lips but it only works so well. “I was really surprised to hear you liked me back.”

“Of course!” He exclaims, looking momentarily shocked that you would feel this way. “I wasn’t messing around when I said you were smart, funny, and easy to talk to. That’s what made me really like you when we first met. Whenever we talked you just felt so real and approachable—like I could just be myself around you. And even now, seeing you after graduating and realizing you’re still all of those things. It just makes me like you more.”

You feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You’ve never thought of yourself in the way Jungkook is describing you—you always just assumed that you were in the background, that you’d never be enough.

Jungkook is looking at you, his eyes big and wide and full of truth. “Is that weird?” He asks.

You shake your head immediately. “No, no it’s not weird at all.” You shrug a shoulder, giving him a meek smile. “It’s really sweet, actually.”

Jungkook grins at that, heaving out a breath as a sign of his lowered defenses. “I think you’re sweet too.”

You groan at that, throwing your head back as Jungkook breaks into a series of giggles. “You’re corny.”

“You’re not complaining,” He points out. This is true.

You shrug. “I guess that means I’m expecting us to catch up on three years of terrible flirting.”

The smile slides off his face. “You’re right.” He brings your joined hands closer together until your whole body is standing closer to his. “Can I ask to kiss you?”

The four letter K word makes your heart stutter in your chest once more. Your hands are so close to his chest that you can feel his own heart beating, and the thought of Jungkook being equally nervous for this gives you enough confidence to return his question. “Why don’t you ask and find out?”

He smiles, a bunny smile that crinkles his eyes. “Touche. Can I kiss you?”

You smile back. “Yes…” You whisper, leaning down just enough for Jungkook to crane his neck up in order to meet each other halfway. It’s just a closed-mouth kiss, a soft weight against your lips.

It’s one that Jungkook pulls away from before you can really enjoy it, really ponder asking for more. “Sorry,” He says immediately, pointing to his mouth. “Morning breath.”

The pair of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into laughter. That tense atmosphere is gone, replaced inside with that previously casual and comfortable air—as you step away from Jungkook and let him get his morning started. Except this time, the air is filled with open lingering stares, shy smiles, and Jungkook taking your suitcase wordlessly as you exit your hotel room.

By the time you load into your car, it’s nearing noon and the gas tank in Jungkook’s car is almost empty. The pair of you agree in another champion’s breakfast—gas station food.

“I swear, we’re both going to have terrible breakout tomorrow during the wedding,” You point out. Despite your words, you still tear into your Nacho Cheese Doritos with the aggression of a gorilla. “I’m going to photograph horribly. Irene will be so embarrassed.”

“You photograph horribly? Inconceivable!” He says the word just as it is said in The Princess Bride, which makes you burst into another fit of laughter.

The afternoon pans out the same way it has for the past two days. Jungkook drives onto the freeway, you decide the music, and the conversations fade in and out. Neither of you talk about the events of the previous night or of what happened in the morning—but the way Jungkook reaches out to laces your fingers together is more than enough.

The town Jungkook has selected to stop for the evening is a five hour drive from the wedding venue—and it’s an actual city space this time, with restaurants and grocery stores and apartments. As soon as Jungkook tells you this information, you are bursting with excitement. It’s been two days since the pair of you actually stopped and lingered in a city environment and you miss it.

It takes another whole day of driving to reach the city destination, as the first alert you get is the increasing number of cars that have joined you on the freeway. These more busy freeways guide you into the city, where you are greeted with the first sight of buildings, sidewalks, restaurants, and parking lots in days.

Even though most of these landmarks are simple flashes that you and Jungkook pass through on the way to the hotel he has selected, you keep your eyes glued out of the window in order to take in as much of the surrounding area as you can. You continue to watch as the immediate high rises become more sporadic and spread out, until he’s finally pulling into the hotel. The sun is just setting behind the many buildings along the horizon. Lots of other cars are parked in the parking lot. You can hear other cars, buses, and trunks driving around the background—and you feel strangely comforted by this discovery.

“Are you okay with sharing another bed today?” Jungkook asks as he guides the pair of you into the lobby. “I may or may not have called to make a reservation earlier when you were in the bathroom.”

You laugh, feeling giddy at the thought of Jungkook taking the initiative to continue progressing your now slow-growing relationship. “Was that all they had left?” You ask teasingly as you make your way to the counter.

Jungkook smiles down at you. “Perhaps I didn’t ask…”

Your lips part. “Jungkook!”

“What?” He’s laughing now. “I think I’m gonna bow out of any excuse to cuddle with you now that you’ve given me a taste of what that’s like?”

You’re gasping in the midst of your laughter. “You’re terrible,” You manage.

So Jungkook checks in—true to his word, he has reserved a single full-sized bed for the room.

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” He starts as he’s following the map provided to him by the employee with directions about getting to his appropriate room. This hotel is slightly bigger than the off-the-road ones you and Jungkook pulled into, so it takes a little longer to find the room. After a few minutes of turning the map over, you two eventually find the room.

“What’s up?” You ask as you push open the door and roll your suitcase into the space, with Jungkook following closely behind you.

“Come here,” Jungkook requests gently, watching as you let go of your suitcase and make your way towards him. You move into his space easily, allowing him to hold you by the waist. “Since we’ve both admitted to missing out on three years of courting, flirting, and dating—I think we should go out to an actual restaurant to have an actual date.”

You lean back slightly and give him a slightly shocked look. “Really?”

“Yes!” He says. “Besides, someone has to put their foot down and say that eating only McDonalds and gas station hot dogs is not the right way to go.”

You laugh at that. “True, but we were having so much fun!”

“Nope!” He exclaims, shaking his head. “The foot is going down, we’re going to an actual restaurant for dinner. Get changed, take a shower, whatever you need to do to freshen up.” There’s a finality in his words as he finally steps away from you, the smile of sweetness still on his lips.

The restaurant Jungkook picks after scrolling through Yelp and other lists of recommendations is a corner Italian place that apparently serves the best Linguini and clams—a dish that you really enjoy. So you put something together much more presentable than your usual round of sweatpants and baggy t-shirts—replacing the sweatpants with black jeans and giving yourself a cream colored cropped sweater. It makes Jungkook’s eyes widen all the same. He’s clad in his usual black jeans and oversized coat that is perfect for the spring breeze.

Since the restaurant is within walking distance of the hotel, you and Jungkook agree to chill off on the driving just enough to stretch your legs and actually have a walk for once—all while celebrating the final night of the road trip.

“I was a little worried about this at first, to be honest with you,” You admit softly to Jungkook, long after the pair of you have been seated in a corner booth and have ordered your food. You’re circling the pasta noodles around your fork, and Jungkook is watching with a touch of amusement and adoration in his eyes.

“Not gonna lie, so was I,” Jungkook returns back with an equally meek smile.

You gape at him. “You invited me though!”

“I did!” Jungkook exclaims with a laugh, looking down at his own order of food. “Me inviting you was honestly a spur of the moment thing. Me catching up to you, however, was me trying to be brave.”

“You seemed pretty brave throughout most the trip,” You point out

Jungkook shakes his head, situating his arms in a cross motion. “Nah dude that was just all a very well thought out facade. A part of me was expecting it to go terribly so I could at least walk away knowing that I built you up in my mind and the fantasy of that was better than the reality.” He must see the look of uncertainty casting a shadow over your mind because he immediately cuts back in. “Just so you know, the reality is much better than anything I could have conjured up.”

You lower your chin slightly, staring over at Jungkook. You bring one shoulder up into a half-hearted shrug, maybe to showcase a certain level of carelessness. “What were you conjuring up then?”

“Oh, I don’t know if you want to go there right now,” He rebuffs, looking a little red in the cheeks. “I think we should start slow. Refer to the PG thoughts, if you will.”

You laugh, focusing your gaze momentarily on the last of your pasta. You had sorted through the clams, since they weren’t your favorite things to eat. “Jungkook, are you admitting to me that you have thoughts above PG?”

“Oh shit, that wasn’t my intention!”

You giggle. “I’m messing with you, Jungkook!”

He pouts. “Don’t do that.” He rests his hand on the table, palm up, inviting for you to take it. “I just want to spend today with you, and take it slow—I just want to hold your hand and kiss you and lay with you and just be with you in the way I couldn’t be with you in college. Is that too weird?”

You look down, pressing your lips together, trying not to squeal and definitely not trying to throw yourself off the chair. You look back over at him and squeeze his hand. “That’s not too weird at all. That’s actually really sweet. Honestly, those are things I probably would have asked for regardless. I don’t really know the rules of dating—I never really went out that often.”

Jungkook smiles sweetly back at you, he brings your hands up to kiss the back. “I’ll give you a few pointers then, let’s get going.”

After the check is paid for—it ends up being a split between the two, it’s the best compromise you can come up with considering he wants to take you out but you want to pay him back for driving this far—the pair of you emerge back into the city space. Jungkook’s hand is still wrapped around yours, using that connection point to pull you close to him.

“Now this move,” Jungkook explains, beginning to lead you both back to your hotel room. “Is when the gentleman walks the lady home, because their date went by smoothly and he wants to see her for as long as possible.”

You laugh. “I’m enjoying this so far.”

The pair of you continue down the sidewalk, using the time it’ll take to walk back to the hotel to walk off the food in your stomach. You resume your conversation, giggling and laughing all the same until you’re walking through the lobby of the hotel and slowly making your way to your hotel room.

Right before you step inside, Jungkook stops you. “Normally, the front door is where the gentleman drops the lady off, and they talk about how well the date went.”

“Oh, well, in that case, this was so nice, Jungkook,” You remark, beaming at Jungkook’s own smile. “I’m glad you convinced me to eat real food for once.”

“You’re welcome—I had fun too.” Jungkook slides closer to you. You, completely hypnotized by his next movements, watch as he cups your face with his hand to angle you upwards. “This is the part where we have a first kiss, because the stars are lined up for this. And because I really want to.”

You smile, curling one of your hands around the wrist near your face. “Seeing as we’ve already had our first kiss, how about a second one?”

Jungkook smiles back, eyes lidded towards your mouth. “I guess that’ll work.” His lesson on dating, it seems, is done, as he leans in to kiss you. You suck in a breath as he covers your lips with his. It’s deeper than the first time he kissed you—which had been more of a peck with a side of morning breath. But now you’re both awake, tasting like wine, and drunk off each other. It’s a more real kiss.

You whimper as Jungkook’s tongue runs over your bottom lip, before slipping into your mouth. It’s a sensation you can get completely lost in, until Jungkook pulls away.

Under the hallway light, you can make out his flushed cheeks, his wet lips, his dark gaze.

Immediately, Jungkook is pulling you to his side before he starts digging through the pockets of his jeans. “Alright, we’re going inside right now.”

You lean into his shoulder. “I thought I was supposed to invite you inside, Jeon? What happened to giving me pointers on first dates?”

“Screw that,” He retorts, practically shoving the hotel door open. He turns around to face you. “Now, this is our hotel room. And I want to kiss you in private.”

Your laughter is drowned out as Jungkook tugs you by the wrist into the room.

Under different circumstances, waking up next to each other after a first date would hit you with a wave of anxiety and maybe even a vague sense of embarrassment at letting someone you like see you in such a vulnerable position.

Right now, however, under the morning sunlight within the covers of your shared hotel bed, you just feel happy and content. You wake up on your side, with an arm resting over Jungkook’s chest and his fingers curling around your own. There is an immediate feeling of giddiness that overtakes you, because it’s hard for you to believe that this is happening. Someone you’ve liked and continue to like actually returning your feelings? That has always been such a foreign concept to you.

You don’t know how long you continue laying in bed until Jungkook starts shifting next to you, signalling his wake. You watch as his eyes slowly peel open, laced with grogginess but still looking unfairly attractive that there are butterflies in your stomach.

Jungkook lets out a sigh, as he looks down at you. A tired smile takes over his expression. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” You reply back, voice soft and a little shy. “Happy wedding day.”

That is true. Today is Irene’s wedding—an event you and Jungkook will arrive at in nearly five hours. There’s a strange sort of knot that is beginning to twist itself in your stomach, a knowledge that something good is coming to a close but a fear in the unknown as to what this would mean regarding your relationship with Jungkook. Neither of you have laid down groundwork for your relationship—if this even is a relationship to begin with. You may be inexperienced with this kind of stuff, but you’re sure that one date and making out on a hotel bed doesn’t immediately constitute an exclusive relationship.

If Jungkook notices the tension in your form, he doesn’t say anything. He kisses your temple and grumbles something about wanting to get the day started. He mentions something about not having to worry about getting dressed for the wedding straightaway—that he has reserved a room at the hotel some of the guests of the wedding would be staying at, which is where you will be getting ready before the event. You nod, hearing pieces of his words, but a lot of it gets lost in your own thoughts.

Is it okay to ask questions about where you stand with Jungkook? Is it foolish of you to even bother wondering? You’ve seen movies and have had conversations with friends about guys who dismissed questions like that as ‘moving too fast’. You don’t want to scare Jungkook off, but you also need to know that you’re not wasting your time.

You remain in bed, staring up at the ceiling as you sigh and try to organize through your thoughts. You also try to break down how the past three days have been.

However, trying to do so proves to be a difficult challenge, as Jungkook’s phone starts buzzing excessively on his side of the nightstand—it seems like he is getting a series of text messages from someone.

You know you shouldn’t be looking or prying, but the constant binging of alerts only eats at your nerves more. You turn in the bed towards Jungkook’s side, picking up the device to search for the silence switch along the sides. The screen, however, lights up and you immediately see a name you have not seen or heard since college.

Jennie (9:53AM): hey jungkook !! just thought I’d ask where you want to meet up before the wedding starts

Jennie (9:53AM): since we’re each other’s plus ones, I think we should show up together but idk let me know what you think

Jennie (9:53AM): I’m excited to see you again and catch up, it’s been so long !! :)

You freeze, feeling your body overload with information and questions come flooding into your mind. At first, you think you reread the message wrong. You think that maybe Jennie is texting the wrong person. But after the third or fourth time, you realize that this isn’t a dream. That Jungkook already has a plus one to the wedding, and it isn’t you.

More than that, it’s Jennie.

Jennie is also someone you went to college with, and someone that you only heard of between the grape vines and therefore is someone that is only vaguely recognizable. But you definitely know her. Jennie had been one of Irene’s friends, president of her sorority—and labeled some of the nicest people on campus. Even just from rumors and the one time you ran into her around the school, you can see it. Jennie is nice, beautiful, friendly, and outgoing. All the things you are not.

And now, she’s Jungkook’s plus one to the wedding. And Jungkook did not tell you.

Your lips part as your head starts to spin. Why didn’t Jungkook tell you he already had a plus one to Irene’s wedding? Maybe he did not owe you the explanation, and maybe you should never have assumed he’d be your plus one to the wedding.

The thought of you assuming Jungkook would be your date to the wedding fills you with a vague mortification—why did you have to go ahead and assume?

Your mind starts to spiral as you fall into the depths of overthinking. Now you were set to attend a wedding alone, with no plus one, and surrounded by people you don’t know. All while watching Jungkook sit with Jennie, eat with Jennie, and dance with Jennie.

Holy fuck, holy fuck, what were you going to do? You can’t go to this wedding alone. You can’t confront Jungkook about this—you’re not even supposed to be touching his phone or looking through his phone. He would definitely be upset. How could he not be?

At once, the tears collect in your eyes. How could this be happening? Seconds ago, you had been so content and happy, excited to attend this wedding with Jungkook. Seconds ago, you had been confident about your feelings, and Jungkook’s feelings in return. From all the kisses he showered you in, the date, the talking, the confessing—how could you not feel that way?

Had Jungkook just been pulling your leg? After all, he did have three years to talk to you, to go out with you. Why hadn’t he said something sooner? Is he here right now: talking to you and laughing with you because he hadn’t found anyone and knows that you would do anything for him?

In the background, you can vaguely make out the shower in the bathroom turn off, signalling Jungkook’s near completion with the bathroom. At once, it feels like you’re in a car that has enforced sudden breaks and has sent you flying against the dashboard—like you can’t breathe.

Hastily, you rest Jungkook’s phone back on the nightstand and roll back over to your side of the bed. You blink quickly, trying to rid of the tears that have collected in your eyes while also trying to calm the lump in the back of your throat.

Just as you’re starting to get a handle back on your feelings, the bathroom door opens and you can vaguely make out Jungkook’s humming as he exits. The fact that he sounds so carefree while you’re hurting only a handful of feet away almost makes the tears come back in. But you’ve learned how to hide your emotions well.

Jungkook’s soft laugh brings you out of your thoughts. “Still in bed?” He asks jokingly, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on your ankle. You try not to stiffen at the gesture. “You know, even though we’re getting dressed at a different hotel, we still need to get going.”

You take in a breath. “I’m comfortable here,” You exclaim, sitting up and facing Jungkook. He’s looking as wide-eyed, easy-going, and comfortable as always. You’re not sure how long you can keep up the facade of being okay. “I was just waiting for you, that’s all.”

You don’t wait for him to reply as you slide off the bed, grab your clothes from your suitcase, and lock yourself in the bathroom. You ignore the lump in your throat as you brush your teeth, as you get your day started. Finally, you look up at your own reflection in the mirror. Unlike previous times, when there had been a glimmer to your gaze—you don’t know you recognize the now disheartened individual before you.

You exit the bathroom and immediately turn to pack up your suitcase once more, ignoring Jungkook in the process. The boy is on his phone, typing something—probably a text message. Maybe he’s responding to Jennie, confirming their date for tonight, as he remains completely oblivious to your feelings.

The thought brings the tears back to your eyes.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook asks, all smiles and soft eyes as he slides off the bed to face you.

You don’t look at him as you shoulder your carry-on bag and straighten into a standing position. “Yeah.” You don’t mean for the tone to come out dry and unresponsive, but you’re too focused on trying to get the tears out of your throat.

You miss the way the smile slowly slips off Jungkook’s face as he watches you move towards the door.

Jungkook moves towards you, reaching forward to take your suitcase from you just as he’s done for the past few days.

You, however, brush him off. “It’s okay, Jungkook.” You pull open the door and make your way down the hallway without looking back to see if he’s following closer behind you. You don’t need his help, you don’t need his pity. You don’t need him to do these things, to lead you on—especially if he was going to end up with some other girl at then end of the day.

You stay quiet as you make your way to Jungkook’s car. Jungkook steals the occasional glance in your direction, seeming to finally realize that something is wrong.

He, however, doesn’t say anything until you’re back on the freeway—on the five hour drive towards the wedding venue. “Everything okay?”

You’re playing with your hair, but you stop long enough to spare him a short glance. You’re not even looking at his face, you’re looking at the chair he’s seated on. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook clears his throat. “You’ve been really quiet since I got out of the bathroom. You…” He gestures to the center console. “You’re not even playing any music.” He tries for a smile. “I’d really like to listen to your ‘everything’ playlist.”

“Sorry, I’m not really in a music-listening mood right now,” You whisper, realizing that you should probably cover up your ass a little better than you are currently. “S-Sorry, I think it was something at the restaurant yesterday. I’m not feeling super hot right now.”

“Oh no, do we need to stop by a pharmacy or something? I can run in and get some stomach machine or whatever—!”

“Jungkook, it’s fine.”

Maybe it’s the finality of your tone, or the sharper edge in your voice, but Jungkook quiets down again. One glance in his direction shows you the furrow of his eyebrows, the set of his jawline—he looks hurt and confused. And that kills you inside.

A small part of you wants you just lay all your cards on the table—to admit your side of the story and let him know about the texts and the hurt feeling still eating itself at your heart.

But another part of you, the bigger part of you, doesn’t want to give Jungkook that power. You don’t want to be the one to crack first, to be the one who gets hurt first. So you refuse to say anything, settling deeper and deeper into the seat of Jungkook’s car. Contrary to your initial thoughts, he doesn’t plug in his own phone to play his own music. He simply allows the pair of you to bathe in silence.

Without the music to distract you, without Jungkook trying to make conversation, it forces your mind to linger on the events of the early morning. Maybe Jungkook didn’t tell you because it was obvious to him that the pair of you would never have been a plus one to the wedding in general. He’s probably hurt because Jungkook can’t get his way with you.

The realization that he doesn’t even have the consideration to warn you ahead of time that an invitation for a ride doesn’t equate to an invitation to be a plus one brings the tears back to your eyes. Did you not even deserve a warning? Why would Jungkook let you kiss him, let you fall in love with him—only to turn his back on you like this?

You have to keep your eyes glued to the window of the passenger’s side of the car, just to make sure Jungkook won’t see the tears. You can just imagine that he’ll ask, and the conversation will steer the pair of you into an even more awkward space.

It’s a very agonizing five hours. Not having that time to recover from the shock of those texts is becoming increasingly more difficult for you to handle.

There are a few times that your tears overwhelm your whole system, where you have to sniff to get a handle on your body’s response to the emotions going through your body—which you’re sure Jungkook can hear. After all, there’s no music playing and there is a silence that is threatening to swallow you whole.

Jungkook, however, does not say anything in response to your very obvious sniffle. He merely tightens his grip on the steering wheel, and keeps his mouth shut. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to talk first, to explain what’s going on with you.

The sky is bleeding orange by the time Jungkook pulls into the new hotel, the final hotel. There is still two hours until the wedding is set to start, but every nerve in your body is screaming for you to leave and go back home. Every nerve in your body is telling you that you don’t belong here anymore.

“Okay, I let you have your peace for the whole drive over,” Jungkook starts off, voice tight, fixing the car into park. “But I’m asking you this right now. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem fine… and I’m worried about you…” He reaches across the car to land a hand on your shoulder. It’s a completely normal gesture, especially between you and Jungkook, but you cannot handle it.

You jerk away. “I’m fine,” You snap out, actually fixing your gaze on him this time. Jungkook recoils, immediately retracting his arm from you, looking like you just burned him. You tear your gaze away from him. You’re not strong enough to see him hurt because of you. “Why do you care anyways?”

Jungkook exhales in disbelief, turning towards the steering wheel of the car and running a hand through his hair. “What are you talking about? Is this about last night? Did I… say something to scare you off?”

“This isn’t about what you said, this is about what you didn’t say and what you’re not telling me!”

Jungkook looks like you just grew a second head. “What are you talking about?”

You whirl back to face him. “Oh, so the fact that you and Miss. Jennie were already set to go to this fucking wedding together and you didn’t even think to give me a heads up and tell me?”

Jungkook freezes like a deer in headlights. “What? How did you know about that?”

You laugh, but it’s a hollow noise that only makes that lump come back to your throat. “Nevermind,” You bite out. This time, you don’t stop the tears from resurfacing as you give Jungkook a full look this time. His demeanor changes from frozen to pained at the sight. “I hope you guys are very happy together.”

You don’t say another word as you fumble with the latch of the door before pushing it open with more strength than necessary. You can vaguely hear Jungkook struggling with his own seat belt, but you don’t care. You slam the car door shut and storm away. You don’t know where you’re going—maybe around the corner to scream, or to call a taxi that’ll take you to the airport. You don’t care about the wedding. You don’t think you could face the embarrassment in facing Jungkook or Jennie or Irene right now.

“Shit, Y/N! Y/N!” Jungkook is calling for you now, his footsteps loud against the asphalt.

Everything feels like you’re going through water, which is probably why Jungkook is able to reach you as quickly as he does. He catches you by the wrist.

“Y/N—please, will you stop and just listen to me?”

“No! Jungkook, let me go.” You start trying to tug your wrist, trying to pull yourself away from him. “Let me go! I’m leaving! I don’t want to see you anymore!” You’re gasping, the tears blurring your vision and making you feel powerless.

Without a warning, Jungkook pulls you in his arms. Wrapping his arms around you, he traps you in his embrace. And you are miserable.

“Stop it!” You gasp, trying to push him away. You’re heaving—crying and trying to escape from someone as strong as Jungkook is definitely a workout for your body. “Jungkook, leave me alone. This is all my fault.”

He pauses. “What do you mean?”

You stop struggling, allowing Jungkook to hold you as you pull back enough to look away from his face. You wipe at the tears on your face. “It’s my fault anyways. I said I liked you and you said you liked me too, but maybe that wasn’t enough for you. Just because we like each other doesn’t mean we’re exclusive. I should have asked up front, so I wouldn’t get hurt in the long run.”

“You don’t need to get hurt though,” Jungkook whispers kindly, his voice overcoming the blood in your ears, as well as your own yelling. You quiet down at that, except for your own lungs contracting to catch more air. This leaves you a hiccuping mess. He waits until he knows you’re not going to say anything next. “You’re right, okay? Jennie and I were supposed to be each other’s dates.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath.

Jungkook rests a hand on top of your head, curling his fingers through the strands of your hair soothingly. “Are you okay?”

You hiccup. “Why are you telling me this? I just told you that I’m hurt right now…”

“Shhh.” Jungkook pulls back and cups your face in his hands so you can look at him. “You aren’t listening to me. I said we were supposed to be each other’s dates. We’re not anymore.”

You blink, allowing the tears that were already filling your eyes to fall down your cheeks. Jungkook wipes them gently with his thumb. “What?”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers between your eyes. “Jennie and I are friends, so we’d figure it would be fun to just go together and have a person to sit with, eat with, and dance with. As friends.”

“W-What happened then?” You ask, a watery color in your voice.

