Please do go on about Doomslayer and his morals. I'm legit fascinated by him since starting the let's play I'm watching and I'd love to hear your take on him (I know literally nothing about the Doom franchise other than lots of blood and violence against demons and also badass music)

You know, a year ago when my friends asked me 'hey do you wanna play minecraft' and i said 'yeah sure' i would have never thought i would one day have a minecraft sideblog where i get questions about the personality of the main character of a shooter fps game (of all things!) that is known for its incredible violence.

But here you go:

(prepare yourself this has gotten way longer than i thought oh god, and also it has nothing to do with hermits whatsoever. warnings for language and descriptions of violence? and i assume the readmore won’t be working the way i want it to)

Ok so, Doom!

First of all, i know nothing about the old games, and i’ve only seen a minimal amount of Doom Eternal Letsplays. Most of this is based on Doom (2016). 

Ok so we all start out thinking Doomguy! It’s the guy you play in Doom. The hand that hold the gun YOU are shooting demons with. And sure, you can go trough the whole game with that mindset, but that’s boring and we are overthinking fictional characters in this house.

ID software actually managed to give Doomguy/Doomslayer a TON of personality despite him never saying a word, barely any cutscenes to show what he does when you don’t control him (at least in Doom 2016), and not a lot of other characters to interact with despite enemy monsters.

The game just leaves you little hints and snippets and that’s what makes Doomslayer so exciting to think about. Just the right levels between ‘cryptid half-god who never shows emotion and is a player-insert’ and ‘this dude’s got an AGENDA. he has PLACES TO BE’. You are him as you play, but sometimes he makes decisions on his own. But personally, i could never find myself to disagree.

First, you got the intro sequence. 

You got a unknown voice telling you: 

“They are rage. Brutal, without mercy. But you. You will be worse. Rip and Tear, until it is done.”

First of all, YO. WOW. HOLY SHIT.

The scene immediately shifts to Doomslayer waking up. He’s naked, he’s chained down somewhere, theresa SHIT TON of scars littering his arms and hands. First thing HE does, on his own behalf, is ripping off the chains by flexing a little (literal iron chains!!!), smashing a zombies head against the sarcophagus he lays in and completely obliterating said head into a bit of blood (mind you, three seconds after he woke up from a thousands of years long coma!! but we only learn that later), and then promptly gets up, picks up a pistol, and now it’s your, the players turn. This takes like 8 seconds in total. This man means BUSINESS. That’s the first thing we learn.

Second thing that strikes me is the interactions with Samuel Hayden. 

Doomslayer is patient when a computer voice tells him the status of the base. He is patient as he looks at the screens to see what is going on. (a demonic invasion, thats what). But then dear Dr. Samuel Hayden calls. 

Dr. Hayden says “Hi, i’m the boss here, i’m sure we can work together in a way that benefits us both uwu”. Doomslayer immediately grabs the PC screen and pushes it aside. His gesture says, i’m done with this. im sick of this dude. this guy is full of shit. And he’s right! And that after barely hearing two sentences from Hayden!

So the second thing we learn is that he has no time for people trying to exploit him. He hears Hayden, he has a gut feeling that this dude is a little fishy, maybe he just plain doesnt like higher ups and heads of facilities. But we learn that he IS. NOT. going to listen to this man, and his body language makes that very clear without being actually violent against the person (he doesnt destroy the Screen either! just pushes it aside very annoyed. He isn’t mindlessly destroying property here.)

This continues. 

Hayden goes ‘hey maybe don’t destroy that energy source!’ in the few seconds you dont control him, Doomslayer listens. He hesitates. He considers. Then he destroys the thing anyways. Hayden keeps telling him to stop, but Doomslayer doesnt listen. He’s got his own mind!

This was mostly about Haydens Company, the UAC, harvesting hell energy, and hurting people in the process. 

There’s a scene where Doomslayer rides an elevator. Hayden, over the comms, tells him that everyone that has died in the demon attack was a nacessary sacrifice that will bring a new future or some shit like that. the camera pans down to show some poor sods corpse at those very words. Doomslayer cracks his knuckles. he is NOT HAPPY about that, so we know he doesnt like it when human lifes are sacrificed. He destroys the communicator, so he doesnt have to listen to Haydens voice telling him lies and trying to sway him anymore. 

(then he takes out his shotgun, the doors open, metal starts playing and the doom logo is shown, but that’s more about making the player feel epic than showing doomslayers personality,,)

Now i would like to talk about VEGA, the AI that controls the mars facility. 

VEGA occasionally talks to us/the Slayer. He is very straightforward, tells us what to do and why to do it, and is generally very polite. In the story, Doomslayer listens to Vega. 

Now why does he listen to VEGA but not Hayden? 

I think it’s because Hayden tries to get him to do things that just benefit him, and Hayden is very manipulative in his words (or tries to be lol), while Vega just says (if you destroy this thing, that door will open. I think Doomslayer appreciates it when people are honest to him.

And in the end, Doomslayer on his own decides to save a backup of VEGA. VEGA didn’t ask him to, Doomslayer did that on his own. It’s not relevant to his mission, he doesnt need VEGA to go to hell to close portals and whatnot. But he does save him. Why? I think it’s because he cares. Because he’s come to like VEGA. Because Vega didn’t try to manipulate him and screw him over. 

Next up is the Slayers Testament. 

These are a bunch of writings/recordings that you find scattered in the hell levels. (i highly recommend listening to them/reading them, they are metal as fuck and give me such an immense feeling of power bc they are talking about me, the doomslayer)

These testaments were written by demons. They were genuinely afraid of the slayer. 

Quote:

Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.

As said, i don’t think these are purely talking about his physical strength. They are talking about his... well, mentality. His Codex. They see him as an unstoppable force. He is incorruptible. Let that sink in. Man walks trough hordes of demons and at no point ever thinks ‘yeah maybe this is a bit much’ or ‘they just keep coming this is pointless’. No. He’s unyielding. (Can you tell how much i love the words in these testaments? It’s just got such a nice ring to it.)

In battle, the Doomslayer is BRUTAL. He tears apart demons, rips their eyes out, all that. He stomps on heads like they’re water balloons and isn’t fazed at all. Nothing stops this man. (except players like me who fall off the map 5 consecutive times, but lets just imagine the doomslayer is actually like he would be if someone played the game perfectly. player skill shouldn’t be considered in my headcanons jahdjhgd) One could even argue he has fun at this, because there are some animations like ripping off a zombies arm and beating the Zombie with it, or feeding a demon it’s own heart.

I feel like that says a lot about his personality as well!

He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t doubt himself. He doesn’t question his cause! He fights to get rid of the demons, not just the ones in his way, but every. demon. He will go out of his way to kill more demons. You could either take this as him having fun, or him following his own moral codex to get rid of every demon, or him being a not-quite-human war machine, or wanting to protect humanity from them. 

I would say it’s a healthy mix of all that :D

In older games, there was this whole backstory snippet of him returning to earth, finding that the demons had invaded his planet but also killed his pet rabbit (Daisy), and he then goes onto a 2-game long revenge trip.Take that as you will.

The last thing i would like to mention is this post.

Please watch the video. Doomguy walks trough the rows of random human guards. This is the walk of a man who doesn’t owe them SHIT. Yes, he wants to save humanity. Yes, he cares. But he also knows who he is. He knows what he did, and what he will do. He doesn’t have to justify himself in front of these shady scientists and jerky guards.THEY owe HIM, in fact. This video emits the sheer CONFIDENCE of someone who has walked trough hell multiple times and knows none of these people could even touch him. Yes, he would never kill them. He would not harm humans. But he doesn’t care about making them uncomfortable with his presence, either. He doesnt ask for permission.

(i think by now i am using the exact same words they did in that post. really, its worth the read. i think there’s a lot of repeated things between this post and that post by now but i encourage you to watch that video. its worth it.)

Also, the impact he has on the people in this room! they trip. they walk backwards. they go quiet, stutter. they are intimidated. They know he’s technically here to help and save them, but now, standing in front of them.... just wow. it really puts things into perspective. it tells the player that all the demons that he’s killed, all that the doomslayer has done... its noted. it has an impact. 

I’m not really sure where i’m going with this anymore, but watching those NPCs react to the slayers presence just adds so much more to his character. it tells us how people see him, and boy.... do they see him. 

i think it also ties a lot into how the player is made feel, controlling doomguy. all these head stomping and limp tearing animations, the guns, people being scared, watching doomslayer destroy important equipment from first pirson or pushing open doors or whatever... it just gives me such an immense feeling of power! i can’t even describe it. (...it also has nothing to do anymore with the original question but holy shit did i love playing doom for the sheer atmosphere of it. despite me being horrible at playing.)

(at the end of this i’m realizing that all of this never addressed if doomslayer is happy and content murdering demons, or if he just wants his peace and quiet but can’t help himself every time he sees a demon. i would propose to leave that up to headcanons. mine is a mix of both but in a way that makes it not angsty. like he loves to have his calm moments, but is just as happy to rip some demon’s spine out. probably gets a little itchy and impatient if he hasn’t fought in a while.)

also if you’re interested in game design and way more professional people talking about why doom 2016 is great i reccomend this documentary

...anyways it’s past 1am and this has gotten way out of hand but

tl;dr: the doomslayer is metal as fuck, he has a lot of agenda he is following, and i love him so much

could you do hybrid vmin please 🥺 i have a guilty pleasure of the idea of them being overprotective of oc and when she sneaks away from their watch once they have to save her from another hybrid and punish her when they get home, bonus points for marking/collaring her to show that they actually own her instead of the other way around (while still being fluffy, sorry this is so specific 😭)

damn this should be a whole fic tbh... i wrote just enough for a drabble, let me know if you want a pt2

PS: here's the part 2

You loved your hybrids to death; you really did. Jimin, the calico cat hybrid you had gotten from a shelter when he was still a baby kitten, and Taehyung, the tiger hybrid you had found soon after, abandoned in an ally, and had mistaken him for a cat but kept him anyway. You wouldn’t put anyone in your life above them, there was no doubt of your feelings towards both of them. You did everything together, shared your happiness and your sorrows, lived and grew in every way.

