"Oh no, someone's attracted to the aesthetics of my -punk movement but doesn't know the praxis and history behind it like I do--"

OK. Tell them. Make it a teaching moment. Everyone who's in your movement learned the background from somewhere at some point, maybe this is that point for that person. Give them a jumping off point that they can dive into later.

"Oh but I shouldn't be responsible for teaching baby -punks about the history and the how-tos and--"

OK. Then don't tell them. You don't have to be responsible for teaching people with a budding interest in your group the ins and outs and how-tos. That's fair and valid! It can be a lot of work. Someone else will handle it

"But I'm annoyed that they would try to claim to be part of/be interested in my community without knowing all the details that I know after being in it for months/years/decades, they're dumb, they're posers, they're--"

OK. Then don't engage with them, if it's that bad. Maybe someone else will come around and tell them the history, maybe they'll pick it up on their own, maybe they'll just enjoy the fashion elements for awhile.

"But they shouldn't claim to be part of the -punk community if they don't know the--"

I feel like we have a few options here. People can either talk to them, share the history, share the values, share the praxis. Or they can just chase off anyone who even thinks about dipping a toe in their community, and then wonder why it's dying off later down the line.

I dunno, maybe I'm too naive and patient or whatever. But if people are entering your -punk spaces without knowing The Rundown of what you feel they need to know, maybe being nice about it and informing people instead of immediately assuming stupidity and malicious intent could help you make a new friend. Even the loudest voices in a space had to learn from somewhere, and not everyone has the luxury of being in the space as the History was Happening--whether it's an age thing or a not being aware of the space thing. Or maybe I just don't see what the big deal is behind people hating people who like the aesthetic of something and don't know the behind the scenes history about it yet.

Because I believe in the word 'yet.' No one comes into this world knowing everything about everything, and we're all constantly learning new things. I'm not gonna degrade someone and call them a poser for not knowing what I know. Because if it were me, interested in a scene but getting chased out and called a poser? I wouldn't hit the books and study up, I'd go 'that fuckin sucks, those people sucked' and then avoid anyone and anything having to do with it.

So chase people off and call them posers if you want. But if your community starts dwindling, don't be fucking shocked.

🌷 social media au where y/n posts an advertisement looking for a new place to stay that is closer to campus, causing seven upperclassmen to make it their mission to recruit her into their dormitories 🌷

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVER AND I KINDA RUSHED IT AT THE END BUT HOPEFULLY IT MAKES SENSE?? anyway, yoongi didn’t do anything stupid (depending on your definition of stupid) so no need to worry about him being cringey,,, i spared you all from the secondhand embarrassment but i won’t be so kind next time!! anyway... enjoy || W.C. 3.8K

prev // part 11 // next masterlist here.

By the time Seokjin’s phone begins to ring, Yoongi can already feel the dread settle deep inside his bones. The familiar coil of anxiety tightens around his throat like a vice, and Yoongi has to remember how to breathe to keep himself from fainting like a corseted Victorian lady. 

“Well, that must be her!” Seokjin chimes, promptly declining your call without a glance. Yoongi catches a glimpse of your contact photo anyway: it’s an unflattering angle of you from below your neck, giving the illusion of a multitude of chins. If it were any other time, Yoongi might have smiled like a lovesick fool. 

“Don’t you dare let her in here,” Yoongi seethes. He tries to sound menacing, but the effect is severely diminished by how badly his voice cracks. He tugs at Seokjin by the sleeve, but the older man refuses to budge. “Hyung, I’m serious. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Are you done live-tweeting your confusion now? Finally got the memo? I always knew you were a smart boy,” Seokjin laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder with his tomato sauce-covered tongs. “Since we’re on the same page now, why don’t you change clothes while I finish cooking? I know your entire wardrobe is composed of the free t-shirts you got from job fairs, but it would do well to wear a clean, unstained shirt.”

Yoongi swipes at him, hissing like the catboy that he is. “You’re the one who wiped shit on me, asshole. And yes, I figured out what you are trying to do. You think you’re so slick, but I know that you’re just trying to embarrass me in front of Y/N!”

Seokjin shrugs. “It isn’t like I’m trying to be slick. I embarrass you all the time. Besides, I’m setting you up on a date with the love of your life! You should be thanking me, if I’m being honest.”

Yoongi stammers, his jaw dropping in shock. “Love of my–?”

Seokjin waves his tongs in his face, silencing him. “Oh, hush. Don’t even try to hide it, Yoongi. I figured out that you like Y/N. Your weird behavior finally makes sense! After years of you avoiding her, I always thought you were just bad at forming human connections, but turns out you’ve got a gigantic heart boner for my best friend!”

“Please don’t phrase it like that,” Yoongi groans, smashing his head against his kitchen counter. He hopes a few brain cells might have died, just so he can stop processing the words coming out of Seokjin’s mouth. “Actually, just please stop talking.”

Seokjin snorts in exasperation as if Yoongi was the dramatic one between them. “Point is, this is a favor that I’ve chosen to grant you from the goodness of my heart! As I said, I’m giving you the love life you deserve! So stop whining and get moving before Y/N gets up here.”

“There isn’t any goodness nor a heart inside of you. And more importantly, when was the last time you did anything for free, you capitalist bastard!”

Seokjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Yoongi-chi. You’ve already paid me for my services by offering me front row seats to watch you lose your fucking mind. And that, my friend, is priceless.”

“Aha! So you do admit that this is all just a ploy to humiliate me!” Yoongi shouts. He grabs a knife from his scabbard, pointing it threateningly at Seokjin. He doesn’t even flinch, instead gently guiding Yoongi by the wrist over to the chopping board where he had placed some garlic cloves beforehand. Without prompting, Yoongi’s hand begins to move, his culinary instincts taking over.

“Yes and no,” Seokjin admits as he grabs Yoongi’s cast iron pan from the top shelf (which he has never gotten to use since he bought it, ever since Seokjin had borrowed it once and placed it too high for him to retrieve.) “I’m honestly trying to help you out here, my dude. Besides, even if shit hits the fan, Y/N isn’t gonna think any less of you. She’s too much of an idiot to resent anyone.”

“Speaking from experience?” Yoongi huffs, eyeing him with intense vitriol. “Can’t say I understand how she’s gone this long without killing you.” The next time the two of them are alone together in the wilderness, he can’t promise that his hands won’t find their way around Seokjin’s throat, and it won’t be sexy.

“Hmm. Yeah, definitely,” he says, nodding absentmindedly. As he begins to season the steak, he hands the cast iron pan to Yoongi. “Start preheating this. We need it to be smoking hot before we can place the steak on there.”

“I know how to cook a steak, fucker. And who said you’re allowed to serve my Wagyu steak? I was saving that for a special occasion!”

Seokjin looks up from his ministrations long enough to raise a brow at him. “So going on your first ever date with Y/N isn’t considered a special occasion?”

Yoongi falters, eyes widening. “N-no, that’s not what I mean!” he defends hotly, but he quickly snaps out of it. “Wait, no! This is not a date! Not when both parties did not agree to any of this!”

Seokjin pauses from his cooking to place a perfectly manicured hand on his hip. “I mean, Y/N agreed to it, so are you going to reject her? Huh? Too good for her and my spaghetti?”

Yoongi scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, she did not agree to this. She doesn’t even know you’re forcing her to eat lunch with me.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” Seokjin challenges, puffing his cheeks. “You don’t even know what I told her!”

Except I do know what you said, Yoongi thinks darkly to himself. And more importantly, I know what she thinks you were implying. He is pretty sure that the words “crush on him during high school” have seared themselves underneath his eyelids forevermore.

But instead, he says, “Yeah, well. If what you told her is as vague as what you told me, I have a pretty good hunch that this is going to blow up into a huge misunderstanding.”

Like the absolute menace that he is, all Seokjin does is shrug nonchalantly. “Suppose you are right… Who cares? It’s not like the two of you are strangers, so I’m sure this is going to go great!”

“What the fuck? She is a stranger! I’ve literally only spoken two words to her in the past four years!” Yoongi seethes, his temple throbbing from an oncoming migraine. 

Seokjin ignores him, as per his want. “Grab that plate, will you? I gotta plate the pasta before Y/N starts calling again to let her into the building,” he says, nudging the tongs into Yoongi’s hands. Yoongi squawks, quickly turning the stove off to keep the food from burning. 

Seokjin tears off his (read: Yoongi’s) apron off, wiping his hands on his jeans with a quick smile. “Great! While you finish up here, I’ll distract Y/N for a bit in my room before I lead her in here, alright? You better hurry unless you want to keep her waiting!”

“Oh, like how you kept her waiting downstairs for the past–” Yoongi checks his wall clock, “–seven minutes?”

Seokjin cackles madly, rushing out the door. “Well, that’s where you and I differ, Yoongi-chi! I give no shits about how Y/N thinks about me, so good luck!” After sending Yoongi three flying kisses for good measure, Seokjin slams the door shut, leaving Yoongi to simmer in his bad life choices.

The worst choice that he’s ever made? Being friends with one (1) Kim Seokjin.

“God, just end me,” Yoongi mutters, placing his $80 steak on his pan. It sizzles deliciously, much like how his (nonexistent) love life is about to get burnt to a crisp.

x x x x x

“Took you long enough.” You watch as Seokjin taunts you with a funny little dance by the lobby of his dormitory, the building receptionist not even batting an eye at his eccentricity. That’s the sad side effect of living in close proximity with Seokjin: you start getting desensitized to most things, not even flinching at the sight of a man without a functioning central nervous system.

Seokjin slides his card to open the door, finally allowing you entry. “Sorry. Got busy preparing your lunch! Which by the way, you should be thanking me for.”

“The moment I thank you for anything is the day that you slip on your own cum and die,” you grouse, nudging past him to get on the elevator first. You punch the button for the 5th floor before rapidly trying to close the elevator door on him. Unfortunately, Seokjin makes it in time before his ass gets clamped by the two steel doors.

“Thinking about my cum? Oh my, Y/N… I know you’ve had a dry spell for too long, but I didn’t think you’d be that desperate for some of my butter,” Seokjin says, leaning closely to wink at you.

Against your will, your cheeks brighten furiously, weakly pushing Seokjin away from you. “You wish. At least I don’t spend my spare time loitering outside the campus gym to ogle all the sweaty hot people.”

“And the invitation to join me still stands by the way!” Seokjin singsongs, leaping out of the elevator once you reach his floor. You walk side by side until you reach his room, but you catch him shooting a furtive glance at his next-door neighbor.

“Is Yoongi joining us for lunch?” you ask, failing to keep your curiosity from showing in your voice. If Yoongi does end up joining you for lunch (which has never happened in the past four years, convincing you that he must have a personal grudge against you), then at least it can confirm to you straight away that whatever this “date” is just another prank by Seokjin. You don’t know if you should be disappointed or grateful if it is just a joke.

Seokjin beams in response, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know what? He is going to join us, actually!” 

He had been in the midst of unlocking his dorm when he changes direction, leading you to Yoongi’s door instead. He rifles through his other keys, and you notice one of them looks similar to his own house key, except with a Hello Kitty sticker on it. He pulls that key out and promptly unlocks Yoongi’s door without missing a beat.

What kind of weirdo must Yoongi be to give Seokjin a spare key to his dorm? You’d rather shit out a cactus than let Seokjin have free entry to your home whenever he pleases.

You hesitate by Yoongi’s door, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Um, Seokjin? Are you sure it’s okay for me to–?”

“HONEY I’M HOOOOME!” Seokjin’s loud guffaw cuts you off before you can finish your question. He bursts through the door and leaves you by the hallway, and you watch as he nearly tackles Yoongi to the ground.

Yoongi, despite looking like he’s half the size of Seokjin on a good day, manages to keep upright despite how his back is now bent parallel to the floor. “Get off me!” he yells, roughly pushing Seokjin off of him. 

Seokjin tumbles to the floor, but the shit-eating grin on his face hardly wavers. He points at you by the doorway, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Look, Yoongi-chi! I brought a guest!”

Yoongi spares you half a glance before returning his attention to whatever he was cooking. “I suppose you did.”

Okay, this date is definitely a joke. Why the hell did you even think for a second that Seokjin might have been into you?

“Um,” you stutter nervously. You grind your heel into the carpet self-consciously, your gaze downcast. “Hello, Yoongi. Sorry for the intrusion, by the way…”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi replies, albeit a little curtly. He clears his throat, his face still tilted away from you so you can’t tell if he’s genuinely annoyed or not. 

You point a glare at Seokjin, who looks shamelessly pleased with himself. After taking a deep breath, you take your first steps into Yoongi’s home before gently closing the door.

As you look around at your new surroundings, you notice that his home is a lot cleaner than you would have expected, though you’re not exactly sure what you should have expected in the first place. It’s minimalist, but not in a barren type of way; it’s seems like Yoongi is fond of simple designs more than anything. It’s certainly a nice change of pace compared to Seokjin’s abomination of a room, with his vaguely yellow-stained bedsheets. 

The smell of freshly cooked pasta and meat being grilled catches your senses immediately. You watch as Yoongi flips over a hefty piece of steak, the aroma causing your mouth to salivate instantly. 

“I… What is… Huh?” you start, not knowing what to ask. You catch Seokjin snickering quietly to himself, but promptly shuts up when you mime punching him in the dick.

“It’ll be finished in a second. Why don’t you sit down?” Yoongi announces quietly, his gaze still fixed away from you. Confused but left with no other choice, you tentatively make your way to his couch, unable to relax as your spine remains ramrod straight and your jaw stays clenched. 

You hear Seokjin shuffling behind you until he eventually makes his way to sit with you, plopping onto the couch as if it were his home. “Ah… I’m soooo hungry. Smells good, doesn’t it?” he asks you, his brow wiggling too much to be considered normal. Either that, or he was having a stroke.

“Yeah, it does,” you say, greatly uncomfortable. You peek at Yoongi once more, who is still dutifully attending to the steak. Making sure he isn’t looking, you twist Seokjin by the nipple, causing the elder to let out a high-pitched squeal. To an outsider, it might have almost sounded like he was being pleasured. 

“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” Seokjin whines, rubbing his tenderized nipples. 

“You know what that was for,” you hiss, keeping your volume low. “What the hell are we doing here? Why are you making Yoongi cook for us?!”

“For us? It’s for you!” Seokjin snaps back. “Didn’t you say you would only come over if you got fed? Well, this is how you get fed!”

“I was under the assumption that you would be feeding me, not him!” you seethe. You check back on Yoongi, who still hasn’t looked your way once. “The poor boy… No wonder he doesn’t like me! He must think I’m as bad as you!”

Seokjin snorts. “Of course he likes you! This whole lunch date wouldn’t have even fucking happened if he wasn’t assdeep in lo–”

“Lunch is finished,” Yoongi interrupts loudly, his spatula rattling loudly against his pan. The sudden noise makes you jump away from Seokjin, who appears vaguely triumphant. 

“T-thanks,” you stutter, standing up and resisting the random urge to shake his hand. Everything about this situation is so tense and awkward that it feels like you’re being filmed for a prank Youtube video or something. Knowing Seokjin, the odds of that happening are great. 

“That’s my cue to leave then! Bye! You guys have fun!” Seokjin says, jumping to his feet. 

You vaguely hear Yoongi gasp quietly when you launch yourself at Seokjin, just narrowly keeping from escaping. “Oh no, you don’t! Who said you could leave? You’re not going anywhere!”

But like the slippery snake that he is, Seokjin manages to wriggle out of your arms and hop over Yoongi’s coffee table to get to the door. “Too bad! I have classes to get to, so I gotta blast! Use this time to get to know each other or whatever it is that kids do these days,” he says, winking salaciously. With one final sputter of (evil) laughter, Seokjin makes his exit, leaving you and Yoongi to fester in some good ol’ fashioned discomforting silence.

“Um,” you say, just as Yoongi opens his mouth to say something too.

“No, you go first–”

“You go ahead–”

The two of you pause mid-sentence, staring at each other. You grin sheepishly at him, motioning for him to speak first. 

He returns your smile half-heartedly. “So, um… I just wanted to say I’m sorry for letting Seokjin rope you into this. I tried stopping him, but… You know how he is.”

You laugh, sounding a little crazed even to your own ears. That’s the longest sentence you’ve ever heard him speak! 

“Yeah, believe me… I am intimately aware of how he is. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” you joke. 

Amazingly, your little quip makes his smile widen, his cheeks puffing up imperceptibly. “Glad we can agree that Seokjin has the amazing ability to ruin people’s lives. It’s almost welcoming to find solidarity in a shared experience.”

“Shared experience? Try shared trauma. That dude is a walking serotonin sucker,” you say dryly. 

You don’t think what you said was remotely funny enough to warrant a laugh, but it causes Yoongi to let out a loud snort regardless. But the amusement on his face is short-lived, his cheeks going red in embarrassment. He slaps a hand to his mouth, breaking eye contact once more. “Oh fuck, that was so unflattering,” he groans, clearly mortified.

His blush, multiplied by his shy demeanor, makes you want to coo at him, but you doubt he’d take that too kindly. So instead, you change the subject to save him. “So, uhh… The food? You don’t have to give me any, by the way. I wouldn’t want you to waste your lunch on me or anything.”

Yoongi snaps out of his previous embarrassment, returning to the more familiar stoic expression you’ve come to associate with Yoongi. “No, that’s fine. Seokjin–er, rather… I made enough for two people, so it would be a waste if you didn’t eat at least some of it. But I don’t care either way if you want it or not.”

For two people? you wonder. So Yoongi had known Seokjin wasn’t going to join for lunch?

“Oh, if it’s fine with you…” you trail off, meekly making your way towards him. The spaghetti and steak look absolutely delicious, though you don’t need to tell him that when your stomach speaks for you. “Oh shit, that’s so embarrassing,” you say, your cheeks heating up this time.

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “Haven’t eaten breakfast yet, I assume? That’s pretty stupid if you ask me. Don’t you have class until 5? How the hell would you have survived until then?”

You choke in surprise. Where did all that sass suddenly come from? “Excuse me? I’m not stupid! I would’ve been fine with a sandwich from the cafeteria if you must know!” you say indignantly. You’re too busy being offended that you don’t fully comprehend his words, failing to notice how he had known you had class until 5 in the first place.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Rolling his eyes, Yoongi starts shifting through his cupboards and pulling out a pink tupperware. He begins to load them with food, nearly overflowing the containers with how much he tries to stuff in them.

“H-hey! What are you doing?”

“Packing your lunch. You have class in a bit, yeah? It’s almost 11:50 and it takes around 15 minutes to get to the main campus. You won’t have time to eat here and make it in time,” he says, pointing you with a look. “Wait. Did you have coffee this morning?”

“Yeah? So?” you ask, defensive. “Are you gonna call me stupid again for not having caffeine or something?”

“No,” he grunts. “If you’re caffeinated, then that means it should only take you 7 minutes to get to class.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you exclaim, but you can’t help letting out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. You’re kinda weird, did you know that?”

“You barely even know me, so how would you know?” he retorts. He finishes placing food into the tupperware and promptly clicks the lid in place. He offers it to you, smirking slightly.

You huff, but your ire is all for show. You aren’t actually annoyed by him–he’s just… different from what you expected. A little shy, a little rough around the edges… but you can tell he isn’t a bad guy. You understand why Seokjin loves to torment him; he seems like a fun person to tease. 

“That can be amended,” you respond, taking the tupperware from him. Your fingers graze the backs of his hand by accident, causing him to quickly retract his hand as though he’d been burned. You nearly drop the container in surprise, but luckily your reflexes save your precious food just in time. 

“Sorry. About… you know.” Yoongi gesticulates wildly, his gaze darting anywhere but at you. 

You smile secretly to yourself, amused. Ah. He’s like a human seesaw. Blushy one second and grumpy the next. “No worries, Yoongi. I’ll be sure to return this container soon, so don’t you worry.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Keep it if you want. I don’t care either way.”

Says the guy who has an entire cupboard full of color coordinating food containers. “Roger that, Yoongi.”

Yoongi walks you out the door, pausing outside the hallway with you. “Do you…” he hesitates, swallowing loudly enough for you to hear. “Do you… want me to walk you out?”

His sudden offer almost makes you want to laugh, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t find it amusing at all. Instead, you just shake your head with a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t get lost. I think I remember where the door is.”

He pouts, his lips jutting out cutely. “Yeah, well. I was just trying to be nice, but you do you.”

You giggle lightly, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You were more than nice,” you say, winking for added effect. It does more than you thought it would, causing Yoongi’s cheeks to bloom once more.

With one last wave, you make your way out of the dormitory, your heart a little lighter than before. 

“Huh. That was weird.” You glance at the pink little tupperware in your hands, its warmth keeping your hands safe from the winter chill. As you walk to class, your thoughts are filled with nothing but a shy boy with soft hands and even softer cheeks. Maybe Tuesday isn’t going to be so bad after all.

Stark Legacy

part 01/?? "the only person"

master list

word count 4.3k

an: :3 welcome to a new fic bc idk how to control myself

WARNING: this part does depict alcohol usage, and mentions of other substances a character uses to cope (though nothing is explicitly mentioned).

“An unemployment and housing crisis skyrockets to higher levels as people still struggle to adjust and accommodate the population we had years ago. Streets are littered with people seeking hope-”

“According to world economists, the surge in loan denials is leading to an unprecedented end, leaving the experts scrambling for a way to get the economy back on track, also claiming that the Global Repatriation Council may be asking for too much-”

“Protests break out across Switzerland as support for the group known as the Flag Smashers rises, with the Global Repatriation Council denying any comment on the matter, as well as refusing to comment on the rumours that the newly titled Captain America is investigating the matter-”

“What can we expect from Stark Industries now that Tony Stark is no longer with us? Pepper Potts, while having led the company in a positive direction prior to the Blip, has had no new developments over the last six months. With these newfound challenges the world is facing we’re left to wonder.. Who is going to step up as the ingenious mind behind new innovation? Will the youngest Stark continue on in the steps of father and brother, or are we seeing the end of the Stark Legacy?”