Jungkook gives you a gentle smile, the kind of gesture that tells you that you should know the answer already. “You happened, silly.” He keeps his eyes on yours. “I saw you at the party with Jimin and invited you to come with me. I assumed when I asked that we’d be each other’s plus ones. I forgot to tell Jennie though when I asked you out.” He tilts his head at you. “You saw the texts on my phone, didn’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry.” You hiccup again. “Your phone kept going off this morning and I was just trying to put it on silent. I-I didn’t mean to look through your messages…”

“Shh, baby, you’re good, you’re okay.” Jungkook interrupts gently, wrapping his arms tighter around you and swaying the pair of you back and forth. The usage of the nickname fills you with a new feeling, a warmer feeling. It helps calm you down.

Your breathing eventually evens out, bringing you back to reality and to the realization that you and Jungkook are hugging in the middle of a hotel parking lot.

Jungkook loosens his grip on you, letting you step back. He watches you for a moment. “Here,” He says, digging through his pocket and pulling out his phone. “I think you should see this.” He clicks through a few of his apps, until he seems to find what he’s looking for because he hands the phone to you. You look over at him, confusion flooding through your features. Jungkook gives you a reassuring nod. “It’s okay.”

Still hesitant, you take the phone and look at the messages across the screen. It’s the texts from this morning.

Jennie (9:53AM): hey jungkook !! just thought I’d ask where you want to meet up before the wedding starts

Jennie (9:53AM): since we’re each other’s plus ones, I think we should show up together but idk let me know what you think

Jennie (9:53AM): I’m excited to see you again and catch up, it’s been so long !! :)

Jungkook (10:20AM): hey Jennie !! oh shit i totally forgot to let u know but i actually found a plus one :( i’m soooo sorry i should have told you earlier omg i feel terrible

Jennie (10:20AM): no worries jungkook !! who is it omg do I know them?

Jungkook (10:20AM): it’s actually Y/N? We all went to college together…

Jennie (10:20AM): OH!!!! wait isn’t she the one Irene was working with a lot for senior projects?

Jennie (10:20AM): OH HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO

Jennie (10:21AM): OKAY JUNGKOOK I SEE U

Jennie (10:21AM): she’s THE Y/N right???? the one u were in love with for our entire college career??

Jungkook (10:22AM): …… maybe?

Jennie (10:22AM): WOWOWOWOW good for u Jungkook !!! glad to see u finally having the balls to ask her out !!

Jungkook (10:22AM): OKAY THAT’S ENOUGH

Jungkook (10:23AM): I actually felt BAD for leaving you by yourself BUT NOT ANYMORE

Jennie (10:23AM): LMAO Jungkook I’m friends with Irene’s entire bridesmaid row i’ll be fine

Jennie (10:23AM): just go get ur dick wet!!!!!!

Jungkook (10:23AM): istg i will leave you on read

Jungkook (10:23AM): also that is NOT the point!!!!!! Just wanna love my new girl :(

Jennie (10:24AM): You’re gross

Jennie (10:24AM): but sounds good see you tonight!

You look up from Jungkook’s phone to see him watching you carefully, gauging your reaction, pleading for you to forgive him.

The only thought that can be translated into a coherent sentence comes out: “You were in love with me during college?”

Jungkook exhales in a laugh, his arms finding your waist once again. “I think ‘in love with’ was a bit of a stretch back then. I think you could agree that we didn’t know each other well enough before for me to say that.”

You’re still looking at him. “Back then…?” You echo.

He nods. “Back then.” He brings you closer, one hand moving up to gently brush at the skin of your cheek. “But it’s different now. Now, I can say with absolute certainty that I’m in love with you.”

Your lips part. “You’re in love with me?” The tears spring back into your eyes, but for a different reason entirely. The emotional rollercoaster you have just been on is unbelievable.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sight of your tears. “Oh shit, I’m sorry! Is that too fast? I’m sorry, I should have given you a warning or something. Or more time at least. Oh no, please don’t cry…”

You brush him off with a watery laugh, waving his concern away. “It’s okay Jungkook. This is fine, really.” You give him a smile. “I love you too. I really thought you were pulling my leg or something.”

Jungkook gives you his own small smile. “I’m sorry. I should have brought this up sooner about us being each other’s plus ones. Just because I assume something doesn’t mean it’s an established thing.” He brings you closer, his smile turning into a grin. “You love me too, huh?”

You giggle. You’re too strung out to come up with something witty or clever. “Yeah…”

Jungkook is still smiling, his gaze switching between your lips and your eyes. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

You nod. “About time.”

He kisses you again, softly and sweetly, tongue slipping past the seam of your lips but it’s gentle caresses that make your heart feel like it’s crawling up your throat.

“OH MY GOD GET A ROOM!” A voice calls from the other side of the parking lot, forcing you and Jungkook to pull away. The pair of you look at each other and you start to laugh.

Jungkook kisses your forehead, sweeping down to your ear. “How about we check into our room and get ready?”

You giggle, nodding over at him. “That sounds good.”

So Jungkook leads the way, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you gather your suitcases from the car and enter the lobby. You check in easily, as Jungkook is provided a map with directions on how to reach the room.

The pair of you don’t pull away once until Jungkook is sliding the key card into the door and pushing it open to reveal the bedroom you’ll be sharing for the night.

Both you and Jungkook park your suitcases near the foot of the bed, as per usual.

“Do you want to use the bathroom?” Jungkook offers.

You nod, smiling softly. “Okay.”

You gather the dress you’ve brought in your arms, about to enter the bathroom, before Jungkook’s voice stops you. “Hey,” He calls, approaching you and wrapping you in his arms again. He’s much more handsey this time, like he needs to make sure you’re not going to run away again, like you’re going to be okay. “You feel better now?” His thumb brushes your lips. “Your eyes are still a little red.”

You nod. “The makeup will probably help that,” You reassure in a soft voice.

Jungkook mirrors your movements. “Still, how about I get some ice for you so you can put something cold underneath your eyes… to stop the puffing.”

He looks genuinely concerned and worried for your wellbeing that you can’t help but smile. Since he is insisting, you decide to just let him be. “Okay, Jungkook.”

He smiles. “Okay! You start getting ready and I’ll get the ice, okay?” A quick kiss on your cheek before he’s bounding out of the door with the provided ice buckets.

Your eyes linger on the door for a few minutes before you’re turning back to your suitcase. The dress you have picked is a pink flowing floor-length number—something Karly helped you pick out before leaving. It’s soft enough that it doesn’t leave crease marks along the fabric, which had made this outfit perfect for the trip. You take the dress and your bag of makeup before entering the bathroom. You’re just slipping on the dress when you hear the hotel room door open and close.

“Okay, I got the ice!” Jungkook announces through the bathroom door. “Did you want to work on your eyes right now?”

“Sure,” You call back. “Do you mind zipping me up first?”

“Of course,” Jungkook returns, sounding distracting as you open the door to the bathroom. You peek your head through, noticing Jungkook opening his suitcase on the floor and sorting through it—probably for his own suit.

He must hear the door open, because he looks up towards you. Immediately, his eyes widen as he straightens up into a standing position. “O-Oh wow…” He’s looking you over up and down, up and down, as if he needs to commit this to memory. “Y-You look great. Beautiful.”

“Really?” You stammer back. “Thank you.”

Jungkook keeps his eyes on you as he approaches you. “You needed me to zip you up?”

“O-Oh right, yeah.” Hastily, you turn around, brushing the hair from your back to expose your undone zipper, and your bare back.

You think that he purposely grazes the tips of his fingers against your skin in his process of bringing the zipper up to the top of the fabric. You’re about to turn, thank him, but his hands back at your waist do the gesture for you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You look really pretty.”

You pout. “You’re being too nice to me.”

Jungkook whines, hugging you close to him. “You’re too cute.” He noses at your temple. “I just wanted to see you smile.” He pulls away after a moment. “Let’s take care of your face, yeah?” He turns around and returns with a small baggy full of ice. “Here, sit down for a second.” He leaves for a second, returning back with a towel. “Maybe… five minutes each eye. I don’t know. I’ll get ready while we’re waiting.”

So he takes his suit out from his case and disappears into the bathroom, leaving you alone with a towel of ice pressed against your eye. The cooling sensation definitely helps with the puffiness.

Jungkook appears from the bathroom a few minutes later—dressed in a black suit with a white button-down and a long skinny black tie. His hair has been fiddled with a little, but he still has that messy, boyish, lovable appearance that makes your heart race.

“Did you switch the towel?”

You nod.

“How do you feel?”

Slowly, you bring the towel down and rest it on your lap. You look at Jungkook. “How do I look?”

He leans forward towards you, holding your chin gently between his fingers. “You look better. Did you need to finish getting ready?”

“Yeah. I just need to touch up my makeup.”

“Okay, go ahead then.”

Jungkook takes the towel, and watches as you make your way back to the bathroom. You’re only gone for a few minutes before you’re emerging once more—eyeshadow a little darker, lashes a little closer, and lips slightly pinker, but overall still looking like the same version of the girl he fell in love with.

The pair of you drive to the wedding venue, a cute brick building with browns, greens, and whites surrounding. Guests already swarm the outside area, some of whom you recognize from college. The sight makes you nervous.

Jungkook sees this, and he reaches over to grab onto your hand. “You can just stick with me, okay?” He smiles. “I’ll protect you.”

You roll your eyes, but you are thankful to have Jungkook as your source of comfort and be that person you could run back to.

He parks and meets you at the front of his car, where you lace fingers and make your way towards the venue. You go through a small round of hellos and ‘nice to finally meet you’ conversations—most notably from Mingyu and Jennie, both of whom light up at the sight of your presence. Contrary to your previous worries, you find that you don’t really need to be so nervous. Mingyu and Jennie are friends of Jungkook’s for a reason—they radiate a relaxing nature that you can tell is what has drawn the three of them to each other.

They ask about you, your college experience, your current experience, passing easy conversation in the ceremony space right before the start of the wedding. It’s fun to see Jungkook joking around with the friends he grew up with, and even more fun to see how easy you are allowed into that world.

The actual wedding ceremony is a blur. You vaguely recognize the extremely attractive, excited, and watery-eyed version of Seokjin at the head of the aisle. You definitely recognize the equally as attractive, excited, and watery-eyed version of Irene, downed in white lace and looking much more beautiful than you ever remember her. Vows are exchanged, kisses are shared, there’s an applause, and pictures are taken before the guests are ushered into the main entry room—decked out with a bar and a few scattered seating areas. Jungkook whispers to you that guests are put here temporarily, as the ceremony space is being converted into a dining area.

True to Jungkook’s promise, he lingers by your side most of the night. Although you reassure him that you are fine, you are much more emotionally stable compared to a few hours ago, and that perhaps you are okay catching up with Nayeon—another girl from college, actually someone from the first party you ever attended who defended you when you were receiving unwanted attention—but Jungkook simply tells you that he likes being around you. He likes being able to put his arm around you, likes to rest his hand at your waist, likes people knowing that he has you.

It’s a few more minutes of conversation, of laughter, of old stories being exchanged between people you haven’t seen for years, when the guests are called back into the newly converted dining area. Instead of rows of chairs lined up, there are round tables filling the space. The long panel of doors once closed along the wall of the room have been opened—exposing a gazebo with a D.J. and a dance floor, all encircled by a string of big bright fairy lights.

You and Jungkook are situated at the same table as most of the guests you recognize from college. You assume this is purposefully done to give you all a common ground, and it works because conversations spring easily between you all. Even when you’re not talking about your experiences from university, you’re able to transition from topic to topic. You and Jungkook occasionally talk amongst yourselves as you’re eating, but you sit together and laugh together when Irene and Seokjin emerge and listen in during the wedding toasts.

Finally, Irene and Seokjin make their rounds through the room, stopping at the tables to cheer and laugh and exchange a few words of congratulations and conversation. Following this process, everyone at your table stands on their feet as Irene and Seokjin make their way towards you. There are bright smiles, Irene’s cheerful gasp as she takes in all the guests that have come to join her. She circles your table, hugging every guest, continuing this when she reaches you.

Irene grins at the sight of you. “Y/N! Oh my gosh, it’s been so long!”

“I know!” You return, pulling away from Irene. “Congratulations. This wedding is beautiful.”

She beams, absolutely radiating in her white dress and glittering makeup. “Thank you so much for coming! But oh my god, are the rumors true, did you really show up—!” She looks over your shoulder, and grins again. “Jungkook!” She hugs Jungkook. “I should be saying congratulations to the two of you. I was surprised to get the text from Jungkook saying that you guys were coming as each other’s dates. Gave me a whole pain because I had to switch some seats around at the last minute. But anything for my favorite people.” She turns to you and holds onto your arms. “Jungkook has had a crush on you for years, so you’re really doing him a huge favor.”

“Okay, enough,” Jungkook interrupts, scowling. But there is still that playful look in his eyes. “Did all your friends know about this? Jennie knew something was up too when I texted her.”

Irene presses her lips together. “Mingyu might have mentioned something.” She presses her hand to Jungkook’s cheek. “Stay safe, you guys. Hope you enjoy the rest of the night.” She moves onto her next guest.

Jungkook is groaning. “Remind me to never tell Mingyu anything ever again.” He glares at the boy from across the table. “Gonna fling some peanuts at that son of a bitch.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s waist. “Oh, let him be. It’s Irene’s wedding. You can get him tomorrow.”

Jungkook pouts, but he does wrap his own arm around your shoulder. “Ah, love my girl—promoting evil behavior after festive events.” He kisses your cheek as your table takes their seats once more.

The good natured atmosphere continues as you and Jungkook down your food, remaining fully engaged in the conversations happening around the table. After another hour of this, the DJ announces the start of the married couple’s first dance. Irene and Seokjin take to the dance floor and spin around, her white dress flowing around the room like light. Underneath the glow of the fairy lights, it looks like the couple is in an entirely new world. And you are so taken by it.

Jungkook does not turn to you until the DJ plays a slow song—a first slow song after a series of upbeat dance and pop genres. He jerks his head towards the dance floor. “You want to dance?”

You take his hand when he offers. “Of course.” He leads you across the room, towards the gazebo, where several other couples have moved to cling to one another. Jungkook pulls you in: one hand on your waist and the other with your own hand. “This is really nice,” You start off.

Jungkook laughs. “The wedding, or the dance?”

You smile over at him. “Both. Being able to slow dance with you, however, is marginally better.”

Jungkook is quiet for a little after that. He seems content just staring at your eyes, taking in the magic of this moment. “Thank you for coming with me,” He starts. “The whole road trip thing. Definitely would not have been as fun if I did all that by myself.”

“Well, thank you for inviting me,” You return. “Even though we had that big misunderstanding. I had a lot of fun.”

“Hey.” Jungkook angles his head a little so he can look at you in the eyes. “You know that I would never hurt you, right? You’re too important to me that I wouldn’t even think to pull some stupid shit like that again. You know that I love you too much to do that to you, right?”

“I do know now,” You say, gazing over at him. “And I love you too.”

You’re not usually an expressive person. But it’s worth saying those words just to see the grin that overtakes Jungkook’s face. It’s worth even more when he leans forward, kissing you openly in front of all his friends, nibbling gently at your bottom lip, running his tongue over the wound, and into your mouth. It’s worth it to have his fingers dusting sweetly over your skin, coaxing your mouth to open to allow exploration.

It feels like worlds pass before Jungkook pulls away, giving you that breathless smile dimple and all, before he’s leaning forward to bury his face into your neck.

“I think the drive home will be fun,” Jungkook mutters softly.

“Hm?” You hum, eyes closed as he presses tiny kisses along your neck.

“Most definitely,” Jungkook says, lifting himself just enough so that his lips hover over your ear lobe. “Because I plan on fucking you in every hotel bed for the rest of the trip.”

You feel your heart race, your cheeks heat. Yes, this was definitely worth it.

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook x y/n #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts angst #traci writes

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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Psychosomatic- Prompt Fill

Soooo I forgot to fully read the prompt, so this isn’t season 2. Sorry! Have a bit of a follow up to my broken ribs fic!

cw nausea, vomiting (brief mentions), headaches, migraines, injury, anxiety, fever, oh and Jon is kind of gaslighting himself a little

And I have finished all my bingo prompts, but I plan on choosing another prompt list soon, so keep an eye out if you wanna make some requests! And the rest of the bingo fics will be out soon (I tend to post on Wednesdays, but I make no promises for consistency). Thanks again to @celosiaa for the wonderful bingo card!

“Jon? Are you sure about this?”

That’s Martin talking to him. He ought to pay attention.

Jon wonders if there is a correct answer to the question. There probably is, if he can think through the headache.

Think.

He is at Martin’s flat, has been for about a week.

Martin is finally going to let him back to work. Partly because he is starting to heal, and even so there isn’t much you can do for broken ribs. Partly because Jon needs to save the world, and he has been doing his all the convince Martin of this. There is also that terrifying thing about needing Statements now. Not that he really wants to share that with Martin. Because Martin is the only one who actually cares anymore and he could ruin it if Martin were to… He doesn’t know. His chest is tight. Partly from the pain, partly from anxiety.

Stress, that’s why he feels like shit.

Stress. All in his head.

Christ he has to answer before Martin gets concerned.

“Yes. I’m fine, Martin. You can stop fussing.” Does that sound like him? How brusque is he normally? Does this fall under the typical Jon being an arse (which… he feels very badly about but at this point what does he even say? They had a few moments …but he never knows what to say now or he’s in too much pain or under too much stress to really be a good conversationalist, and being rude is better than …no it isn’t. He’s just afraid of letting Martin get too close?).

Christ his head is pounding, and it isn’t like he’s done anything.

Just the stress.

Probably.

Stress or statements.

He’s fine.

“It’s just… are you sure? You look a bit peaky. And you do need to be gentle with your ribs so they heal, so you don’t, you know puncture a lung and die or something.”

Jon dodges Martin trying to feel his forehead and hisses with pain. He batts Martin’s hand away instead, pressing his other to his rib cadge.

If he’s running a fever… It’s probably just the pain. He’s been in a lot of pain. Ribs and now this headache, witch, could easily become a migraine.

He wonders if he has Excedrin in his office, or hidden in the stacks with what’s left of his belongings.

“I’m fine. Just… worried about the Unknowing. I’m trying to save the world, but had to take some time off… a bit hard to relax with that over my head. You’re no stranger to anxiety, I’m sure you know the feeling.” Shit. Is that too personal? Was the insensitive? It’s a bit difficult to ignore, even for Jon, that Martin struggles with anxiety. He’s seen the prescriptions by the bed, and around the Archives when Martin was living there. He wasn’t really invading. Not like he had back…. No. It’s fine. He’s fine. No the anxiety certainly isn’t twisting in his core now, sloshing his insides. Just the stress. It’s fine.

Martin sighs. “Yeah. Yeah… I do. And it isn’t going to get better if we sit around here, is it? But, you’ll let me know if working doesn’t make you feel better, yeah? You still need to take it easy. You aren’t better yet.”

Jon purses his lips. Not sure how to answer without outright lying. “I’ll do my best? It’s all a bit muddled? Ribs hurt so it’s hard to sleep. Stress makes it harder to sleep. Stress and not sleeping lead to a headache. Which won’t get better until I sleep, which I can’t do until I can make some progress at work so we all don’t literally die. Christ, I’m sorry. Let’s just go. I’ll have a lie down after I read a Statement and do a bit of research, how about? I… appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’m imposing and probably putting you in danger, and I’m not the easiest person to live with…”

“It’s no trouble. It’s… nice having someone else here. I’m glad you let me look after you.”

“Not really like I had much of a choice, but I’ve had worse kidnappings.”

Martin makes a face.

Jon worries he’s gone too far with a joke that isn’t all that funny. “Sorry.”

“Let’s just go. Sooner we leave the sooner I can get you back here and resting. Yes Jon, I am bringing you back here if you’ll let me. It’s actually less stressful when I know where you are so I can be sure you haven’t been kidnapped again.”

Jon can’t really argue with that.

The tube may have been a mistake.

It’s crowded, and there aren’t any open seats, and no one seems to care that he’s carrying a cane. And while he could probably ask… he won’t. Martin tries to shield him from the worst of the crown, but it’s the lighting. Scraping at the backs of his eyes, threatening him with a migraine. It’s the jolting of the train between stops where he stumbles because he can’t lift his free hand high enough to grab one of the grips without it tugging painfully on his ribs. Martin tries to hold him steady, but it isn’t enough. And to make it worse, Jon is certain that every eye is on him. He’s small but conspicuous. Messy hair, cane, scars, limp.

Is it just his paranoia? Is it the eye? Is he just tired? He doesn’t know, but it makes him want to curl up as tightly as he can, ribs be damned, and get out of sight. It makes him feel sick.

Martin tuts gently when Jon almost whimpers at the next judder of the train. “Should have called a cab.”

Jon shakes his head. “I’d rather be jostled than carsick.”

Martin glances at him in concern. Probably assessing the likelihood of Jon getting sick in the carriage.

Jon wishes that weren’t a valid concern.

He’s fine.

It’s the headache. It’s the stress. He’ll read a Statement, he’ll do some research, he’ll take a nap if he needs to, but he should be feeling better by then.

Martin checks on him every half hour or so. It’s… distracting.

And concerning.

The Statement didn’t help. He still feels dizzy and sick, and the headache has only gotten worse. He wants to turn off the lights, but sitting in one position, trying not to vomit from the pain has made his ribs stiff. Stiff to the point that he isn’t sure he can move.

He tries to do research, but the words start swimming on the page. Shit. Is this even stress? Is he just having a shitty day? Is he sick? He can’t afford to be sick. If he has to recover from an illness that puts him even farther behind. No. It’s just stress. Stress migraine.

Probably.

The Statement didn’t help. Not enough anyhow.

He doesn’t want Martin to see just how badly off he is. Can’t bear the disappointed look, the worrying. Martin has worried enough. Jon just wants to hide. To be miserable in peace, just like has has done for years. But he doesn’t have flat now. He has a few clothes and a toothbrush at Martin’s flat now. He has the same at Georgie’s. And he has a shelf with some blankets and a few boxes of things from his flat in the stacks. Far enough back, and semi covered by a tarp that he’s not yet been discovered there.

He should go there, if he can. Curl up in his nest of blankets and pillows, see if he can find some Excedrin, and hope that helps.

He should eat something before the meds, but he’s nearly overcome with nausea when he leavers himself to standing. Has to detour to expel what little Martin made him eat that morning. He limps to his shelf. And nearly cries when he has to try to get himself on in without hurting his ribs more.

Sneaking off before Martin can notice just how sorry a state he is in.

He manages to sleep. Deeply. Painkillers helping enough that he can pass out for a couple hours. Probably. His head still hurts too much to look at his phone. Enough that he shouldn’t try moving, but he’s certain Martin must be out of his mind with worry. But…

But he can’t move. His ribs hurt too much. And trying to sit up makes him nauseous enough to wonder if he has anything to be ill into should the need arise.

He wants to sleep more. He wants to sleep long enough to find the Tim of last year to find him. He misses his friend. He wants the old TIm. He wants the old him. He wants to be dragged upright at his Research desk by Tim and for Tim to demand to know why he’s at work in such a sorry state.

He wants Martin to find him.

He wants Sasha to.

(He wants his mother to).

He feels too poorly to pull the blanket up, so he shivers, whimpering a little when that jostles his ribs, jostles his migraine.

He drifts. Too nauseous, too achey to really sleep.

He almost doesn’t hear Martin searching for him. Sounding tired and worried. Calling his name, and presumably checking all the rows, all the shelves for somewhere Jon might have tucked himself.

Jon wants to call back, but the minimal noise Martin is making hurts too much to think about responding. He’ll find him soon enough. Probably. Jon isn’t feeling well enough to disguise his hideaway. Even if that makes him feel dreadfully exposed. (Vulnerable to Daisy and Elias and even Melanie and Tim on their more aggressive days).

He drifts more, as Martin draws closer.

Jon wakes properly to Martin feeling his forehead. Brushing a few stray tears away. Tutting at the fever Jon presumes he is running. “Oh Jon, why didn’t you say something? I’ve been so worried. Burning up, we ought to get you home.”

Jon is ashamed to say he whimpers at the thought of moving. “Hurts.” It’s slurred and pathetic.

Martin shushes him gently. “Is it alright if I lift you?”

“Careful.”

“I will be,” Martin promises.

And he is.

It still hurts.

And the cab ride makes him sick.

But then it’s over and he’s back in Martin’s bed, and he can’t make himself worry about anything anymore.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jonmartin #martin blackwood #fanficiton #cw nausea #cw vomiting #cw injury #cw fever #cw anxiety #fic #my fic #my writing #my words #art #my art

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theskywaslookingback · 3 years

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Top 5 moments between Jon and the girls in tma?

Ooooo I haven’t seen this one before, good question anon! (Nothing from season 5 because I haven’t gotten there yet)

1. MAG 157 - Rotten Core

[ID: a screenshot from MAG 157 - Rotten Core transcript that reads “GEORGIE Melanie, you don’t have to do this. MELANIE It’s - it’s okay. He’s welcome... as a friend. But that’s it. ARCHIVIST Right.” /end ID]

This part genuinely breaks my heart because we have so many almost kinds of friendships. The genuine love and care that Melanie and Jon have for each other that gets muffled by their own self-hate is so loud but they really could have been best friends. And even here when Jon is so scared and so desperate because he’s lost Martin and he needs help, he’s still so kind and gentle when reaching out to Melanie. He leaves when he’s asked to and he doesn’t push. It hurts. They could have had such a good life. All of them.