However, ever since they became adults, they were treating you so differently. Suddenly, they were glued to you in a demanding way. Needing your attention more than you were already giving them. You weren’t allowed to go out alone -too dangerous-, you couldn’t have any male friends -a threat to their position-, you couldn’t even accidentally cut yourself without them freaking out. You knew what was going on… Two male, adult hybrids and the only female being you. You had heard many times about similar situations. And you had told yourself that you would prevent your hybrids from developing such a relationship with you, but found yourself unable to stop it. They were two, outnumbered you. You couldn’t handle two hybrids trying to mate with you.

Jimin had his fingers intertwined with yours, kissing your hand again and again as you waited for Taehyung to bring the car from where it was parked. His cute face was pink and glowing, fluffy tail swinging beautifully as he stared into your eyes. He was making you more flustered than you wanted to admit, avoiding his eyes as best as you could. You couldn’t get a second to yourself to think straight, and if you were to continue like that you would succumb to them. You needed some time away.

“Jimin!” you faked a gasped. “I forgot my purse…”

“Wait here, I’ll bring it to you!”

The cat immediately disappeared inside the coffee shop a few steps away, and while checking over your shoulder to see if Taehyung had arrived, you managed to run down the road and take a wrong turn. No, you weren’t running away, just needed some time to think. The night grew colder and darker the more you walked, choosing unpopular streets to stay hidden. And even though you were alone, like you thought you needed to be, you still couldn’t think clearly. Or, at least, you couldn’t shake the thought of your hybrids wanting to have you off your head. The night was colder and darker, your thoughts unorganized, yet you still hadn’t found your way home.

“Are you lost, kitten?” a deep, harsh voice called from behind you. When you turned around, all you could see was a silhouette in the shadows. “Ah, you’re not a kitten,” the man growled. “But why do you smell like one?” The figure stepped into the light and you could see a huge hybrid, probably a bear, with blood smeared across his ragged clothes. Towering over you, walking quickly towards you.

You turned around to run, hearing how the bear-man picked up his pace as well. Hearing your heart throbbing in your head as you dashed into the street, running nowhere in particular. The only thing you could think about being your hybrids. And how stupid you were for not being with them right now.

A car hit the breaks noisily and barely stopped in front of you. But not just any car.

“Tae!” you called when you saw the tiger hybrid jump out. He ignored you, turned towards the bear. And he roared, stance ready for an attack. You had never seen your precious Taehyung so angry, so dangerous.

The bear hybrid slowed his charge, coming to a stop a few steps away. “Ah, the kitties.”

“Get in the car,” Jimin called to you and you immediately obeyed, getting in the back seat. Taehyung was still standing between the car and the man, glaring at him. You watched him out of the window, your heart feeling like it was about to jump out of your chest. But just a few more growls and snarls between the two predators, and your boy was getting back into the car and driving quickly away.

Now, you were in big trouble.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jimin whined at you. You were back home, on your couch, head hung low while the cat paced around the room and the tiger glared at you disapprovingly. “We were worried sick! What if we hadn’t found you? What would happen then?”

The way Taehyung was silent the entire time made you feel so uneasy. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip. When you heard nothing in response, you looked up at them, saw them glancing at each other before looking at you again. Jimin shook his head a bit.

“Sorry is not enough, love,” he said, and your body squirmed a bit. You turned to Taehyung, hoping for a better reaction, or any reaction at all. And he finally moved, sighing and walking to you. Kneeling down to meet your level, a hand grabbing your chin to bring your face closer to his.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had been marked as ours, love.”

Your eyes widened so much at his words, cheeks instantly burning. But when you looked at Jimin, he seemed to agree. “Why don’t you let us take care of you?” he whined, wrapping his arms around your neck and buring his face into it. Leaving kisses all around. “We love you so much.” His soft lips landed on yours, pecking you along with the rest of your face. Normally, you would push him away at such an act, but your body was frozen.

“I think she needs a reminder of who she really belongs to,” Taehyung growled. You gulped. Jimin was kissing you properly now, seeing how you weren’t stopping him, sucking your neck and leaving marks all over its side. And Taehyung disappeared out of the room.

“Jimin, I-” you tried to speak, but he pressed a finger against your lips.

“I’m sorry, love,” Jimin whispered. “You are ours. It’s time you accepted it.” And he kissed you again, this time slipping his bumpy tongue into your mouth. You moaned into it momentarily before it was over. And Taehyung was back into the room.

“There you go,” he announced dropping one of his old collars on your lap. “This can be your bond to us until we mark you properly. Put it on her.” Jimin obeyed, his soft fingers grazing your neck as he distracted you by putting on the leather strap around it. Distracted enough that you didn’t notice how close Taehyung had gotten until he grabbed a handful of your hair, turning you to face him and crushing his lips on yours aggressively, kissing you like he was fighting you.

You gasped for air. “Tae-” The cat next to you captured your lips right after, jealous of the way his brother was kissing you. “Jiminie…” you moaned, feeling shivers travel down your entire body.

“Don’t think this means we’ll go easy on you, love,” the tiger hybrid said with a smirk. “You are in big, big trouble tonight.”

Masterlist

down CATACLYSMICALLY 🤕

character: chuuya nakahara

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: gn afab reader, no pronouns used, alcohol mentions / use ? unorganized as FUCK — read at your own risk 🚶 these r also much longer than i originally intended 🤒🤕 they get kinda bad at the end bc im lazy asf and just wanted to be done with these im sorry yall LMAOO

↬he he i he he i i hhnhshgghfgg

↬lord please god passionate+romantic sex with this man is all i ask you for please ill never ask for anything ever again 🙏🙏🙏

↬now i would like to start this with a disclaimer by saying chuuya is usually vv rough and passionate and would manhandle your ass 😁🤞 however these hcs will be like 🧍 slow ................. and passionate ??? not gentle per se but just romantic amd uhm very much "love making" if u will 💯

↬sensual ?? i think ????

↬hhndhsgh ik we're all horny and just wanna be used like a ragdoll but please hear me out yall

↬emotional and passionate sex !!!!!!!!! this usually happens whenever chuuya gets drunk (bc i think he is a v emotional drunk, and if he's w his s/o i think he gets vv sentimental / touchy-feely

↬ofc if you say no or reject his advances he wont do anything other than cling to ur side but if u dont do anything to stop him you will 100% be in his bed by the end of the night 🔥🔥

↬starts out as him havin a lil too much to drink nothin new yk and then he gets more touchy / physically clingy than usual 🧎

↬a lil off topic but he would absolutely fight anyone who tried to flirt w you / anyone who looked at u the wrong way LMAOOO not saying u have to babysit him but 🧑‍🦯🧑‍🦯 taking him back home would be the smart thing to do as to avoid bar fights

↬but back on track i think chuuya would refuse to leave your side 💀 he would be all over u so unless ur into like hardcore pda u fr better take him home 💀💀

↬he's a horny menace 😕👎

↬okay so blah blah blah yall r back home now what ? now he rlly starts getting emotional 🚶 he's just so grateful to have u in his life and he loves you so much and what if he's not good enough for you ???? how could u love someone like him ?????? what if— please just shut him up with a tender kiss 🤒☹️ tell him u love him very much

↬he............hhbbgdgshhhh i was talking to @chuuyasbf ab this but dhshsbhhhhhh we came to the conclusion that he'd like smother u in kisses oh my fucking god 💔🙏 like he'd just cover your mf face in kisses and i— bursts into tears

↬now by this point this is where he'll start communicating his feelings thru actions rather than words so please expect a very heated makeout session (that leads up to the best sex of ur life 😏)

↬"he just goes “oops, missed a spot *kiss* oops, theres another one *kiss*" - @chuuyasbf and i honestly could not agree more please 🧎🧎 hhnbbhghghh

↬but back to the makeout session it started after u shut him up w that kiss yk and u were both just sitting on the couch, originally basking in the others presence, before the words just started flowing so ofc u gave him a lil kiss n told him he was enough and that u loved him so so much and he pulled you back for another n another til u were sitting on his lap w his tongue in ur mouth

↬and things progressed n progressed n next thing yk he's got you intoxicated (his kisses r life changing ok 🤨🕶️🤏 even if he were sober it'd just be hjndhdghgggh) but like yall know when ur grinding against them n they buck their hips up a lil ? yeah <33

↬HE'S SO HANDSY OMFG ESP IF YOURE SITTING IN HIS LAP 🙏🙏🙏 after he's pulled you as close to him as humanly possible (im talkin chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip — he is a very intimate person and greatly enjoys physical touch argue w the wall ab it) his hands go from finding purchase on ur hips and guiding your movements to pulling at ur hair to feeling u up to running his fingers up n down ur back to helping you take your shirt off. he cannot for the life of him keep his hands to himself

↬in reality he'd shift you onto his thigh before making ur neck his next target for his kisses (and hickies)

↬when you start whining for more and saying his kisses aren't enough, thats when he'll sober up enough to be snapped back to reality n to carry you to his room 🧎 or so you thought 😚

↬confused, u didn't get the hint until he bounced his leg, once, twice, oh— and even after you'd understood what he wanted you to do, he'd grab ur hips and completey take control of the pace n grind u against his thigh almost agonizingly slow, all while leaving some awfuy dark hickies on ur lower neck n a handful on ur collarbones

↬ofc theres some muttered praise and "i love yous" as well. he'll tell you how good you look, getting off on his thigh like this

↬he'll take u back to his room only after you've cum against his thigh 🧎🧎 consider it a warm up LMFAOO

↬when he finally does get up from the couch, he'll probably use his ability to help stablize yall a little 💀 (he had a lil too much to drink pls dont clown him)

↬whereas he'd normally toss u onto the bed, this time he took his time to set u down gently before settling down in between ur thighs and— hey wait a damn minute when did this mf find the time to get your pants off huh—