Click.

Silence filled the blue colored cottage that was tucked away at the end of the street in Ransdorp. Though dim and lifeless inside the cottage, outside the sun shined while birds chirped away happily and the sound of children playing echoed through the air. But inside the cottage, all alone, someone stood and tossed a television remote back onto the couch that was once occupied. They shed the blanket that had been wrapped around their shoulders all night while listening to all the different news reports, and entering a small bedroom and dressed in the dark. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and after shuffling through the cottage to grab a few things, the back doors were pushed and locked open, and a breeze blew through the house.

You squinted as you put a sun hat on and oversized sunglasses, overlooking the green oasis you had worked on every day for the last six months. Pushing away the thoughts of what the news had been saying, you stepped down onto the wooden patio that lined the back door and carried a hefty packed bag with you to the garden you had planted. You set the bag down and kneeled into the soft grass, and got to work on picking on fresh vegetables to use for your dinner later. Lucky for you, the soil was perfect here.

So… How have the last six months been for you?

Well the garden was a distraction your neighbor had suggested after finally catching you one day while throwing out a bag full of alcohol bottles you had consumed. You could see her take a second glance over your disheveled appearance, but she ignored it for the most part (which thankfully she did, you were a little sick of people telling you how to feel at the time). Naturally, instead of working through your problems, you distracted yourself from them.

But in all honesty… It’s been hard. Maybe it was selfish of you to think so, but you felt like you had been dealt one of the shittiest hands from the universe. The pressure from the world after… After Tony’s death was suffocating. As more paparazzi followed you around, the worse that anxiety had gotten. With that newfound attention, you had also been summoned by the United States government to attest for your time as a HYDRA agent. Lucky for you, in some way, they dropped any serious charges due to your restraint under the program, but sentenced you to weekly therapy sessions (since SHIELD had denied to disclose your mental capabilities). To your knowledge, Bucky Barnes had been offered a similar deal. The therapy lasted all of a month before you… Negotiated your way out of it, and returned to this safe place.

You drowned yourself in drinks and other activities after leaving New York, which in turn made your black-out episodes reappear, which had become evident as the photographed wall in your second bedroom started to be crossed out fast. You couldn’t help but twitch at the thought, and steered clear of that subject. But as of five months ago, you were all but cut off from all things Avengers.

Everyone had gone their own separate ways for the most part. Wanda was off the radar, Sam had gone and gotten a contract with the Air Force, Clint got his family back, Rhodey was some top notch Air Force guy (you didn’t really know what he was up to nowadays), Thor was gone offworld, Scott was making up for lost time with his family, and Bucky… Well, you didn’t know much about that situation either. Sam had tried to reach out after everything, but in one of your drunken states you threw your phone in the Weersloot river. You didn’t need a reminder of that day, or those few weeks even.

You never played the message Happy had given you from Tony. You never had the courage to do so, and you had it tucked away in your room safe and sound. Honestly? You were starting to think you never would be ready to hear what Tony had to say to you before he died. You just couldn’t bear to hear it, never would… Because if he even mentioned someone’s name you didn’t know how you would react.

When you started to think about Steve, you picked up a drink to take your mind off it. You had yet to come to terms with him leaving, because it still hurt like the day it happened.

Losing Tony was the worst thing that could’ve happened in your eyes. He was your family, though Pepper and Morgan had become your family too, Tony was the last piece of your family you could hold onto. The last shred to the past you fought so hard to remember and cherish, and now him and that part of you was gone. He was your everything. He always would be.

But Steve? Losing Steve wasn’t something you had ever even considered. While Tony was your soul, Steve was your heart. Despite everything you two had been through, the feelings hurt and the years it took to make it back together, Steve always had your heart. He was the man you wanted to fall asleep with and wake up to. He was the man you talked about growing old with, what life would be like if he gave up the Captain America mantle, he was supposed to be your future...

And then he stayed in the past, and left you here confused. Hurt. Alone.

You lost the two people you had left in the world. Your heart and your soul. And it was the most devastating blow you had ever felt… Everyday you wondered how someone comes back from something like that, if it was even possible.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a hefty softball landed in a thud in your garden and smushed one of your little tomatoes. You blinked at the sight before grabbing the ball and looking up to see the familiar short boy next door pulling himself up on the fence that separated your yard from his, and you grabbed a rag from your bag and wiped the softball off.

“Je vernielt in zijn eentje mijn tuin, weet je,” (You’re single-handedly ruining my garden, you know) you said to the boy and looked up at him through your sunglasses.

“Vergeef mij,” (Forgive me) he said and rested his head on his hands to watch you finish wiping his ball off. “Mijn vader wilde niet met mij spelen” (My dad wouldn’t play with me).

You stopped wiping for a moment and could see the sad look in the kids face. You smiled softly and stood, making your way over to the fence and handing him his ball back, though his expression didn’t change.

“Vraag het me de volgende keer dat je wilt spelen, oké?” (Next time you want to play, come ask me, okay?) You told him, and the smile reappeared on his face and he gave you a nod. You ruffled his hair as he jumped back off the fence and played once again. You went back to your bag, now full with vegetables, and picked it up to head back inside. You had a sweet pasta recipe to try tonight, and you think what you selected should work great-

You stopped in your tracks right before the back door. You lowered your sunglasses and lowered your gaze to the ground as you tried to focus on the sound in the air, the shift in the environment. You may have been slightly hungover but the presence was not hard to miss. You straightened your stance and gripped your sunglasses in your fist.

“Sam?” You called out. At first there wasn’t any rustling, but after a few moments you heard your back gate unlock and creak open, and that’s when you could hear the extra set of footsteps. You slowly turned around to face who had finally tracked you down, and were met with Sam Wilson… And Bucky Barnes in tow.

“What are you doing here?” You more so asked Sam. The pair glanced at one another and Bucky nodded his head at his partner in crime (God, you could just tell they were up to something) and Sam shoved his hands into the jacket he had been wearing.

“We came to see you, check in on how you’re doing,” Sam said. You chuckled a bit, and shook your head.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you called him out. “What are you really doing here?”

“We need your help,” Bucky said. You bit your tongue and looked them over, maybe just a little curious as to what was going on. Just a little. “We stumbled onto something that I think you may have some information on.”

You hummed to yourself for a moment, thinking it over. Truthfully, the last thing you needed was whatever this was. So you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “I’m afraid I can’t help, but thanks for thinking of me.”

You turned your back on them and stepped up a couple steps into your house, and was all but ready to close the door to the world and close yourself off from Sam and Bucky, but Bucky took a step forward.

“There’s more super soldiers out there,” Bucky said in a serious tone. You stopped in your tracks, gripping onto your door for a few moments before looking back out to the pair. Bucky was watching you intently, in a stare you had only seen on him once before (which you didn’t want to recount at the moment). There was movement near the fence, and your eyes darted there to see the neighbor boy peeping his head over to see what was going on. When his gaze met yours, and you gave him “the look” he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared, and you looked back at the pair standing in your yard and against all better judgement, motioned your head behind you. Understanding your cue, Sam led the way inside, and you shut the door quickly behind Bucky.

You moved around the burly super soldier and brushed past Sam to set your bag of veggies in your kitchen. You had to take a moment to compose yourself before facing the duo who had been watching you intently. “Okay.. Go on. What do you mean there’s more super soldiers?”

Sam grabbed something from his pocket, a phone it looked like, and pulled something up before handing you the device. You hesitantly took it and looked down at the phone, where a video began playing of the recent Gasel Bank heist. You watched as someone got beaten to the ground, but what was astonishing was the sheer strength the masked person showed. Captivated, you carried the device into the living room and plopped down into the cushions of your sofa and watched more footage, this time up close from what you could guess were Dumb and Dumber who moved to hover over you.

“We were hoping you might know something,” Sam said. You handed his phone back to him which he graciously accepted, and you tapped your fingers together in thought before looking over at Bucky.

“What makes you think I know anything?” You asked. Bucky seemed to huff in annoyance at your questioning him, in all honesty you just wanted to hear him say it.

“You and I both know what went into the replication of that serum, your program especially,” Bucky said. You felt a lump form at the back of your throat and you casted your eyes downward. “You were still there after me… Did they perfect Stark’s serum?”

You looked back up at his question, and you held his gaze for a moment. You couldn’t believe this was how your day was turning, and you were pissed that he of all people were bringing up your past, like you volunteered for any of that shit.  You lightly bounced your leg as you fought to remember what you had known.

“HYDRA had been unsuccessful in using my father’s formula of the serum again, even after you managed to escape their hold,” you started. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and leaned back into the couch, averting your gaze from Bucky to the floor as you searched your memory. “They brought in a scientist, but it wasn’t my op, and it was on a need to know basis. The only reason we knew they started the research again was they started taking people from the Phantom program to test the serum on.”

“Phantom program?” Sam asked.

“That’s what they called us,” you mumbled. “All of us were deemed dead so… It was only fitting.”

“Did the scientist perfect the serum?” Bucky asked. You shrugged your shoulders and met his look again.

“Didn’t think so,” you answered honestly. “So if there’s serum still out there, he has to be your guy. Though I can say I didn’t see any kind of sign of that activity when working with SHIELD.”

“But it’s a start,” Sam nodded and Bucky looked his way. The two started sharing odd glances, and you watched in confusion. Sam suddenly looked your way and motioned around. “Think you could spare some time and do this mission with us?”

“Sam-” Bucky began to say as a warning, but you chuckled a bit which made him stop.

“I don’t do this anymore,” you told them as you motioned between them.

“Come on (Y/N),” Sam tried to reason as you stood up and walked your way back into the kitchen and opened up a cabinet in search of tonight’s bottle of wine to go with dinner. “I get that you’re going through it, I really do, but-”

Just as you managed to select the perfect medium-bodied red wine, Sam had come up beside you and took the bottle out of your hand. “This isn’t going to help you.”

“Yeah Sam and what is?” You asked while crossing your arms. “Because right now the only thing that would help me out is to see my brother again but guess what! It’s not going to fucking happen! It’s just me, here, and all by myself. All by myself…”

Your words trailed off as a heaviness grew in your chest. The atmosphere in the room was a lot more stuffy, and you would rather curl up and disappear then let Sam (and Bucky) see you cry. But here you fucking were, with Sam seeing the tears build up in your eyes and the look he gave you, you wanted to be mad but the only thing that you could seem to feel was just sad. You blinked back the feeling and took a glance back at Bucky, who stood in your living room and averted his gaze. You looked back at Sam, and put on the best front you could.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night, someone can take the bed in my room and someone can take the couch, but tomorrow? We go our separate ways again,” you said in a low tone. Sam’s look at you was… Disappointment. Before the sentiment could settle on your already guilty conscience you turned around and grabbed your keys and a peacoat and stopped at the front door. “Help yourselves to whatever you need.”

With that, you pulled the door open and just as swiftly shut behind you. The cottage walls shook for a moment before settling to a silence inside. Sam looked down at the bottle in his hand and set it back onto the counter before looking Bucky’s way, who still looked annoyed.

“What?” Bucky defensively asked when he noticed Sam’s stare. Sam shook his head at him and pushed the wine bottle to the back of the counter.

“You pushed that too hard,” Sam said, to which Bucky scoffed.

“Me? You’re the one who asked her to join us which, by the way, where did that come from?” Bucky questioned as Sam came back to the living room and sat down on the couch. Sam leaned forward with his arms on his legs and rubbed his hands together.

“Take a look around Robo-cop,” Sam emphasized and Bucky let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re seeing what I’m seeing, right?”

Bucky looked around at your surroundings. He wouldn’t peg it as chaotic, but he also couldn’t pin it as put together. There were personal touches here and there, but it didn’t feel like you belonged here. Bucky wasn’t blind to what was going on here, but he also didn’t see how that pertained to what Sam was suggesting.

“Sam, we came for some information, we got it, so why don’t you tell me what you’re trying to say,” Bucky replied. Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back into the cushions.

“We let her come here, by herself, even knowing how devastated she was after Tony died,” Sam explained. Bucky’s eyes darted to the floor at the memory of him following you out to that shed the day of Tony’s funeral, and the empty expression your eyes held. “Hell, we don’t even know how she felt about Steve. We should’ve been here for this. And that makes us shitty friends.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say we’re friends-”

“Oh I’m sorry, who's the one that said she owed you a favor?” Sam asked and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“I did, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Nah ah,” Sam cut him off and Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you two owe one another favors, then your friends.”

“That’s sound logic, Sam,” Bucky sarcastically said.

You tossed your glass bottle of whatever the hell it was you drank earlier into a trash can on your way back home. You pulled your keys out of your jacket pocket and jingled them around until you found your house key and hipped quietly. Your cottage was just in view and all the lights were out. You grumbled to yourself as you neared, forced to remember what had happened earlier in the day (and boy did you work hard to forget that Sam and bucky were at your lace haha). You stumbled up the two steps to your door and used the wall to steady yourself, before quietly shoving your key into the door and pushed the door open.

It took a second to adjust to the environment, but the whole cottage was pitch black, besides whatever light from the moon managed to filter in. You carefully walked around the couch and glanced down at who occupied it, and when you saw Sam peacefully asleep you then looked at the door to your room and shuddered at the fact Bucky must’ve taken residence in there. You huffed a bit, and pulled a spare blanket out of a basket and moved to the back door. When you finally got outside and shut the door to not disturb your guest you tossed your blanket onto the patio sofa you had and kicked your shoes off.

After shedding yourself of your peacoat and plopping down on the hard cushions, you inwardly cursed the two men inside. You were doing just fine before their arrival, you had a schedule of self loathing and drinking then sleeping that they were interrupting. You just weren’t looking forward to the repercussions of tonight’s sleep. You laid back across the sofa and looked up at the sky, though nothing was there anymore. Or at least there wasn’t anything you could see.

Let’s be honest here. The reason you had turned to drinking was because of the fuzzy feeling you got after awhile. Your mind got to drift to something else besides the memories of your past, like… what to drink next, or in this case, is that a star or an airplane? It made the moment more simple, it made you forget who you were until you woke up again. That didn’t mean you didn’t resent yourself for your actions, but you just added that to the list of reasons why your endgame was the best resolution. You just weren’t ready to tell anyone what that endgame was.

Your gate creaked and you tilted your head to look in that direction. You could barely make out the figure as they neared, Bucky’s face became more clear. You looked back up to the sky and shook your head a bit to yourself. Bucky came to a stop close to you, and sighed a bit.

“You should go inside,” He said quietly.

“You should just leave me alone,” you quipped back to him. Though you couldn’t see it, Bucky rolled his eyes at your drunken response. You suddenly felt a lot more sober, and you turned your head to face him. “You had no right, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked and you huffed.

“You had no right to bring up the Phantom program. I didn’t tell anyone about that, not even Tony,” you admitted to him. Bucky bit his tongue and looked up at the sky for a moment to collect himself. “I didn’t want anyone to go digging into the extent of that.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky admitted. You blinked at him as he caught your gaze again. “Look… I’m sorry.”

You fell silent before letting out a small sigh and adjusting yourself to be a little more comfortable, your head finally starting to feel dizzy again. But Bucky wasn’t ready to settle this, he shifted his weight and turned to face you.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Bucky asked. Your eyes fluttered back open and you looked over at him. He had taken a step closer, and hovered over you, and you raised a brow.

“What are you talking about?” You asked him this time.

“The drinking,” Bucky pointed out. You huffed and turned your head in the opposite direction into the cushions, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to help you know.”

“Yeah and how would you know?” You asked and looked back at him. Bucky leaned down to get in your face, and you tried to move back from him.

“Because I’m probably the only person who really knows what’s going on in your head.”

You bit your tongue, and Bucky backed off. In a bit of a daze, you plopped back down onto the cushions and pulled the blanket you brought out up to your chin. Bucky rolled his eyes at you shutting him down, and he moved to the door to go inside. The sooner the morning came and Sam and he could leave, the better for him.

“I never blamed you, you know,” you said in a light voice. Bucky stopped in his tracks and looked over at you. Your eyes were closed, and you were breathing evenly. Bucky retracted his hand from the door knob and took a couple steps closer. He needed to hear that again.

“What did you say?” He asked. You stirred a bit, but didn’t answer him. Carefully, Bucky used his gloved hand to touch your shoulder, and give you a small shake. When you still didn’t say anything, Bucky sighed and looked between the door and you and cursed in his head.

Bucky carefully slid an arm under your shoulders, and then hooked his other under your legs. He hoisted you up into his arms and into his chest, and your head rolled into his arm. Bucky shook his head at it and carefully brought you back inside, and past the couch, and pushed your room door open with his foot. Bucky sat himself on the edge of your bed and balanced you in his lap with one arm, and pulled your blankets open with a free hand. When he finally got you into your own bed, he took the blanket you had outside from you and tossed it onto his shoulder, and pulled the blankets on the bed onto you. Bucky stood from your bed, and before leaving the room he took a final glance at you as you stirred just slightly.

Bucky closed your door, and walked back towards the couch and settled himself onto the floor. As his back met the floor, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant what you said, about not blaming him for what happened. One thing he did know was he meant what he said. Bucky stared at the door to the second room in the house, and he shook his head.

If there was one person he truly wanted to make amends with, it was you. After all, you were on his list of names.

- - - - - - - - - -

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Here’s a title for the fic thing - “The Occult, the patriot, and the stars”

Look. Even though Tony’s a magical being, it doesn’t mean he likes being a magical being. 

Sure it’s convenient in the mornings when he can wiggles his fingers and his coffee cup follows him outside of the door, and it helps when he doesn’t feel like putting in the manual effort to clean his house, but other than that, he likes doing things by hand. 

His mother was magic, his father was not. His father held all the power in the household regardless. Tony learned how to do things by hand, and prefers it for everything. 

His mother was the most powerful witch of her time, but this didn’t come without a cost. His mother was a good pretender, but he saw how her hands shook, how weakened her state was after driving back enemies for days, weeks without end. He didn’t want that legacy. 

So he could be the most powerful magic-user the world had seen. 

But he’s not, because he refuses to get started now. 

This has caused some…minor hiccups. 

Very minor. 

Except not really. 

- 

You wanna know what’s really annoying? Fate. Fate is annoying, because it just shows up and is like “here is how it ends! Sorry if it sucks!” 

Well, sometimes. 

In rare instances, fate can be changed by certain people or a certain event. 

One Pepper Potts can see into the future, and sees that her odd neighbor who gardens by hand and curses at his vegetable plants will be the one to save them all from a force that shouldn’t have as much power as it does. 

She tells Rhodey, her other neighbor, and they both go over to Tony’s house and see him open the door and yell at some robot in the back. 

“Are my noise levels up again? I swear to god I sound-proofed my entire house,” Tony pants. “Like, even the basement!” 

“No, I have some news to share that you should know about,” Pepper says. “I…saw something.” 

“Something cute, or something worse?” Tony asks. 

“It’s not necessarily bad. At least, not yet.” 

“No,” Tony says. “If it’s magic, I’m not dealing with it.” 

“We’re talking about end-times,” Rhodey says. “You can’t just say ‘nah, fuck you’ to the world when it’s ending.” 

Tony curses. 

Pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Do you two have even the faintest idea of what I’m supposed to do?” 

“Stop the end of the world?” Pepper suggests lightly, as if this is something that can be done in a weekend. 

Tony snorts. 

“How long we got?” 

“Not sure yet,” Rhodey says. “But there are some people you’re gonna have to talk to in the council.” 

Tony groans. 

“I am not going to the fucking council.” 

The Council of Magic is for the official wizards and sorcerers or whatever the fuck people are gonna call themselves. 

Tony has had to go there about three times now, and ignored the last twenty-seven letters requesting his presence. It’s a waste of time, and he doesn’t like anyone on the council. 

Least of all are the people that have been tasked with using magic to help save the earth. 

“Fury,” Tony says. 

“Decide to finally join in on the Council?” 

“Only because my clairvoyant neighbor told me that apparently the world is going to end,” Tony says with a scowl. “Please tell me that you still offer complimentary coffee.” 

Fury watches Tony fix his coffee, sipping it to himself. 

“Seriously?” He asks Pepper and Rhodey. “He’s in charge of the main defense against Hydra?” 

“Yes,” Rhodey says. 

“God help us all.” 

“Oh, God won’t have anything to do with it,” Tony says. “So. Who wants to fill me in on what I’ll need to be doing?” 

- 

Steve Rogers isn’t exactly…pleased. 

If it helps, neither is Tony. 

They don’t tend to mesh well, and this situation is no different. 

He has strategies, he’s used to leading. 

The problem with Tony is that you don’t lead someone like Tony. At least, you don’t lead them in a way that would be conventional. 

“So you direct your attack here-” 

“Not possible,” Tony says. “My inventions don’t do the possible damage in that far of a radius.” 

“You don’t need your inventions.” 

Tony gives Steve a dirty look. 

“And you don’t need magic, Mr. Man-with-a-Plan. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.” 

“Fighting without magic does nothing,” Steve reiterates. “You’ll be walking into certain death.” 

“You overestimate magic.” 

“And you underestimate the chance of dying!” 

Tony scowls. 

"I’m doing this my way or not at all.” 

“You can’t afford to do it your way when there are others you have to worry about!” 

“Watch me.” 

He turns on his heel, ignores a very creative curse that Steve spits out with a middle finger and a blocking charm emanating from the very tip of his finger. Quite effective, honestly. 

- 

He goes to his house and works for two weeks. He refuses to see anyone besides Rhodey and Pepper, and then even for about twenty minutes at a time. 

- 

He returns to the Council with a blue glow out of his chest and a grim look in his eye. 

"What’s that?” Fury asks. 

"Nothing much,” Tony says casually. “Let me see Steve.” 