2. MAG 132 - Entombed

[ID: a screenshot from MAG 132 Entombed transcript that reads “DAISY N-Not alone, though. ARCHIVIST (barely a whisper) No. No, not alone.” /end ID]

I just really love Jon doing this even though it was massively stupid and suicidal. Jon just really does love people and the closer he gets to The Eye the more human he tries to act.

3. MAG 81 - A Guest For Mr. Spider

[ID: a screenshot from MAG 81 - A Guest For Mr. Spider transcript that reads “GEORGIE No. No, you’re thinking of every other hacky, ghost podcast. But, you know, if it sells a few T-shirts... ARCHIVIST Oh. I, yes, I meant to say, actually, thank you for- GEORGIE Oh, it’s fine. Though I don’t know what sort of “employment dispute” leaves you without a change of clothes.” /end ID]

The thought of Jon in kitschy What The Ghost merch fills me with joy. But also I just love how comfortable and familiar they are with each other? Even if it’s been a long time and they ended on not great terms. It’s just so sweet and I love getting to see actual Jon who has friends and loves people and people love him.

4. MAG 28 - Skintight

[ID: a screenshot from MAG 28 - Skintight transcript that reads “MELANIE People like a show. People like our show. And, even if we do ham it up a bit, even if we do add a bit of sparkle, we’re still more respected and evidence-based paranormal investigators than you and your lot. [NERVOUS, DISPARAGING LAUGH] ARCHIVIST We are not ‘paranormal investigators’. We are researchers. Scholars.” /end ID]

Okay I know everyone always talks about “yes I know what a meme is” but this part is just as funny to me. Jon is soooo offended. Also the implications in this episode that Jon has seen enough of Ghost Hunt UK to make fun of it kills me. And the bit after this where Melanie is still ragging on Jon and he goes “And yet you’ve come to make a statement.” Peak season 1 bitchiness I love them both.

5. MAG 24 - Strange Music

[ID: a screenshot from MAG 24 - Strange Music transcript that reads “SASHA So, do we know if it’s pronounced ‘Ka-lee-o-pee’ or ‘Kuh-ly-o-pee’? ARCHIVIST I have also heard is said as ‘Ka-lee-ope’. SASHA Seriously? By who?” /end ID]

This whole section between Jon and Sasha is so cute and it’s one of the first times we see Jon as well “Jon”, this nerdy little guy who gets poked at by his friends. It’s smart and funny and just a good show of characterization that we hadn’t really gotten much of yet.

Honorable Mention: MAG 88 - Dig

[ID: a screenshot from MAG 88 - Dig transcript that reads “BASIRA I just, I mean he was good company. Y’know, when he wasn’t being a paranoia machine. He was funny, you know? MARTIN What, John? BASIRA Yeah. MARTIN I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a joke. BASIRA Maybe you weren’t listening.” /end ID]

Jon isn’t in this scene but I think about it all the time. Basira and Jon really could have been best friends they had such good chemistry.

ask me my top 5 anything!

#ask games #statement ends #anonymous #((this took...like an hour and a half lmao))

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bubonickitten · 4 years

Text

Relistening to TMA yet again (new hyperfixation, what can I say), and I can’t emphasize enough how much these early episodes kill me.

Because for a long time, Jon doesn’t realize what he’s becoming. And yeah, that’s obvious -- but it’s even more heartbreaking on a relisten, because he senses that something is off, but from his perspective the changes are so incremental that he doesn’t realize how much he’s changing until he’s in too deep.

He finds himself getting attached to this tape recorder (even when he initially hated it), but tries not to think too hard about that. He’s becoming obsessed with recording everything, and tells himself that he’s doing it for posterity’s sake. Jon is adept at using outward denial to hide his inner, nonstop, overthinking doubt. (Eventually it escalates to full-blown paranoid information gathering, which I think is where the Eye’s influence really starts to show, but more on that later.)

At first, it’s a safe half-lie (or at least not full-truth) to tell himself. He’s an academic, a researcher. He no doubt has a deep appreciation for the preservation of history, for the documentation of human experience -- that part is probably true. It’s how he makes sense of the world (and that started when he was a child, when the main way he interacted with the world was through books). And let’s be honest, the man is a nerd, and (I say this lovingly and with a tendency to infodump myself) he was probably prone to infodumping long before he became the Archivist. (Giving a Wikipedia summary of emulsifiers at a coworker’s birthday party, anyone?)

But beneath all that, Jon is just... scared. And Jonathan Sims comes to fear a lot of things, but one of his first fears was being forgotten. So it’s no wonder he takes so well to the compulsion to record, document, archive.

Makes sense; he was, by his own admission, emotionally neglected as a child. And sometimes harassed. He chalked it up to being “a deeply annoying child,” which -- oof, no wonder he acts like an ass sometimes. Even if he was adept at social interaction (which he’s not), keeping people at arm’s length can feel a lot safer than letting them close and risking rejection when they decide you’re too much to handle.

Point is, being ignored or ostracized was already painful, but it became his normal. Being forgotten, though, would be a existentially terrifying step beyond that.

All of this is put into even starker relief after “A Guest For Mr. Spider.” At 8 years old he witnessed someone get snatched from the world without a trace – someone ten years his senior, who died because he made the choice to torment Jon and just did so at the exact wrong moment (or perhaps right? Maybe the Web decided that early that Jon was more useful alive). But despite the fact that it was his bully, Jon has survivor’s guilt over it. He feels responsible. He admits that it’s illogical for him to think he could have done anything differently—he was eight—but he still comes out of that experience with the fundamental belief that being forgotten would be a unique kind of punishment that he believes even his bully didn’t deserve.

It’s such a raw, vulnerable moment when he finally admits it out loud: “Because I’m scared, Martin!” All that denial was external, and so fragile that it took one panicked moment for him to drop the veneer. But internally? Jokes about his obliviousness aside -- and, yes, in a lot of ways, Jon is that smart dumbass -- he’s got some self-awareness. He’s put two and two together, realized that the “real” statements don’t record digitally. He’s seen the artifact storage. He’s had a Leitner-based trauma, like so many statement givers. He’s just scared and he Does. Not. Want. To. Talk. About. It.

He tries to hide it early on behind a cold, stoic academic demeanor, but that… doesn’t last long, and once that veneer drops, he absolutely spirals into open paranoia and fear. And going forward, he really doesn’t hide his terror much. When he’s threatened, we hear him beg for his life. Even when he thinks the world might be better off without him, he still doesn’t want to die. He’s afraid of death, and after S1, he doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. (I really appreciate a horror protagonist who shows fear even when they’re trying to be brave.)

So, by the end of S1, we get to see him start to admit that his new obsessive behavior is not just a detached academic interest, or his workaholic urge to do his job well. It’s because he’s scared. But beyond that, through S2 and into S3, he starts to admit that beneath that, there’s something else going on. His rapidly escalating paranoia spiral is due to trauma, as well as the realization that Gertrude was murdered, as well as the general sense of uneasiness and distrusts that permeates the Institute (the Eye loves that shit), but also, honestly?? I think this is where the Eye starts to really get a grip on him. The Ceaseless Watcher, the fear of, in Gerry’s words, “needing to know, even if your discoveries might destroy you. The feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch.”

Beyond the tape recorder obsession, Jon doesn’t seem to notice early on that when he reads statements, it’s almost like he’s in a trance. (I think one of the first episodes where he starts to notice this is actually in MAG 32, when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ statement. His introduction to the statement is shaky, stilted, like he’s dreading it; when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ words, it’s like he’s channeling her tone and delivery in a far more extreme way than he has before; and when he’s done, he’s clearly unsettled by the experience.)

(Another thing that stands out to me on a relisten is his tone shift when talking to Elias in MAG 40 -- he has an almost dreamy, trancelike delivery of the line: “Tens of thousands of... things without mouths screaming as one.” Like he’s reliving a flashback, yes, but there’s something else in his delivery of that line that continues to show up in his later spooky-Archivist-powers moments. And Elias pauses, and I can only imagine him thinking in that moment, all smug and conniving, Good. Jon is starting to become The Archivist.)

And, of course, Jon also doesn’t notice when he starts being able to compel statements--which is kind of funny, because my first thought when listening to early statements was, “How are all these statements so detailed and coherent? Did all these statement givers take creative writing classes or something?” But Jon doesn’t really seem to question that at first. It becomes more clear when the archive assistants try to take statements -- the statement givers can’t stay on topic, can’t remember details, can’t relive the moment in the same way they can if they’re forced to through compulsion. Adelard Dekker mentions that in one of his letters to Gertrude, too. It’s also sad, though, because he kept getting accused of forcing people to answer questions when he didn’t realize he was doing it (e.g. his interviews with Basira, Daisy, and Jude).

It’s just... such a gradual downward spiral. And yeah, there’s something tragic about that--and it isn’t going to end well; this is a horror-tragedy story after all--but one of the things I like about Jon is that he works so, so hard to change and become a better person in spite of what the Beholding is trying to turn him into.

I’m getting way off-topic. Basically, Jonny Sims is... very good at character development, and it’s fun to relisten and start to pick out the moments when things start to go wrong, the little details that maybe didn’t stand out so much on my first listen. Admittedly I, much like Jon Sims, have my own little conspiracy corkboard flavor of overthinking, so some of this might just be me reading too far into it. But still, I like all the layers going on here.

#tma meta #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #tma spoilers #long post #also. in s2. jonathan sims has never had a paranoid episode before and IT SHOWS. he is Not Prepared #don't get me started on neurodivergent jon sims but like. dang. that paranoia spiral #big relatable mood

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douxie-casperan · 3 years

Note

♣ please

♣ - A fading memory

Memories are not meant to be held onto for forever for even the those claimed by a heart most dear begin to crack and fade akin to old photographs becoming blurrier sepia smudges as indistinct from any other despite any and all attempts to prevent as such. You may bolster them to stave the decay off that bit longer however, using little reminders of what has been to help keep them alive far beyond the moments that originally bore them. Everyone did it for a variety of reasons, there’s an entire industry focused around mementos for that very reason after all both the tacky and legitimate.

In his case perhaps he was a little overly sentimental about these things centuries on compared to most but it simply couldn’t be helped, there was just so much that happened that he never wanted to forget and being around longer simply meant there were far more of them to pick from. They ranged from the littlest moments like the first-time trying his beloved twizzlers after Zoe had suggested it, stories that were told in only conversation over a few drinks he was probably not meant to have but got into the spirit of things anyway, places history would later consume without a trace left as borders that formed countries shifted this way and that, all the people who he had loved dearly… It didn’t feel right to let these things fade into nothingness after they’d meant so much.

Within a small box squirreled at the back of the wardrobe with a simple lock circled twice by a ward there is the small stash of letters. These range all the way back to a lost love in the country firmly known as Nahan which are written in a neat Giripari script wrapped in a ribbon of silk, others that came from ‘friends’ that may well have shared the same word whereas others were far more innocent of any of the romances tangled in his youth. They are written in so many different languages covered in the faint traces of age, fingerprints and small tears at the edges where they had been read over and over under anything from candlelight to something more modern and each one was precious in their own way. None of these had ever been carried by a raven though, too much risk if they were ever discovered but at least for the most part those particular correspondence the other party was still around to ask… There are piles of journals too, all carefully written in code through paranoia with the oldest of them barely able to hold onto their pages without threatening to spill their contents everywhere if even looked at funny. These ones are very different than any research done on the arcane, indeed these are more of a scatterings of things he did not want lose which trace a journey through towns, countries and across entire continents. The more recent ones also contain candid photographs harkening back to the days before mobiles and cloud services.

Douxie is sitting with one of the journals having a careful gander as he does. This one dates from the 16th century according to the notes he set before beginning any entries, back when kingdoms or empires ruled strong, boats had cemented themselves as a permanent fixture and discoveries poured in scarcely known by a humble traveller until presented themselves first-hand. The pair had found themselves in what would be dubbed the Ottoman Empire whilst following the coastline ending up in Izmir it might have been or fairly nearby? There were a lot of voices coming from the seas and inland being spoken it was nice not standing out so much for a change and he’d mentioned it at the time too from the looks of it. He does vaguely remember a man that stood a bit shorter than he does who took nonsense from nobody and humour even less but any attempts for more than a few words of description completely escape. Did he have green eyes or were they blue, he wonders? Was his hair barely growing off his head or halfway down his back? Did he imagine a necklace of an iron anchor or was that yet another face in the crowd of thousands who did? It’s a hateful blur riddled with guilt with no one to blame.

With a drawn-out sigh he flops back onto the bed allowing it drop into his lap pressing an arm over his own eyes not wanting to be blinded by the ridiculous fluorescent that flickered if you looked at it too much. Cheap motels for you, they just loved screaming tacky or badly maintained.

“Hey Arch, do you remember Kadri at all?” From the scoffed sound from the pillows the answer would be a firm yes, he must have noticed which one he was reading from and put two and two together who he meant. Or they didn’t know many Kadri’s that stood out, either way.

“Why pray tell are you thinking at all about that braggart?”

“Hey be nice, his baklava as amazing! You know he had to put a big show on for people so nobody would question it, still surprised he told me the actual reason he even knew how to make it mean can understand being worried I’d take it the wrong way.”

“True enough I suppose and he was kind enough to give you the recipe with the hazelnuts I believe it was? Perhaps you should try it again sometime assuming you can locate what it needed.”

“Eeeeh should be fine, think nowadays other places have been copying. Might be a nice little tribute, a guest being a cherished member of the family and all that. Certainly treated us like that according to what I’ve got written here.”

As they ease into chatter about their favourite foods they can recall trying while at the port the unspoken words are there too, they both know of how much he just doesn’t want to forget this one man who decided to take pity on a worn out stranger and his odd cat for a little bit longer before it all goes away completely. The kind ones who carried their own secrets deserved it.

#nightrosebud #No facts truer than a good meme #900 years of wandering

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 3 years

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Hello! Nhthcth brainworms have slowly started taking over my mind ever since I read it and I’d like to inform you that your brain is huge and sexy. With that established, I’d love to hear your opinions and thoughts on tma canon!! Favourite episode, character hcs, what entity you’re most aligned with, most terrifying entity, etc.

Hi!

God, I love all of TMA so much. My favorite episode is definitely MAG 165: Revolutions. I’ve listened to it probably ten times by now. The Jane Prentiss statement is a close second. They both just really lean into some really evocative, poetic language and I go feral for it every time.

Okay, so like, the thing is. I know what entity I would be most aligned with. And I’ve always hated it but it’s super true. I would absolutely be Corruption-aligned. I have like, the exact opposite of trypophobia. I love all of those like, weird niche medical gross out videos on Youtube. I would stumble on some Corruption stronghold and I would just stare in mindless fascination and my soul would be yoinked by the evil germ god. Like I’m deeply aware of the dumb way my soul would get Snatched.

Absolutely the Web for the most terrifying entity. They’re just so insidious and nigh-impossible to beat, and the thought of losing control like that? Terrifying. They also have the physical threat component down of like, being a giant spider who will consume you. They exist in this weird intersection of mental and physical horror and it’s a terrifying time.

Character head canons:

1) My personal headcanon about Season 2 Jon is that his paranoia was both a product and a cause of his own Becoming. I have no idea how much of this is canon? Because I think that the only thing that was explicitly stated as the cause of his paranoia was Not!Sasha, but also it’s been a hot minute since I listened to Season 2/3. I know Jon explicitly states that the paranoia was because of Not!Sasha in the Guest for Mr. Spider Statement, but I can’t remember at all if it was commented on further.

The thing is, the explicit fear of being watched/paranoia generally is the Eye, not the Stranger. A good deal of it would come from Jon’s spooky spider senses constantly tingling as something not being right (that being the Not!Them), but it would be the Eye itself Feeding on that Fear. And the thing is, Jon’s choice in response to that is to obsessively watch those around him and inspire paranoia in them, Feeding the Eye even further. So I personally think that stalking the rest of the Archives and actually Feeding the Eye in that way did more to make him Become than reading the Statements did.

The other big thing for me is just that the process of Becoming has always seemed so painful to me, specifically in a manner that Feeds the Entity trying to claim them. Oliver spent the beginning of his visions trying to make sense of them and even prevent them, in the case of his father and the statement giver who saw the Grifter’s Bone concert and even Gertrude, and then he just... stops. He settles into the visions and his role with the End with a sort of inevitability that’s just very End. How afraid was he, when he started to figure out that there was nothing he could do to change what was happening? How much did the fear of being unable to change the future--for others and for himself--Feed the End with his own Fear? And then his Becoming really happens when he chooses to lean into the future, and personally bring all of the boat to their ends. We see that with most of the Avatars--Jane had an entire statement about Corruption infesting her and how afraid it made her, Jude had that whole burnout empty-life thing going before she leaned into it, Annabelle feared the Web her whole life before Becoming. Becoming seems to Feed on the soon-to-be-avatar first and really happens when they lean into it and inspire the fear in other people, and so for me, I always thought that the paranoia was specifically because of the Eye feeding on him, exacerbated by Not!Sasha, and that choosing to stalk the rest was what pushed him over the edge into properly Becoming.

2) I know the like, fandom consensus was that Jon and Georgie had a really long and involved relationship that ended poorly, but I like to think that their relationship was really short-lived. They went on like, maybe three dates, emphasis on maybe. One of them was just when they ran into each other at a Tesco Express, felt weird shopping separately now that they knew the other was here, awkwardly gathered their things together and called it a date. Georgie said “I think we should stop dating” and Jon said “yeah that’s fair” and then they just hung out as friends afterwards and got really close that way. Relationship ended because they just sort of ended up in different jobs and both got busy and then like, once a certain amount of time passed, it just became weird to ring up the other when you’ve been ignoring them for like, eight months. They always call each other their ex though because they’re both assholes who think it’s funny to bring their blind date home and be like “this is my ex, we’re flatmates.”

3) I am a “The Mechs Were Jon’s University Band” Truther

4) I like to think that Tim and Jon became friends in Research because Jon had poor people skills and a bad attitude, and Tim was riding off losing Danny and didn’t want to be near people, and someone told Tim on his first day that if he wanted a good conversationalist for a desk partner, he should avoid the empty one by Jonathan Sims like it was covered in thorns and dipped in shit. He plopped his stuff down not five minutes later, and the rest was history. Jon was safe, at first, because he was so seemingly different from Danny that Tim felt more comfortable leaning into a friendship. He was funny in an asshole sort of way, and dressed like a librarian, and was a total workaholic, and it was safe to find comfort in Jon because Jon never reminded him of Danny. But then he figured out Jon’s reckless streak, and his total disregard for the law, and his weird skill at B&E, and he realized Jon would have gotten along with Danny like a house on fire. Jon sort of became a pseudo little brother for him after that, and one of the reasons why Jon’s betrayal hurt so much was because Tim had lost one brother already and would have let Prentiss kill him to protect his second, and Jon still stalked him.

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sti1es · 4 years

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Killing Stalking.... but make it steo. I read this manga in early 2017 and since its becoming popular again, i had the inspiration to write this. I don’t agree with a lot of the gross, disturbing stuff in the story - it’s a horror, not a romance, and i definitely don’t ship sangwoo and yoon. that’s why i changed a lot of the details in this fic, but the relationship in later chapters is going to get very, very, unhealthy. The abusive, toxic behaviours portrayed here should NEVER be considered okay in real life. SO MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THAT!

•

Stiles watches silently as Theo’s truck leaves the driveway. He emerges from his hiding place - a corner of the garden, cast in shadow by looming trees - and checks the time. Based on Theo’s usual routine, he should be gone for at least a couple hours. That gives Stiles abundant time to inspect the house. If the other boy is keeping anything secret, a thorough search should make it evident. Something about knowing Theo’s habits weirds Stiles out a little. He’s becoming quite the stalker. His intentions are good, though, and the police do it all the time, so he concludes that this is normal and not a result of incessant paranoia.

Casually, Stiles treads through neatly trimmed grass and stands in front of the door. It’s a decently sized home, the suburban dream for any nuclear family. Everything, down to the wooden planks of the porch and popcorn textured walls, is perfect - which is exactly why Stiles doesn’t trust it. Theo arrived like a miracle. A clever, charming, strong werewolf; the ideal pack mate. He’s buried his past deep underground, and Stiles is determined to uproot it.

He punches the security code into an electronic lock. 270804. At first, these were just meaningless numbers Stiles caught a glimpse of Theo entering, but after looking through medical records, researching family history, and overall obsessively indulging himself into this case, Stiles realised what it was. The date of Tara Raeken’s death.

Pushing aside whatever embarrassment would ensue if he were wrong about Theo, as well as the general fear of being caught, Stiles turns the door handle experimentally. The keypad chimes, a melodic buzz which enables Stiles to finally fucking breathe. He shoves the door open completely, a newfound rush of adrenaline and excitement clouding his mind, before entering the house.

It’s... normal. The entrance is decorated with antique furniature and various knickknacks. Picture frames line the walls, some depicting Theo and Tara, but none his whole family. The ones containing his parents look newer. Their smiles look strained, and Stiles could’ve sworn Ms. Raeken didn’t have dimples before. Him and Theo used to hang out after school a lot, and Ms. Raeken would always come pick her son up. The photos of her that adorn this interior just seem... different. Off. Before Stiles has the chance to contemplate any further, he’s distracted by a noise coming from downstairs. At the end of the hall, there’s a door - presumably leading to the basement - which has been left slightly ajar. A strange, muffled slapping sound travels through it.

Stiles’s heart beat spikes. He knew something was off about Theo, but to be presented something so obviously suspicious seems... well, suspicious. He quickly crosses the corridor and flicks on the light at the end of it. The basement is illuminated, which causes the slapping to increase. His stomach turns at the idea of something sentinent and scared being down there. Whatever shit Theo is hiding may be a lot more disturbing than he prepared for.

Swallowing nervously, Stiles decends the staircase and his worst fears are immediately confirmed. A girl lies on the cold floor, naked and tied up. Her wrists and ankles are bound, and a gag has been painfully jammed into her mouth. The source of the slapping was her legs beating against the concrete, most likely a frantic signal for a potential rescuer’s attention.

This has to be a joke. There’s no way Theo is this fucking sick. To kidnap someone is one thing, but to humilate them and leave them in this scared state was a level of cruelty Stiles finds difficult to imagine. He races downwards, and instantly recognises the terrified captive’s face. This is Tracy Stewart. Her photos have been plastered all over the news ever since she went missing a couple weeks ago. Stiles feels his gut twist in horror and disgust. There’s no goddamn way this is happening. It’s ironic, really, the fact that he was expecting to find something incriminating but can hardly believe it when he does.

Tracy’s struggles become even more desperate at this glimpse of salvation. Her eyes widen, and she starts shouting through the gag.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry... I-I’m gonna get you out of here. You’re safe,” Stiles begins to undo the ropes which restrain her hands, but the knot won’t give. Why the hell did Theo have to be so cautious? The thought of what he’s done to poor Tracy so far turns Stiles’s attempts to free her even more rapid. He picks at the rope with his nails, a fruitless attempt, really. As his frustration rises, he resorts to picking Tracy up in the state she’s in. He’d much rather get the hell out of here as fast as possible. Stiles places his hand under her knees, and goes to wrap his arm around her shoulders, when she starts to violently trash. He drops her instantly, worried that he provoked one of her potential injuries. But the thrashing continues, and she’s screaming around the cloth in her mouth. Stiles’s heart sinks as he realises her eyes aren’t focused on him.

They’re fixed behind his head.

He jerks around wildly, and sure enough, standing in the doorway is Theo Raeken. His eyes are narrowed in annoyance and his lips are quirked in a dark smirk. Fuck. Stiles feels like a caged animal, cornered by a predator that could easily overpower him.

“You’re smart, Stiles,” He chuckles, like this is all a twisted game. To Theo, it probably is. “You just aren’t smarter than me”.

Shit. Stiles’s mind is moving at a mile a minute, trying to think of any possible escape. There isn’t one. But he’s been through worse than a teenage werewolf. He can get through this. He has to.

Still, his heart is gripped by fear. He feels like there’s fingers at his neck, squeezing, constricting his oxygen until he’s gasping for breath. Breathe. Breathe. He stands no chance against Theo if he has a panic attack.

Then again, does he stand a chance in the first place?

Theo dawdles down the stairs, slowly dropping his feet in front of him, one step after another. Stiles’s lungs are on fire. His ribs are being crushed. Breathe. Breathe. You can trick him. Run past him. Just get a fucking grip.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice-” Theo’s barely ten feet away, “That you’ve been following me?” He laughs humourlessly once again. “It’s funny how I considered stalking you, but you took it upon yourself to waltz right into the lion’s den with no help.”

Stiles barely register’s Theo’s words as the human lunges forward, past his legs. Caught off guard, Theo doesn’t have time to grab him as he practically scrambles up the stairs. But of-fucking-course Stiles has to look back, and when his eyes meet Tracy’s, he freezes to the spot. He can’t just leave her here.

That gives Theo’s reflexes ample time to set in. He makes a grab for Stiles’s hoodie sleeve and shoves him backwards. The brunet would’ve been grappling at the air if he had time to. Instead, he simply falls all the way down the stairs, back to the basement floor. Instead of everything occurring in the typical slow-mo montage they show in cliche movies, the moment passed so fast Stiles couldn’t even register it. One second he was almost free, the next he was lying on hard, cold stone, his head and legs throbbing. The human supposes he broke his legs. They’re mostly numb, but twisted grotesquely. He’s never been so thankful about nerve damage in his life. The real issue is his slowly blurring vision. He wants to throw up - from fear or pain, he doesn’t know.