↬aye speaking of which i think chuuya is rlly big on eye contact regardless bc its honestly just vv intimate to him 🧐🚶

↬yall know when they like ............. when theyre like caressing / holding your thigh n looking up at u n they kiss ur inner thigh while maintaining eye contact or whatever ...................... <33

↬i think his praise kink especially shines thru when he gets drunk bc he will take his mf time covering you in kisses and hickies all while showering u in praise n telling u how beautiful u r and ab how much he loves you

↬he knows his words usually tend to be / sound harsh, but at the end of the day he loves you sm more than words will ever be able to convey :((

↬def tries to make up for that (when he's drunk 🙄 emotionally inarticulate ass 🚶) by showering you in praise and doing his best to be tender and gentle

↬and to be fair he'd be content w smothering u in praise and kisses for the rest of the night n probably would if u let him 🧎🧎 please snap this mf back to reality by yanking his hair n whining for more

↬in which case he will be happy to oblige 😚 he's def the type of person to get off on his partners pleasure so that being said this mf will make sure u cum on his tongue at least twice before properly fucking you

↬whenever hes drunk he tends set a rather slow pace but dont let that fool you 🧎 the entire thing is so fucking intimate oh my lord you will be seeing stars by the time he's done w you

↬his thrusts r much deeper n more precise than usual and he puts one of ur legs on his shoulder and has the other pressed up by ur head it really just enhances everything yk ?? 😁😁 (mating press kinda ??????? not exactly but)

↬he ends up alternating between leaving (more) hickies on ur neck n shoulders and actually kissing you as well (your lips r gon be bruised asf by the end of it all sorry 🔥💯)

↬even drunk he loves to overstimulate you omfg 🤤 loves seeing you get all teary-eyed from the pleasure (even better if u actually cry 😏🕶️🤏) bc to him it shows that he's done a good job

↬aftercare w drunk chuuya is a lil sloppy tbh 😕 probably immiediately passes tf still inside u after pressing like a final kiss to ur forehead LMFAOOO

↬but dw he makes it up to u in the morning !!!!! after taking care of his hangover first tho 💀 once he's feeling better himself, he'll def offer to draw u a bath and, lets pretend he has the day off here, after that all he rlly wants to do is cuddle for the rest of the morning

↬do not bring up how clingy he was last night LMFAOOO his face will get so red so fast (unless ofc thats ur goal in which case go right on ahead 😚😚😚)

↬please do, however, kiss his forehead and tell him that u love him n that he did a good job last night

𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. (2)

-chapter two: the story of us; warnings for this chapter include a brief discussion and mentioning of sexual assault. it is not described in detail nor does it happen to anyone in this fic. i will not ever be using sexual assault as a plot device as i think that’s unnecessary. however, because it is prevalent in female culture, or at least the discussion of it is, it is briefly mentioned.

if this makes anyone uncomfortable, please skip over! i will not be offended at all! 

-summary:  His eyes are a sea of green that you can't seem to stop drowning in.

a/n: this chapter is a doozy yall, im so sorry. this is mainly to serve as complete exposition of reader and iwa, so it’s hella long. i had an original idea of how i wanted this to go and then i started writing and this happened. lmfao. thank you all for being patient and loving and your comments are so wonderful! i had midterms all last week and all i could think about was writing this! so thank you all and i hope you all enjoy! next chapter will be pure chaos and fun!

i was listening to “cloud 9″ by beach bunny for this chapter! so that might help you understand how i see reader and iwa <33

(w.c.: 8,662 words)

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You’re ten years old when you meet Iwaizumi Hajime for the first time. 

He’s an inch shorter than you, skinny, hair set in an unorganized mess of spikes, and he smells of sweat. It’s the least enticing first impression you’ve ever encountered, wondering briefly if this is what all of Miyagi Prefecture has to offer.

Because if so, you’re not looking forward to it.

He’s blocking the entrance to the neighborhood park with his bike, back facing towards you and an arm stretched outward-pointing at something across the park. The same park that your mother has forced you to attend, kicking you out of your new home filled with moving boxes, a warm smile on her face and a simple request to “go have fun”.  

A request that was starting to seem like more of a problem than you anticipated. 

You’re halted in front of the gates to the area for a solid minute, the boy in front of you being less than aware of your presence as he continues to shout from across the park.

“Grab all of them, Oikawa!” 

There’s another boy roughly the same age holding several items that look to be action figures close to his chest. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders slouched as he takes exaggerated sluggish steps while crossing the courtyard. He’s sweaty too, just like the boy in front of you.

“But there’s so many, Iwaaa. Can’t you help me?” 

“You’re such a baby, Oikawa.” 

The one named Oikawa is about to respond when he stops his movements altogether. He merely points his finger, eyes fixated on something behind his black-haired friend.

You realize a bit too late that he’s pointing at you.

The friend, Iwa as he was called, turns his head with a questioning hum, green eyes meeting yours. A sea of emerald. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice high in timber and flooded in awkwardness, raising his hand in a shy greeting, “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you respond in equal awkwardness, the kind that only a new kid can embody. Uneasiness has been settled into your bones ever since the move was announced, and now, as you stand before two physical embodiments of your displacement in this area, the feeling seems to sink even deeper into your stomach. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

“Huh? Oh! Sorry ‘bout that.” He begins a cumbersome shuffle of pushing the bike he was sitting on backward, small grunts escaping his mouth as he tries to make space for you to enter. It’s a slow process, considering he teeters from side to side and struggles to smoothly retreat from the space. Oikawa snickers in the background, some teasing words being aired that you are too far to hear, but they must be irking enough considering Iwa mutters a “shut up, idiot” in response.

The friendship is formidable, you don’t need to know them for long to see that. Envy and all its bitter acid coat your tongue.

“Are you the one that just moved in?” Oikawa speaks up.

You nod.

“How old are you? Are you going to Kitagawa Elementary? Have you already—”

Iwa interrupts the ferociously excited boy with a gentle scoff, “Calm down, Oikawa. Give her some air. Geez.”

“I just want to know more about the new girl, Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah, well you’re doing it wrong.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and clutches the toys in his arms tighter, “You do it then!”

“Do what?”

“Introduce us! Make friends!”

“I think you blew it already.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. If she’s going to the same place as us, she might as well join us! What do you say, new girl?”

You’re shaken from the brief exclusion of the conversation— realizing they’re including you this time—  when Iwa tears his eyes away from his friend and meets yours once again. Upon connection with the emeralds, your throat constricts your throat and the relief of ease washes over. The hesitancy that was bubbling in your stomach starts to dissipate when he looks at you— almost comforted by his dark yet steady stare— but the sense is quickly replaced by something else that shakes you. Your skin prickles, like fire ants marching up the pattern of your skin, and your palms start to sweat despite the cooling temperatures and the light breeze blowing against your skin. 

You’d have to tell your mom about this, just to make sure you weren’t getting sick.

“Would you like to join us?” Iwa asks. There’s no trace of a smile on his face but the invitation isn’t lacking in warmth. It’s a subtle kind, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the look of curiosity residing upon his features. He speaks gently, like there wasn’t a distance between you two and another person listening in on the conversation, pointing his question and attention solely at you. There was a center of his gravitational pull and it was in your direction.

He’s waiting for your answer, and not the kind that results after courteously asking someone a question; You can tell he is really waiting, wanting to know what you say because his eyes hold onto yours in a way that is much more mature than a boy at the tender age of ten should be looking at someone.  

He’s sincere. He doesn’t even know you and yet he waits upon you as though your response were one he was to weigh considerably with his agenda. He’s a stranger, only said two things directly to you, and yet you feel weightless in the most minute of his attention. 

The rocks of anxiety that were sitting heavily in your stomach for the past month have disappeared and the answer that he waits so intensely for comes rather naturally. It’s the surest you’ve felt in a while. You don't know them at all, aren't even sure if you'll like them, but what would you be other than a fool to not follow the path of certain safety laid out in front of you, disguised as a black-haired boy with the spiky hair? How can you be sure unless you don't see for yourself?

“Yeah,” you sigh out, burdensome weight lifting off your shoulders at the answer, “Can I?”

“Yeah. You can.” He affirms with a nod, the corner of his lips quirking upward. Oikawa, rather befittingly, shouts a cheer, resuming his incessant chatter in throwing an onslaught of questions your way but you’re not listening. Pulled elsewhere you find your gaze being drawn back to the calm and steady boy, with the sea of emerald in his eyes.

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, by the way. And that’s Oikawa Tooru.”

“I’m (Y/N).” 

“Cool.”

You spend the whole day with them, quickly finding a natural place in their relationship, serving as the happy in-between of the flamboyant nature of Oikawa and the pillar of stone that is Iwaizumi. It’s fun, the most fun you’ve had in the entirety of your move that you find yourself trying to make some kind of excuse to extend the day when the sun starts to set. 

But Oikawa has to go home, and so does Iwa, and the disappointment is more than apparent on your face. There’s the unmistakable promise of seeing one another again, that of which was affirmed when Oikawa held out his pinky for you to take and solidify the statement on.

“I can walk you home if you want.” Iwaizumi tells you after you both wave your goodbyes to the other brunet. It’s a godsend, a miracle from the heavens who heard your building plight and decided to spare your jilted mind with some form of comfort. 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you tell him, purely as a formality. Your mother’s lessons of never burdening others kicking into gear at his offer, but you plead, secretly in the deep recesses of your brain that he disagrees. Hope desperately that he’ll take the initiative and stay with you just a moment longer. 

He shakes his head, bearing a toothy smile that is missing one of his canines. “I don’t mind. My mom always tells me to make sure girls get home safe.”

Calm, steady, comforting. You selfishly agree before you have half a mind to say otherwise, “Okay. I live this way.”

And as he trails beside you, holding his bike in his hands as he walks at the pace you set, telling you the details about his favorite monster movie, you find yourself incredibly enamored with the short, sweaty boy that hates green tea and loves summertime.

And not for the first time.

You’re thirteen when you realize that you have a terribly, horribly, deeply incessant crush on Iwaizumi Hajime. 