- 

War is something that involves waiting. No one tells you that, and you never really see it in a movie unless it is before the Big Battle. But often times you don’t know which one is the Big Battle anyways. They’ll tell you which one it was after you fight. 

Tony’s good with magic. 

Really, really good. 

But it’s a last resort type of thing for him. 

So he sends out drones, he sends out swords that come back, and people ask him how he learned a spell for that. 

“Not a spell,” he says lightly. “Just a bit of GPS inspiration.” 

“You can do that?” Clint asks, shooting off an arrow that never misses. (Got blessed when he was a baby, although he says it was a curse because he’ll trip on air at least once a week.) 

“You’d be surprised what you can do,” Tony says, grinning. “I’m about to show you something that’s going to rock your socks.” 

Introducing: Mark VI, which was not named after a guy named Mark, thank you very much Bruce. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bruce mutters. “So what, you charmed your broom to look like metal?” 

“No, it’s a titanium-alloy with flight capabilities, no magic involved,” Tony says. “Wanna see her fly?” 

“Fly her now,” Rhodey demands. “We got incoming, and you need to hit them with everything you got.” 

Tony’s cackle, at least, is spot-on as he dive-bombs crowds and drops off potions of his own creation, causing a bit more than a stink. 

The tide of this whole battle is actually coming to a close, he thinks. He hopes. 

(One tiny, itsy-bitsy thing that he forgot to mention: 

He doesn’t exactly know if his reactor is going to work. Like, at all. It probably will. Like, seventy percent chance it works.) 

No one knows this. This is on purpose. Rhodey had some suspicions, but Tony flashed a couple of incredibly fake equations at him, and for the most part he thinks that he was believed. 

- 

This is why he shoved Steve and Nat out of the way and is currently facing off the main magic source alone. 

It should kill him. 

It definitely will kill him. 

He looks back towards Pepper and Rhodey, who are more important than probably either of them know, and he prays to whoever listens to these types of things that they’re okay. 

Boom. 

-

He’s flung back about a hundred feet, and is quite surprised when he can feel a broken rib and the potential start-up of a concussion. 

He shouldn’t be feeling anything, or thinking anything for that matter. 

“You are so stupid,” Pepper says, and it sounds a bit fuzzy. 

“Am not,” he slurs, struggling to focus his eyesight. 

“You are intentionally stupid,” Rhodey mutters, cradling Tony’s head in his lap. That’s nice. He’s definitely requesting that more often. 

“I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy,” he says. “Like I’m about to get all eight hours of sleep.” 

- 

Twenty-six. So not as “all-or-nothing” as he thought. 

They had Bruce fix him up, even though he’s not “that kind of doctor.” 

“Congrats Tony, you saved the end of the world,” Pepper teases as he wakes up. 

“Don’t congratulate me on that,” Tony groans. “Please tell me there’s no parade. Or tell me I can miss it. We can host a look-a-like competition before it, it’ll be a blast.” 

“There’s a parade, you’re going,” Rhodey says. “Kids wanna meet you. They wanna build their own brooms. Apparently, yours is all the rage. I think one of your robots found it.” 

Tony sits up in bed abruptly, wincing. 

“Please tell me it’s not the one with the green on the tire treads.” 

“I won’t tell you.” 

“Dammit.” 

Pepper snorts. 

“If it helps, his claw had excellent grip on the broomstick. I think he was trying to bring it back.” 

“He’s…he’s something else.” 

Tony leans back into his pillows. 

“How’s everyone holding up?” 

“Fury wants to talk to you about what’s next.” 

“What’s next?” Tony asks. 

“You’re quite popular right now,” Rhodey says. 

“No shit,” Pepper snorts, taking a sip of coffee. 

“The only thing that is ‘next’ is me watering my tomato plants,” Tony says. “Has anyone done that yet?” 

“…no.” 

“Fuck. Shit fuck bitch. They need to be watered. Who has access to the keys of my house?” 

“Is this seriously what you’re focusing on?” Rhodey asks. “You just stopped the end of the world, and you’re concerned over your tomatoes?” 

“Well, that and my bots,” Tony says with a shrug. “We should get burgers. I need to get out of here.” 

“You just woke up,” Pepper says incredulously. “And you want, what, burgers?” 

“Family traditions, all that,” Tony says. “Come on.” 

Rhodey and Pepper share a look. 

Their neighbor was already interesting before this. 

But they can’t wait for what’s next. 

(Even if it’s just Tony shrieking that his tomato plants were dying. 

And then Tony finding out that his magic seeped into his inventions anyway and cursing up a storm, which accidentally hit Steve and had him speaking in rhyme for a week.

It was bad.) 

Boruto: Sacrifices [Remade] | Chap.5 - Mitsuki's Decision

Written by: Eleanor-Devil & @mirage-05​​

Prologue | Chap.1 | Chap.2 | Chap.3 | Chap.4 | Chap.5 - You’re here

He was making a lot of noise in the early morning, but he didn't care. Ever since Sarada called him the other night and told him that Mitsuki, his best friend... was being mistreated, he couldn't sit still. It took him a great deal of self-control to wait until the morning, when they decided to meet. So, by any right, if he was waking up some people and they were complaining about it, he wasn't about to give them a rat's ass. “Boruto…” Sarada was practically running to keep up with her friend. It wasn’t exactly rare to see Boruto getting worked up about something, but he was really pissed off now. “Just try to calm down for a bit…” “How can I calm down?!” was his answer as he didn’t even break his pace. “How come he didn’t tell me he was being harassed?!” Sarada had no words to offer to that… She hadn’t seen anything other than the graffitis on the door but she had spoken to Shikadai… “Well, let’s see what he has to s-” The Uzumaki’s words were cut in half as they reached his friend’s door. Eyes huge in disbelief, he took them all in, one by one, getting more and more terrified and outraged the more he looked at them. These were not just simple harassments - they were threats, and pretty horrible ones at that…

“What the hell…?” he mumbled, raising a hand to touch one of the drawings. Then he turned to Sarada, the look of shock still in place. “W-wait, did you also know about these…?” “W-well, I…” And then they heard a click, and they were suddenly face to face with Mitsuki. The blue haired boy took a look at his expression, and sighed. “Boruto…” “When were you going to tell me?!” the blond practically spat out of gritted teeth. “Tell you what?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” Boruto yelled, banging his fist on the door, and Mitsuki flinched a little. “I’m talking about these graffitis Mitsuki!” “Oh…” the boy mused, giving the said graffitis a fleeting look. “Oh? Oh?! That’s all you have to say?!” “Boruto please…” Sarada glanced awkwardly around. “You really should keep your voice down…” “I would have if Mitsuki told me about this earlier!” The blue haired boy sighed again. “Boruto, I didn’t want to worry you about this. I wouldn’t have told Sarada either but she saw it… I didn’t want to worry either of you.” "How can I not worry when my best friend is being harassed?!" Boruto yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why are they even doing it, huh?! But you know what?!" The blond took his cell phone out. "Boruto, that's not nec-" "Shut the hell up." At that time, a neighboring door opened and a groggy-looking man popped his head out. "Hey, brats, keep it down, will you?" "And you just shut up, too, okay?!" Sarada turned an apologetic look to the man, who just silently slid back into his apartment. Boruto took a few photos of the door. "There. My dad is going to hear about this." "Boruto..." the Uchiha began. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about this! What if you got seriously hurt?! I thought we were friends!!" At these words, the blue haired boy couldn’t help it. "We are. That's the reason I didn't tell you." "Because you didn't want to worry me?!" Boruto scoffed, and actually took a step to his friend. "Bullshit!" At that, the girl finally stepped in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders and actually pushing him back a little. "Boruto, please!" she said urgently. "Calm down before you say or do something you will regret!" And just like that, Boruto's furiosity vanished on the spot, leaving behind only remnants of resentment. The last time he had almost... lost his father. He didn't want anything like that to happen - ever again. He gulped and stepped away from Sarada, his eyes on his best friend. "...fine. But don't think that this matter is over. My dad will know of this." Sarada sighed, a little relieved that the storm had passed. "Okay, um... let's get going, shall we?" … She had really, really hoped the day would proceed without any unpleasant incidents - but of course, in the current situation, it was too much to ask. They haven't even reached the outskirts of the village yet. Boruto was still seething and Mitsuki was quiet, but Sarada was on the lookout, just in case. And then she heard a rustle, quick footsteps and her instincts took over. "Boruto!" she called to her friend as she quickly stepped in front of Mitsuki, activating her Sharingan, as he turned at her voice. The blond had acted very quickly indeed, their months of team-work had really paid off. Before the person Sarada felt a minute ago could do anything, he was by his side, grabbing his wrist. The girl felt sad when she saw the boy couldn't be older than eight years old. "Just what do you think you are doing?!" Boruto asked through gritted teeth. "Throwing..." he looked at the squished red blob on the ground and raised an eyebrow. "Tomatoes? Seriously?" "We don't want him here." the child said stubbornly, nodding towards Mitsuki. "He's making everyone restless. My mom and dad had not stopped arguing since yesterday!" The blond's look got darker. "Well, it's not my friend's fault if your parents are dumb." "Guys, drop it, he's just a kid..." Mitsuki began, but Boruto wasn't about to listen. "You land anything on him, and you.are.dead.meat." he hissed dangerously, inching his face closer to the boy. "What the hell is going on here?" An older boy has stepped out from the corner of a building, a menacing look on his face. "Who do you think you are, bullying my brother like that, you little piece of..." As Boruto turned towards him slowly, seething with anger, the boy came to a halt. "Wrong," the boy said, and the elder boy actually took a step back. "The question is, who do YOU think you are, messing with my best friend?!" It took the boy a moment, but he finally snapped out of it and hurried forward, taking his younger brother by his shoulders. "Fumio, what did I tell you? Do not mess with that snake while the Hokage's son is with him! Now we're going to get in trouble!" "Stay away from him if you know what is best for you!" Boruto yelled at them as the brothers scampered away. After they were out of sight, he turned to look at his friends. Sarada deactivated her Sharingan with a sigh. Mitsuki wasn't looking at him, his eyes on the ground. "This is not your fault!" he said fervently, bothered by how Mitsuki wasn't even meeting his eyes. "They need to know that in Konoha you can't bully someone because of his origins! No one will allow it!" The blue haired boy sighed. "Boruto, just please... let's move on." "No! Not until you stop letting these stupid people get to you!" "I can't give you a promise I can't keep." Mitsuki said curtly before turning on his heels and started walking again. Boruto and Sarada looked at each other for a brief second before they started following him. ... The walk to the orphanage had been no different. Noone bothered them this time, at least not verbally, but every now and then they found at least a pair of unfriendly eyes peeking at them from around a corner. It came to the point where Boruto had it and turned to snap at one of those; "What are you looking at?!" But they never stayed long when they saw the Hokage's son was with them. They were now just a few blocks away from the main building. Not knowing what they should be expecting, because they never got to come to the orphanage after the attack, Sarada felt her pulse quickening as they approached. All three of them came to a halt when the campus came into view. The news never covered much, and although they knew it was bad, they had no idea of the scope. The whole front of the building was in ruins, seemingly blown apart by an enormous force. Pieces of rubble laid everywhere, and there were stains on them... dark stains... Stains that reminded all of them terribly of... Dried blood... As if he was in a trance, Mitsuki took a step forward, stopped for a moment, and then kept walking. Boruto, snapping out of his shock, noticed him. "Mitsuki - wait, don’t just walk inside like that!" The boy was aware that someone was calling for him, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. This much pain... Why...? Someone grabbing his arm finally made him come to a stop, and he turned to see Sarada, with a worried expression on her face. "Don't rush inside!" she said. Mitsuki opened his mouth to say something, but someone cut him off before he got a word out. "Oh hey, it's you guys!" All of them looked up to see Inojin, Shikadai and Chouchou coming out of the building, their arms full of rubble and other things. "Yo, what's up?" Chouchou said nonchalantly, approaching them. "I thought you guys weren't supposed to be here?" "Not... supposed to be here?" Mitsuki mumbled, not quite understanding. "What she meant to say was, we didn't know you were also assigned here," Inojin immediately interjected before his friend said anything else. "We didn't come here on an assignment," Boruto sighed, coming up from behind his friends. "We just wanted to, uh..." "See how the renovations were coming up," Sarada finished helpfully. "Well, they are coming up pretty troublesome," Shikadai said with a bored expression. "At least the director is a pretty nice guy - even after all this..." Mitsuki's eyes widened. "Wait... Is Kabuto-san here?" "Of course," Shikadai raised an eyebrow. "Where else?" The blue haired boy then turned to his friends. "I need to talk to him." "Cool, I'm coming with you." "Boruto," Mitsuki sighed. "I'm gonna talk to him alone." "I can wait outside." Mitsuki looked at Shikadai with a bored expression. "Please... do stop him if he comes after me." ... He found Kabuto-san in one of the back rooms, one of the few rooms that didn't sustain a lot of damage. The man looked up when Mitsuki entered. "Oh, Mitsuki..." he said. "I didn't expect to see you." "I just wanted to see all of this myself." Kabuto sighed, and they both stayed silent for a while. "Why...?" "Hm?" Kabuto turned to the boy, questions in his eyes. Mitsuki was gazing out of the doorway with a distant look in his eyes, and it wasn't too hard for the older man to understand where the boy's mind was. "You are one of the few people who knows my father like the back of his hand. Why? Why would my father do this? For what motive?" "I'm afraid I don't have an answer for that question. The truth is that Orochimaru always has a reason behind his actions..." "Exactly." the boy turned to the man, grasping for some answers. "So why would he attack innocent children? Not just the Shin clones, but other children, too." The man put a hand on the boy's arm, and his tone was gentle as he spoke. "Mitsuki, I understand that it's hard for you to handle it and I wouldn't believe it, either... But I saw your father's curse mark on that man with my own eyes." The boy didn't know what to say to that, and he lowered his eyes to the ground. Kabuto-san looked at him carefully. "Anyone bothering you?" he asked, quickly assessing the situation. Mitsuki gave a small smile as he thought about his friends. "Nothing I can't handle. And I have some very good friends." "I'm glad to hear that." Mitsuki kept looking around, his gaze taking a serious quality once again as he took in the damage, people rushing around... "Kabuto-san..." he said after a minute. "How did you become a medic?" "Where did that come from?" the older man asked, totally confused. "Just wondering... And how did you become a director at this orphanage?" Kabuto thought about it for a second. "They are actually connected." "Connected? How?" "You know... I was orphaned in the Third Ninja World War. Konoha took me in and in this orphanage, I was raised by a woman who taught me about medical ninjutsu. I guess you can say that I wanted to do what she did to me... To raise children in a family environment, to heal their wounds in one way or another..." He sighed and looked away. "It's too sad it didn't work out that way... I guess your past never really leaves you." They didn't say anything more as Mitsuki thought bitterly how true those words were... ... His mind was in overdrive when he was making his way back to his friends. Working to save, heal people... That seemed like a noble cause. Frankly, before he came here, even when he started his way as a ninja, he didn't have a clue of what will become of him in the future. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the day they met their sensei and Konohamaru asked what his future dream was. He had simply smiled and said that he wanted to become as great a ninja as his father, maybe even surpassing him one day. He wanted, no, needed so badly to make Orochimaru proud of him. He didn't know if this path he was about to choose would make him proud or not... But working to heal the wounds his father might or might not have caused, well... That seemed like a noble cause, too. Now if his sensei asked him just about this moment, he would say that he wanted to become a med-nin. He didn't know yet who he could be trained under to pursue this goal. Hopefully... not even all of the adults were against him? Naturally, the first person to come to mind was Kabuto, an uncle to him in more than one way. But he already had so much on his plate to take in a pupil. Of course the most famous med-nin in Konoha was Sarada's mother, or the Fifth Hokage, but Mitsuki wasn't exactly sure how he could approach them. Well... there was always Karin as his back-up plan, but... An unpleasant tingling was triggered in his chest just thinking about it. That would mean he would also have to leave his friends behind, and he... really didn't want that. Boruto and Sarada... The first real family he had in Konoha… He wasn't really paying attention, lost too much in his own thoughts. "What the hell do you think you are doing here?" Many things happened all at once that Mitsuki couldn't really find the time to react. When he turned back, he saw someone running towards him with a hateful expression, but before he could come too close, someone stopped him by throwing himself on that person. Metal Lee raised his head to look at him, and his eyes widened. "Mitsuki, watch out!" The blue haired boy turned just in time to dodge a punch aimed right at his face. "Asahi, Fuuto, help us!" Metal called. But no one helped him and Mitsuki actually had to grab the assailant's fist the next time. "I don't want to fight you." he declared in a calm tone. "Too bad, because I'm about to turn you to a pulp! How dare you even show your face here?!" Then the boy came to a sudden stop and the younger let go of his hand. "Two on one? You really are looking for trouble, aren't you?" Just by the manner of his speech, Mitsuki was quick to understand how the attacker had been stopped. "I'll show you who's gonna turn into a pulp!" "Boruto, no!" the boy yelled when he saw his best friend charging, but Shikadai acted before him. "Sheesh, hold your horses, won't you?" "Shikadai..." Boruto, who had also been stopped dead, growled through his teeth, clearly pissed off. "You better let me go. I really don't want to take this out on you." "Not before you calm down, no." "How can you even expect me to calm down?!" the blond yelled. "These two were just about to attack my best friend!" "Boruto, just calm down..." Mitsuki sighed, already getting tired of this. "How can you even call that thing your friend?" one of the other boys asked, and everyone tensed. "You better watch out what you're saying..." said Sarada, at the end of her patience. "It's way better than hanging out with the likes of you!" Boruto yelled at them, trying hard to get out of the shadow mimic technique. "Well, seeing that we outnumber you by at least a third, I would advise you to back down - unless you want us to get really mad." Inojin put in, all with a sweet but dangerous smile. The two thought about it for a second. "We will be back." they said, throwing dirty looks at the blue haired boy. "To get your asses handed to you? Anytime!" Boruto countered. As the two ran away, Metal looked at his teammates. "Why didn't you guys help us out back then?" The girl didn't say anything, but after a second of hesitation, Fuuto spoke. "Why... did you help?" he asked, and his tone was confused; not accusing, not degrading; just curious. "Seriously?" Metal asked unbelievably. "You really think I would just stand aside and let a friend - anyone - get bullied right in front of me?! We were taught better than that!" "Don't bother, Metal," Boruto said, a little ruder than he normally would. "Thank you for your help, anyway." ... The way back had been awfully quiet. They had stopped by a fast-food restaurant to have lunch on their way back, but the glares never ceased, even with Boruto glaring right back at those. They were almost at Mitsuki's house when it happened again. "You still here in this village, you snake?" Boruto tensed and turned back, his hands balling into fists. "You have any problems with your eyesight?" he growled at the group that gathered behind them, especially to Sarutobi Ichiro, who had just spoken. "I can't see any snakes here but you, waiting to strike, hidden behind corners!" "You know, you are overly confident, being the hokage's son and all... But we're gonna make our voices heard, too. He can't be hidden, protected under your wings for too long." "Try me..." Boruto hissed, shaking with anger. "Boruto, don't..." Sarada began. "And why do you protect him, anyway? Do you really think he would do the same for you if this situation was reversed?" one of the other kids shouted. "Don't... play... with fire...!" "Oh yeah? Well let me tell you one thing, not all of us agree with daddy dearest!" Mitsuki was having a hard time processing his emotions regarding this - did they really think that low of him? Why was it harder to just ignore this, tell himself this didn’t matter anyway, like so many other times before? He snapped back to the moment when he saw Boruto hurrying forward, and grabbed his arm in a fruitless attempt. "Let it go, Boruto." "Well, too bad for you that my 'daddy dearest' is the hokage, and you have to follow his orders!" "Well, you see... things can change, and then we will have our say!" "Boruto!" Mitsuki yelled, but it was too late. Already too agitated, Boruto freed his arm from his best friend with an angry yell, and actually charged the group before Sarada or Mitsuki could react properly. He had aimed for Ichiro, and as the two actually tumbled to the ground with Boruto's momentum, the other kids stood back a little, clearly indecisive about whether or not getting in a fight with the Hokage's son is a good idea. But they did hold back Mitsuki and Sarada when they rushed to help their friend. The fight didn't last for too long, really, but for the two, it seemed to drag on as they watched, helpless. Boruto and the older boy traded punches and kicks, none of them seemingly stronger than the other. It was after one particularly hard punch which left a cut over Boruto's eyebrow that Sarada finally snapped. "You little..." she growled through gritted teeth, and felt her chakra growing in her hand as she pushed away those who were holding her back. "Shannaro!" When she hit the ground with her fist, all the other children were thrown back by the force, including the one the blond had been fighting. Mitsuki was there to catch his friend. "Now run away before I get really angry!" Sarada yelled at the group, who didn't stay long after that. Boruto got up, wiping some blood that was making its way to his eye. "Come on, we're going to my dad's office NOW." "We should check on that wound first..." Sarada countered. "It's just a little blood, I'm fine. Come on..." Mitsuki had remained silent for a while, but he shook his head when he heard this. "No, I... I need to be alone." "I'm not gonna leave you alone anywhere, 'ttebasa, so you better move it!" the blond snapped at his friend. But that was too much. He had let his best friend get hurt over him... This wasn’t what a friend was supposed to be, was it? How could he hope to help people even when he couldn’t protect his own friend...? Maybe it was because this was the first time he saw this haunted and sad look in his friend's eyes… but it surely took the blond by surprise. Boruto's frown started to soften, actually turning into a look of worry. "You're not safe around me anymore..." Mitsuki mumbled, the slight cracking in his voice the only give off in his otherwise perfect facade. "I'll... I'll just stay at home, I promise..." "Mitsuki stop this, it's just a little blood, I'm not dying here..." the blond tried to reason, but the younger didn't look back as he rushed inside. "Shit..." Boruto mumbled and him and Sarada followed their friend inside. Mitsuki was quicker - he opened his door and slid inside before his friends made it. Boruto reached the door first and knocked it normally. "Mitsuki! Come on, this is nothing, and it certainly isn't your fault! We have to report this to my dad!" When there was no reply, Boruto banged his fist on the door. "Dammit, stop doing this! You can't just stay down because idiotic people make idiotic remarks about you! Come out so we can talk about it!" "Boruto..." Sarada put her hand on his arm. "Let's just leave him for the day." "What? Are you out of your mind?" "I... I think he needs it. We have training tomorrow, we can talk to him then." It was pretty obvious that the boy didn't like this, but he finally sighed and nodded. ... Mitsuki had been behind the door all the time, listening to his friends. When he heard them walking away, he slowly slid against the door, bringing his knees closer to him. His presence... was no longer wanted, nor needed in Konoha, that much was pretty clear. But his friend getting injured for that... He felt something wetting his cheeks and raised his hand to check. He stared at the tear on his fingertip for a moment, mesmerized. So that was… how crying felt like then? A let out of emotions, emotions that were too foreign and… simply too much for him. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. This was not the time to show weakness. He had other things to do. ... A knock brought Naruto back from his thoughts. "Come in." A ninja peeked in. "Lord seventh, your son is..." Before he could finish his sentence, the said son pushed his way through the man, tailed by Sarada. "Dad, we need to talk." "Boruto, how many times do I have to tell you, don't call me da..." Naruto did a double take when he got a closer look at his son's face. "What the hell happened to you?!" The blond sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. "For the last time, I'm not bleeding to death." "You should go check with the clinic immediately..." Naruto began. "Stuff it, dad, this is not about me!" Boruto snapped. "Do you even know what's been going on??" "About what...?" "Mitsuki! My best friend is being threatened and harassed all day! Look at this!" When his son shoved his phone under his nose, the hokage's eyes widened for a second, then he snatched the phone from Boruto and took a look at the other pictures as well, his expression growing darker with each one. "When did this start?" he asked finally, looking up at the two. "Yesterday," Sarada replied. "It just started as verbal assaults first, but then those graffitis and people attacking him today..." "Attacking?" Naruto felt his anger boiling. He was actually planning to send someone, maybe Konohamaru as he was their sensei, to check on the boy, but... this was taking it too far. "He didn't even do anything! He kept telling all those morons he didn't want to fight! Why are they doing this?!" Naruto sighed. "I should've known this." "Dad?" Boruto asked, his tone shocked. This wasn't the reaction he expected. "Some of the villagers... They are not very happy with my decision of letting Mitsuki stay in Konoha." "Wha... what...?" Boruto asked blankly, not even knowing what the hokage's words meant. "Where... where else is he supposed to live?" "They wanted me to exile him." Naruto said openly, looking at the two right in the eyes. Boruto and Sarada were so appalled that they couldn't say anything for a while. "Why...?" Sarada mumbled at last, her voice weak. “Is it because… what was discussed in the meeting…?” “What are you talking about?” the younger blond was looking at his friend incredulously. Naruto simply nodded at Sarada before explaining further. "Because he is the son of a villain this village is not about to forget anytime soon." He was playing all cards on the table. Being his teammates and close friends, they needed to know. "But that is no reason!" Boruto shot back, snapping out of his shock. "No two people are ever the same! Dad, you can't-" "Of course not." Naruto cut in seriously, and his tone made his son go quiet. "He belongs in Konoha, a member of our family. I'm not going to give up on him." The two just stared up at him in awe. The man's expression softened a little. "I am going to deal with this, make sure anyone who is involved gets punished. Now, please go check with the clinic and leave the rest to me." Boruto gulped and nodded. "Thank you dad." ... The two were quiet as they walked out of the Hokage’s office. Sarada wanted to say something to cheer Boruto up, but if she was being honest… she didn’t feel like she would do much, she herself had a heavy heart. Feeling the blond coming to a halt, Sarada followed his gaze, and felt another pang in her chest. “Konohamaru-sensei…” she mumbled. It seemed like the jounin wasn’t even aware of them, not until the girl spoke anyway. Blinking in focus, he gave them a small smile that didn’t really reach his eyes. “Hey, you two. What are you doing out at this hour?” “Well, we-” Sarada started to say, but Boruto cut her in. “Konohamaru-nii-chan…” he started, catching the brunet off-guard - it had been some time since Boruto addressed him like that… And more so, the look in his eyes… it was sad, as sad as his voice, but also… disappointed somehow. “Let me just ask you one thing.” “What is it, Boruto?” It was true that he was out of it for the last couple of days, which he was coming to the realization and slowly coming out of it… he should as well start by paying closer attention to his team. “Was that… the reason you’ve been so distant with Mitsuki…?” And Konohamaru just blanked out for a moment, staring blankly at the pre-teens. “I… what are you talking about…?” “You barely talk to him and  then yesterday, at the training… Konohamaru-nii-chan… are you blaming him too…?” The words were more like a slap on his face. The jounin had to keep his poker face, but it was hard… He… wasn’t even aware… “I… don’t blame him for anything, Boruto.” he said with a sigh, passing a hand through his face. “And I didn’t intend to be especially distant towards him… You three are all equal and important to me.” Boruto’s eyes softened a little at the sincerity in his words, but his expression was still very serious. “Well, you might wanna look at it from Mitsuki’s side. You might’ve come off as just the opposite, nii-chan…” “He had been through a lot, sensei,” Sarada put in, looking down with a sad expression. “There are a lot of villagers who want him gone… and they’re not being quiet about it…” “That’s an understatement!” Boruto almost yelled, he had been pushed way off his limit of tolerance today… and Konohamaru finally realized the cut above his eyebrow, making him frown a little. “They’d been harassing him, and now even with the attacks…” “I heard enough.” the jounin said, raising a hand… his stomach had become quite queasy. Just how much had he missed, god… he was feeling really lousy now. Yes, he had to do something to make this up… and quickly. “Don’t worry… I’m gonna talk to Mitsuki now.” That brought a smile to Boruto and Sarada’s faces. “Thank you, Konohamaru-nii-chan.” … “For the last time,” Mitsuki sighed as he looked at his two companions, his expression exasperated. “I didn’t summon you here to scare Mikazuki, Isis.” The scene would’ve been funny really, if it wasn’t for the fact that the kitten was so scared that he had been meowing non-stop… while Mitsuki’s summon, Isis, was hissing at him. At his words, though, the snake turned to shoot him a resentful look. “It wasn’t my fault, Mitsuki-sama!” “Neither was it his,” the blue haired boy explained calmly. “He is just a small kitten, he doesn’t know better.” And Isis was territorial, so she didn’t take it well that Mikazuki tried to paw at her swishing tail the moment she appeared. Striding forward, Mitsuki took the distressed kitten in his arms, before he alerted the whole apartment complex. So much for secrecy… “Listen Isis, I need to ask you a favor.” Isis decided to quit her hissing fit, although her eyes were still on Mikazuki. “What can I do for you?” “I want you to go to my father," Mitsuki replied clearly. "Tell him to meet me outside of Konoha's eastern border, to the end of the river." He couldn't have been more vague if he tried, something that Isis noticed herself. "If you need his help on a mission, you have to give him a more specific address." "No, I..." Mitsuki let out his breath and closed his eyes. "I'm leaving." "Not on a mission, no? Why then?" "I don't belong here anymore." There was a moment of silence. "Mitsuki-sama..." Isis began, her thin pupils regarding him carefully. "You do know you shouldn't satisfy anyone's needs by leaving..." "I'm not leaving to make anyone happy," the boy countered. "I am leaving to protect my friends. I should have never gotten them involved." The snake coiled around silently, deciding not to push forward. "When are you leaving?" Mitsuki checked his clock, and did a double take. Time really flew by. It was already nine pm. "In about two hours." "Got it." Opening his window, the boy watched as the snake slid out. And then a knock almost made him jump out of his skin. Calming down, he made his way to the door. Who could be visiting at this hour? He hoped it wasn’t his friends… not that his intentions were too visible - he didn’t have many things to pack after all - but it would just make things harder. It didn’t really help much that it was his sensei at the door. “Konohamaru-sensei…” he said simply in greeting, while Mikazuki meowed in unison. A small smile crossed his face as the brunet looked between the two of them. “Good evening, Mitsuki. Mind if I come in?” “Um… yeah, sure.” He stepped aside to let the jounin in. Konohamaru patted Mikazuki on the head, earning himself a purr from the now slightly calmed down kitten. As he walked in further, the brunet came to a halt. “Sorry it isn’t too much…” “Not at all…” It was more so the fact that… Mitsuki didn’t seem to have any personal belongings… pretty much the only sign of someone living here was the kitten in his student’s arms and the items all around the small apartment to take care of it. True, he hadn’t been to Mitsuki’s house before, but this wasn’t something he expected… “Umm… you can sit on the bed sensei…” It was kind of awkward for Mitsuki, he didn’t really have much accommodations to begin with. His sensei didn’t comment on it though, as he took his advice. For a moment neither of them spoke, although Mitsuki couldn’t help but make a mental calculation… he really didn’t have a lot of time to finish all he had to do and still make it in time… He could just hope his sensei would keep it quick. Although, well… Konohamaru seemed to be a little awkward now. “I see you’re taking good care of the kitten.” the young man said at last. The look in the boy’s eyes softened a little as he scratched Mikazuki behind the ears. “He has grown so much into me… I didn’t know how boring it could get before we started sharing this apartment.” “It seems that the feeling is mutual.” the jounin’s voice was gentle. “Yeah.” A thoughtful look crossed his eyes. “I… now I can’t imagine a life without him.” It wasn’t exactly easy to say that with a straight face, thinking about how he had to indeed leave Mikazuki behind, he couldn’t just take him to the hideout. “Here is to hope that it won’t ever come to that.” When his student raised his head to look at him with questions in his eyes, Konohamaru sighed. “Well, in truth… I think I’ve stalled this long enough.” “What is it that you want to talk about, sensei?” the boy asked quietly. “Look kiddo…” It had been a while since he addressed him like that, Mitsuki realized with a start. “I owe you an apology…” “What for?” Mitsuki asked, perplexed, and Konohamaru only sighed again. “The last few days had been… challenging on my part… And while I know this doesn’t justify my actions…” He paused for a moment before looking at his student directly in the eyes. “I just didn’t realize I probably came off as distant and… cold…” The boy didn’t know what to say for a moment. “Konohamaru-sensei…” The jounin raised a hand to stop him. “Please, just let me finish. It wasn’t my intention to make any of you feel sad. I care for each of you equally. And, well…” the look in his eyes turned pensive as he bowed his head. “I didn’t expect things to get so… out of hand so quickly…” he looked at Mitsuki again. “Why didn’t you say anything…? I heard from your teammates about the attacks and those… graffitis…” Yes, those drawings really didn’t help his mood. Mitsuki didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering how best he should reply… Their sensei was known to read them like clear water… “I… didn’t want to worry you sensei. You already have a lot on your plate.” Konohamaru’s gaze turned soft at these words. This boy… he was always so selfless, thinking about others before himself… sometimes it was just too much. “Mitsuki… there are times you should allow yourself to be protected as well.” And just like that, Mitsuki felt a slight lump in his throat. After what he had been through these last couple of days, these words, and the fact that it was coming from his sensei, just… touched him… almost enough to make him reconsider leaving the village… but no, not after what had happened… not after his best friend got hurt because of him… Petting Mikazuki to calm himself down a little and keep his stoic face, he finally said, “If these get any worse, I’ll report to you immediately.” “I’d appreciate that… although with Hokage-sama on the case, I doubt it will get any further.” The jounin got up on his feet and took the necessary couple of steps to approach him. Mitsuki was even more surprised when Konohamaru pulled him in for a tight hug. “We are and will always be here for you kiddo… Don’t ever forget that.” The boy had to blink a couple of times to make sure his eyes stayed dry. “Thank you, sensei.” The jounin patted him on the shoulder when they broke the hug. “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow in the training.” He was just about to walk out of the door when the boy’s voice stopped him again. “Sensei?” The young man turned to him, question marks in his eyes. “Yeah?” There was a small, soft smile on Mitsuki’s face, one that… almost made Konohamaru feel a little… restless. “You should really make peace with Lady Hanabi.” Konohamaru was so taken aback that he just stared at his student for a moment. How could he think about such a thing with what he had been through…? “Yeah, well… we will see about that.” he mumbled for lack of a better reply before blending into the darkening evening. Why did Mitsuki’s last words feel almost… like a farewell…? … Even with his mind set, Mitsuki couldn't help but feel empty walking away from the place he called home for a year. Each step he took felt like a ton, and his mind was fogged by all the good memories. At least Mikazuki had stopped meowing, so he was hoping he wasn’t drawing much attention. "Hey, guess who's back, loser." 'Not again,' the boy thought, already too tired as he raised his head. This time, there was a bigger group of kids from various ages gathered in front of him. He realized that it was a hit-list of all those who already made their opinions about him heard - the boys from the orphanage, the Sarutobi kid, even those from yesterday. "Let me pass." he said calmly. "I have no intention to fight." "Why not? Do you only attack those who can't even defend themselves, you coward?" The blue haired boy sighed. "Let me pass." he repeated as he put the kitten’s cage on the ground. They would probably do so without a question if they knew what he was about to do. "No, you know what, come on. I dare you to attack us." The boy who tried to punch him in the orphanage came in front of him pretty quickly and shoved him. Mitsuki staggered back one step, but stood his ground. And he didn't do anything, not even raise his fists in a defense position. He just let it happen. "What's the matter? Go on, defend yourself." Another shove. "Afraid to go up against a large group? Afraid we would beat you?" Some of the other kids, mostly younger than him, the boy noticed, started cheering for the older boys. Still, he chose to do nothing. "We are not gonna let snakes spread their venom in Konoha!" "Enough." With the calm voice intervening, the children came to a stop, turning around to look at... Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage. "What do you think you are doing?" the older man asked, eyebrows furrowed. "At least ten on one?" All of the children around the boy took a step back, and one of them actually grumbled, "We were just talking." "Is that so? Well, be sure that your little 'talk' will be notified to Lord Seventh." As the kids ran away, Kakashi turned to look at Mitsuki, a little bothered by the fact that... The kid really didn't do anything... Anything at all in response, he just stood there. "You alright?" he asked, worry coating his tone. He just nodded. "Yup, I'm fine." "Where are you headed to at this hour? It's..." Kakashi checked his watch. It was almost ten pm. "Getting late." The boy didn't look at him. "I was actually headed to Lord Seventh's office..." Something that never occurred to him before then clicked on his mind. "If he is there...?" "He is," the former Hokage said, carefully gazing at the boy. "Let me escort you there then." ... Naruto had gained the habit of looking at his phone every few minutes in the last couple of hours. He had given Konohamaru two days to come back with his report, he wanted him to gather every possible lead he could trace back... But he still sat on edge, just waiting for a call... A soft knock on the door made him snap out of it. "Come in," he said, having a brief moment of dejavu of the late afternoon. He was surprised to see Mitsuki making his way into the room. "Good evening, Lord Seventh." the boy said, politely formal. "Good evening, Mitsuki," he said, and then gave the boy a warm smile. "What can I do for you?" He didn't know what brought him here at this hour, but then he thought that he might want to report the ongoing harassment on his own account, which made him feel glad. The boy came to a stop a little while away from his desk, and didn't know what to say for a moment. Naruto just waited for him to take the first step. "I am sorry." "Huh?" the Hokage asked, totally confused. "What for?" "For what happened to Boruto... I couldn't stop them..." "Mitsuki..." The older man began, but didn't know how to continue for a while. How could the boy even blame himself for this? "It's not your fault. The ones who did it will pay. They will pay for what they've been doing to you, too." Mitsuki smiled a little. "I... heard about it. But Lord Seventh... That's not why I came here." "Then what is it?" Mitsuki took in a deep breath. "I'm planning to leave Konoha tomorrow morning."

Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 2 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄| previous chapters 

A/N: hi!  here’s a little update introducing part of the ensemble and the dynamics of this story! I don’t know how to write text messages in this format so this is the most you’ll get from me ✌️ so I hope you enjoy it & thanks for reading it <3

-2-

Jackie’s little tips and advice had made Jan’s life so much easier in so many ways she didn’t even hesitate when she stood up in front of the vending machine and pressed the Snicker’s number. After submitting her papers on time –she gained the favor of the head secretary by complimenting her necklace-, she arrived at class five minutes earlier and got to pick her seat, she met a few of her classmates -including a girl that matched her energy called Rock but they couldn’t get to talk much after the professor started the lesson- it was like things were starting to fall into place for her.

Except for one thing…

She heard laughter around the corner and she recognized it right away. When she peeked into it, she found Nathan talking to the same girl he was flirting with during lunch –the girl he had been talking about, for sure- she was even prettier up close with her short skirt and mascara on.

Her heart shrunk but this wasn’t the first time something like that happened. She wondered sometimes how many times a heart could be broken by the same person; people sometimes said that wounds and scars helped to create thicker skin -and maybe- that was the case for her. Even though, it always hurt like the first time.

They walked away together and Jan was left alone, unnoticed. She cleaned her teary eyes with the back of her palm and put a big smile on her face before getting into the copy room.

Jackie was finishing some big pile of copies for a boy and a girl was waiting in line with some papers in her hand. Maybe Jan would bother her, she seemed to have a lot of work to do. She was about to turn around when the brunette spotted her.

“Jan, hey.” Jackie’s face lit up the moment she saw the other girl.

“Hi!” She moved closer to the counter. “I just wanted to drop by to give you this.” Jan slid the candy bar over the surface.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have… I was joking.”

“It’s the least I can do, you’ve done a lot for me today and I really appreciate that.”

Jackie’s heart swelled.

“You can stay if you want to hang out, I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.” She handed the pile of copies to the boy and accepted the bill he gave her. She gestured to the other girl to move forward.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bug you.”

“You would keep me company and trust me, sometimes it’s needed.” She looked at the girl in front of her. “Simple, double?”

She shyly replied double and in less than three minutes, Jackie had her copies done.

“Have a nice day.” She then turned to Jan. “See, now it’s empty again and in other circumstances, I’d be on my phone so you’re the one making me a favor.”

“Okay.” Jan sounded relieved.

“You can come behind the counter it’s not like I have a vault full of cash or something, college students are broke.”

Jan seemed to be thrilled she could cross that limit, at least Jackie had chairs on that side of the room. The younger took a seat and since the chairs were tall she could let her feet hanging and swing them back and forward. In the meantime, Jackie unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite before browsing through one of her textbooks. Jan pulled out her map and some guides to access the virtual classroom as well, she needed to set it up from her phone.

Jackie peeped over. “Are you in the dorms?”

“Ah, yes! I moved in two days ago during the weekend. I’m still kind of lost there but…” She was about to say something else when someone walked into the copy room.

“Hey there, ladies…”

Jan was astonished because that woman was stunning with her braided hair, crop top, and tight jeans. She walked confidently toward the counter and pulled Jackie for a quick hug.

“Long time no see, Miss Cox. How was your break?”

“Hi Jaida, visiting the family, you know. By the way, you look so good.”

“I feel good.” She smiled at Jan. “And who do we have here? Hello, I’m Jaida.” She extended her hand.

Taking Heidi’s previous reaction into consideration, Jan shook it gentler. “Hi, I’m Jan. I don’t work here I’m just new.” She clarified.

“Oh, I see… freshman. There’s nothing to be afraid of we were all there before.” She smiled and held Jan’s hand for a moment giving her reassurance.

“Thank you.” Jan could cry any minute now and it would be the third time in the day.

“Now, some of us are having dinner at that new Thai place outside campus, are you in?” She looked at Jackie and then at Jan. “You can come too, of course.”

“Sure, I’ll be done in an hour and a half. Can I meet you there?” She turned to Jan.

“I really want to but I need to go to my dorm and settle down for a minute. I haven’t finished adjusting and I don’t even know my roommate yet.”

“Oh, you have one of the doubles.”

The younger nodded. “I’m at C dorms.”

“Wait, that’s where Nicky, Jaida’s girlfriend is, isn’t it?”

The other girl nodded. “I can text her if you want, she can show you around the installations.” She pulled out her phone. “Wait, I’ll call her, she hasn’t heard my lovely voice all day long…”

Jan chuckled.

Jaida pressed one number on speed dial.

“Babe…” She put the phone in her ear. “what do you mean who is it? Who do you think it is?” Her tone was playful. “Yeah, I’ll see you there after I’m done here. Did you have a nice day?… Oh, that’s great. Good for you. Listen, Jackie has a new friend here and she’s a freshman who happens to be in the same dorm you are, do you think you could help this little lost lamb?”

The younger pouted and Jackie just giggled.

“That’s perfect, I’ll tell her. You’re the best, babe. Love you.” She made some kiss noises and then hung up.

Jackie looked like she wanted to mock her but one glance from Jaida kept her from doing it.

“Nicky says she’s there right now, her dorm is C-10, next to the hallway. If you get lost look for a platinum blonde girl, gorgeous as hell, thick French accent…”

“Jaida is into foreign experiences.” Jackie explained and Jan had to hold her laughter.

“Listen you, Canadian bitch…” She threatened. “I’m trying to be nice here, don’t ruin it.”

“Jaida is in the same dorms as me, G dorms.” The brunette told her.

“You guys have singles?” She asked in disbelief, both girls nodded. “I wish I had a single.”

“Freshmen never get singles; part of the adaptation process or something like that. But don’t worry, having a roommate during your first year is a fruitful experience.” Jaida pointed out.

“Most of my classmates already met their roommates but there was a last-minute reassignment so I don’t know if I’ll meet mine today or tomorrow, next week…” Jan pouted again.

“On the bright side, you can experience having a single for another day.” Jackie patted her back.