“You’re the sheriff’s son,” Theo drawls, stupidly calm for a situation where Stiles feels as though he’s being drowned in anxiety. “So you surely understand why I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Why are you doing this?” He blurts out. “You’re killing her, and you’re gonna kill me too? At least have some sort of motive, serial murderers who ‘do it for the thrill’ are becoming pretty old.”

If there’s one thing Stiles learnt during his years of engtanglement with supernatural enemies, it’s that distraction buys you time. No matter how scared you are, a simple quip or provoking remark works wonders for stalling. All he has to do is snark Theo until the werewolf gets bored, or agitated, or anything else that buys him a bit of time. Stiles’s heart jumps against his ribcage as he glares at Theo as heatedly as possible, trying to conceal his trembling hands.

“You think I don’t have any motives?” Theo scoffs, clearly falling for Stiles’s blow to his ego. “Her father is a pretty powerful man. A lawyer who tried to get me thrown in fucking prison. This is his payback,” The werewolf shrugs, but Stiles doesn’t miss the edge of anger in his voice. He strides forward, then curls a hand around Stiles’s chin. The teen’s head is jerked upwards, so he’s forced to stare into cold, evil blue eyes. “And you’re going to rat me out to your daddy. Simple as that. There isn’t enough space in this basement for both of you.”

“So you’re a butthurt little boy who has to take his emotions out on defenesless humans?” Stiles grits out, and Theo’s grip on his chin tightens, “- real classy.”

That’s when Theo snaps. He backhands him across the faсe.

Stiles attempts to crawl away, his cheek stinging with what’s probably a fresh bruise. He pushes up against the ground, only to find that his knees buckle when he stands. So he was right about the broken legs. Normally, falling down the stairs wouldn’t injure someone this badly, but with the forceful thrust of a werewolf’s supernatural strength? Stiles doesn’t doubt it. Though his limbs are far too damaged to hurt, the mere pressure being put onto his bones makes him feel like he’s folding in on himself.

Stiles is helpless. He might as well be restrained like Tracy, it wouldn’t make a difference. Theo sighs in a way that conveys amusement, as though he’s watching a newborn deer struggle to walk. I’m gonna die.

What will his dad think when he doesn’t return home? What will his friends think? Scott, Malia, Lydia - Stiles will never see them again. His chest aches with the thought of Theo carrying through with whatever plans he has for the pack. All he can do is hope that his disappearance makes them suspicious enough not to trust the werewolf.

Theo hovers over him, face darkened by shadows in a threatening contrast against the blaring ceiling lights above. He crouches down, pressing his knees deliberately against Stiles’s legs in a way that makes the human cry out. He catches a glimpse of Tracy: she has tears running down her face, but looks somewhat resigned... as if Stiles is already dead. Theo clutches the brunet’s wrists and pins them to either side of his head. “If you’re planning on killing me, better do it quick. You wouldn’t want to be late for school,” the image of Theo’s charming smile, forever deceiving, lingers in his mind’s eye. A wave of annoyance washes over him, and he kicks upwards with the last of his rapidly draining perseverance. Theo doesn’t even budge.

The werewolf leans down, his breath ghosting over Stiles’s ear. “Kill you? Honestly, when this is over, you’ll be wishing I did.”

Everything goes black, but before he loses consciousness, Stiles is sure he caught a glimpse of a silver metal hammer.

#steo #idk i kinda feel uncomfy writing this kinda stuff bc im worried yall might have trauma similar to it #please tell me if you think its not okay!!#its meant to develop into something stockholme syndromy #since thats what happens in the original and it feels like it fits with both their characters #also #i refer to theo as a werewolf bc its from stiles’s perspective #and he hasnt found out about chimeras yet

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fordarkisthesuede · 4 years

Text

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 9

Whoooooooooo boy, are you ready for a long, long chapter??? So long it took me over 150 days to write it??? I hope so!!!

If you are sensitive to talk about mental illness (specifically disassociation and mental breakdowns/crying), mentions of medications, and mentions of past deaths [within this story], please read the spoiler tags carefully.

Please enjoy this chapter at your own pace, and know that I love you. ♡

IMPORTANT SPOILER TAGS: sexually suggestive situations; discussion of mental illness[es]; paranoia; discussion of dissociation/depersonalization; hero-complex mention; mental breakdown/crying; car crash mention; thisisfine.jpg meme mention; p*lice mention; emt mention; past-death mention; r*talin mention; r*hypn*l mention; injury/bruise mention; gun/gun violence mention; food mention

Read on Ao3 or continue below:

[Chapter 9 - Strength in Numbers]

John could feel a warm weight on his collarbone as everything in him seemed to echo with his pulse.

Things ached where they normally didn’t. Tenderness sat in one of his kidneys and just over his heart, radiating with each breath. A slightly familiar soreness sat in his hips.

He was practically melted into the mattress under his back, feeling like a pile of warm jelly stuck to a plate by the summer heat, yet he could still tell he had bones and flesh intact.

I’m definitely not in Arkham anymore.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to see Bruce lying next to him, his arm draped around John’s collar and his face buried into the pillow, but it certainly was a sight to behold. Especially when he stirred and moved to kiss John’s cheek like he’d been waiting for the opportunity.

“Good morning,” Bruce said in his ear, not sounding as awake as he seemed. Black hair mussed, eyes darkened like the ocean depths, a real smile floating on his lips - there was nothing about the whole look that didn’t make John’s heart give that funny little shake that only seemed to come with certain experiences with Bruce.

“I’ll say.” He snatched a kiss for himself, taking the opportunity to trail his fingertips up and over the arm over his chest. The curves of hard muscle were practically begging to be pet. “That dance… You really know how to show a guy a good time. Kinda makes the emotional turmoil worth it.”

Bruce turned on his side, his cute sleepily-contented expression moving to something more contemplative as the sheets moved with him, exposing the little black chest hairs and very lickable pectorals of his torso. He was bruised in places, and John eyed the marks his boot heel had made.

“Reeeally worth it,” he purred, rolling to face him and run his fingers over the marks. Bruce grunted when he pressed in, sending a lovely pang of heat to John’s groin. “Did that hurt?”

“You know it did,” Bruce frowned slightly. No, wait, it looked more like a pout... How cute! So cute it made him want to tease him.

“Want me to kiss it better?” He traced over the bruise gently, playing over the little hairs brushing his fingertips. Everything felt so real. Everything was real. Bruce was aaallll his - his to touch, his to love, as real as John himself. “I can soothe all your aches and pains, if you’d like. You just have to tell me where it hurts.”

“What about you?” Bruce asked, making John’s heart shiver as he stroked his thumb over John’s arm. “We got kind of rough last night.”

Why would Bruce want to take that away? John needed this. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I was very into that,” John answered, “You don’t know how amazing these aftereffects are. I feel like I’m floating and sinking into this bed - everything is so...solid.”

Bruce didn’t seem to really like that. He seemed like he was rolling the words around in his head, not touching in a way that was deliberately comforting anymore. He was clearly choosing his next words, because John had inevitably said the wrong thing, again, and now he ruined their morning just as it was starting; Bruce was going to corner him into something unpleasant, and John could feel something in him shrink and bristle.

“John,” Bruce started in that I’m-just-concerned-about-you tone John had long grown accustomed to from everyone else, “why didn’t you tell me you were still struggling with your perception?”

John didn’t have any other option but to answer. “Ha, I can see you just fine,” he dodged, hoping Bruce would drop it and forget he ever asked, “You’re a solid ten-outta-ten in my twenty-twenty, Brucie.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. John knew that look in his eye - he wasn’t in the mood for messing around. “You know that’s not what I meant. You told me you were having vivid nightmares. Last night, you said you were having problems making sure things were real; that you’d wake up thinking of Ace Chemicals-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” John said a little too loudly as he rolled over, turning away from the image of barely-covered Bruce trying to push John’s demons front-and-center for him to see.

“You already talked about it,” Bruce admonished in a huff.

“Then I don’t need to say it again!” John shot back.

Silence.

Silence and the vision of an unpowered digital clock on a bare nightstand and a boringly-painted wall with stripes of sun that said it was probably past noon. John could hear breathing, but barely, hearing his own pulse and the quiet guilt piling in his chest more than anything.

Movement next to him, the shuffle of sheets, something thick in John’s chest threatening to choke him inside-out - he took hold of his neck, feeling all the words he’d been holding in there, half-wishing the hallucination of everything would break, and felt the ache of reality as they began to spill out in a strangled voice: “I-I just -” the hand on his shoulder was very real, so heavy and hot – “don’t LOOK at me!” John curled a little more into himself. Warmth lingered as weight left, all real real real. Bruce’s weight settled behind him in a swish of fabric and shift in balance.

“There,” Bruce said, sounding like he was talking to the opposing wall, “I can’t see you.”

He couldn’t bear to look at him directly. Eyes were the windows into the soul, after all. The wall was boring, but it was like talking to some of the Arkham therapists. Less like he was spilling the darkest parts of his guts to the one person who always saw him.

“I…keep thinking I’m still in Arkham,” he said, curling his fingers in the sheets by the pillow, “That I’m... I’m just waiting to wake up there like nothing’s changed, that…all of this has been some whacked-up ha-hallucination. Ha ha ha - that I’ve just been imagining these things! I mean, it’s so unreal, how you and I are working it out, having friends, having this...weird pseudo-family thing. Being…being happy.” His eyes hurt. He wanted to close them, but he’d lose focus, or worse, lose the grip on his shaky feelings. “I admired you for so long, just being with you is like a dream. I could only ever imagine I’d get this far, or that you’d stick with me, or…anything. I can feel everything, remember everything, but it’s like it’s not enough - and the worst part is that I can’t tell anyone this, or… I’ll just get tossed back!”

“You wouldn’t get put back in Arkham, John,” Bruce said softly.

“Ye-ha-ah I would! You think any of the white coats won’t use any excuse to lock me away? Any at all?” John spat, hugging himself a little too hard, aware of how much pressure he was putting on his sides but not caring. “They’d slam me in the hole if I so much as hinted at a relapse!”

“They’re your doctors.” So what? “St. Dymphna’s New Life Home isn’t Arkham -” Same stupid uncaring people, anybody can be bought - “it’s rehabilitation, John, not imprisonment. They know you’re still recovering.” That’s what they all say, at first. “Do you really think I’d let the court send you there without researching them first?”

John’s train of thought broke. He turned to look at Bruce, at the smushed black hairs on the back of his head that had been finger-combed into an angled mess, and wanted to see his face instead.

“I did extensive background checks on the facility, its patient care, its staff – I wasn’t about to let someone send you to another Dr. Quinnzel or Dr. Crane.”

John felt his heart squeeze. He never thought about that. Bruce had reassured him the days leading up to his move, but he’d just taken it as a loving-boyfriend-thing. “Why… Why aren’t you mad at me? I’ve – I’ve been holding out on therapy – practically cheating!” Bruce still just laid there, all quiet and calm. “Come on, just say it! You’re disappointed in me, right?!”

“No,” he answered, “I just wish you told me earlier. You shouldn’t have to hold all that in. Not with me.” He paused, stiffening like he was stopping himself from something. “Can I look at you?”

John took a deep breath, smelling stale sweat and cum and faded laundry-safe bleach. He clenched the cotton sheets under his hands, feeling the fabric and the bittersweet ache in his chest. He was real, Bruce was real, the feelings laid bare last night were real - could he live with Bruce seeing him like this, heart out in the open and primed for stabbing?

Hadn’t he seen the worst of him? John spattered with blood and begging him to believe him like no one else ever had? John at his worst, uncaring and hostile and full of rage and vengeance, covered in blood he’d spilt before Bruce’s very eyes?

He’d sat across from him then, battered and bruised, and told him they were friends, despite just shoving a Batarang into his hand to stop him from doing any more harm. He’d seen John in Arkham, his no-name existence shoved into a single cell on display with his sickness, and he came back. He’d rushed to rescue him from Dr. Crane’s experiments and the temptation to step backwards and take revenge. He kept coming back, over and over and over, chasing after John to save him from himself.

John stared at his back, at the scars on his shoulders he wanted to kiss better, and knew. “Yeah.”

Bruce turned back around, the covers slipping with him, and faced him with all his wounds on display. “I know I kept things from you that I shouldn’t have,” he said as unthreatening and unmalicious as John had no right to expect, “and that I keep doing it. I should’ve told you about me and the Agency, about Tiffany working for me, about keeping us a secret - every time I didn’t, it was because I thought it was for the better.”

John didn’t want him to look at him like that. He didn’t stop holding the sheets, knowing if he let go that slapping his hand over Bruce’s eyes to cover the honesty that was too much like that night wouldn’t go over well.

“You keep proving me wrong,” he said, looking hurt - by himself or John, it was difficult to tell. “I keep hurting you, and I keep making things worse. I know there are things you haven’t told me, and things that you feel you have to keep from me. And I know I don’t deserve to hear any honest answers with the way I’ve treated you, but… I’m not going to run away from you.”

Bruce held out his hand, laying it in the space between their pillows.

He wasn’t running, or judging, or looking confused. He wasn’t angry or disappointed in John for failing in the one thing he was supposed to be doing right. He was just there, with him.

“I just… I want to be near you,” John admitted, barely feeling the words leave his throat as he wound his thin fingers between Bruce’s, feeling imperfect rough parts where nicks and cuts left lasting marks, “so badly… Not just to be with you. You know how I’ve always admired you.” He still did, and Bruce had to have known that. “You’re always...respected - even if they don’t like you, they listen to you,” he explained, seeing the slight confusion on Bruce’s face at the word respect, “You’re someone people want to be,” he continued slowly, “People talk about you, talk to you, look at you... People don’t...forget you.”

Bruce seemed to understand the unspoken words that used to eat at John’s brain, because he squeezed John’s hand back.

“It’s like… I’m drifting in the ocean, and I keep trying to swim towards the lighthouse - and just when I get close enough, the current pulls me away into the rocks. And I just...want to reach you. Hah, isn’t that stupid?”

“No,” Bruce answered, not looking away for a moment, “But...I don’t think you realize how much closer you are to me,” he said with a little tilted smile and a very low hmph, “If I’m not knee-deep in the water already, I’ve definitely run out to help you.”

“Ha ha - that’s so typical, steering my insane metaphor to suit your hero-complex,” John shot back with the smile he felt tugging at his lips at the mental image.

“I don’t have a-”

“Yes you do,” John interrupted, pulling Bruce’s hand up to give him a peck on the knuckles, “And I love you for it.” Bruce’s mouth was still scrunched a little; he seemed to dislike the idea he had a complex at all. “So – since we’re spilling secrets,” he started, settling their hands between the pillow as he thought of the best way to phrase it, “what’s the other reason you didn’t tell anyone about us?”

“There’s isn’t any other,” Bruce stressed, “I just wanted them to see you as you. If I came home with you and reintroduced you as ‘my boyfriend John’, that would be the only thing they’d think of.” He paused for a second, seeming to rethink. “Well, after Joker,” he added with a slight nod to the side.

“You don’t think they’d have given me a second chance right off the bat, huh?” John puzzled, “Even after what happened with Dr. Crane?”

“That...was a bit of a mess,” he said, looking somewhat embarrassed, “It was an emergency. I don’t think they really saw the best of you.” Bruce held his gaze. “I’ve gotten to see the best parts of you every day. I just want them to experience that.”

John was tempted to make a joke out of that, but a nagging question leapt out of his mouth: “And what if they still rejected me?”

Bruce’s emotions were subtle, but John could tell he’d made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t like the answer.

Well, it was honesty-hour, and John bared his heart for him, so Bruce could do the same. “Would you still run after me?”

“Yes.”

There was no doubt, no dishonestly, no lingering maybe. He would, as sure as Batman’s armor was black and John’s hair was green and Bruce was a sturdy pillar of reality.

“But what would you do about them?”

Bruce breathed, not really looking at him, hard and stony like he wanted to turn tail with a swish of his bat-cape. John slowly ran this thumb over Bruce’s knuckle, softening him into something John would almost call vulnerable. “I don’t know,” he admitted like it was some shameful secret.

John had never known Bruce to not have a plan. He always had a backup for his backups. It didn’t make sense, it was almost like… “You’re scared of that, aren’t you?” He asked, realizing the answer without ever hearing it, “That’s why you planned everything out.” (It wasn’t excusing it, he reminded himself. Bruce hurt him and he should know it... But he couldn’t watch him suffer forever, and he shouldn’t want to.) “Oh, Bruce. Honey. No one can know everything; not even you. I mean, look at how my life turned out - I don’t think anyone could’ve known how I’d end up. Or even that I’d live this long.” Bruce seemed to be absorbing that, which was good; he wasn’t running away from his own truth. That was progress. A different Bruce in a different time would’ve denied being scared of the unknown at all. “Besides, did you really think they wouldn’t figure it out eventually, with my shameless wolf-whistling?”

There it was: the tiny spark of humor that pushed away the clouds. He didn’t have to smile for John to see it; he could tell. The little change of light, the tiny bits of relaxation in his brow and mouth. “I sort of had the idea we’d make it gradually more obvious.”

“Gradual - me? Do you even know me?” he teased, “I’d take two miles with any inch you’d give me. Especially with those eight you’re packing...”

Good gracious, Bruce was cute when he smiled. Cuter when his little snort developed into a chuckle into his pillow. “Honestly, that was really the most appealing part,” he continued, voice lighter than before but still a little guilty, “I like how you talk. The tension would’ve made it easier to explain why I pulled you away to make out with you somewhere.”

John tittered at the image of a flustered, frustrated Bruce giving in and showing him what-for in some undisturbed part of the manor. “Oh, buddy, I can only imagine what that kind of tension could do for us. I had some good fantasies about us sneaking in those little hideyholes at Arkham, and if they’re anything to go by... Ooh, do you have any secret passages in the manor we could use? Arkham had a few; not counting the air vents and sewers, of course, I mean the real hidden passage kind.”

John watched as Bruce’s eyes widened with the look of just remembering something important as he practically leaped out of bed to search his pants on the floor, clad in nothing but boxer-briefs, his demi-godlike body on display for John to stare at as blood tried to rush inconveniently to his groin. (Oof, he’d put his weight behind him last night, all those heavy moves and hits controlled until the very end, and just thinking about the power locked away under the same strict moral code that Bruce unleashed on the unsuspecting dirt in Gotham made John feel like he was going to melt. Batman was truly a wonder, even out of the suit… And boy, he fucked like it.)

“Bruce,” John managed, sitting up and trying not to drool too obviously, “I never thought I’d say this, but please put on a shirt on.”

Bruce tossed an almost-pocket-sized hardback at John’s lap. “Check the map page.”

And he was being bossy. “You could’ve said please,” John grumbled for Bruce to hear, not disliking how the commanding voice still did things for him. “What are you looking for?”

“I want to know if there are any Owl markings near downtown Gotham,” Bruce answered, dutifully throwing his shirt back on as he checked his phone, “Specifically nests. Please.”

The map page was fairly simple. The illustrator had gone out of their way to make a nice key to detail the “important” areas of worship or decision-making “parliaments” or leader’s houses, versus the hideaways that were “nests” and burial sites of nameless victims. John spied the owl-face stamp on Arkham Island and forced himself to ignore it. He knew - roughly - where most sections of the city were cut.

“Well there’s nothing specific in Downtown - you have to go up and over to see the nearest nest. Which according to our author was one of the last added before the birds went completely coo-coo.”

Bruce did a tame belly-flop next to John - still sans pants - and pulled up his own map of Gotham, looking like it was pulled straight from the Batcave’s supercomputer. John could see the little red pins Bruce had marked on what looked like deaths. “Here’s The Lot, and if the nearest nest is here… Look,” he tilted the phone towards John, showing off the yellow flag he’d made to mark the nest and the newly-added blue lines highlighting pipes, “it’s a bit far, but I was thinking last night about how the woman disappeared from The Lot so fast, and I thought about how the old sewers still connect with the newer parts of the city as it expanded-”

“Wait, last night? When did you have the time?”

“It was after you fell asleep,” Bruce answered simply, “But I realized the sewers still connected everywhere, so they probably used that for a quick escape. It’s not too difficult to get from one section of the city to another underneath it, if you know where you’re going - I had to do it myself a few years ago, back when I was looking to make some smaller hideouts. I didn’t think about it until you mentioned the Court of Owls. I figured they might have had a car waiting on another street, but it could be that they took only a few streets away to get into a getaway vehicle. I checked the saved camera footage last night, and I think it’s a good possibility, considering a couple of promising possible cars parked in the street for short periods of time, but since this nest is just outside of the Downtown area, it wouldn’t be an overreach to say someone took the sewer the whole way.”

John blinked. “Just how long were you up?”

“About fifteen, twenty minutes. I was originally going to tell you when you woke up.”

From zero to all the ideas in fifteen minutes while in a haze of afterglow… He really was amazing. And breathtaking. And completely ludicrous. “Hah ha! So if fist-fighting and hard sex after a long day aren’t enough to stop you - geez, what even are you?”

“I’m Batman,” Bruce answered with a smirk, “I think it’s worth looking at the building itself - that area’s been closed for construction for a while, the city’s put a halt on tearing the structure down due to historical value.”

“Pfft, historical value, sure…” John peeked at the picture Bruce had pulled up: a rather small, plain-bricked theater with a very yellowing sign.

“It was one of the first theaters in Gotham,” Bruce explained, “A historical preservation group is trying to save it. Someone on it could be an Owl. I don’t like to think it’s a coincidence.” He frowned a little at the device as he put it aside, seeming to decide something, and when he looked back at John it was with the same determination as before. “When Jackie brought you here, did you two discuss anything?”

“Only the very basics of what happened with you. She’s been on sessions with me before, she’s used to seeing me angry.” He’d only be asking after the topic of owls for one reason. “You think she’s one of them, huh?”

“She knew I cared about you enough to use me against Dr. Crane, she could’ve figured I would have kept you in the house and used the Gala as an excuse.”

He...supposed. She did crash it, and she wasn’t alone, and it was true how she had a list of dead friends as long as her arm and how some of them had been the result of murder and manslaughter, but... “She didn’t really look like she wanted to be there, though,” John said thoughtfully, “She’d said helping her boyfriend research at the gala was better than -” Research? - “ohh, I see what you mean! Could be, could be…”

“How was she last night?”

“Well, uh, I was kiiinda paying more attention to me, Bruce. Specifically the dark swirling thoughts of how I’ll never be truly accepted and how much of an idiot I was to think I would be. And how much I hated feeling everything around me. But that’s a hole we can spelunk into another time - how about we just go pay her a visit?”

As if on queue, like they were in some ridiculous play themselves, Bruce’s phone began to buzz by his hand, and Tiffany’s face took over half the screen, looking happier than John had ever seen her.

Bruce took a breath, nothing in his expression but the cool, collective sense of duty, and answered, bringing it to his ear so John couldn’t listen in. “Yes?”

John could hear something that sounded like ‘why didn’t you tell me you were okay’, but he could barely hear it over the tinny electronic whistling tune emitting from his own phone, telling him the person on the other end was a mystery.

Unknown contact, but a Gotham area code.

“Clown Funeral Services, where your last ride fits twenty,” John answered cheerfully, “Who’s the lucky bozo?”

“…John, do you answer all your calls like that?”

“Mickey! I didn’t know you had a contraband phone, you rascal! You should’ve told me, I would’ve thought of a better greeting for you.”

“I’m using the hotel’s landline,” the gruff voice of Mickey Williamson answered with a tone of mild bewilderment, “I’m calling because… You know how you were asking about that Ian guy the other day? The one who left after a month?”

“Yeeeah?”

“I saw him leave just a few minutes ago.”

“Ian just left The Lucky Hotel?” Ian Coggs, who Tiffany had been trying to track, who was the only known lead to finding Roman Sionis’ hideaway, was staying here? Was this some kind of whacked-up dream of a coincidence, or was it fate itself following them from the shadows? Either way, Bruce was paying attention, now. “Mickey, if I weren’t in a committed relationship with the love of my life, I’d come out there and kiss you right now.”

Bruce glanced over at him with a jealous squint and raised brow. John just nudged him with his foot in return.

“Um…thanks,” he answered, not sounding like he was really that appreciative of the idea.

John had several questions - What room did he come out of? What was he wearing? Did you see his car? – but figured he’d boil it down to the most obvious one: “Please tell me you overheard detailed plans of where he was going.”

“No, but, uh, I got the license plate of the car he hopped in. Does that help?”

John felt a laugh bubble in his throat, and he didn’t bother to stop it. “Does it-?! Yes, you big galloot! Ha ha ha! Oh, man, hang on a sec’,” he paused and snatched the hotel pen from the floor, where it had rolled with the broken lamp, and put him on speaker so Bruce could hear. “Okay, lay it on me, Mick’!”

“C-P-5-K-1-N-G.”

Bruce was suddenly paying attention, phone partway away from his ear, blinking at the phone in John’s hand as John scribbled the letters and numbers in ink on his palm. John couldn’t hear what Tiffany was saying on the other end, but it was quieter than before.

“Mick’, you’re truly my number two guy,” John praised, “Remind me to buy you lunch one of these days.”

“Thanks. I’ll…remember that.”

The call ended without a goodbye, but John beamed proudly at Bruce, who was ‘uh-huh’-ing seriously into his phone. “Right. Twenty minutes.” A pause, during which John could hear Tiffany’s tone all soft despite the muffled words, and Bruce gave a sigh through his nostrils. “I’ll check.” He put the phone down, muting it and staring ahead with a somewhat tired expression, and then looked back to John. “Tiffany wants to talk to you.”