It’s lunchtime and while you’re usually quick to eat with the resident bickering duo of Sendai, they’ve ditched you for volleyball practice— and not for the first time. So you sit with your other group of close friends, the ones you made through the conventional school setting, and not because they impulsively adopted you into their routine. They’re the necessary and equal balance to the growing testosterone you religiously spend your weekends with, so ultimately you’re not too upset at being left behind for a sport. 

Besides, it’s nice to be surrounded by girls who talk about normal things instead of sweaty violent boys that only talk about volleyball and occasionally the things you like.

Mai, a girl with a short bob that frames her round face, shakes the table with her loud laughter, the curtain of her hair swaying in tune to her joyful movement. She was the first friend you made in this group, and easily the one you’re closest to. The complete opposite of Hajime if her unabashed, frantic excitement is anything to go by. But much like the spaces in this Miyagi heart of yours that’s dedicated to Tooru and Hajime, there’s one for her too. She grabs onto one of your arms and holds it tightly, seeking stability as her melodic laughter rings through your table. 

It’s hard not to laugh alongside her. 

“Please!” She begs Yua, a blonde girl in the year above you, and wipes her eyes free from the laughter-induced tears, “No more! I’m gonna pee!”

Yua huffs, shrugging her shoulders to say that Mai’s inability to hold her urine was beyond her control, “I’m serious! That’s how I found out Kaito had a crush on me!”

“And what did you do?” You ask, laughter lacing your own words at the tale Yua expertly weaved, describing in excruciating detail how Kaito from your third period wrote a love letter comparing Yua’s lips to that of a whale as if that was somehow a compliment.

“I ran away! What else was I supposed to do?!”

Mai howls with laughter, her body being thrown against yours and her arms flailing with the movements, unable to contain herself. You’re almost identical, finding that you follow Mai’s gesticulation in perfect countering. Where she pushes you left, you move in sync, allowing her to lean her weight on you as you both lose yourself in the story.

For as much seriousness as she tries to implement in her words, the quirking of her lips betray Yua, “Laugh all you want, but wait ‘til this happens to you! Then you’ll get it!”

“I don’t think Mai and I have to worry about that,” you tell her, the remainder of your laughter dying out of your words. Mai snaps upward, her body no longer slumped against yours, and instead of facing you with furrowed brows and an offended expression.

The two friends speak simultaneously, one with indignation and the other with confusion “Why not?”

The pointedness of the question makes it seem as though your words were wrong, a misstep in a direction that you have to apologize for. Regardless of whether or not you know why. “Uh, ‘cause no one likes us like that?”

Mai scoffs, crossing her arms and tilting her nose upwards, “Speak for yourself.”

“Sorry, no one likes me like that. So I don’t have to worry.” You say with a smile punctuating the statement with a scoop of rice into your mouth. It wasn’t a statement meant to be considered deeply, it was a simple fact. There were hardly any thirteen-year-olds looking your way, and even if there were, it wasn’t like your attention was focused on them either. All the boys in school were either too annoying or too stupid.

Except for Hajime. He was the only tolerable one. Oikawa fell into the “too annoying” category. But you still loved him—sometimes.

Yua and Mai share a glance, a fleeting look before they look back at you, “You’re joking, right?”

You look up from your food to meet their furrowed stares, “What?”

They share another glance, Mai answering Yua’s silent question with a shrug of her shoulders. You’re completely left in the dark. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Okay, so what if,” Yua begins, the familiar teasing lilt that you’ve widely associated with the blonde returning, stressing on the ‘if’, “someone did like you. What would you do?”

They both look at you with waggling eyebrows, like they’ve cornered you into the exact hypothetical they want you to be in. While this isn’t necessarily an unfamiliar place to be in, it is a weird one, considering you and boys have never really been the topic of conversation unless Iwa and Oikawa were somehow brought up. But your friendship with them was well known and not exactly hidden at all. It wasn’t sensational, nor was it the topic of gossip. Neither was the fact that you aren’t exactly the kind of girl the boys of Kitagawa First were looking at if they were even looking at girls.

“But no one likes me like that.”

“Answer the question.”

You gesture in exasperation, “I don’t know! I’m not really into anyone like that, so I guess I’d say no?”

The two girls pause again, sharing another look. 

“Okay, can you two stop that?”

Mai speaks up this time, almost disbelieving, “You really don’t like anyone?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Yua sings, “Not even Iwaizumiii?”

The chopsticks that you held deftly in your hands go limp and a straight shot of shock runs down your spine. Time stands still in this cramped cafeteria and it feels like your head has been dunked into a bucket of cold water, halting the train of thought and highlighting every possible exit in this building.

The red lights of panic have turned on in your brain and they’re screaming at you to run.

“I— I don’t— what are you guys talking about?” 

Your two best friends, who now resemble Satan’s assistants more than anything remotely positive to you, share their third unspoken glance, and you’re about to lose it. 

“So,” Yua starts again, tearing her sly eyes from Mai’s excited ones, “You do like him?”

Code red. Abandon ship. Abort. R-U-N.

“No! He— I— We’re just friends!” 

“Oh my god!” Mai slams her hands on the surface of the table, her brown eyes boring into your widened ones as she leans over to invade your personal space and poke your chest.

“You like him!”

The brain that is usually so quick with an excuse, trained to be sharp-witted and smart from years of intense teasing from Tooru and Hajime, suddenly feels like mush in your head. Ooey, gooey mush that can’t come up with anything but stuttering, “N-No” at the idea of having some romantic inclination towards Hajime. The best friend you hang out with every weekend; The boy that always walks you home and always makes sure your comments are heard; The spiky-haired idiot with a sea of emerald in his eyes that you always seem to drown in.

But, that’s not— that doesn’t mean— No. 

You don’t like Hajime like that. He’s just a really really good friend. That you enjoy spending time with. That makes you feel comfortable with just a single look. The friend that you always want around, regardless of the kind of day. Yeah. That’s it. 

Hajime is just that kind of person.

Yua gives an unconvinced hum and taps her bright pink nails on the table surface, “When you think about another girl liking him, do you get jealous?” 

Mai backs up from your face to give a wide smile at the blonde, pointing at her wickedly and almost shouting, “Ooh! Good question!”

“Thanks, I read it in my sister’s magazine.”

Mai turns back, almost touching your nose with hers, “Well? Do you?”

The “no” is on the tip of your tongue as an instinctual defense against this personal interrogation, but it doesn’t come out. Partly because of the mush of your brain but also because you know any denial of that question just simply isn’t true; Because when Saran followed Hajime around all day in grade six, you distinctly remember being in a foul mood for a while.

A mood that could only be fixed when Hajime indirectly affirmed that he did not like her.

Oh god.

You like Hajime.

You like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and the stupid way he teases you and the stupid way he makes you feel.

Your friends laugh in your face for a solid minute while you hang your head in your hands, certain that your life was completely over with the new revelation. Yua is the instigator, teasing you relentlessly over the silent confession while Mai asserts that this is the beginning of a fairytale. 

She says it with such conviction that you’re almost inclined to believe her until reason kicks in, and the shamefulness of the situation kicks in. You push it down, fine with keeping the acknowledgment exactly where it is, right under your thumb. That is until Oikawa finds out about it and then suddenly, it’s no longer in your control.

You’re fourteen when he corners you after school. He’s walking you home, taking Hajime’s usual role when said boy and subject of your plight had to stay home with the sick. 

You don’t think he’s going to bring it up, hardly aware he even knows about it, but he does making you choke on your spit and trip over a crack in the sidewalk. He clutches his stomach in a guffaw. 

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Tooru teases, his finger poking at your heated cheek that you quickly swat away. 

“I’m not hiding anything, Tooru,” you mutter, keeping your head turned downwards. If Oikawa even sees a smidgen of embarrassment he would never let you live it down.

“Oh, please. You’re so easy to read, especially when Iwa-chan is around. You’re all, ‘oh Iwa, you’re so smart and funny. I want to be with you forever. Mwah, mwah, mwah!’” His hands are interwoven beside his head and he attempts a poor, high-pitched imitation of your voice. Again, Oikawa Tooru belongs in the “too annoying” category that most eighth-grade boys find themselves in. 

You lift your left leg, thrusting your shin outward to kick the taller boy in his behind, a move all too familiar. Really, Oikawa should have seen it coming, having had it done to him so often by Iwaizumi. He’s too swept up in the antics of teasing, though, that it surprises him and the pain in his bottom is sharp. His hands cover the stinging area. 

“Ow, (Y/N)!”

“That’s what you get for being stupid.”

“See! You even act him like him!”

You raise your fist upward and he raises his hands in defense, cowering at the threat of more pain, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He lowers his hands, one eye closed and the other peeking from behind his lowering fingers, “Gosh, so violent. I’m only trying to help!”

“I don’t need help.” You grumble.

You continue your trek onward, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare of a conversation. But it’s not that simple. There are now three people that have realized the truth of your crush in less than a year— all of which are your closest friends. It’s only a matter of time before the friend above them all realizes it too. 

Worst off, only a matter of time before someone tells him. 

You turn towards Tooru with a speed that has him flinching and thrusting his hands upward for protection again. A yelp echoes around the empty street and was it not for the intensity behind your desperation, you probably would have laughed.

“Tooru.” There’s a rasp in your voice, one that you aren’t exaggerating. It makes Oikawa uncomfortable hearing such a serious depth to your previously annoyed cadence. In his continuously growing height, he stares down at you, fear crumpling his face.

“Don’t say my name like that—”

“You cannot tell Hajime.”

He straightens his posture out, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A brow is raised quizzically, “Isn’t that the whole point of having a crush? So that you can eventually tell that person about it?”

It’s not like you expect him to understand, hell, you don’t even understand it yourself. All you know is that Hajime cannot know about it; There are too many factors, too many problems that can happen. Besides, you’re sure it’s just a tiny crush, one that will go away after a couple of months. 