“I have to go but I’ll see you later and I hope I see you around.” Jaida said at both girls after checking the time on her phone. “It was nice to meet you, Jan. Miss Cox…”

“Thank you so much.”

“See you in a bit.”

And with that, they were left alone again.

“I should go too.” Jan packed her things. “Jackie, I can’t stop telling you how much thankful I am… you’re awesome and I’ve known you for like a day but I already consider you my friend… Back in high school, I didn’t have many girlfriends so it is a big deal for me and now I’m oversharing I should probably shut up.”

Jackie chuckled. “It’s okay… I consider you a friend too.”

“Oh! I almost forgot, I don’t have your phone number…” She handed her phone with her hands like an offer. “Would it be okay if I text you and stuff?”

Jackie couldn’t handle this girl.

“Yeah, absolutely.” She typed her number and saved it as Jackie C. “C is for Cox or copy room, your pick.”

“That’s right, what’s with the girls calling you Miss Cox?”

“It’s an inside joke, they always make fun of me for being uptight… it was that or the alternative being «Anal girl».”

Jan almost choked and coughed a couple of times to hide it.

“You know, for being neat and organized.” Jackie was grinning.

“Right.” She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess it’d have that reaction.” She laughed.

Jan was as red as a tomato.

“I better leave before I embarrass myself more…” She laughed nervously.

“See you later, Jan.”

“You most certainly will.” She said before leaving the copy room.

Jackie took a deep breath; she was screwed.

Jan returned to the building where her room was and dropped by Jaida’s girlfriend’s room before going back to her own. She knocked on the door on dorm C-10 as she remembered Jaida had said.

Not even two minutes later, a girl with wavy blonde hair and icy blue eyes opened the door. Nicky, as Jan assumed, was as stunning as her girlfriend. She was wearing a sleeveless turtleneck white crop top, skinny blue jeans with earrings that spelled «CHA» and «NEL», and stilettos. Jan had never seen someone with a makeup as impeccable as hers and for a moment she forgot she was supposed to say something.

Nicky raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, right! Hello neighbor, I’m Jan… Jaida spoke to you on the phone…”

“Jan.” She snapped her fingers. “Jackie’s friend.”

Her accent was very charming.

“I guess… yeah, that’s me.” She smiled, still kind of nervous.

“I was waiting for you, give me just a second, I need to finish my makeup.”

Wasn’t her makeup already perfect?

“You can come in if you please, you can sit on the bed meanwhile.”

“O-Okay, sure…”

Nicky’s room was nice -all dormitories had the same basic white melamine furniture consisting of a bed, a small desk and a set of drawers and doubles had two of each- but she had decorated the walls with framed magazine covers and polaroids of places in France; the bed was covered with a cream blanket that looked and felt expensive, the desk had a cute picture of Jaida and Nicky smiling at each other, there were makeup products scattered around and a laptop in a corner. She had a full-length mirror with which she kept retouching details of her highlighter.

However, Jan was more invested on the other side of the room which had bright colorful blankets and plushies on the bed, a blanket with a mandala painted hanging on the wall, a smiley face rug, a lava lamp on the desk, and the article she found more intriguing: a One Direction poster.

Nicky didn’t hear any noise so when she turned around and saw Jan staring at the colorful side of the room she explained to her. “My roommate.”

“I see…”

“Actually, she’s a freshman too, you should meet her later.”

“That would be fun.” Jan moved her feet unconsciously.

“So, how did you meet Jackie?” Nicky asked adding some gloss for the final touch.

“I literally met her today at the copy room. She helped me with a form and she’s been nothing but nice to me since then.”

Nicky hummed. “Ah…”

“Uhm… how long have you and Jaida been dating?” She asked trying to continue the small talk.

Nicky beamed at the mention of her girlfriend. “Our first anniversary is in a month.”

“Aw, congratulations. I met Jaida for like ten minutes but she spoke very dearly about you.”

“She may as well…” Nicky looked at Jan through the mirror reflection. “What about you? Are you dating someone?”

Jan blushed. “No… not right now… I’m single.” She said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone sooner than you think.”

Jan didn’t want to say that she already had someone in mind but the circumstances weren’t ideal for that…

“Alright, I’m ready. Shall we?” Nicky opened the door and Jan jumped out of the bed.

On their way through the hallways, Jan learned that Nicky was a fashion design sophomore, that she had moved from France five years ago with her family, and that she was very much in love with her girlfriend.

Nicky was also an excellent guide. She explained to Jan everything she needed to know about the dorms way better than the instructor in the morning. She showed her the laundry room –always bring the exact number of coins because that bitch swallows all the money and never gives change-, the communal lounge –we come here sometimes to binge-watch movies or TV shows, last year we spent thirteen hours watching Love Island- and finally the shared bathroom which Jan already knew but it was part of the tour –I don’t care what they say, always wear flip flops in the showers, trust me.

It was almost the time they had set for the dinner and Nicky was supposed to pick up Jaida and Jackie from their dorm.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” She asked when they were in front of Nicky’s room. Jan had already told her she wasn’t going but the blonde still inquired in case she had changed her mind.

Jan nodded. “I haven’t been in my room in all day and… as much as I’d love to go with you guys, I just need a moment to let everything sink and absorb this like a sponge.”

Nicky smiled at her. “Alright, but next time, you must come with us.”

Jan was happy, people would invite you once out of courtesy but twice was a sign they had a really good impression of her and it was mostly thanks to Jackie.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

“Great. I’ll see you around, ma voisine.”

“I don’t know what you’ve just said but it sounded fancy so I’ll take it. Wait, let me see if I remember how to say it… Au revoir.”

“Ah, very good. Bye, Jan.”

“Bye… have fun!”

The first thing she noticed was that the door of her room was open. That could mean either she was getting robbed, evicted, or…

She peeped over the door frame, there were some boxes stacked in the middle but the opposite half of the room that didn’t belong to her was now personalized.

The bed on the left side had pink blankets, pillows, heart-shaped fur cushions, and a matching white fur rug next to it; the white desk was full of textbooks, makeup, and perfumes meanwhile the drawers seemed to be full with clothes now. A black and white picture of Barbra Streisand was hung above the bed, a Marilyn Monroe poster on one of the walls, and a star-shaped mirror with lightbulbs now enlightened the place.

Jan felt for a moment that she had been teleported to a different dimension –Barbie dollhouse, perhaps- because in comparison to her pretty standard side with striped white and blue sheets, organizers, and barely decorated walls, the other behalf looked like a Broadway dressing room. She regretted not buying those yellow Christmas lights she had told her mom were too much.

“Can I help you?” Someone made her turn around.

It was a girl with pastel pink hair, pretty green eyes and long lashes, lip gloss, a pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, slippers, and a box on her hands.

“I live here…” Jan attempted to say, still stunned by the presence of the other girl.

“Oh! So you’re Janice.”

“Yeah, I’m Jan, in the flesh…”

“I’m Rose, I’m your roommate… actually, I go by Rosé because I like to annoy people when they have to write the checkmark… and it also sounds elegant as fuck.”

“Nice.” She smiled. “Did you just get in?”

“Kind of, I guess the people from administration told you the rooms were being reassigned and everything with the dropouts and final counts. I was originally in the B dorms and then that changed but… I’m here now.”

“Oh my God, it must have been a burden to move from there to here…”

“Nah, it’s fine. My former roommate was a bitch so I’m glad I don’t have to share with her anymore. It’s a win for me.”

“I hope so… I’m not a bitch, I suppose…”

“You seem nice, we’ll get along.” She winked. “I’m sorry for the mess, by the way, I thought I was going to be done by now but I still have all these boxes sitting around.”

“Oh please, don’t. I’m sure it’s been stressful to move from there to here in a day.”

“You see, you’re already better than my last roommate.”

Jan smiled. “Let me help you with those.”

“Ah, please, don’t worry about it, there are just a few empty boxes I should take out.”

“I insist.” Jan didn’t wait for a response, she started picking boxes and putting them inside bigger boxes.

“Wait, let me change my shoes then.”

Once they were done collecting the boxes, Jan walked with Rosé downstairs, outside the building where the dumpsters and recycling bins were. On their way there, they started talking about where they were from, their families…

“…and then we moved from Houston again and now I’m here.”

“That’s so cool. So you’re the oldest of the three?”

“Shh, don’t say it aloud. But yes, I’m a big sister.”

“Aw, it sounds like you’re so close with your siblings… I only have one older brother but we don’t get along since we were kids. We barely interact during the holidays and birthdays.”

“That’s sad. I can’t imagine not having a good relationship with my siblings.”

“Yeah, we were like really competitive when we were younger and I was resentful because he always had it easier than me. I had to work twice harder to achieve the same things, you know?”

“Well, now you’re here on your own and you don’t need to compete with him to prove anything to anyone. You can be yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s a relief, I’m not going to lie.” She dropped the last box inside the recycling bin. “That’s it. We’re done here.”

“Hey, I have an idea. There’s a place nearby that sells the best pizza you’ll ever taste around campus. What do you say if we get one and go back to the lounge upstairs to know each other better since we’re stuck together?”

“Sounds perfect, yeah.”

Maybe her day had started a little off but it had been going uphill since the moment she met Jackie. Speaking of which, she should’ve texted her or something to thank her again.

“Wait, I’m just going to text a friend if you don’t mind and then we can get on our way.”

“Go ahead.”

She unlocked her phone and typed a quick message for Jackie C.

To Jackie C.: Hi Jackie, this is Jan! I just wanted to thank you again for being so kind to me since the very first moment we’ve met. I really appreciate it and I hope we can continue being friends this year! Anyway, I just met my roommate and we’re getting pizza for dinner, yay! :D

After pressing send, she followed Rosé’s lead.

They talked some more on their way to the pizza place, Rosé was a theatre major –clearly- and a sophomore like Nicky, she also sang –Jan would discover later on that Rosé liked to sing everything and even made some songs that sounded like jingles- and danced; she promised Jan she would show her some steps someday. Then they changed the subject to Jan’s day and she told the pink-haired girl everything about the chaotic mess that had been her morning, her schedules, professors, classmates…

It was very easy to talk with Rosé, they clicked right away and maybe it was because she was an older sister to her siblings but she made Jan feel like she had gained a sister on her roommate –even when it was soon to say it.

They ordered a pizza with extra cheese, walked back to the dorms with the smoky box and sat on one of the sofas of the lounge rooms –there just a couple more girls watching TV or doing homework so they had the place for themselves basically-, finally, Jan decided to open up and talk about her impossible crush on her best friend. Rosé listened carefully to each word.

“God, I wish we had some wine here… but tomorrow’s school day or whatever. Please, continue.”

“That’s it…? I haven’t done anything and I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

“What?!” There was cheese on the corner of her mouth but she wiped it quickly. “Are you joking? What’s stopping you from chasing the guy of your dreams?”

“The fact that he doesn’t see me at all… he’s always with some other girl who’s prettier than me.”

“Baby, what are you saying right now? You’re gorgeous.” Rosé held her hands firmly. “Jan, I’m not saying this because you’re my roommate but you’re a lovely person and if he doesn’t want to be with you it’s his lost… one hundred percent.”

“Thank you.” Jan sobbed. “Are all the girls here this nice?”

“My former roommate certainly doesn’t fall in the category.” They chuckled.

“It’s only… I’m never around girls this much and you and Jackie and…”

“Jackie? Who’s Jackie?”

“Oh, Jackie is a friend… she said it’s okay if I call her a friend. In any case, she’s the girl that works in the copy room and she helped me right away with my papers and had lunch with me when I was upset about Nathan… she’s really great.”

“Wait, I might know her from the copy room. I don’t mean to contradict you but she always gave me «don’t come too close or I’ll kill you» vibes, but maybe it’s just me.”

“No… it can’t be, maybe you’re mistaking her for someone else.”

Jackie ignored everyone’s inquisitive stares and pretended to read the menu.

Jaida, Nicky, and Heidi were waiting for her to say something meanwhile Widow had no clue what was going on.

After the waiter took their order, the menu-shield she had was gone and her friends were still eager to know what was on her mind.

“What?” She finally broke the silence.

“So this girl Jan… she’s a real sweetheart.” Nicky casually commented while drumming with her long acrylic nails on the table.

“She is… She’s also very straight so don’t even try it.”

They all protested and grumbled.

“Wait, who’s Jan?” Widow finally dared to ask.

“To my knowledge,” Heidi began. “She’s a freshman from New Jersey that plays baseball.”

“And Jackie looks at her as if she had hung the stairs in the sky.” Jaida pointed out, exposing the brunette.

“Oop-” Heidi eloquently added.

“That’s not true.” She objected. “Don’t believe a word from what they say, Widow. The girl was lost and I helped her out, that’s it. She also happens to be friendly so we had lunch together.”

“Didn’t you gain a reputation for being this severe resting-bitch-face girl from the copy room?”

“Yeah, because otherwise, freshmen stick to you like ants to honey. Look at Heidi, I was nice to her once last year and now she’s here permanently.”

“Hey!” The girl complained.

“But you let her be behind the counter,” Jaida called out. “you don’t let anyone do that.”

“You don’t even let us do that.” Nicky continued.

“You can walk across the counter?” A very confused Heidi asked. “Is that allowed?”

Widow who didn’t say anything observed how everything went down while sipping her drink, amused.

“Listen, all of you, Jan is straight, repeat it and memorize it. She’s in love with some baseball player named Nathan she met when she was ten and she probably has already picked a wedding dress and the name for their children so I don’t see the point of this… suggestive… conversation.”

They remained silent, just at that moment their food arrived.

Jackie was starving but before she could taste the first bite, her phone vibrated inside her purse.

It was from an unknown number but it was the text message she had been waiting for.

From Unknown Number: Hi Jackie, this is Jan! I just wanted to thank you again for being so kind to me since the very first moment we’ve met. I really appreciate it and I hope we can continue being friends this year! Anyway, I just met my roommate and we’re getting pizza for dinner, yay! :D

Oh, thank goodness her roommate was nice.

As soon as she read her name, a smile grew on her face and didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is that her?” Widow asked Heidi who was sitting next to Jackie.

Heidi tried to snoop over her phone and carefully nodded in affirmation.

Jackie glared at them.

“She’s just saying thank you.”

“I’m not concerned about the content of the message, it’s the reaction you had to it.” Jaida looked at her friend in the eye. “Jackie, you’re one of my closest friends, I just don’t want you to get hurt for liking a straight girl.”

“You don’t need to worry about it; I’m not going to catch feelings for her.”

Her friend squinted. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you save her name?”

“Excuse me?”

“On your phone. Is it Jan or is it Jan plus some cutesy emoji?”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do.”

The brunette rolled her eyes “I just saved it as Jan. Like I have you all listed. Happy? Can we eat? I’m hungry.”

“Okay…” Jaida cut the slack. “I’ll take it.”

“You had me saved as «Heidi freshman» for over a year.”

“And now you’re «Heidi sophomore».”

To Jan 🐻: I’m glad I was helpful today and it’s so great to hear your roommate is actually nice. Know you can text me whenever you want or come to hang out with me to the copy room :)

Grow as We Go

Flufftober Day 26: Garden (Read on AO3)

“I’ll kill whoever did this to you,” Raphael says, walking out of the small tarp-covered area of his yard by the fence along the property line. He’s holding a long section of vine he had to cut from one of the tomato plants inside, now dying and riddled with holes from being eaten through. “I’m going to kill them for you, don’t worry. I’m going to find every son of a bitch who ever hurt you, and their parents, and their children, and I’m going to end each of their lives individually until--”

“Oh thank god,” comes a relieved voice from the fence. Raphael startles, looking up to see the figure of his next-door neighbor peering over the top of the fence. “Sorry, I just, uh, overheard your increasingly horrifying threats and thought you might secretly be a mob boss someone crossed or something. But you’re just talking to a plant.”

Raphael glares down at the tomato plant again, buying himself enough time to neutralize whatever expression he might have on his face over his mortification of the first encounter with the guy next door (outside of exchanging names and a few courteous ‘good morning’s in passing) being this.

“Sorry,” Raphael says, but in a ‘sorry you overheard’ and not a ‘sorry I said it’ way. He has to vent his frustrations in some way that isn’t snapping and ripping up the tomato plant entirely, after all. He’ll be the first to say he never gets embarrassed, but if he did this would come pretty damn close.

“It’s all good. I’m just glad you aren’t trying to wipe out generations of human beings over there,” Jace says. “Bug problem?”

“Yes,” Raphael grumbles. “I don’t even like tomatoes, but Simon loves them, and I’m trying to grow him a garden for his birthday and failing miserably.”

“I’m actually really good with plants, and I had a little greenhouse at my last place. I could come over and see if I can help?” Jace offers.

Raphael immediately shakes his head. Not only does he not want to take advantage of his neighbor’s kindness, but he also very vividly recalls the conversations with Simon about how Simon may have … other interests regarding Jace for them. Once they all get to know each other a little better, of course. Raphael doesn’t want to ruin that potential by abusing Jace’s kindness now… and he was actually hoping Simon would be the first of them to make any actual connection with Jace. Raphael is, to say the least, not great at winning people over.

“No. That’s way too much work, I couldn’t-” Raphael starts, but Jace is already waving his refusal off.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure one day I’ll need help with something and you can pay me back, isn’t that how neighbors work?” Jace smiles. “Anyway, I actually kinda miss it, it’d be nice to make sure I haven’t lost my touch.”

“Alright,” Raphael agrees finally, hoping Simon will forgive him for taking a chance on this, and praying he doesn’t mess it up. “Maybe you can start by figuring out what keeps eating the goddamn tomato plant?”

---

Jace wasn’t just lying to get invited over, he’s actually very good at gardens and plants in general. He starts to go over in the early mornings while Simon is sleeping in to help Raphael with natural bug repellant tips, homemade fertilizer tricks, and even pruning and general upkeep techniques that Raphael never saw on any of the websites he looked into.

And yeah, okay, maybe Jace is helping in large part because of his ridiculous crush on Simon. And yeah, okay, maybe this is an increasingly terrible idea, because the more time he spends around Raphael and his particular dark, sarcastic humor, the more he realizes that he and Raphael get along really well. Like, really well - they’re similar in a lot of ways, which normally doesn’t work out for him, but in this case, Jace finds himself completely enamored with the guy who can match his sarcasm with dry wit and clever comebacks without missing a beat.

This is extra unfortunate because this all started because Jace wanted to help do something nice for Simon, who seems like a really nice guy from the few times he met him, one of those ‘you just want to see him happy because he deserves it’ sort of people. Now Jace has to admit his crushes on his neighbors have now quickly evened out from Simon-heavy to a solid 50/50 split between them… not that it matters.

Because Simon and Raphael are very much in love, that much is obvious from everything Raphael says about them, and Jace is not a homewrecker.

Jace is, however, apparently a gardener now. He settles for being happy to help with a gift for Simon and ease Raphael’s frustrations in the process, even if his relationship with his neighbors will never be anything more than casual, neighborly friendship.

Going over once a day (“Just to keep an eye on things, look out for signs of other invasive bugs before they get out of hand, you know.”) is absolutely not necessary, but Raphael doesn’t call him out on it. In fact, Raphael’s been giving him a lot of compliments lately, from the new set of suits he’s been wearing to work to the piano playing he heard through Jace’s open window the other night. There’s also the fact that Raphael is often already there waiting for him in the morning, and if Jace didn’t know any better he’d think Raphael almost seemed eager for their daily interactions. Jace just chalks it up to being eager for the garden to work out - for Simon and all.

Speaking of Simon - it doesn’t take long for Simon to figure out when Jace is normally outside, either to meet with Raphael or to go to and from work. At first, it’s just casual greetings and small talk, but soon he’s prying for information, and Jace smirks.

“Oh no you don’t. If you think a little eyelash batting and puppy dog eyes is going to get me to spill Raphael’s secrets, you’re sorely mistaken,” Jace says, shaking his head.

Simon pouts, and it’s infuriatingly adorable. Jace has to admit to himself that under any other circumstance the look would be more than enough to get Jace to tell Simon anything. Then Jace catches his eyes lingering a bit too long on those pouting lips - and he’s pretty sure Simon does, too.

“I have to go,” he says, tearing his gaze away quickly and turning to go back inside without another word.

The next day Jace catches Simon trying to sneak around to Jace’s side of the fence in the hopes that he could see anything inside the tarp-covered area of Raphael’s makeshift greenhouse. Jace goes outside quietly, moving silently up behind him.

“Isn’t this trespassing?” Jace asks, causing Simon to jump a foot into the air.

“It, uh, isn’t what it-” Simon starts guiltily.

Jace shakes his head. “Your birthday isn’t too far away. I promise the surprise is going to be well worth the wait. Also, I think Raphael might actually murder you if you peek now, and then murder me if he finds out I let you.”

Simon laughs at that, but to his credit, he also backs away from the fence and towards Jace. “Wow, you already know him so well,” Simon jokes, but Jace can’t tell if the hint of jealousy he thinks he hears there is real or imagined.

“Not really,” Jace is quick to insist, and now he can’t read the expression on Simon’s face at all. In a moment of panic, Jace decides the best course of action is to try and spend more time getting to know Simon, too, instead of just spending less time with Raphael. “Hey, do you want to come in and grab a drink?”

Simon looks surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation, but he nods finally, a small smile spreading across his face as he accepts the offer.

---

The inside of Jace’s house has a sort of classic elegance to it that Simon hadn’t been expecting - but maybe it was influenced by the baby grand piano in the living area that Simon knows, even if it looks older and probably refurbished, had to run Jace a couple grand at least.

“May I?” Simon asks, motioning to it, and Jace nods.

“Go ahead,” Jace says as Simon takes a seat, and messes around with a few simple chord progressions just to test it out. “Raphael told me you play - that and guitar, right?”

Simon nods, playing a small portion of a song he knows from memory. “Yeah. Nothing like what you can do, though,” Simon admits, glancing at the sheet music in front of him that he can only barely begin to process.