John definitely did not want to talk to her. Not when he was in such a good mood; not when he’d finally ironed out a bit more of the grievances between him and Bruce. He wasn’t ready to take on more emotional pain. Not now, not later today…he’d prefer not to for the rest of his life.

“Don’t make that face,” Bruce admonished lightly, “she wants to apologize.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” John snapped lightly, “I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. Especially not someone who was rude to me.” (He knew how that sounded. Like the old John. But it was how he felt, and wasn’t he still John? Weren’t his hands still that John’s? Wasn’t the scar on his hand a sign of the past and present and future blended together?) “Just…not right now,” he added, staring at the faded white line as it covered Bruce’s hand still lying on the sheets. Bruce’s skin always seemed warmer than his own. “Please.”

Depths of blue and black had never looked so non-judgmental as they did today. It must’ve been love. (No, it was. It always was. He’d always known it was, the fascination, the curiosity, the concern, the sympathy and understanding and passion of all kinds no matter how subtle – all Bruce’s love, on full display with a glance.) “You’ll have to talk to him later. Yeah. Bye.” The phone was black when he put it back down. “Tiffany’s informant here said the same thing: Ian Coggs left here five minutes ago, riding in a black sedan with the same plate. Tiffany’s following it – it’s heading west.”

“You’re following after them, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

No you don’t, John wanted to say, but it wasn’t the truth. Bruce always had to follow through. Had to make that catch. “I know.”

“I’m heading right there, so Iman’s coming to pick you up,” he said, typing away a message in rapid swipes, “I want you two to check out the Nest on the Aylin Street theater. I’m telling her to bring some of my gear for you to use; I think the Nest is just used as an intermittent safe house, but take precautions.”

John was going on an investigation. He was getting responsibility – trust – directly from Batman, while his body ached and tingled with constant reminders of what happened between them last night. He couldn’t have felt more wonderful than if Bruce was jacking him off and letting John film the whole thing. “I won’t let you down!” (Did that come out too enthusiastic? Aw, hell, what did he care?!) “I’ll tell you what – I’ll interrogate Jackie while I’m waiting, too! She shouldn’t be too tough an egg to crack – not when we’ve split it open once already.”

He looked like he was going to protest about the idea, but he softened with a slight sigh and one look over at John. “You’d do it even if I told you not to, wouldn’t you?”

“Just as sure as you would,” John needled with a grin.

“Just…be careful,” Bruce seemed to land on as he slid away and started to put on pants, keeping eye contact for most of it, “I don’t want to catch Roman and then find out you’d been kidnapped because Jackie has a Talon on speed-dial.”

“Ha, that’s cute, you think kids still use speed-dial.”

“John, she’s almost three years older than Tiffany, she’s not a kid.” (“It was only a joke,” John muttered to himself as he made a mental note of Tiffany being twenty-three.) “Besides, my point still stands. Keep your eyes and ears open, and call me or Iman if you think something’s wrong.”

Bruce was edging on babying him again. A twitch of anger came, but John breathed slowly, staring at Bruce’s hard shoulders as he let it pass. There was more than one way to make him understand that he didn’t need that. “The same goes for you, Bruce,” John purred, throwing covers and any minute sense of so-called decency he had away to stroll up to Bruce, feeling proud at how Bruce’s face turned a nice shade of red as he seemed to struggle not to look everywhere he clearly wanted. It was funnier to see it burning in his eyes as John gently straightened his shirt by its ends. He could practically feel the rope on Bruce’s self-restraint. “Dancing wouldn’t be the same without my partner,” he teased slowly, trailing his fingers to the curve of Bruce’s rear, “You know I’ve always got your back,” he emphasized with a gentle squeeze. “You call, and I’ll come after you.”

Poor Bruce was trying so hard to keep himself together. It was so cute. John had to pretend not to see his Adam’s apple bob in his peripheral vision. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, Batman,” John hummed, pecking him and feeling the brief warmth burst new life in his grin as he slipped out of Bruce’s arms and turned to clean himself up properly, “because I will be, too.”

† † † † †

The time it took for John to redress and down a very sugary cup of the terrible brown liquid that the hotel passed for coffee was small and unmemorable and annoying. The time it took for Bruce to snatch his arm in the hallway, kiss him deep, and wish him luck in a whispered voice coupled with adoration and determination in his eyes was only a handful of a seconds, and yet John felt like he was holding onto them and stretching them into something of an hour as he licked his lips, watching Bruce’s back disappear around the elevator doors with his own call of good luck still echoing in his mouth.

Jackie’s room was right across the hall from his. One heck of a coincidence, in John’s mind, after he ruled out the ridiculous idea of Mickey somehow being in on the whole thing. It was mere luck, and something even Jackie was surprised at when she walked him there last night.

He knocked, deciding on a fun pattern of ‘da, dada-da-da, da-da’, and heard shuffling. Then a pause, and he had the feeling he was being watched.

“Are you alone out there?”

“Aren’t we all?” John joked, rocking on his heels.

Jackie appeared in an instant, familiar dark circles under her brown eyes and her little spackle of freckles in full view. Her eyebrows were lighter than yesterday, her eyelashes weren’t as long, and she didn’t seem to care that she was only wearing men’s boxers and an oversized shirt with an oozing orange skull front-and-center. She looked at his neck, and then his arms, where Bruce’s hands had pressed sweet reality into John the night before. “Where did you get those?”

“It’s not important,” he waved off, not wanting to spill any details of last night, “You’ve got makeup, right? Think I could borrow some of your clown-whitest? I, uh, don’t want to be seen like this.” It was a complete lie, and she might know it – John wanted nothing more than to show off the yellow-purple mark left from Bruce’s hand. “Not by my therapists, anyway,” he added.

Jackie stepped aside. “I should have something. Come on in.”

Jackie’s room was identical to the one he slept in, sans the broken lamp and teeming with the contents of her luggage. She clearly didn’t care about her shoes, as they were thrown in the corner, but her dress was hanging in the open closet next to a neatly-kept tuxedo in a thin plastic sheet. He recognized the stuffed black cat lying sideways on the sheets, being the same one that had sat on her desk in her old apartment. Both pillows were dented and the bed was unmade.

“Sooo,” John stretched, noticing the desk-vanity had a variety of dirty makeup brushes left on it, “Your boyfriend around?”

“He had work this morning; some indie film, he’s been doing it most of the week. Take a seat – do you want coffee?”

John wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had enough hotel garbage water, thanks.”

“I brought my own grounds,” Jackie added, swinging a half-empty bag of hazelnut roast she’d picked up from the corner of the dresser. “And I’ve got good creamer.”

“Is it pumpkin spice flavored?”

“Caramel,” she answered, already heading to the bathroom. John leaned just enough to see and make sure she was doing what she said she was. Coffee was being put in the strainer and sure enough, there were little cartons of caramel creamer on the countertop, along with various sugar packets and jams he was sure she swiped from restaurant tables. “I’ve also got mini-muffins.”

Actual sugar? Owls, schmowls, he wasn’t going to pass up free breakfast along the way. “In that case, Jackie, have I told you you’re an absolute angel?”

“No, but please, feel free to tell me I’m a multi-eyed messenger of God whose physical form is incomprehensible to men,” she answered with a definite note of humor, “It sounds much better than ‘sweetie-pie’ or ‘doll-face’. Though… It is nice just hearing my own name again.”

John wondered how that felt. He’d been called ‘John Doe’ for so long he couldn’t imagine responding to any he might have had before. But he shook the thought away, a new question forming in his head as he scooted towards the makeshift makeup table. The little box on the corner looked like it was chock-full of goodies. “Your boyfriend doesn’t call you Jackie?” He asked, checking the labels - almost all of them had Janus stamped on them in elegant print. Powders and liquids and creams, oh my. It was probably worth taking a quick snap of anything that might help, so he pulled out his phone to whip open the camera app - snap!

“He doesn’t know me as Jackie,” she answered, something too flat about her tone of voice to be what John knew as dismissal, “I’m only Jaqueline to him. And the rest of the world.”

That must’ve been a weird adjustment… What did people say to things like this? He couldn’t just blurt out wow just how little do you trust the guy you like. He supposed joking about all the world being a stage would help, maybe with a French accent, but… Something didn’t feel right. If it were Bruce… “Um… I’m sorry to hear that,” he tried, “Even if you did sort of do it to yourself.”

“...do you think Batman would say that, too?” She sounded slightly...what, mournful? Maybe?

Well, why lie? Why not say what he thought and knew in his heart of hearts? “Probably. If he thought you were bad enough, anyway,” he chose, taking a peek into the trashcan nearby - a hand-sized piece of rubber or thin beige plastic was ripped and thrown in there along with some makeup wipes. Hmm. Picture-worthy, for sure. “You did try to kill a guy - and even if he does deserve to rot, pinning the blame on someone else falls a little high on the bad scale. But he did let you go, so it’s not like he’d think you’re complete scum or something.”

It was quiet, and John, despite knowing he could easily take Jackie down by herself, wondered if he’d said too much. The bathroom alcove was still.

“I’m glad you can say stuff like that,” Jackie answered solemnly, making John slowly move for the butterfly knife in his pocket and waiting for the ‘because it’s the last thing you’ll ever say’. “No one else is that honest.”

John hovered his hand over the knife handle.

“It’s weird how you’re one of the few people who’ve seen the real me,” she continued, not sounding like she was going to come out with a gun in her hand, “Everyone else treats me like some tragic heroine - I just tell people I used to live here and they pretend to be sympathetic.”

She seemed to be spilling out grievances rather than vengeance. John took the opportunity to peek into the dresser drawer. It was like three different men crammed their best outfits in one drawer, minus the shoes. Not exactly the artsy or fashionably-trendy wardrobe he expected from a handsome actor.

He should probably say something to continue the conversation as he poked around, though, to avert any suspicion. Time to see if she could crack. “What, do they think Gotham’s some crime-infested city where bat-people roam the streets and not having mace is practically illegal?”

There came the distinct noise of a choked laugh, and John knew he’d won a point or two in his favor. He pushed some of the material aside, but nothing was hidden in-between them but a few crumpled receipts that had definitely been shoved aside for later. (Bad Italian place, 13th Street gondola, All Stitched Up, good Italian place... Wow, The Two Gilded Cups was pricey - 223 bucks for two people?! And that was discounted, yeesh! Snap, snap, snap - he captured the whole drawer.)

“You know a lot of people thought it was really weird that I carried brass knuckles around?” Jackie asked bemusedly.

“So do I, a knife is way easier to hide on yourself, Jackie.” The second drawer had some of her trademark blend of dark and fall colors - even in underwear - as well as a lumpy plastic bag of used things he was not going to touch. It didn’t feel the same as when he poked through Bruce’s closet. It didn’t have that rush of being somewhere he shouldn’t… Maybe because he was nervous. Bruce wasn’t liable to whip out a Taser or whatever else Jackie might have on hand because he was snooping through delicate places; Bruce would just bottle it up a bit and pout.

“Heh… No, it was more that I was carrying around anything. I think only some of the girls I worked with carried mace. And I was always like, ‘what, you only carry mace? I’ve got three things on me at all times!’”

He could hear actual humor in her tone. See, she’s not going to run out with something in her hand. She’s fine. Just keep it up. “Ooh, what’s number three?” he teased, pushing aside some t-shirts. (She seemed to have dumped her professional-psychologist wardrobe in favor of comfier clothing. At least for her stay here…)

“A derringer.”

John stared at the tiny gun in its tiny Kevlar holster, hidden between a pumpkin-orange shirt and a thin yellow-plaid hoodie. How did these things keep lining up in perfect time for him?

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t have it on me right now,” she waved off, “It’s tucked away. I won’t… I mean, you’re not - I don’t have any reason to use it.”

“I hope not,” he muttered to himself, carefully placing the fabric back around it closing the drawer quietly. There was a little buzz from the coffee maker, and John hurried to make himself look like he’d been sitting at the desk the whole time. He was glad she wasn’t there to see him wince and wiggle on the seat as aches from last night’s spanking-session sent a wonderful flare to his brain; that would’ve been very awkward to explain away. He distracted himself by poking around a bit more.

The makeup case was interesting. A lot of neutrals were used recently. And often, apparently, if their large portions of missing product were any indication. There were also little hard scraps of paper and a damp washcloth thrown on it. He took one last picture and shoved his phone in his pocket.

The foundation, brow, crease, and blush brushes had been used. John could see the clumps of powder and wet paste. He couldn’t resist the urge to touch the foundation one - smooth goop smeared on his fingers. Decent quality. “Must be a cheap set if your boyfriend has to apply his own makeup before he leaves, huh?”

“That’s the indie-film life,” Jackie shrugged, setting the foam cups and a plastic case of miniature blueberry muffins on the table, “Guy’s got to supply the costume, too. But he wears makeup everyday anyway, so I don’t think it’s that big a deal. Let me get my case, I should have Cadaver Paint to blend with some pale skin tones.”

Everyday really explained the missing chunks of neutral colors in the tubes. But something bugged him. A lot. “What kind of film is it?” he asked, popping a muffin in his mouth and peeking at a sealed Janus-brand tub of something called Moddy; it looked like a face mask clay.

“Some action thing. He always says he’s too good to play a small part, but he tends to take them if it’s something he hasn’t done before.”

The Moddy tub was almost empty. John spied another underneath its spot in the case. He pinched a bit of the stuff between his fingers from the open tub - it was almost like Play-Doh, only it made a funny tingling sensation on his skin, like he was dipping his finger in something warm and heavily carbonated. “What is this stuff?” he asked, wiping it off on the wet washcloth.

Jackie brought over a little plastic cutting board that had been stained with almost a rainbow of colors in one hand and tubes of cream makeup and a tiny spatula in the other. “Modification putty. It’s like sculpting clay for your face - you can use it to fill in gaps, add pieces to faces to make them bigger; pretty much anything. It’s good for temporary stuff if you don’t have the money to buy prosthetics. Or hate spirit gum,” she explained, squeezing white face paint onto the board and putting in tiny dabs of pink to blend. He could see Cadaver Paint in old-timey cursive on the white tube – definitely not a Janus brand. “I’m gonna test some spots on you first. You’re gonna be a fun challenge,” she added with a tiny smile. “Hold out your hand.”

John let her test colors, his mind churning like an ice-cream machine. Janus makeup wasn’t cheap. Matt-the-actor did his own makeup. Three different men practically sat in the dresser drawer. The thing in the trash had to have been a bald cap. Moddy could easily be used to cover and expand areas. It wasn’t a stretch to think Matt Chaney was the mysterious man-of-two-criminal-faces. In fact, it was a completely logical conclusion to come to, given everything in the room…

“Matt seems to go through a tub of that stuff every month,” Jackie commented, sponging a second test on his hand as he half-listened. “He has some serious facial scarring from a bad car accident in college. But you didn’t hear it from me,” she said with a sly smile at him. “I only found out because I caught him reapplying it in the dressing room when I was playing Antigone on a shoestring budget.”

John could practically feel his thoughts halt in their tracks as a pun bubbled in front of them. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, you must’ve been a shoe-in for that role!”

Her mood had improved drastically, pride and joy lighting up her face. “Well, I did pop some of a prospects’ tires just in case, but yeah, I was. It wasn’t a good production, though. We did a fun 1930’s version of Romeo and Juliet that was way better; that one lasted a full month. You would’ve liked it, actually, it had gangsters versus cops instead of royal families.”

“So they didn’t take the two houses alike in dignity line seriously, then?” he grinned, seeing the punchline land successfully with her open laugh. “Romeo, Romeo - come out wit’ your hands up, Romeo,” he mocked, earning a sturdier giggle.

“What’s funnier is that was actually a line!”

Compliments, the way to anyone’s confidence, he told himself. “I bet you killed it,” he chose and regretted the second they left his mouth. But there was no fear, no pause, no shift of any kind to indicate she was thinking about her near-brush with being a murderer. Just a normal, non-malicious smile. The nice, honest sort he’d seen on Bruce, like it was a reflex they couldn’t help.

“I did. I even got reviews to prove it – my performance ‘turned a predictable script into a rollercoaster of dark comedy’. Didn’t have to pop anyone’s tires to get the lead, either.” She tilted his hand in the light, inspecting her work. “I think this matches, don’t you?”

It was hard to believe she was involved. He didn’t want to force her into a corner when she could be a bystander; it was better to build her up. “It’s like you skinned me and put me in a tube,” he praised, watching her nose scrunch in mock-disgust even as her smile stayed put.

“So… Did Bruce end up calling you or something?” she asked, sponging some of the foundation on his neck. John could see the bruises begin to disappear in the mirror as he popped another muffin in his mouth. “You seem a lot better than how I left you.”

He was so tempted to be honest. Mostly. He’d kept all the relationship stuff secret for so long. But it would be dumb to say anything when she could, potentially, pass information along. “Something like that,” he answered vaguely.

“Booooo. Come on, John, it’s just me; what am I gonna do, post it on Friendbook? Vlog about it? Run to the Moonrise? I’m practically the only person you can tell.”

Cheerful bonding followed by an I’m-the-only-one-you-can-trust speech? He wasn’t going to fall for that Harley-league talk. No siree, Bob - not this time. Two could play that game of manipulation. “Hmm, I suppose we do look like virtual strangers to each other,” he started smoothly, “Jaqueline Latern doesn’t know anybody real in Gotham… And Jackie Lant doesn’t have any friends left to tell...” That clearly struck a soft spot. “The only ones who know who and where we are are each other… Well, and I guess Matt has half an idea.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” she answered, dabbing slower with the less-pleased look of honesty, “He stayed behind to schmooze with some director. I didn’t think he’d take me driving another guy back here very well.”

“Ha! Don’t tell me he’d be jealous of someone like me.”

“Why not?” she put the paint aside and started to mix flakes of white foundation-powder with a pale neutral on a clean section of the plastic. “I lied to him about how I knew a good-looking guy - he’s already fragile with me knowing what he actually looks like. Not that he should be; I like him, you know?” She returned to powdering over the makeshift-foundation with a fluffy brush.

“Just ‘like’, huh?” he teased.

“It’s…more than ‘like’, I think. But I’m not sure how to put it.” Her brown eyes turned soft and contemplative. “It’s inspiring to see him on stage. He has this...presence, and it’s so immersive, it’s real. Some days I’m not sure if I want to just watch him and…I dunno, absorb it all, or if I want to be with him.”

That wasn’t good: John could feel a connecting sort of something in him. Like before, in her apartment, watching her pour her feelings out on camera. He was dangerously close to feeling sympathy for someone who might not be deserving of it. And this time it wasn’t as ironically funny.

“I mean, he’s also full of himself,” she added with a little tilt to her lip, “but he’s still thoughtful. Doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seem to judge… Well, much.”

He didn’t know what he wanted to do. She hadn’t been a good would-be-doctor, but she might be trying to butter him up by pretending to feel the exact same way he did about Bruce. She might have heard him in those rare moments he talked about him, she might’ve remembered things, she might be throwing him off by making him sympathize with her and thus throw the whole idea of her being involved with Owls away. She might’ve planned this whole damn thing, there was no such thing as coincidence anymore and look where he was, right on the x on the antagonist's set with their guilty evidence in plain view like he couldn’t connect dots together and see the gun in her hand...

But the deepest part of him - the one that said Bruce loved him, that said he should take his meds, that told him he was here when sensory input was in focus - said she was being honest. He almost hated that.

She was putting the makeshift foundation on his wrist, seeming to think about who-knew-what. He snatched her hand, not caring if he got messy, the urge to squeeze hard sitting in his fingertips.

The proverbial cogs turned behind her darting eyes as fight or flight lit up her brain; John’s window to ask the questions that had been on the table since he walked in was shrinking.

“Sorry,” he said, half-meaning it as he let go, “It’s just…” People appreciated kindness, and honesty was usually a part of it - he had to lead with something he was sure she already knew and make it seem like a big deal, and let her talk. “Uncanny - how we feel about our prospective muses. They feel like they’re something otherworldly, but just seeing them makes you feel so real, doesn’t it?”

Jackie’s primitive urges died as understanding kinship seemed to take over.

“Of course, you’ve probably spent more time here alone with yours than I ever have,” he trailed with a shrug and a pout. “Though if I add every hour I’ve spent with Bruce up…” He pretended to count on his fingers. “Do you guys get a full eight hours’ sleep together, or…?”

“John,” she snorted into a smile, “even if he didn’t have a film to shoot, he still scouts jobs and visits his agent. I’m not around for all that. Trust me, you and Bruce have way more time together under your belt than the…” Jackie whipped out her phone and tapped around. “One-hundred and forty-four we’d potentially spend.”

One-hundred and forty-four divided by twenty-four… “You’ve been here six days already?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jackie sipped her coffee. “Matt started shooting on Monday night. I was pretty pissed about that - thank God for those corner gondolas.”

He left her here? That sounded like something Harley would’ve done. “Doesn’t he know how much you hate Gotham?”

Jackie scowled slightly into her cup and took another sip. “He knows I have issues here.” She picked up the powder brush and dabbed it over John’s arm, covering the last of the foundation. It was like John had never been bruised at all. It made the small pink cuts on his arm from where he’s torn the bandage off last night stand out a lot, but he didn’t mind walking around with those. “I mean, what am I supposed to do, tell him how I’m permanently mourning a lifetime of dead friends and my own name? Or how I almost killed a guy just to get out of the debt I sank myself in for a career I didn’t want? People already get weird around me when I get all moody,” she grunted, “He shouldn’t have to deal with all that.”

Aha ha ha hee hee! Now their kinship was ironically funny! “J-Jackie, you - you really do make a terrible psychologist,” he managed, his ribs aching with the rapid movement, “Mine have all been telling me to be open about these things with people, and until recently, I just ignored them! I mean, what do they know? Rejection for us in our cases means spiraling into another nasty bout of bad symptoms.”

He could tell she understood. He could see the dark sense of understanding there. They might have very different illnesses, but they were both a product of Gotham, with him born on the wrong side of its blanket and her forcibly rolled over to it. It was something she and Bruce shared - he couldn’t help but see it, and he felt the urge to both poke it and push it away to see what she’d do.

“But you know, it turns out they’re kind of right,” he continued, deciding to soften her up a little more with the truth, “I’d been hiding my symptoms from Bruce because I didn’t trust him not to be disappointed in me, and it only hurt us. Turns out telling him just opened both of us right up,” he emphasized with a spread of his hands. “I get not telling Matt about the whole attempted-murder thing, but to me, it feels like you don’t trust Matt enough with your feelings, and you excuse it by putting his before yours.”

She definitely seemed softened, if surprise counted as such. “I hate it when you do this,” she said, frowning into her cup and taking a not-very-angry sip. “Though I guess it’s easier to work through others’ problems than your own, huh?” she jabbed, taking a seat on the edge of the large bed.

“Now you’re just deflecting,” he teased, crossing his legs and taking a long sip from his own cup.

“Maybe,” she grunted, “It’s just… Matt and I have known each other a few months, but I’ve spent six days back in this shithole city, and it’s like I hardly see him. Monday was ‘surprise, honey, I have a shoot tonight’; Tuesday was ‘oh I have to shoot until after dark, my bad’! Just constant ins and outs and ‘my agent’s calling me,’ or ‘they need me back on set’ bullshit. I don’t even have the opportunity to open up to him.” She took a long sip as John nodded along.

“Matt’s the reason you’re in town, though, right? Since I saw you Saturday, there must’ve been some good days,” he said as innocently as he could, mentally ticking off the box for Muddy Nye’s and Ian Coggs’ doppelgangers.

“Saturday was supposed to be good,” she grumbled, “That went fucking bust. The best day was...probably Wednesday. We spent most of the day together… I got to see him eat a Peralta’s cruller first-hand,” she answered with a wistful little smile. “He makes a cute mmm-face... And he had this great idea - dress up as the producers he’d met on set, go to a fancy-ass restaurant, and reap in their frequenter-discount while they were stuck shooting a night scene. That was worth it.”

The Two Gilded Cups. Hmm, hmm, hmm. “Well, now I’m curious! How’d you look?”

“You tell me,” she smirked, handing him her phone.

Sonja Townsend, in an ironed pant-suit that Jackie definitely did not and would not have in her wardrobe, beamed at him from the selfie-style picture. Vindication burst in his head like a bottle of champagne - his prime suspect for The Wednesday Nighters’ murders was at dinner that night (according to Tiffany), and if Jackie was the one at the dinner, then it only reasoned the real Sonja was at The Lot.

“Pretty good, huh? I worked off a picture he took; no one suspected a thing,” she chirped, “We had to drop the costumes off at his costar’s place afterwards, but it was fun. We got prime seats, a special discount - even got a free bottle of wine out of it.”

But she had no idea. She had no inkling of what had happened this week. His joy at finally being completely right at something was quickly souring. Jackie was an innocent pawn. Disgust was twisting in his throat and palatable on his tongue. He couldn’t find it in himself to walk away and leave her there while he tracked her lying pig of a boyfriend down and gave him some scars he wouldn’t be able to hide… After all, it was much more cathartic for her to get some hits in.

“Uh, are you okay?”

Of course he wasn’t. He felt angry, and guilty, and really annoyed at how he couldn’t be happy about being right. “You really don’t know who this is, do you?” (He never could understand how Bruce kept so much anger out of his voice. How did he not feel it bubbling under his skin and radiating from his tongue?)