And even if it didn’t, you still wouldn’t be able to tell him. Because you’ve been best friends for four years now, and if there was anything remotely remarkable about you, you’re sure something would’ve happened already. Because Hajime is strong, decisive, and steady. If he wants something, he goes for it; And if he wanted you, in any capacity like the way you want him, he would’ve said something. 

But he doesn’t because you’re his best friend. Nothing is outstanding about you, nothing that would make you more than just the girl he’s friends with. Nothing that would make you any different from “just one of the guys”.

He would never see you as anything but. 

So, it’s just easier to have Hajime as a friend than to risk it all for a likely rejection. You could swallow the feelings, bury them deep inside of you for the rest of time. It would be significantly easier than never talking to him again because you couldn’t be a big girl and not make things awkward. 

You try to tell Oikawa as much, “It’s— I just— It would be easier if he didn’t know. It’ll go away soon.”

The brunet tilts his head to the side, kind of like a pouty puppy. When he’s not being a teasing butthead, he’s rather gentle with you, considerate of your emotions, and above all, eager to understand.

“Do you want it to go away?”

“Like I said, it would just be easier.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A quiet settles between the two of you and it feels like it’s oceans wide. You, stranded out at sea in the terrorizing waves of emotions, and he, the lighthouse built on the rocks. Tall and fixed, beckoning you towards his stable ground of reason. It’s a brief reminder that when Oikawa tries, he’s not that annoying. He’s rather kind and empathetic.

“Do you want Hajime to like you?”

The deep cocoa eyes dig into you and the waves crash even more ferociously around you.

Cotton dries up your mouth, and the ache that always pains your heart whenever you think about Hajime returns in full force, “He never will.”

Oikawa huffs out a breath, back becoming imperceptibly straighter while he crosses his arms. It’s hard to imagine him as anything but that sweaty boy you met on the playground, but he stands before you a giant, body filling out from all the volleyball practice and the baby features of his face evening out to become the handsome boy girls were starting to see him as. He radiates his kind of steadiness, one different from Hajime, but equally as comforting.

It’s admirable— he’s admirable— when it's not pinned against you.

“And how do you know?”

“Tooru,” you sigh, exhaustion suddenly creeping up your shoulders along with the overwhelming urge to cry, “Please.”

You don’t feel like explaining all the intricacies of your perceived inadequacy and thank the gods above he’s a good enough friend to know when to stop prying, “Fine, fine. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

You stare up at him, searching his face for any notion of deceit or subterfuge, “You promise you won’t say anything?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves his hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes in that way that portrays annoyance but the love is there. He understands you, at least. 

You hold out your pinky for him, “Pinky promise?”

“What are we, ten?” 

You hold your finger out further, almost waving it in his face. It’s the staple of trust in your friendship, instituted early on between you and him, and only you and him. He can’t back out now.

He takes it with a sigh of his own, huffing out his breath, and twisting his long, slender finger with yours. You shake his hand in affirmation, letting go only when you feel comfortable in the validity of his promise and resuming your walk home. 

He throws an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you tightly to his body, “Eventually you’re going to have to say something.”

“I know.” 

“I hope you know I’m never letting you live this down.”

“It’s like you want me to hit you again.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe in the future, when you’re more comfortable with the fact that it’s your best friend of all people that gives you butterflies in your stomach, you’ll do something about it. But not right now, not when he spends all his time in volleyball and especially not when you were barely confident in yourself. Or maybe, it’ll go away, and you can look back on this as a funny memory rather than anything serious.

You’re fifteen when you finally accept the circumstances and become resigned to it. Finally understanding that your crush is more than just a crush, but knowing full well that that’s all you can let it be.

Hajime sits on the floor, surrounded by your regular friends plus a couple of others at Oikawa’s birthday party when he says it. You’re not supposed to hear it from your place in the kitchen, but you do and it’s a dagger to both heart and confidence. He’s confirmed everything you knew and quelled any potential rebuttal of thoughts Mai or Tooru have planted in your head. 

You were stupid to think Hajime could ever see you as anything more than the girl he’s just friends with.

Your appetite quickly dissipates and you have to work extra hard to make sure pure despair doesn’t show on your face. Especially when Oikawa hears it too and he makes that face that looks like he wants to give you a hug, which makes everything ten times harder.

A kid named Matsukawa is the one that asks. You don’t blame him. He’s only fifteen, after all, asking what normal fifteen-year-olds normally talk about.

“What about (Y/N)? Would you date her?”

Hajime scoffs, a laugh on his lips as though it were the weirdest question he’s ever heard.

“She’s my best friend. That would be like dating my sister. I don’t like her like that.”

You’re fifteen and you’ve become resigned to it all, because it’s better to have Hajime as a friend, than to never have him at all. Because you would never have him; At least not in the way you want. 

You don’t blame him for that either.

You cry about it later on, after the party is over and after you deny Hajime’s insistence to walk you home. He has a weird look on his face when you tell him you’ll be fine, your house is only a few blocks away. He wants to fight you on it, can see the argument forming it in that storm of green. It’s a shitty feeling to deny him so blatantly, but you really can’t stomach being around him at the moment. Not when your heart pangs longingly for him and your insecurities increase tenfold at the confirmation of your inadequacy.

Not when all of this is happening at once, showing as clear as day on your face, and he sees it. Worst of all, not when he wants to solve it, hardly understanding that he’s the cause of it.

His eyes narrow, staring intently as he studies your features. The scrutiny is uncomfortable and if he does stares a second longer the tears will fall.

“Did… something happen during the party?” Hajime asks hesitantly. There’s a whirlwind of possibilities crossing his mind, all indicating rather unsavory and horrifying ideas that have his worry bubbling beneath his skin. You’re barely meeting his gaze, hands clasped tightly before you and body way too stiff. The complete opposite of your normal demeanor, especially around him.

Usually so open, so vibrant. And here you stand before him, the dark of night surrounding you and the fluorescent glow of the streetlamps casting a ghoulish light on your face, exaggerating your dejected features more prominently. 

He’s heard of worst-case scenarios when girls and boys get together, something mentioned in passing when his mother was on the phone with his aunt. He never really thought much about it, considering he would never do something like that and he doesn’t hang around many girls, to begin with for something like that to be an immediate concern.. 

In this stark contrast of a moment, however, he’s briefly reminded of the fact that he so often tends to forget. You’re a girl; A living, breathing, pretty girl. Everyone likes you, would be fools not to. And while he would never allow himself or anyone else to force themselves upon you, you weren’t with him for the whole party. Disappearing for a brief moment after he saw you enter the kitchen. The idea of something like that— something that horrible— happening to you under his nose has all of his instincts on fight mode, forget the flight. A shattering of the innocence he was so previously impervious to. 

The implication is clear in his voice accompanied with the fear-stricken features, so you can hardly miss what he means. 

“Did— Did anyone…?” His voice cracks and he hurriedly tries to clear it up with the clearing of his throat, but you heard it. It happens often when he’s wrestling with an onslaught of emotions, trying his hardest to remain calm and clear-headed and focused that sometimes his voice just gives out. Also, puberty.

The act doesn’t matter though, not when he’s silently amping himself up to fight someone if you were touched inappropriately. He would win; He’s been in a couple of fights before, usually off school property, he doesn’t mind getting into another one. Not if it was for you. And he would win; Would make sure of that.

The tussle for calm is transparent on his face. Lips struggling to stay in a closed, neutral line rather than the frown he has to hold back. His fists clench, blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms to alleviate the growing anger, only to prove futile. He so badly wants to grab you by the shoulders, shake you furiously, ask what the hell is going on because you’re never like this—

He doesn’t. He knows better. Even if the suspense is driving him up the wall and the tension that encapsulates the empty street is thick and choking him. 

Finally, you say something.

“No, Haji,” you say softly, “No one did anything to me.”

It’s what Iwaizumi wants to hear; Should be ecstatic to know that you are physically unharmed, free from the taint that comes with a foreign touch, the one he’s intent to protect you from. Your voice is too quiet though, and the smile you give him is too small for him to feel any modicum of ease. You're lying. Someone did something.

“I’m fine, really!” You try again, amping up the energy to convince him. It falls flat. 

“(Y/N).” That spiky head of hair tips forward, pushing himself in your averting line of sight, refusing to let you hide from him. He’s taller now, finally taller than you. While his hair is still that fluff of mess on his head, his eyes are still that piercing green that can always read you like a book and his favorite season is still summer, only this time he no longer enjoys going to the park, but instead the beach. 

He’s the same Hajime you fell in love with and the remainder is enough to cause a lump swell in your throat.

“What are you hidi—”

“Iwa-chan!”

The familiar melodious voice rings out in the empty street, its owner sauntering his way over to your departing figures. There’s that recognizable air of flowering confidence rolling off of him like a humid heat and the sly shining of his pearly whites that serves as a buffer from the thick air of tension between you and Haj— Iwaizumi.

Just, Iwaizumi. No added affection.

There's magic in Oikawa’s stroll, you’re sure of it. It looks perfectly coincidental, like he just so happened to stumble upon a tense scene, instead of the very much needed and purposeful intervention for his emotionally crushed best friend and worry-fueled other best friend.

And they call him the idiot.

He sighs that flowery breath of his, throwing his arm around Iwa’s shoulders and watching the desperation that filled your gaze wash away with relief at his intrusion. Iwa’s confusion only seems to increase, but truthfully, Oikawa isn’t too concerned with his hard-headed friend. He’s really only keen on getting you out of there— out to safety and away from the source of your heartbreak.

“Iwa-chan, you have to go set up the movie player. I have no idea how to work it.”

“I’ve shown you how to do it four times, Tooru.”

“But it’s so much easier when you do it. Don’t worry, I’ll walk our precious flower home while you set up for our sleepover.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, his eyes bouncing from the self-assured smile of Oikawa to your downturned gaze. There’s something wrong, he knows it. But it’s obviously a secret he isn’t allowed into. 

He won’t pry, he’s never been one to beg for secrets— never been one to want secrets told to him at all. However, there’s a particular sting at knowing that it’s you who’s hiding something and refusing to tell him. That there’s something Oikawa is aware about, that he isn’t allowed to know.