Jace shrugs, wandering off to the kitchen to make drinks, raising his voice to continue talking as he does. “My dad was kind of a hardass about learning. I almost gave it up a little while back, actually. But I decided to pick it back up recently.”

Simon can tell there’s a story there, but he doesn’t pry when Jace keeps the details vague.

“Well, for the sake of my frequent dinner serenades, I for one am glad you did,” Simon says, getting off the piano bench and joining Jace in the kitchen.

They talk for a while, and Simon doesn’t tell him that Raphael’s already told him a lot of this, not sure how Jace would react to the idea of the two of them talking about him as much as they do sometimes. They talk about new things, too, like music and how they both came from growing up in cities, and Simon’s pop culture references often go right over Jace’s head but by the end of the night Jace has a small notepad page filled with bands and movies to check out.

“Seriously, I have so many DVDs, if you ever want to borrow something just come over and ask,” Simon insists for the 3rd time as he leaves. “We can even have movie nights!”

“I will,” Jace promises, and Simon sincerely hopes he’ll follow through on that.

It isn’t the last time they have drinks together. In fact, ever since that first invitation Simon has been strategically placing himself outside when he knows Jace is around at night, striking up a casual conversation, and getting an invitation to come in for a drink if he wants that’s turned into just a standard nightly nightcap. Each time he sits closer to Jace on the sofa as they talk, each time his lingering touches on Jace’s back, or arm, or somewhere more or less harmless, linger a little bit longer.

Two nights before his birthday, Simon practically sat in Jace’s lap while they talked, and he’s pretty sure his hand rested on Jace’s thigh for a solid 20 minutes without either of them acknowledging it around their easy conversation about the first Star Wars movie which Jace just watched, at Simon’s insistence.

“Raphael, he’s wonderful,” Simon whines, throwing himself down on the bed dramatically after he gets home. “He watched Star Wars for me,” Simon adds as if that fact alone proves his point.

“I know, Si. And we haven’t exactly been subtle, but every time I think he’s finally leaning into the idea he pulls back twice as far. But I’m positive he feels something there, you should see how red his ears get when I compliment him,” Raphael says, laughing a little.

“Raph! Be nice!” Simon says, smiling.

“I’m just afraid asking him now will make him double-down on pulling away,” Raphael admits. Simon sighs and the conversation drops for the night.

When Simon’s birthday rolls around the reveal of the thriving garden is better than he ever expected. It’s beautiful, he’s already excited to get to help take care of it now, and he’s wanted to grow his own cooking ingredients for ages! It’s perfect, not that he expected his gift from Raphael to be anything but perfect, but the garden really is above and beyond.

But there’s one thing that would set the night over the top, and Simon decides to risk everything for the chance of it. He heads over to Jace’s house to knock on his door.

---

The last person Jace expects at his door is Simon. He’d resigned himself to a night in alone, perhaps flicking through Tinder for a hookup to distract himself from the fact he’s missing his daily interactions with Raphael and Simon way more than he should be now that it’s Simon’s birthday and the gardening project is over.

“Simon? What are you doing here?” Jace asks, surprised. “It’s your-- I mean, Happy Birthday! But also shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Simon nods. “I should. I am! But we wanted to know if you’d like to come over and celebrate with us?” Simon asks. “We’re cooking with veggies from the garden, and you can stay for drinks… or the night if you wanted.”

The night? There’s absolutely no way that means what he thinks it means, but they live next door to each other, why would Jace spend the night otherwise?

Jace shakes his head. They probably just feel bad for him being over here alone again, but he’d been alone plenty before they became friends, he’s used to it.

“I couldn’t impose-”

“You aren’t. We want you there. Both of us,” Simon emphasizes, glancing to where Raphael leans against the front door of his own house, waiting. Simon appears to brace himself before reaching out and taking Jace’s hand in his, giving it a small squeeze, and then very quickly shifting up onto his toes to give Jace a quick kiss.

Dozens of moments replay in Jace’s head during the split-second of that kiss - casually flirty comments and lingering touches he wrote off as just being overly-friendly as they happened because he’d mentally tossed Simon and Raphael in an ‘unavailable’ box. But now…

“Oh,” Jace says, the realization dawning on him. He can feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest. Chancing a quick glance over at Raphael Jace sees him unmoved, watching expectantly and entirely unbothered by the fact that Simon just kissed him.

“You don’t have to, obviously. You could just come for dinner? Or-” Simon is starting to ramble in Jace’s prolonged silence.

“I could,” Jace starts, his brain still racing to process everything that just clicked into place but not wanting Simon to think his silence is a ‘no’ because it definitely isn’t. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting… yeah, that sounds good. That sounds great, actually,” Jace finally manages and watches Simon practically melt with relief.

“See, I knew asking you now wouldn’t scare you away!” Simon says victoriously. Jace is still too shocked to do anything other than laugh at that before Simon continues. “You can come over now if you want! We picked so many great things from the garden, and Raphael picked up some things from the market, and...”

Jace closes his door and follows an eagerly chatting Simon across their lawns to where Raphael waits, excited for whatever tonight - and hopefully the days that follow - might bring for the three of them.

Growing Pains - Chapter Two - Victor, not Sir

After the meeting with the CEO, I got a call from Goldman to inform me of the department I would be assigned to: the financial department. As a part of my internship, and as investigation for my thesis, I was assigned three French companies to assist with the investment. Besides that, I would help in any way I could, taking someone’s work if they were absent or just assist my supervisor.

They assigned Ted Kasey as my supervisor, one of the top people in LFG investment team. He and the CEO were usually on good terms, having regular lunches and meetings, and it was obvious he had Victor’s consideration. Ted Kasey was a charismatic red headed guy, with a hearty laugh and a slightly prominent beer belly under his suit, hinting at how he enjoyed drinking socially. Probably in his forties, he was a genius in investments, only matched by the CEO himself. And because of that, and also because everybody loved him, he was deeply respected.

Victor Lee’s reputation in the company was very different. He was also respected, but the kind of respect you conquer from fear. He was known to have very little patience to those that didn’t meet his standards, and for being incredibly standoffish, not letting anyone come close to him, at risk of being insulted.

Every morning he arrived to the office he would mutter a quick “Good morning” and head immediately to his office, unless he had to scold anyone in the room. In that case, he would drop an angry “In my office immediately”, and whoever he summoned would come out red as tomato and barely speaking. Fortunately, the CEO had yet to speak to me since I started working in LFG. My first day started with introductions over coffee and a welcome cake, and I found on my desk a personalized mug with my name and LFG logo and some company stationary. That day, the CEO spent all day in his office, not bothering to come say hi. Goldman made excuses for him, but I couldn’t care less. If what people were saying was true, if he was that ruthless and overbearing, I’d rather keep him as far as possible from me.

For that same reason, I was more than happy when Ted offered to present my first report on my behalf. And it sort of became a habit, Ted going to talk to Victor every time I was summoned, claiming it was his responsibility as my supervisor. I couldn’t be happier with the arrangement. I didn’t have to deal with the vicious CEO and I didn’t have to interrupt my work, so that suited me just fine.

Two months had already passed, and I seemed to think of Daniel less and less, the memories fading along with the pain. It still hurt sometimes if I focused too much on the subject, but the fact that no one there knew what I had been through made things incredibly easier, since I didn’t have to deal with the shame. I could be just me, without the stigma of a fate I did not chose for myself.

To be honest, the moment I decided to move to Loveland for the internship was the moment I decided I would leave Portugal for good. My savings were enough to make a deposit to rent a beautiful one room apartment in the most traditional part of town and to get myself a used car to commute. I immediately made friends with my front door neighbor Levi, and I learned he was a Krav Maga instructor, so I started taking his classes. I also had Diane as a friend, a co-worker in the same department that was a domestic account manager. One day, in the coffee room, I made a joke about Goldman being the bravest person in the world for working that closely to the CEO, and Diane overheard me and just poured her heart out. It turns out she had a major crush on Goldman, and judging by the number times Goldman would drop by her desk, always with a feeble excuse, he was crushing on her too. We became good friends right there and then, united as girls often become when they start talking about their crushes.

I had friends, hobbies and a good job. I was well settled, and life seemed pretty good. I was on my way to happiness. I could feel it.

But, of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and no rose is without its thorns, and all the things people say when they have a good thing going but it starts to go sour, so it wasn’t really surprising when my car decided to break down in the middle of Loveland’s main avenue, on my way back home, at 8 pm, under pouring rain. I managed to pull it to the curb, and opened the hood from inside, talking myself into getting out and get heavily rained on to take the usual precautions.

The umbrella I took with me outside didn’t help a bit, the wind blowing on it and turning it inside out. It took me less than two minutes to get drenched, while I tried to signal that my car was parked there and needed assistance. Distracted by the conversation I was having with my insurance company, trying to have my car taken to a mechanic, I didn’t even notice the black sedan that stopped right in front of my car.

When I turned to face the road, I was startled by a tall man in an expensive suit, standing right beside me, holding an umbrella. I jumped back with the scare.

“Do you need help?” The arrogant cold voice gave away his identity even before I had a chance to look at his face. It was LFG’s CEO, Victor Lee. I sighed loudly in relief.

“No, Sir, I just need to call a mechanic. I got it, don’t worry.” I said, trying to be polite while I wished for him to go away fast. I didn’t need to cuddle the CEO on top of my predicament.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late, especially with this weather. And in any case, it will be very hard to find an open shop at this hour.” He spoke like I was stupid to want to fend for myself. “Get in my car and warm yourself, while I make some calls.”

I nodded sheepishly and went inside my car to get my purse, cursing the Gods for putting me in such a situation. Seeing he had a bad temper, I avoided the CEO like the plague, wanting my work to speak for me more than myself. I sat on the passenger front seat of his car and fidgeted awkwardly, while he turned up the heater.

“Take your blouse off.” He asked. I blinked at him, horrified. He looked at me, offended. “This is not a seduction tactic, I just don’t want you to call in sick tomorrow because of a pneumonia. You have a top underneath, you’ll remain decent.”

I nodded, dawning on me that now that my shirt was wet, he could see through it. And with the heater, my top and skin would dry faster without a wet shirt of top of it. I removed my shirt awkwardly trying to move the least possible, not wanting to bother him. But to my dismay, he was getting more aggravated by the minute.

“Why are you moving like that? Did you leave your motor skills at LFG?”

I took a deep breath and finally removed my shirt, unable to avoid a wet sleeve to slap his nose.

“That’s what I was trying to avoid.” I said, my voice flat. He turned to retort, but his eyes fell on my hands and widened, and he quickly turned his face the other way. I immediately looked down to see what made him turn away so fast. And I could dig a whole, crawl there and die. My nipples were hard from the moist and the cold, and were perfectly noticeable under my wet top. I immediately crossed my arms in front of my chest, the sudden movement seemingly noticed by him and making his cheeks blush slightly, by the little I could see from his face.

As I prayed to God to send a lightning to strike me, or a hurricane, or perhaps a nuclear bomb, he removed his jacket and put it over my crossed arms.

“Here. You look cold.” He said, his poker face back on. And the embarrassment was such I almost whimpered in agony. “Let me make that call.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to forget where I was and what just happened, while he spoke with what seemed to be his insurance company, basically ordering them to come get a car that they didn’t insure and take it to their mechanic. He finished the call abruptly, and remained silent, staring at the rain hitting furiously on the windshield. After a minute, or maybe less, his phone vibrated. He picked it up immediately.

“Yes? (pause) Yes. First thing in the morning. (pause) Then make it happen. (another pause) Good.” He hung up and turned to me. “Give me your car keys.”

I handed him the keys as quickly as possible. He took his umbrella from the back seat and went outside. In a matter of seconds, the headlight of a motorcycle was visible in the night, stopping near my car. Victor handed him the keys and quickly returned. He turned to me again.

“Your car is being taken by the mechanic shortly. You will have it fixed tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I’m taking you home.” And with that, the CEO started the car and we drove away. I was dumbfounded at how quickly he solved my problem, but what confused me the most was the fact he was doing it in the first place. If he just kept driving, instead of stopping to help me, he would be having a fine meal at his luxurious home, dry and pristine as he always was, possibly surrounded by concubines that looked like supermodels. But here he was, looking like a drowned rat, his coat wet and starting to wrinkle due to my wet top, taking me home.

We drove without a word, until he broke the silence.

“Are you… enjoying your work at LFG?” He asked, like he didn’t care much about the answer, just making small talk to stave off the awkwardness.

“Very well, Sir, I’m learning a lot.” I answered, happy to think about something other than my hard nipples.

“Enjoying your life in Loveland? I see you made friends already.” His voice was still stern, but a bit softer. As if he was glad I was making friends.

“People are very friendly here. It wasn’t hard.” I answered shortly.

“Just pay attention to the people you interact with. You’re alone, don’t have any family here… It could be dangerous.” Why did he care? I shrugged it off, probably the polite thing to say to a girl living alone, I thought. The comment didn't sit well with me though.

“You don’t need to worry, Sir. I can take care of myself.” I said, trying not to be rude.

“Good.” He swerved the car to the right, stopping at the curb. “We’re here.” I noticed we were near my building’s entrance.

“Wait, how did you know this is where I-“

“Can you please get inside so I can go home?” He interrupted me, annoyed.

“Thank you, Sir.” I said, closing the door and running to my building. I heard him from behind.

“It’s Victor. Call me Victor, not Sir.” He shouted through the open passenger window.

I turned and nodded in understanding, and went inside immediately. It was only when I was already inside my apartment that I noticed I was still holding his jacket. And how the hell did he know where I lived?

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence. 

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.” 

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many. 

“Chinese?” I offer. 

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.” 

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain. 

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks. 

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother. 

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong. 

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it. 

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table. 

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s. 

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window. 

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles. 

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning. 

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh. 

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs. 

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez. 

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.” 

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!” 

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us. 

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it. 

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing. 

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings. 

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday. 

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere. 

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle. 

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.” 

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it. 

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit. 

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away. 

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning. 

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back. 

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class. 

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky, 

Yours, until the rivers all run dry. 

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook. 

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines, 

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme 

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him. 

I'm gonna stay right here by your side, 

Do my best to keep you satisfied 

Nothin' in the world could drive me away 

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag. 

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten. 

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice. 

And I'll be yours until two and two is three, 

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea 

In other words, until eternity 

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor. 

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back. 

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here. 

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago. 

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am. 

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home. 

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I  pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent. 

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home. 

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you. 

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says. 

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention. 

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name. 

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials. 

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature. 

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction. 

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again. 

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete. 

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here. 

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in. 

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time. 

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before. 

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death. 

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry. 

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today. 

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island. 

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone. 

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time. 

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day. 

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame. 

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself. 

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years. 

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer. 

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest. 

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs. 

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?” 

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs. 

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again. 

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me. 

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing. 

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment. 

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument. 

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

Let me know what you think!

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

The Goddess of Death

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You always taught you were going to have the job you wanted. But in Gotham it was never like that. Will the goddess of death continue to reign or will she finally succumb and lay to rest in her deadly world.

Warnings: Language, minor violence, mentions of death.

Word Count: 2.2 k

A/N:  OMG!!! Thank you everyone who liked my previous fic! I fucking cried. You guys are amazing!

This one is a little weird. Hope you guys like it!!!

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The clicking of your heels sounded rhythmic against the pavement. Every move you make, every breath you took, every look sent to the passing gothamites was carefully calculated. Hiding in plain sight was your specialty. The suitcase you carried was heavy, but you didn’t let that manifest, lightly swaying your hips so you could maintain a balanced walk through the path you had chosen. You got to your destination quickly, entering the high office building, the wall full of glass causing a light reflection in your eyes as you passed through security, nodding and giving the guard a small smile.

You got in the elevator, pressing the button for the last floor. As the sudden motion began, you watched as the walls of the elevator turned from black to a skittish grey, the clarity of the outside world infesting the little glass cage. Gotham was a big city, a big monochromatic grey city.  The downtown area was packed, the buildings extending through miles, the streets looking like pathways for ants, as people shuffled in the sidewalk, mindlessly following their routes, the anxiety coursing through their veins. Although you held an apathetic gaze you knew the feeling. The desperation, the panic, the depression of the city that surrounded you. You broke it as your heard the  gears slow down, turning to the doors and walking straight out when they opened it.

The stairs were one of the worst things of your little career, slightly loosing to the main action of your contract. You never thought that you would follow the line of work you had. You see, you had always been a good girl, a smart girl. You took your SATs, you passed through university like it was the easiest thing to do and did your Bar Exam, and still, after all of that, you didn’t got the job you wanted as a minor lawyer at Wayne Enterprises. You got the job it was offered, not only doing what you got a diploma for, but also for doing something else.

As you opened the doors the winds pushed you backwards. You took long strides to the ledge of the roof, seeing the covered sun setting, the myriad of unusual colors mixing with the polluted grey of Gotham’s skies. You took a breath, turning to one of the building that surrounded you. Now, you were in the tallest building in the area so you knew no one could see you. You knelt onto the ground, laying your suitcase and opening it, staring at its disassembled contents, a sigh of uneasiness leaving your lips as you picked up the part of the lower receiver, clicking the trigger mechanism, twisting in the bipod and locking it in place. Allowing the bolt carrier to come forward, you positioned the upper receiver, grasping lightly and releasing the charging handle slowly, fully closing the bolt, and finally attaching the scope and the suppressor. You laid onto the floor, position ready, breath held. You take a shot and you can hear the screams even from the distance. You raise yourself, clicking, twisting and snapping the rifle, disassembling back into its harmless form, closing the suitcase and leaving the building.

Hel, that’s what you were called. The heir of Loki. The nordic Goddess of Death and ruler of the land of the dead. Your boss was the great crime lord Black Mask, and you were not only his lawyer, which sounds ridiculous since he only deals with criminals, but also his number one markswoman. You hated the job, but the sum of money you received was enough for you to become calloused with the deaths.  

As you enter your apartment complex you feel a tranquil sensation overtake you. You lived in a small but comfortable studio apartment, as you didn’t liked the opulent style your boss and colleagues flaunted. It also helped you feel more human, knowing your neighbors, hearing their talks about how the prices of tomatoes were raising. “You seem tired sweetie” you hear the softly spoken voice of your elderly neighbor Nanci say as you get to your door. Tiredly looking at her you just give her the most sincere smile of your day and she responds with a sympathetic one as you opened your door, getting promptly inside.

Taking your shoes of you walk through your living room and past your bed, entering the bathroom only to peel your clothes like they were hazardous and enter your little bathtub. In days like these you felt relieved your boss gave you the rest of the night off as a reward for a job well done, and always sunk in your tub, darkness engulfing you, warm water washing your sins. You guess you laid there for an hour, the flames of the candles you lit slowly extinguishing, until you decided to leave the warm comfort. As you raised you felt the brisk air, coming in contact with the water that trickled down your body, you shivered, quickly going for a fluffy black towel and drying yourself so you could put on the old silk robe your grandmother had given as her parting gift.

When you left the bathroom the apartment was dark, the penumbra settling in. Not that it was uncommon for you to leave the lights off, enjoying only the lights that came from the city. You moved to your dresser, putting your light flannel pijamas on and laid in the bed, a drained sigh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, waiting for another dreamless night to take you in.

You guessed it was 3 a.m when you heard a thump, eyes opening immediately as you shudder from the chilly autumn air. Even though Gotham was a cold city, your apartment was never cold as it was now, so you knew something was wrong. You felt as someone, or something, was observing you. You breath hitched in your throat when you saw the tall figure through the wooden carved divider and you slowly made your way to the wall of your wardrobe, gently removing the ebony wood, getting the pistol you left hidden for the day someone would try to get their revenge on you.

You walked calmly towards the living room where you saw the shadow, positioning yourself so if you needed to take the shot it was going to be certain.

“The only thing I don’t understand is how someone as smart as you is working for someone as dumb as Black Mask” the shadow tonelessly said, a red helmet shining as the city lights entered you apartment. He turned to you, the blue electronic gaze clearly analyzing your stance, gloved fingers brushing the gun in his holster.

“And I don’t understand why the most psychotic vigilante broke into my apartment”, your caustic tone dripped from your tongue. Breaking your stance you lowered the gun, returning the hammer and putting the safety on as you sit on the sofa, putting the pistol in the coffee table between you and the vigilante. “That wasn’t my first option of a job, you know,” you point it out, the tiredness in your voice making the stance that he held soften.

You stood there, a comfortable silence setting as he took his gun from the holster and, imitating you, left it on the small table and leaned his back on the wall, still staring at you. You closed your eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath as you raised your body from your couch and moving to the kitchen “You can sit down, if you want Red Hood. I guess we have a lot to talk and if I don’t have a coffee you better just die before I get to the gun again” you confessed, hearing a light mechanic chuckle coming from the living room. You start to boil water in your stove as you hear hard footsteps, “And please take the shoes off, leave them by the door” you demanded and soon later heard the a slight “ompf” as the heavy boots dropped to the ground, with that you smiled and thought that at least you would die in the hands of a considerate vigilante.

When he got to your the kitchen island he sat down in one of the stools while you were putting the grounded coffee beans in a paper filter, covering with water as the dark liquid filled a thermic bottle, and not even the helmet could stop the smell of fresh coffee of reaching his nose. You poured it in two cups, sliding one back to him as you pulled your body up until you sat in the cold marble counter, holding the cup with your two hands and slightly blowing the steam coming from the scalding liquid. You hear the small gears of Red Hoods helmet twist and a light pop as he detached the crimson helmet and put by his side.

“Does the other mask serve as a dramatic effect?” you jokingly ask as you study his face. The chiseled jaw and the soft skin begging to be touched by your hands and the chapped lips begging to be kissed by yours. You shake your head, taking the indecent thoughts ou of your mind as he passes his hands through his raven hair and you thought you could see a clear white streak hiding between the dark locks.