“A Mrs. Sonja Townsend - she and her husband are small-time producers.” She stared him down, searching and annoyingly stony. “Why?”

“She works for Wayne Enterprises.” John forwarded the picture to his phone and tossed hers next to her lap, scrolling through his own gallery. Eenie, meenie, miney, moe - the very-much-alive picture of Muddy Nye pulled from the BatComputer was the lucky first choice in the presentation he was about to throw her. “Have you seen this guy before?”

She glanced at it, recognition flashing in her eyes. “Where did you get that?”

“So that’s a definite yes. I’m guessing you don’t know who he really is, either? This,” he emphasized with a grand gesture of his hand at the picture, “is Muddy Nye, a once-budding member of the False Face Society turned-traitor and presumably-lone-survivor of the East Dock murders on Monday night. He was found chucked in a dumpster on Wednesday.”

He didn’t mind how she pulled the phone towards her to look. She was staring down at it, seeming to take in every detail, with a look John could practically feel. It was almost as if he was seeing her in his place, standing on the railings above vats of steaming chemical soups.

Treat people the way you want to be treated, he remembered. But you didn’t get a co-conspirator - innocent or not - to talk by being gentle, and he needed her to see the same reality that he could feel in the chair, in his pulse, and in the aches of his breath. “You said yourself that Matt’s shoot started-”

“This is a coincidence,” she said, staring back at him with clear denial as she tossed the phone back, “Matt always uses real-life references. What does this have to do with that woman I played?”

He fought back the urge to snap at her to just listen by squeezing his hands and remembering that her excuses were natural in the given circumstances. It was a very Bruce thing to say, really. “You haven’t read the news lately, have you?”

She sucked her teeth with a light sneer. “I stopped reading Gotham news a month after I left.”

Of course she had. Matt probably knew that. Or maybe he didn’t, and he didn’t care. “Well, that woman you played killed seven people in a casino on Wednesday night. Her only alibi is that she was at dinner with her husband.”

The surprise on her face shifted, and if looks could wound, he was sure he’d have a hole in his arm right now. “And you think we had something to do with it?”

No, I think your boyfriend did, he thought. Any hostility would result in a bad time. He had to be careful. “If I did, Jackie, I wouldn’t be talking to you - you’d have a knife lodged in your shoulder to match ol’ Scarecrow’s scar.” She sank a little. Funny how that seemed to be an okay thing with her. “I just need to be sure. When Matt left today, what did he look like?”

“Why?”

“Because someone visited All Stitched Up Alterations, threatened my very nice boss into filling a vest with plastic explosives, and handed it off to Black Mask to try and kill the only good Wayne at his own party - and I’m positive that someone isn’t who they say they are.”

Jackie was still for a moment, staring him down like she used to do at her notepad in the sessions she was ghosting on. Back then, she seemed to be a mile away or more, likely trying to plot her escape to try and distract herself from the way Arkham’s walls practically bled with the compounded toxicity of Gotham. The Jackie right now didn’t seem so different, only that she was doing it in her makeshift pajamas.

She stood, handing him her foam cup with a “hold this” in an oddly steady voice, and John watched as she dug around in what must’ve been Matt’s luggage, sorting through boring men’s shoes, short black umbrellas, and a curling iron to retrieve a rather expensive-looking digital camera. He heard a lot of beeps as she cycled through the pictures. “He doesn’t upload everything,” Jackie managed to say, only slightly shaky on the last word, “but he’s always proud of his work.”

In other words, he was narcissistic enough to leave some evidence behind. John hoped he didn’t like to throw away perfectly reusable costumes, too.

Jackie just stood there, gripping the camera too hard, looking caught between the budding reality that the person she admired the most was as rotten as the residents of Gotham Cemetery and the mind’s emergency exit.

“How about we trade?” he offered, wiggling his phone at her. “So we know for sure what the other saw.”

She blinked. “Alright.” There were a few beeps from the camera, and in turn he pulled up the picture of Ian Coggs. “Just don’t cycle back too far.”

“Ha! Ditto. On three,” he said, holding his phone sideways as she extended the bulky end of the camera at arm’s length, “One…” She didn’t look ready, but then again, who would be? “Two...” There was no time to think about what he would do if she went off the deep end. “Three!”

His phone was snatched out of his hand as he yanked the camera from hers.

Sure enough, there was Ian ‘Nito’ Coggs, tilting his head and trying to scowl in much better lighting than the hotel room actually had, in the same jacket and jeans that John had seen on Wednesday, piercings and tattoos in full view. He’d taken multiple shots, showing off the makeshift tattoos on his hands and neck (the sock and buskin masks still peeking out over the top of his shirt), doing multiple expressions and close-ups, and going back further were similar pictures of Muddy Nye in what looked like a studio apartment.

He’d hit the jackpot, but the same ugly disturbance sat in his mouth even as sparklers lit up in his brain.

He looked up at Jackie, half mad at her for ruining what should’ve been a good moment of catharsis by making him feel sympathy, and wondered if that was how he looked back at Ace Chemicals when the gray-hued truth had smashed the black and white lines his mind had drawn in the shape of a bat.

At last, it was like he could see the yolk for a second time, but it was in danger of bursting and slipping out of the shell and into the bubbling vats. She looked like she might somehow break the phone in her hand like a peanut.

So John did what he thought was best - he gently put the camera down, stood in front of her, and carefully put his hands on her shoulders to bring her back to Earth and away from the chemical fumes.

Jackie looked up at him, a step away from the big red exit sign with its tempting whisper of antagonistic nihilism, and pulled him into a crushing hug.

He didn’t know what to do. He was standing on the floor of the mediocre hotel room, letting her fingers dig painfully into his ribs as she squeezed him, hearing her scream into his shirt. And then choke into a sob and wail-scream like Cannibal Carl when he was desperate for his sense of taste to return at one in the morning.

Despite how this was really real and definitely happening what with all the different sensations he was experiencing, he had even less of an idea of what he should be doing. Still, life was short and fairly pointless and not knowing something hadn’t stopped him from experimenting before, so he reached around to return the impromptu hug and gave a pat for good measure. “It’s okay,” he tried, remembering how comfortable and reassuring Bruce’s hugs were, “Iiit’s okay.” He kept still, feeling a little less awkward as her grip loosened a little amongst another scream. “Cry it out, pumpkin-head, Joker’s right here.” There was a lower wail in response. “Do you want me to scream with you, so you don’t feel left out?”

Her sob choked into a laugh, shoulders shaking like there was no difference at all, and her grip on him loosened substantially. The laugh still came in little bursts as she pulled away, tears still streaking down her reddened face. “No - no, you don’t have to.”

“But I could if I wanted? Because it is really fun, especially when everyone’s asleep...”

She gave another few ha’s and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “It’s past noon.”

“So? We both know place doesn’t have a lot of early-risers.”

She sank back onto the bed with another amused ha-hmm. “When did you take that picture?” she sniffed as John picked the fallen phone off the bleached carpet.

“Wednesday morning, at the alterations place up the road.”

She was getting that bent-over-her-notepad look. “He walked me over there on Monday to drop off my dress.”

Scouting the premises, most likely.

“He chose this place, too,” she commented, wiping her face with downcast sort of sneer, “Said it was convenient.”

“It kinda is,” John noted aloud, taking his seat back in the desk-chair and scooting it closer to her, “Muddy Nye was found in the alley behind All Stitched Up’s fence. Closer to the docks.” He waited a beat as he let it sink in. He knew she didn’t like too much sympathy – it was best to get her mind jogging. “What did Matt do with his outfit on Monday night?”

“I never saw that one,” she shrugged, “only the test shots he’d taken. He said was getting changed on set that day.”

John pulled up his map application and zoomed in on 13th Street until he found the Lucky Hotel. “Do you remember where you went on Wednesday night, to drop the ‘costumes’ off?” he asked, doing his best to think like Bruce.

“Yeah,” she muttered, scrolling right and down and left, and swiping with an occasional pause – he noticed she had scrolled all the way to the Two Gilded Cups, and now was taking turns down streets like she was trying to remember the driving route. Apparently, they took some detours. “Here,” she said, pointing to the corner with the fishmonger and Muddy’s makeshift coffin of rotting fish, “We changed clothes in the car. His costar offered to let him drop them off.” Her face twisted into a teary scowl. “I’m so fucking stupid. I should’ve known something was off when I didn’t see any lights on upstairs. But nooo, I trusted him…”

John remembered the empty rooms above the fish place. That had been Tuesday, but what if… “What’d you guys put the clothes in?”

“A duffle bag. I thought it was something he’d borrowed from the set.”

“Ooh, that’s devious,” he chuckled to himself, “These guys have got balls, I’ll give ‘em that.” She looked confused. “See, Muddy was found here,” he accentuated with a point at the alleyway, “There’s spaces above the fish place. I bet they had that bag waiting in one of those rooms. Wednesday, Matt goes to pick it up, brings it here, you guys play dress up - and once it’s over, he throws it back right where he found it, and someone probably came to pick it up the next day. Probably Sonja herself; she or some P.A. she’s got on a leash came around before I got to work on Tuesday – looong story there - and as far as I know came back after Wednesday.”

“Uh…what?”

“Look, I said it’s a long story. The short, short version is someone close to Sonja dropped off an item at work and it was still there when I left Wednesday.” He sat back on his hands, tapping his feet to help him think. It might be safe for her to check out that place. She wouldn’t be as obvious, and she could probably think up a good excuse to go in the first place. Hmm…

“Well… At least everything else suddenly makes stupid sense,” Jackie muttered, “Earlier, I kept thinking ‘He wouldn’t have brought me with him if he knew Black Mask would crash, right?’ But why else didn’t he want me seeing him on set? Why didn’t he want me meeting anyone he worked with? Why was it sheer luck that he pulled me out of the party to go bone in the bathroom minutes before it all went to hell?”

“So that’s where you went!” John exclaimed, “I thought I didn’t see you during the raid! I thought you just hid under a table or something…”

Jackie seemed surprised at that. “Wait, you went back – did you and Batman team up?” she asked, leaning in with an almost awed sort of look, “Everyone was saying he crashed! How? Did he follow those masked guys there? Did he follow you there?”

It had certainly changed her mood, but he wasn’t about to suggest that… Well, actually, maybe. Hah - why not?! “He came there to see me,” he boasted, “Bruce took me out of my home-away-from-home after the little attempted-murder-by-sniper incident the other day, and Bats was hounding me for clues.”

“You were shot at?!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s another story. Stuff just keeps piling up, really,” John added, tapping his feet together, “Though that does bring up something - you remember the Court of Owls, right?”

“Uh… Yeah, Dr. Crane was interested in them.” She squinted at him, seeming to put the pieces together. “You’re not saying they’re behind the attack on you?”

“Bingo. The mass murders of Black Mask’s crew on the boat and the docks, Muddy Nye and Hubbard Jr.’s murders, the casino slaughter of The Wednesday Nighters – all of it was orchestrated by them, using Black Mask’s inside info. Which is where Matt came in. Oh, and me and Catwoman got targeted, too, but…here I am!”

She seemed… Well, the best thing he could think of was the sort of bewilderment that might come with finding out aliens were real, but also ate planets whole. “O-kay… That’s a lot.”

“Ha ha! Yeah, it’s been one hell of a ride!” he chuckled to himself.

Jackie breathed deep. The tears had long stopped trying to flow, but the tracks could still be seen on her flushed face. “Okay… Ignoring my constant internal screams and urges to bite anything in range, you and Batman are working together on this, right?” She looked at him with a sort of wild, determined hope that made him think she was going to start muttering to herself that everything would be okay.

“Um, yeah?”

“Thank fuck. I know this is all evidence, but you have no idea – that is the only thing stopping me from destroying everything in here right now.”

“Ha ha ha hee he! I have plenty of ideas, actually - you’re feeling like everything you knew is breaking apart, right? It’s like -” he made a fist and slammed it into his open palm - “BAM! There goes your hopes and dreams!” He kicked the air in front of him. “SMASH! Your trust in anything is gone! WHAM!” - he flung himself backward in the chair, exaggerating falling - “Nothing matters anymore! Aha ha ha ha ha haa! It hurts reeeeal bad!” he added, sitting back upright and giving her a light smack on the shoulder, “Trust me, Jackie, I’m literally the only person in Gotham who knows exactly what this feels like.” Did that sound like too much? He wanted her help, but getting it was going to take more than repeating things… Though it was also the truth. “It’s gonna hurt like hell for a while, but I know you’ll pull through!”

She looked at his thumbs up and offered a little chuff noise and tiny smile in return. “I don’t know how you’re so optimistic about it. Then again, I don’t have a Batman here to beat some sense into me,” she joked. It faded after a moment. “Thank you for telling me all this, John. And...being here. I don’t think I’d be able to restrain myself if I discovered any of this on my own.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” John nudged, the Speaking of which on the tip of his tongue dying as she scrunched her brow in the confused manner that couldn’t be good…

“We’re friends?”

At least it wasn’t derisive sounding. Or sarcastic. Or anything that made it a clear rejection, actually, but it was best to cover himself... “Well, yeah, we both went through the whole Scarecrow fiasco together – sorta – and you helped me out last night without asking for anything in return. And now that you know what it feels like to have your muse break your perception of reality, I’d say we have a proper enemies-to-friends buildup here,” he finished with a general wave to the empathy-fueled-vibes between them.

“I’d say ‘knowing my track record, this won’t end well’… But you are weirdly lucky. And annoyingly right about some things.” She pursed her lips and blew air up at a stray lock of her very curly hair, slapped her knees, and stood as tall as her legs would let her. “Okay. Let me help you guys. I know Matt, I can find any evidence you might need and tell you anything you need to know – passwords, phone numbers, whatever. He’s too proud to just throw his tools away; I’d bet anything he stashed his costume someplace, probably with his other one for the dead guy. I can find them and either put them here or in my car, whichever’s safer.”

Yahtzee! “And you promise you won’t run off with any of it?”

“Because as much as I’d love to burn everything he ever had to the ground right now,” she scowled, poison practically dripping from her mouth, “I’ve been through enough breakups and psych classes to know that won’t fix anything. The only way I’ll get any kind of catharsis is to see him break – and I guarantee he’ll do that before a judge.” She picked her phone up and tapped around. “Besides, we’re friends, I’ve got nothing to lose, and if I can help out some of the only people worth a shit in this hellhole, I’ll do it. Here, add your number.”

John dolefully typed in his personal number, adding the little joker-card emoticon on either side of his name, and sent himself a text. “Think you can copy what’s on that camera for me?”

“Sure.” She took her phone back. “I’ll send you his MuSec and InstaPic logins, too,” she added as John’s phone gave another short buzz. “Might be worth a look.”

The text was from Iman: I’m out front.

“Looks like I’ve got the red light, kiddo.” John dusted himself off a bit, failing to brush off the empathy that seemed to stick there. He guessed he had to learn to live with this, too, like he didn’t have enough guilt and woe and bouts of sympathy to deal with. “I’ll give Matt a little stab in the kidney for you if I see him,” he joked, taking the edge off himself.

“Your prince is waiting to take you away in his chariot, huh?” Jackie picked up her coffee cup, drained the last of it, and crushed it in her fist, not seeming to care about the drops on the carpet or her hand. “That’s okay. I’ll text you if I feel like I’m going to high-dive off a building or something.”

John snorted into a laugh. “Aw, Jackie, we both -” John emphasized with a light boop to her nose - “know you’re more a danger to others right now. You should really just call me if you feel like you’re going to go off the deep end, anyway, a real voice helps more. And that includes if you get gun-happy.”

Jackie had gotten a little pink in the face, but she looked better, even mumbling a sincere ‘okay’ as she followed him to the door.

“Text me anything you find and I’ll make sure you get a few brownie points from Bats, too.”

“If these come in the form of an autographed photo, I’ll take ‘em,” Jackie seemed to joke, “Oh, and you can do me a favor, since I keep helping you out - tell Bruce to stop and say ‘hi’ before he leaves next time.” He must’ve had the ‘but how did you know?!’ written on his back, or else he froze in the doorway a second too long, because she snorted before he even turned to look over his shoulder. “You make it too obvious. Besides, I know a hickey when I see one, Joke-man,” she elaborated with a smirk. “Stay safe out there.”

With a little wave his way, John was again alone in the hotel hall at a loss for meaningful words, feeling like he was in some weird space where time didn’t mean anything. “Uh, thanks,” he said to the door, unsure if it was the right thing to say.

He breathed in, focusing on the plot of his feet on the out-of-date carpet and the smell of diluted off-brand cleaning solution that seemed to stick everywhere. It might have felt like a strange place, but this was a strange week and he was able to cross multiple goals off his list barely an hour after waking up. He was so damn right about so many things! And he had evidence to prove it! He could take this all back to the rest of them and shove it under their noses and go HA!

“That went well!” he affirmed to himself as he strut into the same elevator Bruce had taken down, “Bruce’ll be so proud!”

† † † † †

True to her word, Iman had been parked and waiting right outside the hotel in a very sleek silver sedan, the tinted window rolled down so John could see her face. Upon closer inspection, the car had no identifying hood ornament. Or really, anything extraneous at all.

People had always joked about how you could always tell an Agent by their shoes, but surely an unmarked car was another dead giveaway.

“Gooood morning, Iman,” John greeted, sliding into the passenger seat, “You ready to do a B-’n’-E?”

“I like to think of it as more of a surprise covert inspection.”

That would explain the dark jumpsuit and the messy bun she’d put her hair in. “What’s the ‘G’ for?” he asked, pointing to the patch over the breast pocket.

“Gotham Construction. Bruce thankfully has a closet full of things like this. Though I don’t know why the ‘G’ on some of them are shaped like this

gear… But it was the only one that fit me. Yours is behind the seat. I also picked you up-”

John was already popping open the grease-spotted paper bag next to the matching jumpsuit, the unmistakable smell of grease and fried meat hitting him like a slap in the face. “A pancake burger?!”

“Egg-sausage-muffin. I’m guessing a pancake burger is exactly what it sounds like?”

“Yup! I’m about ninety-percent sure I didn’t dream that food-truck,” John said, biting into the woefully-unsyruped sandwich. At least it had cheese. “T’ey’re ‘mazin’.” Realizing he was being rude, he swallowed to speak. “But this is good, too!”

“I’ll have to find that truck for next time,” Iman smiled as she merged into traffic. “I’m guessing things went well last night?”

“Mm-hmm!” John flashed a thumb’s up her way while he swallowed another bite. “I’m glad you’re not weirded out about it. I take it this is your way of apology for not telling the others? I mean, you did figure it out before last night, right?”

Iman shot him a look he couldn’t decipher. “I’m not apologizing for anything; I just figured you’d be hungry by now. And just because I figured it out on my own months ago doesn’t mean it’s my responsibility to act as Bruce’s psychiatrist and tell him what to do, let alone tell his secrets for him.”

He didn’t want to tell her she should’ve said it anyways for his sake. “I bet you still hint at him,” he said instead, hoping that was true, “You’re good at subtlety.”

“Only when I think he’s going to do something...” she trailed off, seeming to search for the word she wanted.

“Stupid?” John offered, “Asinine? It’s okay, you can say it - for all his smarts, he has his dumb moments.”

“I was going to say ‘detrimental to the cause’,” Iman finished, not looking at him. “I joined the Agency because I wanted to help save lives. But I’ve always admired Batman’s commitment to pursuing justice outside of the legal limits that don’t always work in our favor - it’s why I came to Gotham on the Riddler case.”

He felt like he was back at the visiting table in Arkham, examining her little movements and steady gaze with as much scrutiny as he could allow. She was holding herself up, all pride and seriousness, reminding him very much of Bruce some days. “I…kinda knew that.”

“Batman’s whole purpose is to clean up the parts of the city where regular law enforcement don’t. I’m proud to be a part of that, even if I’m not in the field,” she noted with a twinge of regret, “But Bruce is Batman, and he’s human - consequently more people know about Batman. If I thought someone, or something Bruce has done was going to interfere with Batman’s work in some way, I’d tell him.”

They stopped at a light - she looked back at him, serious but not reprimanding or upset. It did not calm him at all. He could feel stress blooming in his brain at the implication she was making. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, let alone think – he might as well not be in the car or the city at all, but on Dr. Leland’s bench.

“I know you won’t betray Bruce, John,” she said with all the honesty of the top brass of St. Dymphna, “and I know that he trusts you, but I need to know you can work with us on the same level.”

Relief unraveled the knot in his stomach with one simple tug and let the air out of his lungs in a joyous burst. “Ha ha ha ha ha! That’s all? Whelp, good news – I’m way ahead of you!” John whipped out his phone to pull up the gallery, finding a text from Jackie with app links attached:

MuSec has play scenes with lofi and some sos of Bludhaven. :/ So good luck with that. InstaPic has got a million selfies of his usual looks + stage work at least, maybe prototypes.

“I’ve got all the dirt on our two-timing man on the inside.”

Sos??? he typed back.

Shot on shitteos. Grainy vhs filter + dark filter + indie = ~tortured artist~ lol

“Such as?” Iman asked, clearly waiting for more. John supposed it wasn’t a great start to their team-up to get distracted.

“Name, real face, evidence a-plenty! Guy by the name of Matt Chaney – a real master of makeup with image issues. He crashed the Gala last night with our little pumpkin-headed former-antagonist.” He pulled up InstaPic and logged in, finding rows of Matt’s face in various outfits, makeup tweaked just enough to make him look like whatever character he was playing while maintaining his Hollywood-handsome face. Jackie was next to him here and there, along with other co-stars. “Not that she’s been part of it. Knowingly, anyway.”

“You’ve…lost me.”

“Oh, you never met Jackie, did you… Bruce has her pumpkin mask in the case by Scarecrow’s.”

“Jackie Lant.” Iman scrunched her face thoughtfully. “You don’t think she’s had a hand in with either the Owls or the False Face Society?”

“Nope! Because I was right - Sonja Townsend is our Lot killer. Matt coerced Jackie into dressing up as Sonja, and they made sure Mr.-and-Mrs. Townsend were seen on Wednesday night.”

“And you have proof of that?”

Something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way. The way that started to brew that old familiar feeling in his head that normally lead to…outbursts. “Sonja actually being there is…complicated,” he shrugged, trying and failing not to sneer, “You guys never said you found anything at the scene, so I only have her signature on that alterations receipt. And the relation to the card-carrier. But I know I’m right!” He knew it wasn’t what a lawyer might call concrete, especially since you weren’t supposed to show yourself riled up in court, but that was what brass-knuckle confessions were for. “Here’s Jackie as Wednesday-Sonja,” he emphasized, pushing the picture he’d gotten into her field of view. “And I have the receipt from their little excursion – the time on it puts her squarely there! And I’ve got a gallery of proof that Matt’s Ian Coggs!”

Iman glanced over, seeming to take it in, and returned to driving as usual. “I meant of Matt coercing Jackie. I can stretch my sense of disbelief to include Sonja Townsend masquerading as a younger woman and using her son-in-law’s card to register the room. But it’s hard to believe a young woman who had once planned a murder and eventual cover-up by pretending to be someone just swept up in a psych-experiment-gone-wrong could be coerced into anything. I watched the tape of her shooting Dr. Crane,” she added with an air of one of the Arkham doctors walking him through the concept of ‘consequences for his actions’, “It was cold and calculated; she’s the type to plan far in advance. Neither you nor Bruce had suspected her of tampering with your visiting rights at the time. And if ‘Matt Chaney’ is the one who’s disguising himself as Muddy Nye and Ian Coggs, then there’s no one to say Jackie Lant isn’t doing something similar.”

“I can say it,” John grumbled. Iman didn’t see her try to desperately cover for Matt before scream-crying on him.

“But I only have your word.” The car stopped again. “I want to trust you on this, John, but I can’t trust your interpretation without any proof.”

“You’d trust Bruce’s,” he scoffed quietly, spitefully taking a larger bite.

“You know Bruce would say the same thing,” Iman added gently. “Send what you have to the BatComputer and we’ll look over it together.”

John could easily imagine Bruce asking for evidence, but that didn’t stop irritation from growing and sitting in his jaw. He didn’t know how else to prove that Jackie was exactly as innocent as she seemed without any physical proof, and she was currently trying to gather further proof that Matt had been Muddy Nye.

Hey, send me your InstaPic too, he typed, hoping she had something that concretely put her far and away from any of Matt’s fishy business.

What you can’t see my face on Matt’s page? 9_9

xXPumpkinPrincessXx

Sure enough, Matt’s InstaPic account had Jackie’s face near the top of his friends-list. John decided to check that last.

Matt had a lot of stuff in his direct messages from people trying to impress him with reactions, flirty messages, and boasts about buying tickets to various projects he must have had a role in. John couldn’t really see the appeal of him, outside of his mildly-handsome face and lightweight build – sure, the costumes were nice when he wore them, but Matt had far too many public-facing selfies, the majority of which was just Matt doing normal things. A simple picture of him drinking a smoothie in a tank top got him fifteen-thousand likes, and the ones that featured Jackie or other people he guessed worked in Bludhaven’s theater troupes (an awful lot of women, John noticed) got maybe six-thousand at most. There were some flagged-for-review selfies that definitely edged the line between appropriate and softcore porn that had gotten a few thousand before they were pulled from the public. Ones of him in costumes seemed to get ten-thousand on the regular, with the most-liked in the bunch being a silent time-lapse video of Matt transforming into a near mirror-image of Vincent Price two months ago – even John had to admit that the head-explosion emoticons people had commented with were appropriate…

John blinked, looking at the grid of pictures, and realized that something was missing from the looping .gif of Matt in the makeup chair. Something obvious. Something he’d seen in plain daylight for himself.