It’s not his business, he surmises. You’re not his business. He swallows that bitter pill, accepting Oikawa’s offer with a brief nod. He’s not happy, that’s plain to see, but he knows better than to insert himself where he’s not wanted.

Calm, steady, comfortable. Iwaizumi will fight for what he wants, but not when it hurts you in the process.

He bids you a brief goodbye, voice tight and rigid, clearly displaying his dissatisfaction but accepting it nonetheless. He doesn’t even look back at you. It’s what you want, you suppose. Some distance from him for your benefit, so you can at least try and forget about how you feel; Save yourself from the devastation of falling even deeper in love with him. 

He enters Oikawa’s house. It’s a place you’ve been many times, slept over on many occasions yet, when Iwaizumi crosses the threshold with a strain on his shoulders and a grimace on his face, you can’t help but wonder if he’s finally going someplace that you can’t follow. If you’ve spent all these years pining over him, wondering if you would ever be enough for him, only to push him away into an area of no return. 

Oikawa doesn’t give you a moment to think long about it before he’s ushering you away from the crime scene where your uncontrollable and childish feelings have brutally injured a fraying friendship and guiding you home. He talks the entire time, about everything and nothing, and you’re rather grateful for the background noise. To finally think about something other than your broken heart and Iwaizumi’s betrayed face. 

He leaves you at your door with the promise that things will get better, that it won’t hurt so much, and that he’s always there for you. He places a sweet kiss on the crown of your head, turning his back with a final wave and leaving you alone with your thoughts. The promise of meeting one another again is unspoken, instinctive. You know deep down, though, it’ll be different from here on out. You’ll have to be more careful, more guarded with the things you say and do.

You wonder if Iwaizumi has as much trouble sleeping that night as you do. 

(He does. He doesn’t sleep at all.)

Things do get better, which is a blessed curse. The tension eventually resolves after a couple of weeks of tiptoeing around each other. Normality returns in full-swing and you’re able to talk to Hajime without the overwhelming feeling of guilt and need to explain everything; If he holds any issues about what happened that night, he doesn’t mention it, following your lead and letting the friendship return to normal.

The problem lies in the fact that Oikawa was ultimately right, and he makes a point to show that he’s right. That things did get better, and the fragmentation of your splintering relationship with the boy you love eventually gets patched up.

Life moves on.

The feelings don’t go away, but you get better at managing them. It’s significantly easier to push the pining down and not think too much about any passing romantic comments in school that pair you and Iwaizumi together; Nor do you think twice about the harmless flirting that occasionally comes your way. You dish it back, continuing the joking nature of the friendship and after a while, it doesn’t hurt so bad. You exit the stages of puberty and things don’t feel as hectic as they once were. 

The turbulent waves of emotions finally die down to a steady roll, and for a while, you’re able to float. It’s safe, peaceful, exactly how you want it to stay. 

That is until you’re seventeen, almost eighteen, and Iwaizumi asks you to be his fake girlfriend. The waves pick up steam and you’re drowning again. You have the girls of Aoba Johsai to thank for that. 

This time though, you’re determined to protect yourself. The anxiety of it all starts to settle in between your shoulders and instead of falling victim to the whims of an unsuspecting Iwaizumi once again, the urge to protect yourself and your pathetic emotions takes precedence. You will not be reduced down to the unconfident, love-sick girl you once were; You’ve worked too hard to do that. You matter more than Iwaizumi’s stupid girl problem.

It’s why you don’t think twice when you blurt it out after agreeing to help.

“We need a contract.”

“A contract?” Hajime parrots back, broad arms crossed over his equally broad chest and the intense training you’ve instilled in yourself to not stare at him meets its limitations, lest you stoop down to the level of the girls he’s so desperate to evade. He’s grown so much, physically and personally, that it's hard to not look at him. You force yourself to glance around the crowded cafe, look anywhere but his veiny arms, and instead replace your view with the small restaurant you two frequent every Monday— the only day he has off from volleyball practice. 

It’s a small establishment that sells teas and noodles, a pleasant find to make one day when the both of you were hungry pre-teens and full of time on your hands. It’s usually rather empty during this time as it’s just out of the line of sight to avoid the after-school rush of students, but today the line extends outside of the door, all attendees eager to have a taste of miso ramen and pushing against bodies to do so. The people behind you are respectful enough to give you as much space as one can afford in the cramped venue, but you end up still having to press yourself into the stiff body of the boy— no, man— beside you. 

You have the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable in the tightness of the situation, but Hajime shows nothing. Whether it’s because he doesn’t even care that your chest is bracing against his arm or he’s too distracted with the complicatedness of his “girl” problem, his face betrays no embarrassment at the closeness. No frustration, no discomfort, not even annoyance. He merely exists, dealing with your body pressed against his as if this were a regular occurrence and not an awkward preemption to the farce that you’ve stupidly agreed to. This would surely haunt you for the rest of your years. 

This man of steel, this monolith of lean, corded muscle, was going to be your “boyfriend” for the next couple of weeks. You would be lucky if this arrangement even lasted for that long considering the confession of pure unadulterated adoration is crawling up the canal of your throat and tearing the fabric of your skin, sticking a middle finger at the rational parts of your brain trying desperately to hold it back. 

Your fate is signed, knowing full and well that in your inability to deny Hajime— especially when he’s so desperate, which is a rarity in and of itself— you’ve willingly agreed to have your dignity and confidence stripped from your person and your feelings thrown in a loop for the sake of his sanity. 

It’s annoying. Every potential hypothetical plays itself in high definition across the theatre of your mind and each one ends with you being brutally rejected once again. There’s no way you could handle something like that again, no matter how much you’ve matured. 

This is a bad idea, and you need to tell him that.

But then the sight of pleading jades enters your vision and you distinctly remember the permanent frown that etched itself on Hajime’s face these past three months. Remember how the feelings of deep discomfort forced him to confide in you on a late-night phone call when sleep evaded him and he detailed the dread he felt at the prospect of going to school the next school day.

If your mouth even opened a fraction to breathe, you’re sure the “I’m in love with you and have been since sixth grade” will come tumbling out, but even the fear of that happening doesn’t overpower the overwhelming desire to help the man you’re madly in love with.

There’s a limit to what would be forsaken in the name of Iwaizumi Hajime’s happiness, but your sanity isn’t it.

The situation worsens when the subtle shifting of the patrons behind you throws you off balance and forces you impossibly closer to him. The shuffling of feet knocks into your own, tilting you off balance despite your leaning against Hajime. A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue ready to be released in rapid-fire when Hajime beats you to it. 

He quickly wraps his arm around your waist, allowing your unsteady feet to find balance against his lean body of stone, clutching you tightly to his side as if the accidental push against you were a personal offense. 

The protective nature that so often lies dormant in his personality rears its head forward and you swear your heart stops beating altogether. 

“Easy,” he mutters, a layer of strict dismay interweaving in his words as he casts a pointed side glare at the two boys standing behind you. You hardly hear it, much too occupied with trying not to drown in the sudden flooding of his cologne in your nostrils. 

Musk and spice. His usual scent, but even more addicting when it’s this close. 

This is a bad idea. This is a horrible, bad, awful idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.

You have to end this. You won’t survive this. 

“C-contract.” You, somehow, manage to spit out, shaking your head free from the waft of his scent and the strength of his arm across your back. 

Okay, not necessarily ending this but protecting yourself. Yeah, that’s it. Because there is no way you want him to keep acting like this, no. You’re just doing this to help and totally not to selfishly indulge in the delight of being his, even if it is fake. 

He tears his narrowed eyes away from the boys behind you to glance at you, the remnants of disapproval flickering in the sea of green that you swear only evens out when he looks at you, “Right. What’s in this contract?”

“The, uh, basics,” you begin, voice slowly finding its footing after the intense whiplash you just experienced. You're surprised you can even form words that aren’t resembling proclamations of desire, “What we can and can’t do, how long this is for, and so on.”

“That’s a good idea,” He breathes out. The line shifts forward, and the cashier finally enters the field of view. With a quick recoil, as though his skin were burned by the action, he removes his hand from around your waist. The warmth of his arm rescinds with it, and that thirteen-year-old girl that has fantasized for years about this, whines in desperation. You quickly tell her to shut up.

He clears his throat, awkwardness filling the cramped and stale air, “Uh, sorry. About that.”

He avoids your eyes and you quickly look around too, “It’s fine.”

A silence ensues. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but it’s a far cry from the brief pauses in conversation that usually occur between the two of you. The comfortable silences that occur naturally between friends of five years. You wonder if you should address it, address the fact that if you two were to pull this off— and pull it off well— there were going to be more moments when he was going to have to touch you like that. 

He was going to have to hold your hand and give you frequent hugs and actually act like he was in love with you. Act. 

You swallow at the prospect. Not like that would be hard for you to do, you think rather pitifully.

There are two more couples in front of you when you say, “I’d like to institute the first provision.”

Hajime quirks an eyebrow, his lips lifting upward, an obvious sign of gratefulness at being able to brush over that weird moment of physicality. He doesn’t know why it was instinctual, or why he even thought that placing his hand that low around your waist would be a good idea. But, he did it; And it’s quite the revelation when he realizes he didn’t mind it. 

At all.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He glances at you to his right, the teasing smile gracing your features and the recognizable glint of mischief in your eyes. 

“You have to buy all of the food we eat together.”

He scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “I already buy all of our food.”

“I always pay you back!”

“You owe me at least three-thousand yen.”

“Okay, an addendum to provision one.”

“Shoot.”

“You buy all of our food and forgive my debts.”