“Yes” he answered giving you a sheepish grin and taking the cup of coffee into his hands, smelling e taking a small sip, a distorted quiet moan leaving his lips as he closed his eyes, muscles seemingly relaxing “You know, my partner would love this. He never sleeps so he needs caffeine all the time” he tells you.

“The secret is in the way you prepared it, fresh, saying no the the machines” you instructed, taking a gulp of the hot beverage, the sensation of the burning awakening you. Again you two sat in silence, the only sound being the almost silent swallowing. “I can’t leave” you mumbled, attracting his gaze from the cup back to you, eyeing you with curiosity. “I can’t leave, I signed a contract, I sold my soul to him. I know what I did is wrong, but it was the only way I could survive Gotham,” you said louder, your grip in the mug tightening, “I do the job and in return he keeps me safe and pays me a good amount. And if one day I decide to leave…” you stop, the panic arising on your mind, reflecting as you bite you lower lip and you see his jaw tighten.

He raised himself from the stool, his hands tightened into fists as he got closer to you, slightly looking down so the could see you in the eye since you jumped of the counter. “I can’t help you” he began “I was sent here to do a job. You see, I do get some gruesome jobs sometimes, after all, I do have to pay the rent so I don’t blame you there” he revealed, a dark tone lingered in his voice. You closed your eyes, hunching your shoulders and twisting your lips in a half, sad, smile. You heard him turn, walking back to the living room and picking the heavy pistol, pressing the hammer down. “What I can you, is kill you” that was the last thing you heard as the ringing in your ears started. The loud bang startling you as you felt the raging pain in your leg, warm crimson liquid leaving your as you fell on your knees.

You held the scream of pain, looking as Red Hood, face hidden once again by the helmet, walked back to you and kneeling onde he got in front of you. “Pack a bag,  go away. I’ll take care of the rest and after I’m finished they won’t have a doubt that you’re dead” he calmly whispered, touching your wounded and spreading some of the blood in your sofa. He turned to you, helping you to your feet and you limped back to your wardrobe, getting the the bag you prepared when you first entered the job. You opened it to see all your money money, fake documents and some clothes laid neatly in it. You entered the bathroom, scattering on your cabinet for your first aid kit and promptly arranged a tourniquet, also popping some painkillers in your mouth. You keep hearing crashing coming from the kitchen, glass being shattered and now suppressed gun shots in you wall.

It was a misunderstanding to say that it was repairable. Your apartment was in shreds as Red Hood got closer to you, opening the fire escape so you could pass through it and both of you got down to the alleyway that stood in the middle of your and the neighboring building. The next thing you know you were hugging his back tightly as the motorcycle roared and speeded thought Gotham’s streets. The lights passing so fast you thought you were going to vomit. As the bike came to stop you noticed the neon lights mark the way to the bus stop.

“Get as far away as possible, and never come back. Gotham always remembers.” he says as a restrained mumble, never sparing you the look.

“Thank you” you said, lips quickly coming in contact with the cold steel of his helmet.

He watches you until you disappeared, never once turning to look back.

Partners in Crime #5

"So Flash, you got a girlfriend?"

(Y/N) munched on a Twizzler from Cisco's stash, bored out of her mind.

It was a slow day at STAR labs. No metahumans had popped up in town, and no criminals were doing bad things. It was a good thing, but that meant Team Flash had nothing to do, but lounge around the lab all day. It came to the point that (Y/N) took the liberty of counting how many Twizzlers Cisco had in his "secret" stash.

Dr. Wells wheeled into the room, noting the quietness of the usually chaotic atmosphere. "Well, it seems that even the bad guys have a day off." The team chuckled upon hearing him. "Why don't you all take the day off as well? No use wasting time here waiting for a crime that's not going to happen."

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up, having come up with an idea. "Hey, why don't we all go out today? We could invite Barry too!" She looked at her friends for their thoughts. Caitlin and Cisco both nodded in approval, while the Flash didn't seem too keen on the idea. Before she could ask what the problem was, Dr. Wells spoke up.

"Count me out, as well as the Flash. I need to run some tests on his biometrics." The Flash quickly nodded, agreeing with the doctor's statement.

"If there's work to be done still, then I'll stay too." (Y/N) frowned in disappointment, but didn't want to have Dr. Wells do all the work. She wasn't being paid to eat stolen Twizzlers..

"Nonsense, you all go out." He shooed them with his hands. "It's some small tests, so I assure you, I can conduct them myself."

Seeing the skeptical look in her eyes, he motioned for Caitlin and Cisco to lead her out of the lab.

"Fine, fine. I'll go," she said, being dragged out by her friends.

_______________________

"Caitlin, honey, I think you should stop drinking now." (Y/N) tried coaxing her friend to put down the new glass of vodka she had ordered, on her newly opened tab.

When the three friends left the lab, they had no idea where to go to. (Y/N) suggested the karaoke bar, that Caitlin had visited with Barry. She thought it would be good practice for Barry, for the Christmas caroling. Of course, Barry didn't know what he was going to be forced into, and accepted the invite. Once they got to the bar, however, she got distracted from her mission, instead trying to prevent Caitlin from having the worst hangover tomorrow morning.

"I need to pee." Caitlin mumbled, her face scrunching up.

"Alright, let's get you to a toilet." She turned to Cisco, whispering so Barry wouldn't hear her. "I'm going to take Cait to the bathroom. I bestow my mission unto you, brave soldier. I expect Barry to be on stage singing when we get back."

"Sir, yes sir!" Cisco saluted, assuring her he wouldn't let her down.

And he sure didn't let her down. After ten minutes in the bathroom, she walked out, with Caitlin leaning against her, to hear the crowd chanting.

"BARRY! BARRY! BARRY!"

Walking back to their table, she shot Cisco a questioning look, noticing Barry was absent from his seat. He titled his head over to the stage, where she could see Barry holding a mic, not looking too enthusiastic. She burst out in laughter, patting Cisco on the back.

"Good job soldier, I knew I could count on you." She continued to laugh as her eyes met Barry's and he threw her an annoyed glare. In response, she stuck her tongue out at him, playfully. But, she then noticed his glare turn into a smirk.

"Cisco, why is B-"

She was interrupted by Barry's voice over the microphone. "You know, my friend, (Y/N), promised that she would sing with me tonight."

If looks could kill, Barry would be dead.

She quickly planned an escape plan in her head. If she left now, she could make it out the door, and ask Cisco to bring Caitlin over to her car.

But there was no use. She knew she was doomed, when she heard another chant start to happen. And this time, she wasn't the one laughing.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)!" She could feel the whole bar staring at her. Even Cisco started chanting along.

"Oh, you better run once the song's over Allen," she muttered under her breath, glaring darkly at the laughing Barry. With no choice left, she trudged up to the stage, glaring at her friend the whole way up.

Putting a hand over the mic, so the crowd wouldn't hear, she whispered to him.

"I hope you run fast."

Barry just chuckled, unfazed by the threat that came from the petite woman. A random song was picked, the music starting preventing the outbreak of an argument. Seeing that she was supposed to sing first, she sighed and glared at Barry.

"I really can't stay~"

Barry looked surprised, for a brief moment, before returning back to his smirk.

"But baby, it's cold outside," he responded.

She could see the teasing glint in his eyes. In front of her, she could hear some people in the crowd chuckle and a few whistle.

"I've got to go away~"

"But baby, it's cold outside." (Y/N) noted that her duet partner did really have a good voice, slowly forgetting about being forced to sing.

"This evening has been~"

"Been hoping that you'd drop in."

"~so very nice."

Barry, fully committing to the song, held her hand while singing, "I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice."

Playing along, she playfully swatted his hand away. "My mother will start to worry~"

"Beautiful, what's your hurry?"

"My father will be pacing the floor."

"Listen to the fire place roar~"

"So really, I'd better scurry~" she motioned walking off the stage.

"Beautiful, please don't hurry~" Barry turned her around and led her closer to the middle of the stage.

"But maybe just a half a drink more…" she smiled, letting him pull her in closer.

"I'll put some records on while I pour."

"The neighbors might think" She acted worried, going along with the lyrics of the song.

"Baby, it's bad out there." He held her side to prevent her from moving away.

"Say, what's in this drink?" She threw him a questioning glance.

"No cabs to be had out there."

"I wish I knew how"

Barry caught her eyes, in his gaze. His eyes lost all teasing, instead filled with something else. "You're eyes are like starlight tonight."

"To break this spell." She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell." He sang, while gently holding a lock of her hair.

"I ought to say no, no, no sir." She wiggled her finger in front of his face.

"Oh, mind if I move in closer?" He moved in closer, lessening the space between them.

"At least I'm gonna say that I tried." She felt a familiar feeling in her stomach.

"What's the sense in hurting my pride?" He continued to move in closer, barely leaving any space between them now.

"I really can't stay~" She sang, but didn't move away from him.

"But baby don't hold out"

They looked at each other before singing in unison. "Cause baby it's cold outside."

She moved away from his hold to sing the second verse. "I simply must go~"

A part of her wanted to leave. She wasn't sure what to think, when he looked at her with those eyes.

"But baby it's cold outside," he caught her before she could get closer to the edge of the stage.

"The answer is no, no, no~" She sang, but didn't try to leave again.

"Aw baby, it's cold outside"

"Your welcome has been~"

"How lucky that you dropped in."

"So nice and warm,"

"Look out the window, at that storm." He pointed towards the window, that seemed like a silent night.

"My sister will be suspicious."

"Gosh, your lips are delicious."

The both of them turned pink at the lyrics, but didn't break eye contact.

"And my brother will be there at the door," she continued to sing.

"Waves on a tropical shore."

"My maiden aunt's mind is vicious."

"Oom gosh, your lips are so delicious" She couldn't but blush again, while Barry smiled at her reaction.

"But maybe just a cigarette more."

"Oh never such a blizzard before." He motioned again to outside, playfully smiling.

"I've got to get home~"

"But baby, you'll freeze out there."

Barry tugged (Y/N) closer, bringing her into his embrace.

"Say lend me your coat." She tugged on the lapel of his coat.

"Oh, up to your knees out there."

"You've really been grand~"

"I thrill when you touch my hand." Barry grabbed her hand and put it in his pocket.

"But you don't see, no, no."

"How can you do this thing to me?"

There's bound to be talk tomorrow." They were so caught up in their duet, they didn't notice that the whole bar had their attention at them with knowing smiles on their faces.

"Think of my life long sorrow."

"At least there will be plenty implied." He gave her a wink.

"If you caught pneumonia and died."

"But I really can't stay."

"Get over that whole doubt."

Their eyes didn't leave each other's as they finished the last verse of the song in harmony. "Oh baby it's cold outside."

At the finish of their song, the bar cheered, whistling and clapping for the talented duo. The two proceeded with a short bow, while holding hands, then walked off the stage. When reaching their friends, (Y/N) saw Cisco smiling at them while holding up his phone. A light on the phone was turned on, indicating that it was recording a video. Caitlin, still drunk, was happily clapping with a big smile on her face.

She saw Cisco, from the corner of her eye, smile, while pointing at something next to her. Following his finger, Barry and (Y/N) noticed their still intertwined hands.

Before her face could turn into a tomato, she quickly withdrew her hand and turned her attention to Caitlin.

"How are you feeling?"

Her friend's smile turned to a sudden frown. "Not so good."

"Okay, time to go home. Barry, could you help me?" She pulled Caitlin up to her feet, but struggled to keep her standing. Barry held one of Caitlin's arm, while she held the other and they slowly walked to the exit. Cisco trailed behind them, offering to carry the girls' bag. Once getting Caitlin into her car, (Y/N) turned back to the others.

"Do you need a ride?" The question was directed to both of them, but she was unable to meet Barry's eyes, and settled for staring at Cisco instead.

"Yup." Noticing the awkward tension in the air, he quickly opened the door to the backseat and got in.

"Umm, what about you Barr? She had no choice now, but to look at him.

"Nah, I'll walk home. It's not far from here." Barry seemed very interested in his shoes.

"Okay then, I'll see you tomorrow…" She opened the driver's door and got in.

"Yeah."

Trying to break the awkwardness, she joked, "Try not to be late this time."

Before it could get anymore awkward, she gave him a quick wave and turned on the ignition, before driving off.

Surrogacy

The reason this bullshit is happening to me is because I tried to to do a nice thing. That’s all there is too it.

Emma was the daughter of one of my mom’s friends. We knew each other as kids but our friendship was mostly we were forced to play with each other because her mom was over or my mom was visiting her and I got dragged along. After middle school, when I could finally watch myself, we didn’t even try to keep in contact.

But now there’s this brilliant thing called Facebook, where you can reconnect with anyone from your life, from your second grade teacher to that girl you used to play together with as kids. Or you can stalk their page to see how much better their life is than yours.

Emma was the one who sent the friend request, and because I didn’t want to be a bitch I accepted it. Emma Buddy was now Emma Smith, she’d gotten married to her highschool sweetheart and they’d both been raking in enough dough from their jobs to afford a yearly cruise. Last year’s they’d gone to Alaska. I didn’t even know there was cruises for Alaska.

But I figured what the hey, I’ve done okay for myself, gotten published a few times in various magazines, I had a German Shepherd named Bailey that could sit up on command and would fetch me tissues whenever I sneezed. I was fine.

Then Emma sent me a message.

Hey, Jennifer! It’s been such a long time since we’ve talked, I’m sorry we’ve drifted apart. You wanna meet up sometime next week for coffee so we can catch up?

I’m horrible at finding nice ways to say ‘I’d rather not thanks’ so I ended up saying sure, expecting us to make plans that we’d never follow through with and then we’d go on with our own lives.

We ended up meeting at a nearby cafe next Saturday.

Emma had grown up from the awkward pigtailed child with a stutter to a beautiful woman with a great smile and a contagious laugh. I had to tell my very gay heart to calm the fuck down as she was happily married to a man.

Said man was a guy named Adam, and he was an optimistic, upbeat fellow that worked as a doctor. They lived in a great neighborhood, with a nice backyard and plenty of space for the kids.

It was when she brought up kids that her laugh seemed to fade and she curled into herself, staring at her Chai Tea. I asked her what was the matter, expecting her to tell me that she was worried about how her career would fair with children or that she was having a little trouble conceiving.

A ‘little trouble’ was an understatement. Emma had found out just a few days prior that she would never have children naturally. She might’ve had everything in her life perfect for a baby, but her womb was never going to let that happen. Adam was also crushed by this news but he was already searching for alternatives- adoption, fertility treatments… and surrogacy. You can see where this is going.

Before I even thought about it I offered to be her surrogate. Around the edges I come off as rather rough, but if I can help someone, there is nothing that will stop me from offering that help.

Of course my help isn’t always accepted, but Emma wrapped me in a crushing bear hug and thanked me.

The process itself was pretty boring so I’ll just skip all that, but lucky for everyone involved my womb was ready for the whole ‘baby making’ thing and once everything was all set up, I was set to carry Emma and Adam’s baby.

The first few months were as expected- morning sickness, sudden bursts of crying, tender boobs, basically your average pregnancy. Emma and Adam were incredibly supportive, they handled all the doctor’s appointments, covered all the costs, and I got two new friends out of the deal.

Then I cut myself and all hell broke loose.

Emma and Adam were over having tacos at my place, I was dicing tomatoes and I’d just turned to laugh at a joke Adam made when the knife accidentally caught my thumb. I’m a klutz, so I just swore and shook off my hand, asking Emma for a bandaid.

Both of them went quite pale before Emma sprung up and had me sit down, asking Adam to get the first aid kit. I laughed and told them to calm down, it was only a cut, but Adam seemed about five seconds away from driving me to the emergency room.

My cut was cleaned and bandaged, and I was given strict orders to remain still and to avoid aggravating the wound as much as possible. Again, I insisted it was just a cut, but Adam looked dead serious as he made me swear to be careful. For a moment, I felt a little panic in my chest, but it faded as soon as Emma brought me a plate of tacos.

What, I’m pregnant, and I was hungry. Besides, I reasoned they were just nervous for my safety. They’d already confided in me that Emma had miscarried twice and I knew losing this baby would crush them.

A week later, I attempted to remove the bandage and get on with my life, the cut wasn’t too deep and it should’ve long been healed.

It looked just as fresh as it did back then. The moment I twitched, the wound burst open again and my hand was soaked in blood. Bailey, who’d just been napping on the other side of the room, shot up to her feet and growled. I’d never heard her make that sound before, she was such a gentle dog and she’d never been aggressive before.

I managed to bandage myself back up but I did call Emma and let her know what happened and asked if I should go to the doctor about this. Emma scolded me about removing the bandage but told me it wasn’t necessary to go to the doctor. Whenever she and Adam came to visit he’d make sure it was all right. She told me that wounds ‘don’t heal the same when you’re pregnant’.

At that point I burst into tears again but I blame that on the hormones.

After that I became incredibly paranoid about getting hurt again. I didn’t shave because I didn’t want to deal with a shaving cut, I let Emma handle the knives for chopping veggies when she came to visit, I was very careful. No matter what I did, that cut didn’t heal. In fact, it seemed to get worse, no longer resembling a cut but more of a gouge, ripping back open if I so much as peeked at it.

I was concerned, yeah, but I didn’t think it was something to panic about yet. Like Emma said, wounds take longer to heal when you’re pregnant, and I was pregnant. Emma was more of an expert on this than I was.

Then I began having the nightmares.

The first time I was surrounded by dark figures, it was so unbearably hot. I was tied up and face down while they all just stared and laughed at me. A voice hissed the words ‘devil’s wife’ into my ear before a red hot brand was pressed against my bare thigh. I screamed and cried as it burned, I know you’re not supposed to feel pain in your sleep but I did, I truly did.

When I woke up the next morning, exhausted and my throat feeling like sandpaper, there was a bruise right where I was branded. One of my neighbors knocked on my door and asked if I was all right, they’d heard me screaming last night.

I don’t know why they didn’t think of calling the cops if I was screaming bloody murder, but some people just don’t want to be involved I suppose.

There were more nightmares, more than I can count. I was whipped. Burned alive. Skinned. I’d wake up with injuries I’d have no memory of getting, bruises and scrapes that I’d have to immediately bandage up before I bled everywhere. Bailey used to sleep in the same room as me. Not anymore. She would remain outside the door and wouldn’t come in until morning.

People at work were genuinely concerned I was in an abusive relationship with how the bandages and bruises popped up. One even offered me a safe place to stay. I declined, saying I was just having bad dreams and that I probably needed to be tied down for my own safety soon enough.

I joke about that to Emma and she took me seriously. I threatened to clock her one if she actually put restraints on my bed. I then burst into tears again and told her how sorry I was for threatening to hurt her, that she was a good friend and I was being horrible, but then Emma screamed.

I was crying blood. It wasn’t that my tears were tinted red, I was crying literal globs of blood down my cheeks. I looked in the mirror and I looked like a fucking horror film.

I’m not going to lie to you- if I hadn’t already been past that point, I would’ve gone for an abortion and not felt guilty about it. Okay, I would’ve felt a little guilty, but clearly my body wasn’t as ‘baby ready’ as the doctors said it was.

I’m staying at Emma’s and Adam’s house now, ready to pop in little over a month and I think I’ve been had.

I don’t think I’m carrying their baby. I think I’m carrying something else. The nightmares have only gotten worse. When I sleep in Emma’s and Adam’s bed, sometimes I get a good night’s sleep, but it’s a toss up. Adam once said he’s doing all he can to protect me, but Emma shut him up before he could explain further. I think he’s feeling guilty about what he’s done to me. I’m not sure if Emma is.

At night I stare at my giant belly and wonder what’s truly inside. I feel like hell, constantly woozy and queasy. I know I’m going to give birth soon.

And I think the part that scares me most is that last night Adam confirmed what they’d thought might been the case earlier on.

I’m having twins.

The dynamic duo: What is their favorite book/poem/song of earth? Of Alleirat? Can they sing? What are some instruments of Alleirat? What are they made of? How are they made? Are they widely available? Of earth's instruments, what is their sound similar to? Are there major festivals/holidays? Any strange ones (like the city in Spain that has an annual tomato fight)? What are Alleirai beds like (raised on four legs/futons/hammocks)? Are there sleeping bags or does everyone just suffer on the road?

Hey, y’all, sorry I just...fucking vanished there!  Real life obligations caught up with me.  Ironically this is a long term positive--I’m much more productive in writing when I have a job, because it leaves me less time to second guess myself.  Point is, I’m going to try and actually Do Things on this blog again.  Also the last one about holidays got pretty long so I put it under a cut.

What is their favorite book/poem/song of Earth?  Of Alleirat?

Oh my God, listen, I’m not gonna get to most of this question because I got overexcited, but let’s talk about these two and Earth poetry, yeah?

Crispin discovers Emily Dickinson in seventh grade English class, and the first poem of hers he ever reads is, of course, Because I could not stop for Death.  He traces his fingers over the words “Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet//Feels shorter than the Day//I first surmised the Horses’ Heads//Were toward Eternity –” and for some reason he can’t quite put his finger on, his throat closes up tight and his voice breaks when he’s asked to read aloud.  Some indiscernable something about her words ring in his head like English hasn’t rung in years, and he checks a collection out of the library the same day.  His favorite poem of hers is--it’s not really his favorite, but the poem of hers he knows by heart and can’t seem to peel out of the beat of his pulse is I measure every Grief I meet.  Some days he loves it, for how cleanly and purely it seems to scribe him into neat four-line stanzas.  Some days he can’t read it without crying, or throwing the book across the room.

The only Dickinson poem Brenneth likes is Tell all the Truth, and sometimes when she looks at Crispin she thinks it was written for him.