“Now that’s interesting…”

“What is?” Iman asked from the driver’s seat. John didn’t look up to see where they were, but they were still moving.

“Matt Chaney didn’t have his tattoo two months ago. The one with the theater masks.” John scrolled down – there were some entries that had been removed for violating the site’s policy, but the last shirtless picture Matt had taken was three months ago. John circled back to the top, looking at the picture of Matt sucking just a little suggestively on the smoothie straw four weeks ago in his plain white tank, and noticed the inked mask of comedy sitting above the fabric line. “But he had it last month.”

“Quite a few of the False Faces had mask tattoos,” Iman commented thoughtfully, “Including the theater one.”

“Oh yeeeah,” John mumbled, “Roman split the gang up into sections, didn’t he? What was that Melpomene-Thalia group assigned to?”

Iman’s mouth curled into a disgusted frown; that was a first for her. Her eyes crinkled and narrowed, like the car in front of her had a racist bumper-sticker. “I don’t believe those are as cut and dry as some of the others.” Her clean polished fingers clenched the steering wheel a little. “One of the masks we captured last night was on the Agency’s watch-list for threatening public officials, suspected blackmail, and grand arson. Another had a previous charge for assault, vandalism, and stalking. What does that say to you?”

Ooh, test time! Threats, destruction, stalking abilities… Put together right it could be a little terrorist group. But unlike Harvey Dent and his little militia, Roman didn’t seem to have an interest in taking a government position or two and using it for personal vendettas; he liked keeping things underground. “Sounds like the right-hand messengers – dish out destruction as your last warning before the boss order’s your death.”

“Exactly. They’re some of the top brass, so to speak. So why leave ‘Ian’ out of the Gala… Just because he was newer?” She tapped the wheel as they came to a stop. “Matt might have done the initiation and gotten the tattoo in Ian’s place, assuming Ian was dead before that. But how long had he pretended to be him? How did Ian get pulled into the gang in the first place…?”

“Probably knew a guy who knew a guy,” John shrugged, thinking of the cronies that had been brought into the Pact. “Word gets around in all kinds of circles. I bet Matt was doing ‘research’ and overheard some of Black Mask’s goons looking to hire. I’d be surprised if he didn’t stalk Ian for a while beforehand.” He drummed his fingers on his phone. “Besides, Ian’s real-life-rap-sheet wasn’t up to their level, so I bet he got put on retainer in case the Bat hit the fan. That, or they drew straws.”

She blinked, arching a brow at him. “Straws? Really?”

“Sure, the guys did it all the time in the Pact! Only hand-picked ones got to have the special jobs, y’know. The light’s green,” he added with a point.

Iman didn’t say anything, but the ‘why didn’t I think of that’ look said enough as she took off again. “I’m guessing Matt wasn’t in the ballroom when Roman showed up,” she said stiffly.

“Nope. Took Jackie to bone in the bathroom. Her words,” he explained at the look thrown his way, “Guy really plays both sides of the field – he could’ve high-tailed it before the masks arrived, but he went and stayed behind to see who survived.”

“He wasn’t there to see the end results, John – he was there to spy on Bruce.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to John before, but it seemed like made sense. “You think?”

“Bruce is a billionaire with some serious social connections and an infamy for throwing money around various charitable causes. I’d be surprised if the Court of Owls wasn’t trying to circle his heels – on paper, he’s a potentially ideal pigeon.”

John’s grin practically split his face in two as he cackled, slapping the door’s armrest before remembering he shouldn’t break things that belonged to friends. “Ahee ha ha HA – a-a STOOLIE thinks Bruce is a PIGEON !”

John could’ve sworn he’d heard something that sounded like a chuckle not coming from him, but Iman definitively cleared her throat as his last laugh petered out.

“Ha ha, sorry – I couldn’t resist. You really think they’re after him for his money?”

“If not, it’s probably to get close enough to kill him,” she continued as if she wasn’t also feeling like icy water had slipped down to her stomach, “He might have had a hand in dismantling the Pact, but even if they don’t put his own criminal behavior during that period or his family name against him, everyone knows he’s close to you – they might want to kill him on principal.”

That was an interesting thought. The kind that jabbed him in the ribs but sent that helpless spark of intrigue into his brain. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am,” he ribbed lightly, “Guess I should’ve taken that book’s quote about the slightest hand being guided by the Devil a little more seriously…”

“Well, I didn’t think about it until this morning, either.”

There was a pause, and John drummed his fingers against his thigh, unsure of what to say. If Iman was right – and there was a pretty darn high chance she was – that meant Bruce wasn’t safe in or out of the Batsuit. And he was already halfway into the suit, following an Owl wearing a literal False Face right into Black Mask’s hiding spot. That…might not end well, if Matt was able to get a message out to the Owls before Bruce or Tiffany body-slammed him.

It was probably a good idea to tell Bruce that. Just in case something over-the-top levels of weird happened. Be careful buddy!!, he started, Jackie’s boytoy from the party is our mysterious double-agent – aka that guy Matt Chaney ur chasing rn. And yeeees I’m uploading everything so just concentrate on plucking his feathers and punching Skullface so I still have a Bat to smooch later. ;p

Iman seemed to be thinking. That, or she was concentrating on the road – they had come to a weirder part of town, where street names were confusingly labeled with similar (if not exact) names one after another. They passed a Rodney St only to see Rodey St right after it.

John decided to scroll through Matt’s MuSec page, which automatically sorted by most popular and didn’t change when the filter was set to sort by date. A lot of it looked like duplicate videos from InstaPic, but the ones of Bludhaven stood out like the Batsignal against a cloudy night sky, most of them looking just as Jackie had described. He ignored the bulk of them, eying date stamps instead, thinking back to the original Ian Coggs’ last day in Bludhaven’s mental care facility.

Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. He guessed it was too much to hope for something obviously linking him to Ian ‘Nito’. The only thing he could discern was that Matt never seemed to take videos with other people unless he was on stage with them. No hangouts with friends, no secret recordings of strangers – just Matt, his career, and his home. Just him, him, him.

It didn’t feel familiar to John at all. He pulled up InstaPic again, scrolling through the group-shots - it was just the same kind of smile on Matt’s face plastered on each one, barely varying between fans and costars, the angle always being a tilted selfie from Matt’s hand. It was almost like the attempt at Bruce’s charming photo-ready smile John had seen back at the Gala. But of course anyone who knew Bruce beyond the surface knew that those smiles were -

…ah.

As fake as Bruce’s past “romances” – maybe some had substance, somewhere, but ultimately they meant nothing.

The MuSec page might have held no criminal evidence, but it sure helped prove that Matt Chaney was a selfish prick.

Now Jackie Lant, on the other hand… One glance told him her MuSec was the opposite of Matt’s. The thumbnails showed clear collaborations and only a couple of standalone videos of her on stage or in her makeup chair. Her InstaPic showed a lot of the same things, but with a UBox link at the top and Matt’s face on every row of images with some different and seemingly-genuine expressions. She had less

followers – 3055 - to Matt’s ridiculous 8055 – but she had likes and reblogs a-plenty on both pages, and where Matt had three uploads all week, Jackie had three or more every day. Particularly of various takeaway outings, the last of which showed a Citizens Against Bats flyer in the window – the bat symbol crossed out in red, of course, and a group meeting advertised for next week with a burner number – and the caption “signs that your restaurant is a front for something shady #OnlyInGotham #atleasttheirpizzasmellsgood”.

The upload times were erratic, but Wednesday highlighted her story of being out with Matt there – any opportunity for a picture of or with him was there for everyone to see. Nothing concrete from a hah-they-weren’t-doing-crimes-together perspective, but from a character one…there was only one conclusion he could draw.

“What’s so funny?” Iman asked from the driver’s seat.

He’d didn’t think his giggling was that obvious. That, or her peripheral vision was really good, even when driving. “I was in a really dark place last night. The itching to hurt myself and anything around me kind of place. And when I saw a car pull around at an opportune time, I didn’t care who was in it – and for someone who couldn’t sympathize enough with the horrible thoughts us patients spilled on the couch, Jackie had no problem putting up with me. Even today! She just welcomed me in helped me out like we were pals. And I didn’t really think about it before, but picture after picture here proves what I could guess - she did it because she was lonely! Ha ha ha - imagine being so desperate for company you’d let me, the mental patient your boss wouldn’t let you talk to without supervision, in your car! Aha ha ha ha ha haa!” The laugh made his lungs ache with pressure, but he didn’t care. “What’s funnier is… I get it! It’s like getting a visitor after being in the Hole: you don’t care who it is; anything’s better than being by yourself.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Iman said coolly, “She didn’t have many friends living in Gotham by the time she left. I imagine she’s had a hard time really bonding with other people due to losing so many in traumatic fashions – and after a traumatic event like last night’s hostage situation, it’s reasonable that she wanted to help you, especially since she knows you already. It would be both grounding and give her a sense of accomplishment and heroism that she couldn’t have fulfilled at the manor.”

Man, Iman sure had a way with words. “Yeah, but you missed the point – it’s me. That’s what makes it funny. If it were almost anyone else…ehh,” he added with a shrug. “I mean, if we only mildly knew one another – like we parted ways after my whole stunt trying to kill Waller – and you saw me stop your car and just hop in it, gnashing my teeth and barely holding myself together, would you just go along with it?”

“Yes, I would,” Iman answered, not a dishonest syllable to be heard, “Though I’d make sure we’d talk to your doctor right away and get you to a safer place than that hotel.”

John hadn’t really expected that answer. He knew Bruce would say yes, but he didn’t like leaving hurt people alone to begin with, and Bruce was less likely to call a doctor and far more likely take care of things himself. John had expected Iman to think carefully before answering with a noncommittal variation of ‘yes’. What a caring gal. “Man, you were wasted on the Agency,” he answered warmly, “You’re way too good for them.”

Iman gave a soft smile in return, which John took as a wordless ‘thanks’. “Is everything sent to the BatComputer?”

He’d forgotten to start the transfer. “Iiit’s still working on it,” John fumbled as he pulled up the share function of his phone’s gallery. Sure enough, the crummy tower signal he was getting told him it would take a while to upload anyway. Sharing the texts was much faster, at least. “Still no response from Bruce, though…”

“Just because he can text on his gauntlet doesn’t mean he should,” Iman teased, “He’ll be fine. He and Tiffany are looking after one another.”

John hummed, wanting to believe that despite the sting at the mention of Tiffany. Bruce usually texted back fast, even as Batman…

The Herold Rite’s Theatre appeared around the corner, tearing John away from his thoughts. Its old playbill sign was yellowed and empty, but the lights surrounding it weren’t broken and the theater’s name was still perfectly legible. It just looked…dreary. Sunburnt paper covered the inside of the ticket booth’s glass behind the thin metal storm shutters. Laminated notices on each of the doors’ shutters showcased the place as under construction, do not enter, yadda yadda yadda, but the fractured plastic and faded ink reminded passerby’s it had been out-of-commission for some time.

“I’m guessing we’re not taking the front door,” John joked.

“There’s a staff exit we can break into around the back.” Iman pulled the car into the shady alleyway nearby. “I’ve already checked for city footage, this place is almost invisible. City inspections haven’t been officially done in a month, and it’s been closed for a couple of years now.”

“So we should expect lots of graffiti and garbage inside, huh?”

“Most likely. I’d be surprised if someone hadn’t tried living in it before now. If anything, we at least have to watch out for rats.”

“I thought owls ate those,” John nudged, getting a chuckle in response.

“I don’t think they’ve gone that native.” She parked just in front of the dumpster. “Get changed, I’ll wait where you can see me.”

The jumpsuit was loose enough to cover John’s clothes; he didn’t like the idea of taking anything off in Iman’s car (even if the windows were tinted and she was waiting with her back to him by the driver-side door) so he simply zipped it over everything else, tossing his St. Dymphna phone in the center armrest for safekeeping. The coveralls were annoyingly baggy to the point where he found himself pulling at the bunches of fabric around his waist and trying to figure out if he could tuck them in as he trailed behind Iman’s flat thuds of proper work-boots.

The sun was clearly already in early-summer mode, beating down on his shoulders the second he’d stepped out of the car – it didn’t matter that the sun wasn’t actually shining in their dark little corner, of course. It was omnipresent and tearing through layers of brick to hit him, specifically, like a punishment for looking where he shouldn’t. At least it felt like it.

John rubbed the back of his neck, the heat of his palm not helping. He didn’t know why he felt...paranoid. He was here, right now, growing steadily sweaty with stupid layers and summer heat, and he had a right to poke into business if it was his. Which this definitely was. He looked over his shoulder, not seeing so much as a camera, and looked around the roof edges for any sign of life.

Of course there was nothing there, because for all the strides he’d taken, his brain still liked to trick him.

Iman bent before the door with a very used-looking toolkit. John wondered at what to say.

He pushed the ideas of ‘Should we really be here’ and ‘Do you think they roost on rooftops’ away. “Didn’t you normally just kick the door down?” he joked lightly.

“I thought it would be best to be stealthy about this.” The lock clicked. “Besides, it’d be a waste if I didn’t get to actually use this after all the practicing I’ve done,” she boasted, tucking the kit away in one of her very deep pockets.

“You’re not gonna start wearing leather and cat ears on the job, are you?”

Iman pulled a face somewhere between amused and disturbed. “No. At least I hope not.”

The theater was even drearier inside. It reminded John of the Old Five Points, minus the working lights and water, and plus the smell of buttered popcorn practically soaked into what was left of the carpet. It felt as damp and dark as it looked, mold and mildew creeping in his nose to mingle with popcorn only a few steps in.

Iman passed him a small clip-on flashlight, having her own clinging to the pocket with the gear-shaped ‘G’. John clipped it to his jumpsuit’s collar, remembering how Bruce had a similar one on his cape when they had explored the mausoleum last year. Only now they were dependent on only the flashlights and not on loud EDM and glow-stick-filled pumpkins to guide them.

“There don’t appear to be any heat signatures in any of these…” Iman turned her head slowly, seeming to scan the hallway of supply rooms like a robot.

“Ooh, did you steal Bruce’s special contacts?”

“I borrowed them – with permission. Same goes for these,” Iman emphasized with a smile, handing John a few Bat-decorated goodies. A small can of tear gas, two Batarangs, and a palm-sized remote taser . John ran this thumb just over the edge of the thin blade, excitement prickling at his temples. “Hopefully, we won’t have to use them. These are strictly loaner pieces.”

John tucked them all away, no longer hating the roomy coveralls. “Oh, no worries, I get ’cha.”

“You can’t keep them,” she added pointedly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it! And I’m sure you wouldn’t keep them in your car for a rainy day and write the loss off as a misadventure,” he needled, “Not that I’d say anything if you did.”

Iman looked like she was definitely noting that to herself. “Let’s start checking rooms. I’ll take the right side.”

“You got it.”

Graffiti of all kinds was plastered on the walls, mostly tags covering parts of worn-out posters or stickers. Which would’ve been fine, if it hadn’t been clear that someone had gone to the trouble of drawing thick black lines over the middle of them all, regardless of size. It reminded John of censor marks over people’s eyes in photos. Some were darker than others, showing the paint can was running out but still usable, and it brought to mind the tics made on the asylum walls, counting days like they mattered.

A couple of Bat-symbols not unlike the one shown from the G.C.P.D. roof were scattered around, all but one in bright yellow crossed out. The paint had dripped from the wing and tail end before it dried. John took a picture of it, feeling like he’d seen the beacon itself, and then opened the supply room it was next to, finding replacement seats stained with something dark he didn’t want to think about and two very broken popcorn makers shoved inside.

A prop room was next, so cluttered he didn’t think he could walk three feet into without getting impaled on a plastic spear. He spied a copy of his clown smiley-face tucked away by a familiar red-pyramid-and-floating-eyeball that had been crossed out with a large ‘x’, but decided against taking a picture of it. He wasn’t sure if he liked his logo there, sitting among the scrawled-out bats…

“Nothing here.” Iman had seemingly found a cleaning closet with a crudely-drawn pentagram and ‘hail satin’ still legible by the door.

“Ha, talk about your false idols,” John cracked as Iman followed his line of sight, “Now, velvet - there’s a fabric I could worship!”

“Personally I don’t think there’s anything better than a cashmere sweater, but I don’t think I’d hail it,” Iman shot back with a chuckle.

John peeked in a blank dressing room, seeing nothing but a costume rack with two moth-eaten dresses, a dressing table with half its bulbs missing or broken on the floor, and a lot of molding cardboard boxes, most of which had been upturned and whatever contents inside torn apart or left on the floor. John spied a broken beer bottle and a suspiciously familiar sort of stain on the wall. “Nooothing here.”

“John, come look at this.”

John went over to her side, passing two doors that clearly didn’t open, and peeked over her shoulder at what looked like a dressing room. This one had more dust-covered boxes and a foggy vinyl sheet hanging over a long rack of costumes shoved in the back, with just enough room to walk. It looked like just another haven for moths and dust. “It sure is a room of gross moldy boxes,” he commented.

“No, look – that costume rack is half-full.”

“So?”

“So there’s a pathway back there and the people who trashed this place didn’t think to take a look?”

“Ah-haa.”

Iman went straight for the rack, carefully stepping around boxes as John examined the ones that seemed open, finding old promotional trading cards for an old sci-fi film with big-brained aliens sitting on some boring looking documents in one. Another had costume pieces, which he almost didn’t bother with until he saw a flash of purple, and then the instinct to rifle through things fell in his hands. He tossed things out and shoved everything aside in a flurry of colored fabric and plastic and pulled out what he could only think of as the best hat he’d ever seen.

A violet-colored and practically pristine wide-brimmed fedora. John couldn’t help but let out an ooh and turn it over in his hands. It was almost, if not exactly the color of his long coat back at the cave. It was like it was made for him. Even the dark fabric band on it was more deep green than black.

“John - don’t. You don’t know where that’s been.”

“Aw, come on, it’s clean! And look, it has a real label inside!” He flipped it to show her the faded gold print, hoping to turn her concerned frown upside-down. It did not, and he could practically hear what she was going to say next. “Fiiine, I’ll keep looking for evidence,” he groaned, putting the perfect hat gently back in the box. “I’ll come back for you later,” he muttered to himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket – another text from Jackie:

Camera pics uploaded to my share drive: https://bit.gt.gd/S3272019F?=RO

Sorry it took so long. Kinda forcing myself to feel like this rn lol

She tacked on a picture of a dog calmly sitting at a table surrounding by a raging fire, staring at their coffee mug like nothing was wrong. John snickered to himself.

Ha ha ha ha!!! You’ve done it!! You’ve boiled this whole week down into a single classic meme!!! He texted back, Thanks pumpkinhead, I’ll pass these on to Bats!! ;D

“Was that Bruce?” Iman asked as John forwarded the link to the BatComputer’s catch-all.

“Nope. The other photographic evidence finally came in,” he answered, resuming his search.

The last visible open box held a lot of plastic badge holders – the kind that he’d seen the Arkham and St. Dymphna staff use to display their ID’s. But behind the boxes, not covered in a speck of dust… “Now what do you suppose a perfectly good printer is doing in a place like this?” John asked rhetorically.

“Probably making ID’s to match these.”

John peered over at the costume rack –polo shirts, dress pants, and bullet-proof vests hung there with an array of logos.

“Gotham Construction, Janus Industries, G.C.P.D., Gotham E.M.T. – Wayne Enterprises…” Iman grumbled, her thoughts seeming to swirl behind her brow. “Is there a laptop or tower connected to that printer?”

“Nope. There’s only…that thing near it.”

She peered over his shoulder. “That’s a signal repeater. It’s an older model.” She looked at her phone for a moment, poking around. “We can probably trace the router signal; the network its broadcasting isn’t from the surrounding buildings.”

John snapped a picture of the setup. “What, you think they have an Owl-themed computer set up somewhere?”

“That’s possible, but I was thinking more like a tablet or laptop that’s making the IDs. They’re portable, easily hidden or disposed of, and can easily support the software. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were trying to take down security systems or using social media to recruit, too – but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He snapped a picture of the rack of clothing, too. “You really think they’ll leave that laying around in here?”

“I’m more hoping they have. But I bet we’ll find the nest if we find the router this signal is coming from.”

The room next to it was wide open and all but beckoning them inside, a spray-painted black bat flying above the door. It was another dressing room, but it looked cleaned out – the makeup table was dust-free and had all its bulbs, and there was a minimal amount of boxes in there.

Iman walked in, heading straight to the lone garbage can and squatting to take a better look. “At least we know someone used this one for more than making fake IDs.”

John took a look at the table. A smear of a peach-toned neutral was left on the surface otherwise wiped off with what smelled like cheap makeup remover. “And they left a mess.”

“That’s good news for us,” Iman chuffed, “Looks like they tossed their contact in the wrong place. It doesn’t look tinted – probably corrective.”

John watched as Iman pulled tweezers out of her pocket and prepared to tuck the evidence away into a small plastic bag. “Someone came prepared,” he muttered enviously, looking around for anything that could be considered useful.

The streak was likely residue from Sonja’s makeup, since Bruce thought it was connected to The Lot. She might have changed in there, too, both heading in and out… If Bruce were here, he could likely use his amped-up forensic skills and handy-dandy gear to analyze the chair, but unless Iman had a pocket-sized version hidden on her, that was a moot option. What he did have was an imagination and a penchant for peeking in places he normally shouldn’t.

The only working drawer had a mish-mash of makeup in a rainbow of powders, pencils, and various flesh-toned pastes sitting next to a tub of Moddy and an empty bottle of Janus Clear-Away Makeup Remover. The tiny brushes and sponges besides them were all, unfortunately, clean as bristly whistles.

John eyed the streak on the tabletop, picturing someone sitting there and wiping foundation away…

Actually, the smear on the surface went all the way around to the edge, like someone had spilled or squirted too much from the bottle. And there was one broken bulb at the corner of the lined mirror, like something had knocked into it…

“Hey, Iman – the Lot shooter, were they left handed or right handed?”

“Left handed.” Iman stood next to him, examining the table. “She carried her purse on her right shoulder and opened the room door with her left hand.”

“And Jackie’s right handed, further proving my side,” he rubbed in, “So if I dropped it here,” he tried, miming dropping a bag on the table and sliding his hand on the left to crash the bottle of foundation into the bulb, “it might’ve fallen over.”

“There’s scuff marks by the chair,” Iman pointed out, “She was wearing heels, I wouldn’t be surprised if she slipped after wearing them for so long. Especially if she’s not used to them.”

“So, like-” John popped into position, miming a fall while keeping his balance on one leg – “whoooops!” He spread both hands, as if knocking things over while trying to catch himself on the table. “Crash!”

Iman kneeled to the right of his leg. “There’s a tube of foundation under here. And it looks like...” She reappeared a moment later with a poker chip held in her tweezers. “Good thinking, John.”

John straightened, pride inflating with a self-esteem boost.

“Looks like a promotional chip – they leave them in the rooms for guests.” She turned it over, exposing the logo – it looked a series of sticks in a fist. “It’s definitely from The Lot.”

John took a picture of it. “Five bucks? Cheapskates.”

Iman tucked the new piece of evidence back where she had picked it up from. “I’ll just make a note of this one.”

That was…unusual, to say the least. “Uh, why?”

“Because the Lot killer wore gloves; this just proves that they stopped here. If the G.C.P.D. does a raid later, they can point to it as evidence. Even though it’ll be labeled as circumstantial, it’s something noteworthy.”

“Buuut you’re taking the contact lens…?”

“So I can run a DNA match, if there’s anything on it. I’ll just put it back later.”

“Iman, that’s cheating,” John said with a titter, “I knew I liked you.”

There didn’t seem to be anything left in the room for them to search, so they moved on, turning the corner and finding locked or obstructed doors or rooms stuffed full of garbage from squatters one after another the closer they got to the stage entrance; the graffiti continued with them, countless symbols of anarchy censored out, the bat symbols disappearing altogether as the wireless signal Iman was tracing got stronger.

Iman pushed open the stage door, a dreadful squeal ripping through the air. John expected a pigeon or two to fly from the holes in the curtains up to the burnt, partially-dilapidated ceiling barely illuminated by a few leftover construction lights running on power-saving mode. The projector screen that had clearly been added after the initial build was still hanging stubbornly from the shoddy catwalk. The whole place smelled strange, must and mold mingling with a smell like cigarette burns on sheets.

“There should be a trapdoor under the stage for performers,” Iman commented as she led the way, “I’ll bet that’s where our nest is.”

John followed her, glancing out over the open stage and feeling something hitch in his stomach at the sight of the rows and rows of empty seats. They stood sturdy against the test of time despite the occasional moth-eaten holes, all silent and dark, not a flutter of movement among a single seat all the way up to the rafters. He could see the black, shadowy area in the back where the fire had seemed to start and trail away up to the ceiling. “Why is this place so creepy?”

“Because you’re expecting an audience when you go on a stage, and there isn’t one,” Iman said, prying at a section of the floor with a small crowbar she had pulled out from her jumpsuit. She grunted, prying hard at the section of floor that was suspiciously less dusty than the rest. “Can you give me a hand?”

He couldn’t resist. The joke was right there. “Sure!” He clapped his hands together. “Good hustle, kid! I like your realism!”

“Very funny,” she grumbled, prying again.