He laughs louder tilting his head back as his teeth peek from his pink lips. It’s the bark of laughter that swells your beating heart with confidence. You may not have him romantically, but there’s no denial of the fact that he likes you in his life, especially when you can make him laugh like that, “I’m starting to think this contract is only beneficial to you.”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him, the body still tucked tightly beside his as feet shuffle forward in the line, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m doing you a huge favor.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” A silence befalls again, this one not as tense as before. A small smile plays on his lips and there’s a sincerity behind his gaze that reminds you of how appreciative he really is for this. Hajime isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to repay you for stepping in and helping him in the most intimate of ways that you most likely would rather not do. There wasn’t ever an expressed interest in the dating scene from you, always denying the occasional confession that came your way and never thinking twice about the romantic holidays that come and go.

He wonders why because if you tried, you’d have every guy within a ten-foot radius begging for your attention. Surely one of them would be worthy of your love. (He doesn’t agree though. There’s no one in this world who could ever be worthy of you. Not when you smile so brightly and tease so enticingly. No one would ever deserve that part of you. No one that he would ever approve of, anyway..) He’s not dumb in realizing that your willingness to engage in a romantic relationship with him— even if it is a fake one— is a large deviation from the norm. It’s not something to be taken lightly.

So, he owes you. Big time. Whatever you want, whatever you put in this contract, he’ll do. He’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. 

(Fake boyfriend, he has to remind himself. He swallows down the disappointment.)

“Thank you.” he breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his heating neck, “Again. For doing this for me. I don’t—”

“Ah, ah!” You interrupt, holding your hand upwards and wagging a finger at him, “I haven’t done anything yet, so don’t start thanking me so soon. Who knows? I might sabotage this whole thing, be the worst girlfriend you could ever imagine.” 

 The couple in front of you finishes their order, stepping to the side to allow the both of you forward. You step up, dragging him with you but you don’t miss the low throaty chuckle he emits when he says, “You like me too much to do that.”

He pats the top of your head, smoothing the fly-away hairs with a wink and a sly smile, and then, like nothing even happened, he steps up to the counter, taking the initiative and placing your usual orders. There’s both too much nuance and not enough to his statement to determine if you should be scared at his words. Does he know? Did Oikawa tell him?

You don’t even notice when he puts both food items on one bill. 

It’s then that you remember, with little humor like someone who’s forgotten a necessary step to an important project, that while you’ve done a lot of growing and building these past four years to fortify the walls of your heart, so has he. He’s stronger, more confident, more sturdy. 

Fourteen-year-old you built the walls for a fourteen-year-old Iwaizume Hajime. She didn’t even think to consider the damage eighteen-year-old Ace and Vice-Captain of the Seijoh Volleyball Team could do. Not with a spike those strong arms could make and a sea of green that you still drown in.

The first large crack in the barriers has been made. 

He turns to face you upon finishing the order, stepping to the side and bracing his body against the far wall of the restaurant to allow the next customers to the counter. That damn sly smile is still on his face, and it’s then you realize that he has to know. He has to know what he’s doing, or at least know that it’s doing something to you.

“So,” he tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, biceps bulging at the action “tell me about this contract, sweet girlfriend of mine.”

end notes: god damn glad that’s over. what did yall think?? too much? not enough? lemme know! i love reading all of your tags and comments, it fills me with such happiness :))))

tag list: @bruh-kill-me @owlnymph @airybnb @yukiilu-personal @cathwritestragediesnotsins @berna-dette​

Rating: G

Summary: XY tries to steal Luka's non-existent gym badges.  Instead, they both end up making a new friend.  (For @luxyweek day 3: Pokemon)

Word Count: 2071

XXX

Luka woke up to a stranger rummaging in his bag.

He should’ve known better than to fall asleep in the Pokémon Center, especially in a city as big as Lumiose.  Exhaustion after a late concert was no excuse to be careless.  Even if crime was rarer after the takedown of Team Flare, there were still unorganized thieves around.

Like this idiot who thought Luka was an easy target.

“C’mon, he’s gotta have at least one…” The idiot was mumbling.

Without opening his eyes, Luka slowly moved his hand to his pocket.  He pulled out the one pokéball he had on him.

“Who the heck carries so many metronome items…?” 

While the thief was distracted, Luka pressed the button on his pokéball.  One click, and his Loudred burst free.

“GWAHHHH!!!”  She boomed, and the thief jumped back with a shriek.

“Wh-h-hey!” he stammered.  Luka finally got a good look at him.  Tall blonde hair, tacky outfit—was this some remixed Team Flare grunt after all?  He was wearing purple rather than red, though.

“That’s an, uh, nice dude you got there.”  He eyed Luka’s Loudred dubiously.

“Symphony is a girl.”  He scratched her behind the ear, and she made a low rumble.

“Uh.  Nice babe then.”

Luka snorted.  Why had this thief bothered to stick around?  He thought he’d have run off by now.  Luka really hoped he wasn’t going to have to battle.  Symphony had worked hard enough tonight.

“Why were you looking through my bag?”

“Pshaw, I wasn’t doing that.  Besides, you don’t have anything useful.”

Wow.  This guy really was an idiot.  The Team Flare grunts were never too smart, either.  Just a bunch of kids who got mixed up with the wrong crowd.

Well, Luka was no trainer like the ones who’d busted them up last year.  But maybe he could keep one kid from following down that road.

“What do you count as useful?”  Luka asked.  “Money?  Items?  Pokémon?”

“Maybe Pokémon would be useful, if they’d stop being haters and listen to me.”  The guy crossed his arms and pouted.

“...So you’re not a trainer?”  Luka glanced around the Pokémon Center.  Everyone else was very determined to mind their own business.  Not that Luka needed their help to deal with a guy who couldn’t even use his own Pokémon, but still.  Someone could’ve tried.

“I’m going to be a trainer.  Just as soon as I steal a badge and get this Zorro dude to listen to me.”

Luka raised an eyebrow.  “Zorro dude?”

“Yeah.  Dark type?  Sick red ponytail?  Likes to copy me and make me look stupid?”

He sat up straighter.  “You have a Zoroark?”

That Pokémon was rare enough to border on legendary.  They didn’t even live in the Kalos region.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”  The guy looked at Luka like he was stupid.

“How did you catch a Zoroark if it won’t even listen to you?”

“Dad gave ‘im to me.  He wants me to get famous here, but it’s harder to fake battles than I thought.”  He sighed dramatically and sunk to the seat next to Luka.

Clearly the ‘get famous’ plan wasn’t working.  Luka had no idea who he was.  At least he was pretty sure he wasn’t a Team Flare grunt, though.

“And you’re telling me this… after trying to rob me… why…?”

“Cause you asked.”

Luka blinked.  “Touché.”

He gave Symphony one last pat, then returned her to her pokéball.

“Traded Pokémon won’t listen to you without badges,” he told the would-be thief.  “And I don’t have any of those, if that’s what you were looking for.”

“Really?  But you look—”  The guy gestured to all of him.  “Y’know.  Cool.  Tough.”

“Thanks? I guess?  I’m just a musician, though.”  He patted his guitar next to him.  It was pretty telling that this guy hadn’t tried to steal that.  “I only battle if I have to.”

“Huh.  Well that’s pretty cool too, I guess.”  The guy shrugged.  “I did Pokémon Contests in Hoenn for a while.  Before I got banned for using holograms.”

Luka raised an eyebrow.  “Any other international crimes you want to confess to?”

“Crashed my boat into a herd of Luvdisc in Alola.  But that was an accident.  How was I supposed to know they were endangered?”

“I was being sarcastic, man.”  Luka shook his head.  “Nevermind.  Come on.”

He stood and hoisted his guitar over his shoulder.

“Huh?  Where are we going?”  The guy trotted after him.

“To catch you a Pokémon.  Before you get yourself kicked out of another country.”

XXX

The stranger’s name was XY.  It stood for Xavier-Yves.  It didn’t sound like an Unovan name, but that was still the least weird thing about the guy.  Maybe that was just a pseudonym.  He probably needed one after all of his criminal acts, accidental or not.

“Alright, XY.”  Luka stood knee-deep in the grass of Route 4.  “You’re going to be borrowing Symphony for this.  Borrowing.  If you run off with her, she’ll suplex you into the ground.”

XY eyed the Loudred next to him.  Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Got it, Mr. Couffaine.”

“Just Luka is fine.”  He sighed.  This was such a weird way to be spending the night after a concert, but it was still better than going home.

“Got it, Mr. Luka.”

Close enough.

“Alright, now follow me into the grass.”

“I can’t do that!  That’s where the Pokémon are!”

Luka rolled his eyes.  “That’s the point.  You’re going to catch one.”

“I thought you were going to catch me one.  Because you’re cool and sexy like that.”

“Flattery’s not getting you out of this.”  Luka grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the grass, Symphony following behind them.

XY squealed again.  “But what if they eat me!”

“We’re on Route 4, dude.  The biggest Pokémon out here is a Skitty.”

“...Those things eat meat, right?”

“No.”  Even if they did, they would probably know better than to eat XY.  They didn’t know where he’d been.

“If I die, you’re paying for my funeral,” XY grumbled, even though he’d already gone off on four tangents about how rich his dad was.  Luka didn’t even bother responding.

Suddenly XY screamed again.  A few Fletching flew out of the red flower patch.  At this rate, they’d never catch anything.

“What is it this ti—oh.”  Luka blinked down at the tiny Pokémon clinging to XY’s ankle.  “It’s just a Flabébé.”

The little girl seemed to have mistaken XY’s socks for a flower.  She was shuddering, cowering against the fabric even as XY tried to shake her off.

“Dude, cut it out.”  Luka gripped him by the shoulders.  “This is perfect.  She already likes you.”

“Y-you think so?”  XY set his foot back on the ground.  The Flabébé tentatively looked up.

“You might not even need Symphony to weaken her.  Here.”  Luka took out a pokéball, but hesitated to hand it over.  “Are you going to take good care of her if I give you this?”

“What gives, man?”  XY snatched the ball.  “You were gonna teach me about catching Pokémon, not about, like, parenting stuff.”

Luka hadn’t thought this through enough before seeing the little Flabébé.  He couldn’t in good conscience condemn her to a life with XY without knowing that he would treat her right.