Brenneth doesn’t like poetry much, she mostly prefers songs--they’re easier to remember and she knows what to do with them, she doesn’t really know what to do with poetry (can’t sing it, doesn’t have a narrative, can’t even go see it performed) and she doesn’t like not knowing what to do with a thing.  But once she read Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti.  She started it by accident, and there was a story, a narrative threading through the ramble, and she kept reading, and--

Brenneth has dreams for a week, dizzy uneasy dreams of Crispin biting into strange foreign fruits and letting juice as thick and red as blood stain his mouth, and of hands--his hands, strong and crackling with lightning--pressing the fruit against her mouth and saying eat, eat, and of a mouth on her jaw and neck and collarbones, drinking the juice from her skin.

What are Alleirai beds/travel beds like?

The basic structure of Alleirai beds is “four legs, some kind of pad, sheets/blanket, maybe a pillow” but there’s a lot of scope there and it’s not unheard of for people to have a different arrangement based on what they’re used to--sailors are used to hammock-style bunks on ships, travelers used to sleeping rough are most familiar with bedrolls that consist of little more than two blankets and possibly a very thin pad.  At the end of the day, though, since a large portion of the continent is arable, elevated beds have the practical advantage of being easier to keep relatively clean of dirt, water, and creepy crawlies.  As such, a cot-style arrangement is considered the bare minimum, with a base of taut cloth and no mattress at all. The rich might have a four-poster bed with a down mattress.  Most people are somewhere in the middle with plain frames and horsehair or straw ticks that get exchanged on a semi-regular basis.

Can they sing?

Yes!  Brenneth has a nice folksy low alto, it’s nothing special but she used to sing shanties and ballads while she worked in her forge, especially while she was hammering or doing anything else that required a rhythm.  Sometimes she gave people a discount on their work if they were willing to teach her a new song instead, and people made jokes about the singing smith.  Crispin has a beautiful mid-range tenor, sweet and clear as glass when he was a child and deepening to something warm and full as he got older.  He has formal voice training, which was part of his education--singing is a good way to learn to project your voice, which is a desirable trait in a hero of legend.  However, he hates to sing alone, which is where all his training lies, so he taught himself to sing harmony to Brenneth’s melodies and that’s the only way he sings anymore.

What are some instruments of Alleirat/what are they like?

They hit a lot of the same major categories as we do--they have necked and non-necked string instruments (things like guitars or fiddles and lyres or harps, respectively), drums and other percussion instruments, wind instruments.  They lack the finesse to make out modern instruments, and most wind instruments are made of wood rather than metals, whereas they have a lot more metal drums than hide-and-wood drums, so playing the drum in Alleirat is equally about knowing how to stop a sound as start it.  You know that dome-shaped hang drum thing?  Something similar to that with only a few tones (like four total) is pretty common on ships and is used to keep time for sea shanties, and more complex versions are popular during festivals, in combination with strings and singing.  Vocalists are prized in Alleirat, so wind instruments are less common than things that allow singing and playing simultaneously.

Are there major holidays/festivals?  Any weird ones?

I’d have sworn on my life I answered this already, but apparently not.  The Alleirai seasons each have a festival at the height and one at the end of the year, four religious festivals and one political.  The political festival is Unification Day, the commemoration of the unification of the continent of Alleirat and the formal truce of the lengthy wars that threatened to kill everyone on it, and takes place in the early days of summer.  How seriously and/or cheerfully people take Unification Day depends on how they’re feeling about the Unified Council at that moment, and whether or not their protectorate state is on the verge of civil war with a neighbor.  

The religious festivals are:

the Feast of the Wanderer, which takes place at midsummer and is a festival of plenty and warmth and alcohol--the Wanderer is the god of life and fire, and the festival is encouraged to embrace and embody joy and revelry.  There are also ritual fights, which are largely in fun and more like friendly bar brawls than formalized gladiator matches, and both participants are usually quite drunk.  Agreeing to be the on-call flesh workers standing ringside on the Feast makes you an obscene amount of money, but you have to be sober.  Gifts are also exchanged at this festival--material gifts, specifically.

the Lady’s Night, or the Night of Stars, which takes place at midwinter and is very much a festival of...keeping out the dark, I suppose, would be the way I’ll put it.  The festival is about remembering that We Are Alive And Life Is Short, as well as remembering the dead, with a lot of candles lit in memorial and just for light--traditionally, you stay up from dusk until dawn, and if your candles and fire go out, you’ll have bad luck all year.  There’s still drinking and feasting and general celebration, but it’s more intimate and less raucous than the Feast.  You exchange stories and sing and hold your breath whenever the flames flicker.  (Cheating with magical glowglasses is considered bad luck as well.)  There are people who learn a single story or song all year in preparation for the Night of Stars, and you display them as a gift for the people you’re celebrating with.

the Landing, the first day of the new year at mid-spring, which marks the day that tradition and lore say the gods first came to Alleirat.  It’s probably not the right day, sort of like Christmas was moved around a bunch, but no one but the very well educated or very pedantic care.  You leave offerings at the temples or shrines at dawn, and then you go out and celebrate.  All day if you can, more often just from “whenever you get off work” to “whenever you collapse.”  The large cities and sometimes smaller towns and villages hold a parade, and crown young people, a boy and a girl in their mid to late teens or early twenties, as the Lady and the Wanderer for the day.  The crowns assigned to each of the two (generally flower crowns, rather than anything valuable) is supposed to be handed around over the course of the day, as a sort of village-wide game of Tag with the crowned people as “it”, and whoever holds the crowns at sundown has the responsibility of leading the town in the service of the Landing, which is a whole thing.  It’s sort of like religious hot potato with drinking.

the Eve of Dead Gods, which is pretty much what it says on the tin.  In terms of the feel of the Eve, it’s sort of somewhere between old celebrations of Halloween and Yom Kippur, with an emphasis on considering your own actions of the past year and serious reflection, as well as a  day when...well, they’re pretty serious about the dead gods.  Gods can’t be ghosts, of course, don’t be foolish, but--but when you worship the last two of a mighty pantheon, it doesn’t hurt to do honor to those who went before.  On the Eve, you lock your doors and windows at dusk and don’t go outside again until the sun is shining, and you remember that everything dies.  Even gods.

Some people--those whose ancestors escaped the sinking of the western continent--hold a quiet holiday for the Chained Lord, the god who didn’t answer when they called for salvation and whose death throes killed thousands.  It’s a small thing of fasting and candles and salt scattered on the floor, observed by most as little more than a cursory tradition and not even a shadow of a shadow of what his festivals must have once been.

517: Beginning of the End

When I think of the kind of movie that belonged on MST3K, Beginning of the End checks all the boxes: it’s got a silly premise, a lousy script, bad acting, laughable special effects, obvious stock footage all over the place, continuity errors galore… and of course, Bert I. Gordon, the garbage king of bug movies!  I couldn’t possibly ask for more, whether I’m watching with Mike and the bots or all on my lonesome.

Somehow the town of Ludlow, deep in the mountains of Illinois (this movie takes place in an alternate universe), has been utterly destroyed overnight!  Reporter Audrey Aimes takes up the story and it leads her to a lab where Dr. Ed Wainwright and Dr. Frank Johnson are using radiation to grow giant vegetables.  Turns out, a swarm of locusts ate some of the super-crops, causing them to grow to enormous size, and now they’re on the move looking for prey!  Will the government be forced to nuke Chicago in order to destroy them, or can Wainwright and Aimes find another way before it’s too late?

Wikipedia has far more information on how they worked with the insects in this movie than I ever wanted to know.  Apparently Gordon bought a box of grasshoppers from Texas, after some poor bastard from the Department of Agriculture carefully went through all two hundred or so to make sure they were all males and therefore couldn’t breed.  Then I guess somebody forgot to feed the bugs on their way to California, because they ate each other.  The reason you never see more than a handful in any given shot, despite the characters talking about swarms of the things, is because those were the battle-scarred survivors.

The idea of growing giant food in order to end world hunger is something I’ve seen in a couple of different movies from this era, and it always makes me snicker a little.  For one thing, it’s misguided: people don’t starve because there’s not enough food, but because either they can’t afford it, or it can’t get to them.  For another, it’s monstrously impractical: what are you going to do with a tomato that looks like it should be sitting outside a Target?  How will you transport it?  What will you make with it?  What happens to the leftovers?

My theory is that Wainwright said ‘end world hunger’ in order to secure funding – his actual motive is simply to grow bigger tomatoes, perhaps to show up some neighbor who took home a prize at the county fair every year and then gloated about it, no matter how hard the Wainwright family worked on their garden.  I like this idea because it lets me picture Peter Graves bent over a Mad Scientist Kool-Aid Bar, muttering things like, “I’ll show you, Mr. Williams.  I’ll show you.”

Leo G. Carroll, on the other hand, just really liked tarantulas and wanted one big enough to sleep at the foot of the bed.

Time to talk about the actual movie, though.  It’s got a number of things in it that I really like.  For one, there’s no drawing out of the ‘nobody believes in the giant grasshoppers’ thing.  In a lot of movies, the soldiers sent to investigate the grain elevator would have found nothing at all.  In The Beginning of the End, they encounter giant insects almost right away, saving us from a lot of pointless dawdling around.  I can think of half a dozen movies that would have done well to follow this example!  Their plan to destroy the giant bugs is pleasantly free of technobabble or bullshit like ‘mesonic atoms’, though I would dearly like to know how they actually captured that giant grasshopper and got it into the building.  The script also gets around the problem of a monster that can easily be heard coming by establishing that victim Dr. Johnson is deaf.  No Tiptoeing Tyrannosaur Syndrome here!

Furthermore, both the disabled Johnson and the woman-in-a-man’s-job Aimes are mostly treated with respect – even the military men standing in Aimes’ way remark on how she’s at the top of her field.  Captain Parker invites her to hang around because he trusts her to make the army look good in a situation where they could easily be accused of shady dealing and coverup.  Johnson and Wainwright have their own separate areas of expertise and each pays attention to what is appropriate for his, and Johnson’s disability never gets in the way of his job.  The dialogue implies that Wainwright went out and learned sign language just so he could continue working with Johnson after his accident, which speaks eloquently to the depth of their bond without any clunky lines about how ‘he’s also my best friend’.

The mental image I described above, of Graves muttering over his revenge tomatoes, sounds pretty mad-sciencey, doesn’t it?  That’s another kind of neat thing Beginning of the End has going on – the character of Ed Wainwright actually fits the part of mad scientist very well.  He’s a man working in secret in the middle of nowhere with a disabled assistant.  They Tamper in God’s Domain, creating things nature never intended, which escape their control and run off to break stuff.  That could be a description of Victor Frankenstein, in his lonely castle making a monster with Igor the hunchback!  Beginning of the End tones everything in the scenario down from the gothic to the everyday, the castle to a garden shed and so forth, but all the elements are still present, and nobody is more aware of this than Wainwright himself.  When asked if he ‘bred’ the locusts, he replies, “in a sense, I did.”

The difference is in how Wainwright responds to the monsters he has created.  Dr. Frankenstein is so horrified by what he has made that he disavows all responsibility for it.  Wainwright, on the other hand, immediately steps up and takes responsibility.  Throughout the rest of the film we see that he feels keenly responsible for the existence of the grasshoppers and for every single life they take – not only his friend and partner Dr. Johnson, but complete strangers as well.  If the army is forced to nuke Chicago, he will consider this, too, his own fault.  He stays in the city not only in the hope of finding a solution, but because he truly believes that if Chicago has to go then he deserves to go with it.

I like this idea, of a mad scientist realizing he’s a mad scientist and trying to deal with it.  It’s got a Manhattan Project, I am become Death vibe to it that could have been really interesting and relevant to the 50’s Atomic Age zeitgeist.  Sadly, I think it comes far more out of how Graves plays the character than how Fred Freiburger and Lester Gorn wrote him.  The biggest problem is that none of the other characters recognize Wainwright’s self-destructive guilt for what it is.  Aimes, who is supposed to have fallen in love with him, offers to stay in Chicago at his side until the bitter end – I think this is supposed to be a romantic ‘die-in-each-other’s-arms’ gesture, except that mutual suicide is not romantic and a far more caring and natural thing to do would be to find this man a therapist!

What Bert I. Gordon himself actually seems to have been trying to accomplish was adapting H. G. Well’s The Food of the Gods and How it Came to Earth.  I suspect this was Gordon’s favourite book – he would use it for inspiration again in 1965’s Village of the Giants and 1976’s Food of the Gods.  In the book, scientists create a ‘superfood’ that causes anything that consumes it to grow to six or seven times normal size – unfortunately, this effect is passed on to anything that eats the giant animals and plants, and so forth.  Wells’ book was social satire, exploring the problems created by unchecked population growth in Victorian England.  Gordon, however, is much more interested in the story's relatively minor motif of an infestation of giant pests, and in his favourite bit of movie magic, making small things look big.

Beginning of the End does note that the grasshoppers aren’t the first bug to get into the experimental farm, and this makes me wonder if he had a series of sequels planned.  If so, it’s a pity he didn’t get to make them.  I would give blood to see that giant snail movie.

As an attempt at a good movie, Beginning of the End tries some interesting things and even though it fails you can see enough of the outlines to have an idea what it was getting at.  As a bad movie, it succeeds spectacularly!  Despite what Dr. Forrester said about it picking up just before the end, it’s not badly-paced.  The opening sequence with the destruction of Ludlow tries to create a sense of mystery, and once the clues are lined up it doesn’t waste time on people not believing in what the audience has already seen.  There’s lots of grasshopper action and it’s all appealingly ridiculous.  The one that wanders off the side of a building into empty space is a classic, but there’s also that ludicrous moment when the grasshopper appears to be spying on the woman who just got out of the shower.  Nor can we forget poor Dr. Johnson trying to scream as the giant bugs close in on him!

Beginning of the End is everything I enjoy about Bert I. Gordon movies.  It’s made with love, by people who are terribly proud of what they’ve created even if it really didn’t amount to much.  I honestly don’t think Gordon cared whether his movies got good reviews just so long as they entertained people.  Some filmmakers whose work as featured on MST3K, like Joe Don Baker or Sandy Frank, were bitter about it for years, but I suspect Gordon absolutely loved that the show brought his work to a bigger audience.  I really need to get on with seeing more of his stuff for Episodes that Never Were, and I hope it features in Season 12, as well.

Just One More

Lukadrien June day 28: Shoulder To Cry On. Thanks @lukadrienjune​

Read the whole month on AO3

Note: I do not apologize for this having nothing to do with the prompt title. I also do not apologize for anything else.

Adrien fell asleep in class. He sat in the front row, there was no way the teacher didn't notice, but no one disturbed him. After class, Nino held up his notebook and said he'd go make photocopies for Adrien of his notes. The teacher called Adrien aside and asked if everything was okay at home. It wasn't, but he blamed the increased frequency of akumas, saying it made him anxious. The teacher pushed the school counseling services on him until he managed to smile and nod his way out of the conversation and the room.

"How you doing?" Adrien overheard Alya ask Marinette. "You look like a zombie."

"I'll be fine. Just up late... designing."

Well, at least Adrien wasn't alone in his lack of sleep. And Ladybug. She was pretty tired, too.

Adrien was halfway to the Couffaines' when his phone rang.

"Nino told me you fell asleep in class. I'm cancelling band practice and you're taking a nap until the next attack," Luka said.

"Hello to you, too."

"I mean it," he said. The agitation in his voice made Adrien smile.

"So, 'take a nap' is code, right?"

"It absolutely is not. You need sleep."

"Not as much as I need to spend some time with you, alone, snuggled on your bed, kissing you-"

"You will be asleep within minutes."

"We'll see," Adrien said.

Adrien didn't even get as far as "snuggled on your bed" before he was asleep. Luka pushed him on his bed, went to get an extra blanket, and came back to a sleeping Adrien. Luka threw the blanket over Adrien and turned his laptop on to a news station with headphones while he worked on homework. He heard a story about the new hero, Carapace, and another about how Rena Rouge seemed to be a full time hero as well now. Halfway through two newscasters speculating as to why Hawkmoth had suddenly increased his attacks in frequency and intensity, news broke of another attack.

"Are you sure I can't go for him?" Luka asked Plagg.

"Don't offer," Plagg said. "He might just be tired enough to take you up on it and you're a little too soft hearted for this kind of thing."

Luka sighed.

"Adrien, you have to go," Luka said, shaking his shoulder.

"I hate Hawkmoth," Adrien said, turning his face into the pillow for a moment. "Plagg, claws out."

Chat Noir climbed out Luka's window. Luka settled down with the news again.

Adrien had left his things there, so Luka expected him to come back after the fight to get them, but the fight lasted hours. Luka finally had to give up and go to bed, leaving the news playing on his laptop and hoping that if something went wrong, he would hear a change in the newscaster's tone and wake up.

Adrien came crawling back through the window around two in the morning. He gently shut Luka's laptop and sat on the edge of the bed, just watching Luka sleep.

"You're back," Luka said a minute later, rolling to see Adrien better. "You're okay."

"A few close calls, but I'm okay."

"You going home?"

"Do I have to?"

Luka struggled to sit up. "You want to stay?"

"I don't know where my father is. Nathalie has stopped trying to cover for him at work. The house is empty and it makes me feel like a little kid, but I'm terrified of it. I'll be gone before your parents notice me in the morning, and Nathalie probably won't even say anything, if she notices that I was gone."

"You don't have to rationalize," Luka said, pulling Adrien against his bare chest. "Please stay, if it would help."

Adrien set an alarm, kicked off most of his clothes, and crawled under the covers.

"You don't mind?" Adrien asked, holding himself on the edge of the bed so he wasn't touching Luka.

Luka curled an arm around his back and tugged until Adrien relaxed against him and tucked his head under Luka's chin.

"I'd do anything to fix this," Luka whispered.

Adrien was already asleep.

/*****/

"I have to get her back."

"You can't get her back if you don't eat something, sir."

Nathalie guided Gabriel to his desk where a sandwich waited for him. His hands were shaking and she knew he would ask for coffee, and she would give it to him, but maybe, if she was lucky, he would fall asleep before it kicked in.

"I need her back now, Nathalie."

"I know, sir."

"I've missed so much," Gabriel said. "Suddenly he's dating and that was bad enough, but realizing how long it had been since he had stopped making blanket forts? I'm missing so much."

"He misses you, too."

"But Emilie has missed even more," Gabriel said, taking a bite of the sandwich. "i've missed too much through my own failings. She's missing even more and it's not her fault."

"You miss her."

"I need her."

He ate in silence for a while as Nathalie checked her watch. She was glad she had asked her neighbor to feed the cat for the foreseeable future because she should have been home hours ago.

"You're always here," Gabriel said.

Nathalie was shocked. Gabriel had talked about nothing but his quest to gain the miraculouses for over two weeks. Had glancing at her watch made him think she didn't want to be there?

"I'm sorry," she said, failing to keep the confusion and worry out of her voice. "Am I disturbing you? I can leave and return tomorrow morning."

"You're always here," he said, reaching out a mustard stained hand to squeeze hers where it rested on his desk.

"I always will be, sir."

"Am I doing the right thing?"

Nathalie froze. He had never asked her opinion on his actions. When he had told her of his quest originally, he had even said that he didn't expect her to care if what he was doing was right or wrong, and she hadn't. What did this mean? Was he just so tired he was rambling?

"I'm not your conscience."

"No, but you're my friend. My partner. My right-hand man."

"Yes," she said slowly. "But as all of those, we both make our own decisions and trust the other to make theirs."

Gabriel finished his sandwich and placed his glasses on the desk. He looked even more tired without them.

"Maybe you shouldn't," he said.

Nathalie ignored the comment and picked up a napkin. She took Gabriel's hand in hers and removed the mustard and tomato drippings from his fingers with gentle strokes.

"You know this is yours to decide," she said. She placed his hand on the table, tossed the napkin, and headed to the door. Before exiting, she turned back and said, "I'll be waiting for you either way."

Gabriel stared at the door long after she had left. She was waiting for him? Why did those words seem so significant? What was his tired mind missing?

"One more," he whispered to himself, shaking his head to rid it of thoughts of Nathalie. "Just one more akuma."

It was never "just one more".

/*****/

There was a lull. Adrien got to sleep through the night without his phone blaring another akuma alert. He got through the whole school day. He got through his homework on the Liberty with Juleka and Rose to help him. He got through walking to a coffee shop with Luka, ordering, finding a table, and hearing his name called for their drinks before the alert went off again.

"Gotta go," Adrien said, standing up to kiss Luka's cheek quickly. "Stay safe."

"I'm in a coffee shop," Luka said. "You stay safe."

Luka watched Adrien sneak into the alley beside the coffee shop through the window. He watched Chat Noir bound back out of the alley on his extended baton. He watched Chat Noir knocked from the sky by an invisible force.

He watched Chat Noir hit the ground, hard. He watched him not moving.

Luka tried to run to the door, but his legs gave out on him and he fell to his knees, knocking into the table next to him. Other people noticed what he was looking at then. The invisible attacker flickered into view. A blue and black akuma that changed shape every few seconds. Someone screamed.

At the last second, Carapace and a new hero in yellow landed in front of Chat Noir. Carapace used his one-use superpower, Shield, to create a bubble around the heroes. He held it in place while the new hero checked on Chat Noir. After a few horrifying seconds, Chat Noir started to move.

The battle raged on from there. The shapeshifter drove the heroes all over the city. Each swapped in and out multiple times. Luka found himself following the fight on foot from a reasonable distance. He couldn't stay away from the battle, not with the hit Adrien took at the start.  He felt someone else nearby, but didn't think much of it. Lots of people followed and recorded fights, even brutal ones like this.

The heroes won. Luka followed them to a parking garage and stood outside, waiting for signs of where they would go next. When he saw a white butterfly flap off into the sky, he knew the worst was over. Next he saw a swarm of magic ladybugs fluttering around fixing everything. A detransformed Adrien was on the bottom floor of the parking garage, within sight of Luka and walking towards him, grinning.

And then he heard the crack. And the ground started rumbling. And the parking garage crumbled and fell.