“Ha ha, sorry – but you walked right into it!” John moved to the opposite side of the trapdoor, stomping hard on the end he was sure was meant to go down. One foot wasn’t enough, but he felt a shift, so he stomped harder as Iman pried. “Ugh, come on, move!” He jumped on the end with both feet, realizing too late it was a bad idea as the floor gave away.

He landed with a hard thud on the balls of his feet, automatically bending at his knees and finding himself still stumbling to his side and knocking over something tall with a fwump and clatter of wood. “I’m okay!” he called up, rubbing his newly-bruised elbow, “But I definitely didn’t stick the landing!”

Iman landed next to him with a soft plat of boots, hands already steadying him as he rose back up. “Are you sure? Can you rotate your ankles?”

“Ha, it’ll take more than a poorly-placed coatrack to take me down.” He squinted at the little green light in the corner of the room over her shoulder. “At least we found your mystery-router.”

The wireless router was plugged into an outlet that looked like it had hastily been rewired, sitting by an open door that was obviously made to blend into the wall. There didn’t seem to be any lights strung up anywhere for easier viewing.

“Hopefully we’ll find what they were connecting to it, too.”

Their clip-on lights illuminated some of the room, showing another costume rack with several empty hangers and not a piece of clothing in sight. An old map of Gotham could be seen among a throng of paper tacked on the walls. A few plastic grocery bags holding emptied, bug-attracting food containers and the squashed couch shoved in the corner with a cheap blanket made it feel like it was a squatter’s den; the difference was the large picture of an owl that had been carved on the wall over a century ago, it’s clawed feet bared viciously at them.

“Seems like more of a burrow than a nest,” John commented, spying a cockroach scurrying to hide beneath one of the makeshift garbage bags, “‘No amenities; makes Arkham feel welcoming. Zero stars.’”

At least that made Iman laugh a little, which toned down the creepy vibe and widened the smile on John’s face.

Iman seemed to gravitate towards the wall of paper, so John followed suite. Mug-shots and stolen police forms were front-and-center, faces crossed out with a black ‘x’.

“Ugh, and someone’s crossing people off their little list,” John grunted in disgust, looking over the crossed-out faces. “Hey, that’s the guy who got stabbed in the eye on the Chandis!”

“That’s not surprising, Randolf Barron is over here. And Jack Whendleham, Kirby Noltz… It looks like everyone found on board the ship is here.”

“Plus a few gals from Poison Ivy’s gang… I know that guy’s in with the 8-Bits… Little Nel from the Rossi family? I thought he left Gotham seven years ago.”

“He did,” Iman grunted, “He was released from prison on good behavior; the Rossi’s blew up his car when he decided to leave the mob. He changed his name and moved to somewhere on the East coast. I think we can officially cross off any personal grudges,” she continued, shining her light elsewhere, “since Selina Kyle’s picture is also over here.”

Hers was the only one unmarked, and one of three on the whole wall that weren’t official police photos. John (thankfully) did not see his own face up there.

Iman turned to face the old wooden office desk behind them, so John followed along.

A knife was sitting on a pedestal there, clearly some kind of ceremonial dagger with the image of an owl bearing its claws and spreading its wings up the handle. The filing drawer was ajar and the surface was partially littered with highlighted and circled article pieces about Batman, even the Gotham Moonrise picture of Batman, Joker, and a somewhat-concealed Jim Gordon standing at the back of an ambulance.

Only where Joker was supposed to be, there was nothing but crooked edges– John had been cut out of the picture entirely. “Looks like our Owl’s a jealous rival Bat-fan, too.”

Iman flipped through the other half of the papers. “Looks like they stalked Selina for a while,” she mumbled, “They found her rental contract for her gallery and got a copy of the blueprint.”

John peered over at it – exits were marked and security shifts were scribbled on the printed map. Pictures were called for; he made sure to get the whole wall of photos.

Iman pulled open the top drawer slowly, revealing several charging cables in varying degrees of broken and two bottles of medication with the labels torn off. She shook the bottle to take a closer look at them without opening it. “White powder, pullapart capsule type… NVR R20. And I don’t have a signal down here. I wish I knew a pharmacist.”

John perked up. “Ooh, wait! I know that one…” he trailed, mentally sorting through the list of all the drugs he’d ever used, traded, or stolen, “Ritalin!”

She hummed thoughtfully, putting the bottle back and taking out the other, with little dull-green capsules rattling around. “And what I’m fairly sure is R-2 - Rohypnol.”

“I don’t remember seeing anyone up there being drugged before they died. That we know of, anyway…”

“They could be using it as a counteractive to the Ritalin, if they take a high enough dose. Some cocaine users take Rohypnol to come down easier. Anything in your side of the desk?”

John pulled open the first drawer. A few more paper copies of police reports and photos, with Harvey Dent’s picture on the top of the pile. His police report and a messy copy of his Arkham admittance sat underneath. “Looks like our next set of fresh victims include some more notorious Gothamites; ‘Big Bad Harvey’ is in here.” He flipped more, spying ‘Cannibal’ Carl Whistley and Victor Zsasz. “And some of the guys from my floor…”

“I’m not surprised, at this point,” Iman commented, wedging open the stuck filing drawer.

John flipped further, and felt his heart jolt horribly. “And Bruce.” He was sure he wasn’t imagining the photo in his hands of Bruce Wayne at the podium during his publicity stunt almost two years ago, where he announced devoting his money to fixing Arkham before he was almost run over. Everything felt too real. “I can’t believe they’re using this photo.”

John had found the whole segment amusing at the time, mulling over how handsome he seemed, all clean-shaven and acting all daring by getting out of the way just in time like he’d done it before, wondering to himself just how much danger Bruce could actually handle, how much they could both put themselves in on the outside together…

John scoffed at himself. “I really should’ve put Bruce and Batman together when I saw him dodge that van like it was no problem. But I thought ‘nah, Batman’s a completely different person!’ But I also thought Bruce would fit in with Harley’s ideas about stealing a potential cure for our little problems – shows how much I knew.” He flipped the picture over, spying the very shoddy record of Bruce’s time with the Pact laid out in a photocopied police form. “Looks like you were right about Bruce’s Pact past coming back to bite him; his form’s in here.”

“At least we know he’s not a current target,” Iman said, not comforting John very much, “This person seems like they want to finish what they started before moving onto something new. And if they were after Bruce now, they would’ve followed him straight to you a dozen times by now. We know that’s not the case,” Iman soothed with a light hand on his shoulder. She took it away a moment later. “And there is some good news – we have their tablet,” Iman added, holding up a tablet computer that was far too thick to be new. “Which means we can get out of here and reconnect with Batman and Robin.”

“I don’t know about the Robin part right now,” John pouted, walking out alongside her, “but I’m all for leaving the Gallery-o’-Death.”

Iman tucked the tablet into the fabric belt around her waist and dug her foot into the makeshift foothold nailed to the wall who-knew-how-many years ago. John looked away, not wanting to be weird and watch her as she hoisted herself up to the edge of the opening, but didn’t want to turn around entirely in case she slipped or needed a boost.

Just as he folded his arms and tapped his fingers against the healing cuts on his forearm, he heard an odd hiss.

He looked up too late – Iman slipped back down, coughing as she landed on top of him, sending them both to the ground in a bruising heap.

John grunted, trying to sit them both up and ending up sliding backwards instead as Iman struggled to not collapse back on top of him, coughing into her hand and trying to wipe away something from her face. “Hey – are you okay?!”

She didn’t look like she was. She was blinking hard, taking in sucking breaths, and doing a bad job of trying to point upward. John followed her finger towards the only exit.

The light was blocked out and there came a soft thump as a tall dark figure with broad shoulders and the painted wooden face of an owl with short horns protruding from the top of their head faced him, the eyes glowing white in the light.

The Owl-man tilted his head, as if regarding John like a curious animal, and light blue mist puffed out of the thick metal tube wrapped around his outstretched arm before John could move away.

John coughed and sputtered, tasting salt, and saw the world around him tilt on its axis as he tried to move backward, Iman’s weight collapsing onto his legs with a sighing breath.

There was little room to move and Iman was suddenly heavier than normal, but John still fumbled for the Bat-stamped taser in his pocket, hoping he could throw it or shock the Batman-knockoff when he came close enough.

He thought he might throw up from the sudden blurry movement of everything. His fingers wouldn’t move the way he wanted them to. Everything felt like it was teetering nonstop.

He felt the taser in his hand. Heard boots on the floor as he blinked away the awful seesawing layout.

He could feel the button trigger under his thumb, he just had to get his arm to move...

John blinked hard, feeling a familiar tug of his conscious towards the void at the back of his brain as he tried to focus on the closest thing he could, the bare coatrack lying on the floor.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a low, hoarse voice whispered to him in the dark, as it had done a hundred times before...

† † † † †

Notes: John's path to a better life outside of Arkham is a rocky one filled with the kind of problems he's very tired of dealing with. But unlike Bruce, who channels his issues into his drive to keep Gotham and his loved ones safe via detective work and kicking criminal butt, John finds it difficult to sort through his problems because he mainly needs emotional support. He and Bruce both have to face harsh things in this story, but John's journey is always the driving force behind it's very creation. It's interesting to really look at the parallel between Bruce and John right now: John has few people who's supportive of him (and would have less if "the player" made bad decisions regarding his new friends) and desperately needs it, and Bruce has a very steady group behind him 24/7 but still struggles with wanting to be alone; John struggles to hold onto reality and needs to remind himself that Bruce is always there for him, and Bruce just wants the escape from the world that John brings but can never seem to have him around long enough; Bruce is almost overly-protective over the people he works with and John is a little over-confident in people's abilities to take care of themselves. (Though both have problems taking care of themselves, ha ha!)

Have some fun facts!: 1) In this storyline, if Iman wasn't around, John would've gotten a Ryde; in the Villain route, John's clown-posse would've picked him up…or maybe he drives his own clown car? 2) If Jackie wasn't around, John bumps into Matt directly at the Gala, steals a car to go to the Hotel/the Theater, and searches the hotel room by himself. Jackie's part of Sonja is instead played by an innocent nobody Matt is dating and John doesn't get as upset. 3) I debated the "destined hat" John finds for, like, an hour. I think BtAS had Joker in a bolero, and I am a sucker for that style and making loving homages. I ended up with a fedora because it leans more with John's budding mockery of a classic detective. 4) You know, I mentioned the villain route…yes, Bruce has the option to fuck Joker (/cheat on Selina, if applicable) last chapter in that route, too, because who am I to stop you? ;) He and John do still have their little heart-to-heart here, but since the story plays out a little differently, it's missing the heart-wrenching confession John gives and the acceptance he gets, and is instead a convo/argument centered around John's and Bruce's possessiveness over one another. 5) If there's no Robin or Iman, Alfred is actually who alerts Bruce to BM's hideout, even if their relationship is rocky and regardless of which John you have. 6) If by some miracle Jackie is here, but your John's a villain, their interaction is a lot more tense and there's no real friendship forged. 7) The camera feature John has wouldn't be allowed all the time - like you couldn't take pictures of Bruce's butt, or the inside of Iman's swanky ride, for example - but I think there would be spots, like the Theater or Hotel Room, where you'd have free range. If I were making this a real game, I'd probably sneak in a bunch more Easter eggs: references to Condiment King, Bat-Cow, fandom members' usernames… What would you guys add?

If I had to pick a favorite thing to write this time around, the first is John's conversation with Bruce because I've been building to it, and the second is Jackie Lant! My Halloween baby, my pumpkin-pie, my darling depressed mess! I was planning her breakdown with John ever since the start of the story, but it was nice to craft her and John's bonding points over time.

Next chapter (which hopefully will be less than 3 months from now) we join back with Batman and Robin. Considering the timing of everything I've planned, it might be the first chapter that has both Bruce and John's "perspectives" in it… That, or I'll have to split it into two chapters. In the meantime, wear your mask, wash your hands, donate to BLM any way you can, and take care of yourself. (⌯˘̤ ॢᵌ ू˘̤)യ♡

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atreya300 · 3 years

Text

Slenderman and Creating Real Tulpas

I remember a couple of years ago finding out about Slenderman. It was so creepy that I looked into it a lot, especially when I heard the theory about Slenderman being a Tulpa. As if he wasn’t creepy enough just by being a made up story on the Internet, kids were killing other kids, or stabbing other kids, in order to “please Slenderman”. Clearly a game that they had invented and taken deadly seriously.

A Tulpa is an intended hallucination which can be sentient and have its own thoughts and personality. It is (according to the Tulpa Community, but not, I may add, folkloric legend) only seen by the person who created it, who has done so by prolonged periods of thinking solely about what the tulpa looks like, talks like, moves like etc, thus developing, in essence, another person who is sharing their body and mind, but functions as a separate personality. We know of lucid dreaming, as I have often done it myself. We’re aware that our brains are more than capable of producing extremely real and vivid hallucinations.

So is it entirely impossible that if enough people all put enough thought power into the creation of the same, singular individual, that a tulpa could be formed which could break free of the constraints of individual minds and be a person all of its own, with its own free will and the power to manipulate others? I believe it is possible. Call me crazy. My tin foil hat is firmly in place. It’s hilarious really when you consider that I laughed down the Flat Earthers, yet here I am saying that it’s possible to create an imaginary friend who can turn into a mind-bending, master manipulator.

I didn’t have many friends growing up. So I was one of the kids who didn’t mind admitting that I had invented an imaginary friend. His name was Bill and he was based off of Bill from ‘Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure’ because I was obsessed with that movie. I would talk to him whilst walking home from school alone, ask him what he would do in my place during different situations that I was struggling with and he always had an answer that I imagined. I would say, “Bill, do you think [insert boyfriend name here] is a dick?” and in my head he would instantly say, “Hell yeah he is, you need to dump his ass!”. Of course, I never once thought that I had created another person. It was my imaginary friend. In my head. Made up by me. Well, me and Alex Winter. His instant “responses” was just my own subconscious mind telling me what I really, truly felt, without having to consciously think about it.

Having perused the Tulpa Community it seems to be an extremely dangerous rabbit hole. For one, what they are describing as “tulpas”, at best, mostly seem to be an adult version of an imaginary friend and at worst, a real mental health issue, possibly Dissociative Identity Disorder which is incredibly serious and is being passed off as something that is perfectly normal and almost a uncommon achievement to be able to create a tulpa, rather than the reality which is that there is real medical and psychological help out there for cases such as DID and it should certainly not be explained away as a deliberately induced imaginary friend who will solve all your problems for you. Passing it off as such could potentially make the case even worse. I’m not a psychologist. I’m just using common sense. If you cultivate something, it grows.

So. I have made a decision that I don’t buy into the Tulpa Community. There are also a lot of comments on YouTube videos and forums that are quite blatantly people who are full of absolute shit and others who are just clearly attention seeking. I thoroughly enjoyed the brilliant sarcastic responses to those comments.

Now let’s get serious (ish). Bear with me. Let’s get back to the theory of many people being able to collectively produce a tulpa.

As I said before, I became obsessed with Slenderman. I watched videos (all of Marble Hornets), read newspaper articles, looked at pictures, read stories, until he became my every waking thought. After a week and a half I developed sensations such as paranoia, racing heart, dizziness and the feeling of constantly being watched by something just out of the corner of my eye. I began having horrific nightmares and would wake up drenched in sweat. I stopped being able to lucid dream and wake myself up and was forced to play out the nightmares, helpless. It got to the point where I didn’t want to sleep. The times that my boyfriend had blessedly snored loudly enough to wake my conscious brain, I sat up in bed, exhausted, trying desperately to keep my eyes open and not fall back to sleep. Every shadow in the bedroom seemed to resemble Slenderman and I was convinced that as soon as the lights got dim or it was dark, he was there in the shadows waiting. I stopped going to bed before my boyfriend. I didn’t want to be in the house alone.

Looking back, naturally it all seems totally stupid. Me, a grown 35 year old, scaring myself silly because of a kids’ story on the internet. But what if it really is possible to create a tulpa by using enough collective subconscious power? Thousands of people in the world at the time were reading those same stories and scaring themselves silly like I was. If it was possible to create a tulpa, Slenderman and his fame would most certainly warrant it.

For anyone who isn’t familiar with the 80’s movie ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’, the main bad guy/killer is Freddy Kruger, a demon (who was a bloke who killed kids and then got burned in a fire by their fucked-off parents, then he came back from the dead in peoples’ dreams, as a...you know what, I don’t fucking actually really know what kind of thing Freddy is) who kills people in their dreams. Enough people get to know about him and he suddenly can break free of only being in their dreams and can exist in the real world, killing whomever he chooses in reality. Freddy, is a tulpa. He existed in reality, purely because all the kids talked about him, described him to each other, then dreamed about him, which cemented him more in their brains, until he became a reality. By what was, if I remember correctly, the 407th film featuring Freddy, ‘Freddy vs Jason’ the townsfolk had worked out that the only way to defeat Freddy, was to pretend he didn’t exist. No one was allowed to talk about him, no one could mention his name, and anyone who dreamed about him was given dream suppression pills so they ceased dreaming altogether (boy didn’t I crave Hypnocil during my Slenderman nights). In this way, Freddy became weak and the town was safe (for a while - Stage Right - freaky hockey-mask-wearing-dude-with-mommy-issues).

My point is that from my personal point of view, the Tulpa Community are people who have really good imaginations, like myself and are doing nothing more than imagining another person. They are not “creating” a tulpa. Not in the sense that I think they think they are anyway. I sort of feel like a tulpa is akin to a golem who is created to protect someone or something and is capable of physical destruction in the real world.

I digress. Touching on Slendy for the podcast is something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, but I’ve hummed and hawed because, let’s face it, I’m scared. Slenderman did become a bit too real for me, even if it was in my head and my mind playing tricks on me, but it put me through sheer terror, I was legitimately scared of my own shadow so opening this can of worms is a big deal for me, even if it seems utterly stupid for a grown woman to feel that way. If two young girls can pretend that killing their friend as a “sacrifice to Slenderman” is real, then who’s to say if enough people genuinely hallucinated Slendy and his creepy, murderous personality, that other people could not be compelled to kill? He would become his own person. I’m a tin-foil hat wearing silly girl who believes a lot of ridiculous things (except Flat Earth, you guys are wrong - just saying), but from a mass hallucination point of view, I do genuinely think this could be plausible. And by delving back into this research, not only am I opening up the likelihood of scaring myself silly, into seeing shit that isn’t there, I would also have to be held (partially) responsible for creating the master Slenderman that wipes out the world by making people kill each other. Hmph. And Ted Bundy thought he had some great ideas.

Also, “Tulpamancy” is a thing. Although not according to the Tibetians, where the tulpa originated. Funny that. Almost as if it’s a made up word. (It is. By the Tulpa Community.)

As for the pretend “Tulpa Community”? Some of these people envision their tulpas as characters from ‘My Little Pony’. Make of that what you will. I wouldn’t personally be taking career and life advice off of a fucking horse. All I’m saying.

#slenderman #mystery #weird #tulpa #monster #murder

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

And Freedom’s A Fairy Tale Lie (3/?)

When Michael is transformed just before killing Jon, the face the Distortion next wears is one much more familiar to Jon than that of Helen Richardson.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

on AO3

As Jon’s eyes began to adapt to the darkness, as he began to make out the bare outlines of walls and furniture around him, Jon let out a sharp laugh, because what little he could see was all too familiar.

It looked like his office back in the Archives.

But Jon knew all too well that that didn’t mean it was his office back in the Archives. It could all too easily be some sort of... of replica of his office, still contained within the corridors of the thing that was once Michael, meant to lull him into a false sense of normalcy before the other shoe fell, a small part of a greater trap.

Jon moved slowly and carefully towards where the door of his office should be, flipping on the light switch only once one hand was already brushing against the doorknob. It looked like a normal door, brown rather than goldenrod, with no special bronze carvings on the handle... but Jon was well aware by now of how looks could be deceiving...

He was probably just being paranoid. He knew that, really. He knew it, but that didn’t actually make him feel any better, or quiet any of the worries that kept rising up in his head.

Is it still paranoia when they really are out to get you?

Well. Only one way to get some answers, and it wasn’t by standing around pondering possibility after possibility.

Jon gripped the knob tightly and flung the door open.

The light from the Archives hit him all at once, forcing him to squint at his surroundings before his eyes adjusted, a weak hiss inadvertently escaping from his lips as he took a tentative step forward. The Archives looked normal enough as well from what he could see, which was probably a good sign, though the corridors still could contain a room like this, the way they twisted and turned and spiraled in defiance of all laws of physics and geography...

“Jon?”

Jon spun around until he came face to face with Melanie, which was enough to finally quiet the voice in his head that insisted all of this was an elaborate illusion by the thing that once was Michael. Spaces could be imitated, perhaps, but people... people had never seemed to be within its purview. Helen had been alone in the corridors, after all. Tim was by the time he left them, too.

“Melanie!” He hadn’t meant for his voice to contain quite as much enthusiasm as it did, but it was good to see another person--a real person, not a living mannequin or a monster wearing a humanoid form--and he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. If she teased him for it later, well, that would just be the price he had to pay. At least that would mean things were back to normal, more or less.

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on his tone directly, only saying, “Didn’t see you come in.”

“No, I... I suppose you wouldn’t have.” Jon laughed a little at that, though it was clear from the look on Melanie’s face that if it was a joke, it was only amusing one of them. Another thing to explain later, perhaps.

“You look like shit, by the way.”

“Well, excuse me for not having cleaned myself up right after my kidnapping, next time I’ll be sure to-”

Melanie held up one hand, which was enough to immediately silence Jon’s sarcastic, bitter diatribe in the making. “Hang on, you got kidnapped?”

Jon blinked a few times, annoyance giving way to confusion. “Did... did Elias not tell you? They made tapes, they were- they said they’d send them to him...”

“Who’s they?”

“The, the circus, Nikola Orsinov... you really don’t know?”

Melanie shook her head, dark strands of hair falling onto her face. “Jesus.”

“I mean, I’m fine now anyway--well, for a certain definition of fine... I’m not currently strapped to a chair or being aggressively moisturized, at least...”

Melanie’s eyes just kept getting wider and wider as Jon spoke.

“I should, uh. Probably have a chat with you and the other assistants about what happened there. Clear a few things up.” Jon thought of the being that resembled Martin, briefly pondered what Tim’s reaction might be to seeing such a thing without warning, and shivered a little before adding, “Especially Tim. Have you seen him around?”

Melanie shrugged. “I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in. He’s not exactly the most sociable person these days. Want me to go hunt him down?”

“Sure.”

“Got it. Stay right there.”

And in the blink on an eye, Melanie was gone.

Jon couldn’t help but think that there had been a time where Tim very much was the most sociable person, at least among the archives staff. He was the funny one, the charming one, the one you couldn’t help but like. If somebody needed to be schmoozed up for information, Tim was the man for the job. The rest of them might have been varying degrees of useless in social situations, but Tim, Tim seemed like he was made for them...

Just another thing that fell to the wayside, there. Just another thing lost to the archives and the horrors that surrounded them.

If he hadn’t dragged Tim into the archives with him when he’d been promoted to Head Archivist, perhaps...

Despite Melanie’s instructions, Jon went into his office, leaving the door wide open so that he could still be easily located, and turned on his computer. There were messages there, but for once Jon wasn’t focused on them, wasn’t focused on doing his research above all else. All he really wanted to do was check the date.

It was June now, apparently.

It had been the end of April when he’d been kidnapped, and now it was June, just like that.

His time at the circus somehow felt both so much shorter and so much longer than the month and change that had actually passed in his absence.

There was... there was going to be a lot to catch up on, now, wasn’t there?

Jon sighed softly and wandered back to the spot where Melanie had told him to wait for her, picking at his fingernails and pacing back and forth partly out of boredom and aimless anxiety but partly just because he could, now, because he was free to move as he liked, no longer tied to a chair with no end in sight.

(Jon winced slightly as he suddenly recalled Nikola’s claim that she had considered fixing him to the chair using nails instead of rope, that the only reason she hadn’t followed through was because she was a ‘good friend’ of Elias. Elias, who apparently hadn’t told the rest of the Institute that he’d been kidnapped in the first place. Were they secretly working together, perhaps? Did Elias want the Unknowing to happen, then? How deep did all of this go?)

Melanie was gone for long enough that Jon half-expected her to return with no Tim, only a statement suggesting that he must be out for the day, but when she did return it was with Tim by her side, Melanie’s hand wrapped around his wrist in a gesture that looked more menacing than comforting.

“Found him. Despite his best efforts.”

Jon wondered for a moment what “despite his best efforts” meant in this context, wondered where exactly Tim had been hiding from him and the others... and then abruptly ended that train of thought when he realized that if he thought about it too hard, there was the possibility that he might actually Know where Tim’s secret hiding spots in the Institute were, and Tim deserved to keep his secrets. He’d taken enough from Tim already.

“And Basira?”

“Still reading at her desk last I checked. Want me to grab her too?” Given the way Melanie’s grip on Tim’s arm tightened subtly but clearly at the word “grab,” Jon was half-convinced that she might well grab Basira literally rather than just metaphorically if he asked as much.

Jon thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s fine, we can go to her instead. It’s probably for the best that all of you be sitting down when I talk about this anyway.”

“We should be sitting down?” Tim let out a humorless laugh. “You look like you’re about ready to keel over any second now, boss.”

“Right. Well...” Jon glanced back towards his office. “You do have a point. Perhaps I’d better go fetch a seat for myself as well.”

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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