“Are you staying in Lumiose?  I live at the edge of the city.  I could come check on her.  Just to make sure she’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna want joint custody.”  XY smirked.  “But sure, whatever.  Can’t complain if you want to do half my work for me.”

He knelt down and tapped the Flabébé on her head.

“You are just a little thing, aren’t you?”  He let out a nasal laugh.  “How do you feel about me being your new dad?”

“Please don’t say it like that.”  Luka groaned.

The Flabébé fluttered into XY’s palm and nudged the pokéball.  Wow.  She must really have no standards.

“Sorry.  Me and Lu are gonna be your new dads.”  XY grinned.

“Aaaand that’s even worse.”

The Flabébé looked at Luka.  He looked at her.  She looked at him.  He looked at her.

“...I’m not being your other dad.”

Symphony blasted out a honk of laughter.  He glared at her.

“Don’t make me put you back in the pokéball.”

She just smiled innocently.

“Okay, okay.  Shut up.  We’re doing this.”  XY took a deep breath and pressed the button on the pokéball with his thumb.  It split open, sucking the Flabébé into its light.

The ball glowed red while rocking back and forth.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.

Then it went still.

“I—I did it?”  XY stared at the ball in his palm.  Luka swore there was wonder in his eyes.

Hopefully this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

“You did it.”  Luka clapped him on the shoulder.  “Why don’t you let her out now?  She should get used to you before you take her home.”

After fumbling for a moment, XY popped the ball open.  The Flabébé flashed back out and hovered in the air.  She quickly zipped down and plucked a red flower, hugging it close.

“Aww, our first date and she’s already giving me flowers.”  XY laughed.

“It’s not for you.  Flabébé has to keep one close for protection.”

“Ah. Like a comfort blanket.”  XY nodded sagely.  “That’s okay!  I’ll pick my own flower.  Then we can match!”

He snatched up another red bloom, then tucked it behind his ear.

Luka was surprised to find himself smiling.  Who would’ve thought XY could actually be cute?  When he wasn’t trying to steal Luka’s non-existent gym badges, anyway.

“Are you going to name her?”  He asked to keep his thoughts away from that tangent.

“Huh?  Oh.  Uh… hmm.”  XY’s brow furrowed.  He stared at the Flabébé, who had fluttered back into his palm.  “You can’t tell me your name, can you?”

She let out a tiny squeak.  

“Hmm.  Yeah.  I feel that.”  He nodded.  “How about Cheeto?”

“Cheeto?”  Luka burst before he could think better of it.  Who named their Pokémon Cheeto?  

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s got that yellow dust all over her.”  XY rubbed a tiny bit of it off with his fingertip.  Flabébé almost seemed to purr.

“You mean… pollen?”

XY raised an eyebrow.  “Ew, gross.  What kind of name is Pollen?  Sounds like Pole-men.  And she’s a girl.”

Luka wanted to smack his forehead.  Symphony gave him a sympathetic pat.

“Well.  Have fun with Cheeto, I guess.”  He sighed.  “I’m going to go get some sleep.  You’ve got my Holo Caster number.”

“Wait!”  XY jogged after him, cradling Cheeto close to his chest.  “I didn’t get to say—thanks, man.”

Luka looked back over his shoulder, surprised.  “No problem.  This is better than stealing gym badges, right?”

“A lot better.”  He looked down at his new Pokémon fondly.  “Uh, sorry about that, by the way.  I—I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“Yeah?”  He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!  I’m gonna—take you to the hotel I’m staying at!  So you don’t look homeless!”  XY grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him back towards the city.

“I literally told you I live in town…?”

“Then why were you sleeping in the Pokémon Center like a hobo?”  XY smirked.  Symphony laughed where she was lumbering after them.

You’ve turned my own Pokémon against me.  Luka scowled.

“Didn’t feel like dealing with my mom,” he said under his breath.  

It was stupid, running away just because he’d finally found out about his dad.  His whole band was here. Including his sister.  Lumiose was a big city, but he couldn’t play guitar for Kitty Section and dodge his parents at the same time.

“Perfect!  There’s no moms allowed in my hotel room!”  XY beamed.

If staying out was stupid, then even considering XY’s offer was downright moronic.  XY had tried to rob him just hours ago.

But the dude was rich.  Luka didn’t have anything else he could want.  And whatever hotel room they ended up in was bound to have a more comfortable couch than the Pokémon Center’s.

“...Alright,” he finally agreed.

XY’s holler of joy could probably be heard in the next route over.

“Sweet!  Bro co-parenting slumber party, here we come!”

Luka let Symphony laugh at him.  He deserved it for ending up in such a ridiculous situation.

But somehow, he felt better anyway.

Two Dharma Bums

Request (anon):  Ayo I saw that you were taking request, can I have some platonic Klaus x reader? Maybe klaus just kind living with the reader and them bein all domestic n shit

Summary: Klaus and the reader bond over their shared love of the beatnik counterculture and Kerouac. Klaus convinces the reader to come with him and travel across the country to live out the reader’s dream of the freedom displayed in Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. Also, I’m sorry if it’s rough. It’s unedited and quickly written.

A/N: No pronouns are used for the reader, so this can be female!reader or male!reader. Also, Klaus is 10000% a beatnik in this time period and would have thrived with Burroughs, Ginsburg, and Kerouac.

Arriving in 1960 Dallas with nothing but the spirit of his deceased brother clinging to him, Klaus desperately tried to suppress the anxieties that immediately plagued him. Why was he here? Where were his siblings? Was he the only one who made it? What made him so special and deserving of life over his brothers and sisters? What was he going to do now? 

After days without anything more than a passerby’s leftovers, Klaus was desperate for something to eat. He stumbled down street as he followed the familiar aroma of diner food. Growing up so close to Griddy’s, Klaus knew the smell of a moderately priced home-cooked style meal, and his stomach immediately twisted into angry knots of starvation. Without thinking anything through, he flung open the door and dropped himself into a booth near the front of the diner. Compared to the attire of the other inhabitants of the diner--the men’s nicely pressed trousers paired with comfortable overcoats and the women’s long skirts and petticoats--Klaus’s tattered and sleeveless army shirt, laced leather pants, shaggy hair, and dirt covered face instantly earned him the full attention of the diner.

All eyes being on Klaus wasn’t something he would normally turn down. His family knew he loved being the center of attention, and normally, this much attention would be cause for a snarky comment about his importance; however Klaus was tired. He was too tired to think about anything other than how much he wanted to sleep and eat, and that exhaustion led to his eyes drifting shut despite Ben’s continual pestering him to stay awake.

“Um, Y/N,” a young woman holding a notepad and pen said in an attempt to get her coworker’s attention.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked as you turned to meet your coworker’s eyes. With a furrowed brow, you examined her face. She normally wore a kind expression, full of smiles that earned a lot of tips, but her brows were furrowed and she wore an obviously concerned look over her face. Discreetly, she held her pen pointed in the direction of the front of the diner. The ball-point landed on a man with dark hair and grimy skin leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out across the booth and eyes fallen shut. “That’s my section today, isn’t it?” Y/N asked as the girl nodded in a way that instantly made Y/N assume she was thinking, ‘Better you than me.’

It was a chilly twenty-three degrees, which is fairly colder than normal for a Texas winter, and Y/N could see the man in the booth didn’t seem to be dressed appropriately for the weather that was only getting colder. The man shivered suddenly as Y/N reached the booth, and he shot upright as if he had been startled awake.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Welcome to Norma’s Cafe,” Y/N greeted the man with a half-smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Water, please,” the man said in a somewhat pathetic and empathy inducing tone, “and if you have any crackers, I’ll take those too, please.” As the door to the diner opened, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the man begin to tremble as the bitter air found its way to his exposed skin.

“Sure thing,” Y/N sighed upon witnessing the tragedy that was this homeless man. Already, Y/N’s heart was softened into feeling complete sympathy for the stranger. After returning to the kitchen to fill up a cup with water, Y/N grabbed a pot of hot coffee a mug, and a plate of toast before returning to the table. “I put in an order of the special for you as well. I hope you like your eggs scrambled,” Y/N said and placed the tray of drinks and toast in front of the man.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he hurried to repeat the single syllable until the server turned around to face him again. “I can’t pay for this. I don’t have any money.”

“It’s on me,” Y/N said with a reassuring smile.

“No, I’m fine with some crackers. I’m skinny, I don’t need a lot of food,” he tried to argue with the kindness of the stranger before him.

“You’re my last customer before my shift is up,” Y/N said with a shrug. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Once again, Y/N rose in an attempt to wait in the kitchen for the food she ordered for this man only to have him protest one more time

“Can you at least keep me company? Maybe I can repay you with my witty sarcasm and great sense of humor.” A slight chuckle escaped Y/N’s lungs.

“You know I have to leave first to get your food, right?”

“So that’s a yes?” with a roll of Y/N’s eyes, a gentle smile fell over Klaus’s face. He was slightly surprised that Y/N decided to sit in the booth across from him as he ate, and even more so when he was encouraged to tell his ludicrous tale of how he ended up in Dallas in the first place. Their conversation was chaotic and jumped from so many different, interconnecting threads, somehow managing to find its way back to the point of origin after discussing Klaus’s past and Y/N’s seemingly illogical dreams and fascinations.

“Either you have a ridiculous imagination or your a beatnik like Ginsburg or Kerouac,” Y/N huffed and an entertained smirk flashed in Klaus’s direction.

“I’d consider myself to be more like Burroughs,” he retorted with a laugh as he finished the last of his food and sipped on the last of his coffee.

“Well, you certainly look like a dharma bum,” Y/N commented with an endearing and longing gaze. It had been a dream of Y/N’s to be able to pick up and leave, taking minimal belongings along on a journey across the country to a destination that had yet to present itself. Since reading Kerouac’s works, this dream had began to manifest as a pest in Y/N’s mind, constantly scratching at the part of the brain that controls impulses.

“In a way I am,” Klaus responded as he thought back over the course of his adult life. “I’ve never had a place of my own, no place to call home or people who wanted me around for longer than a few weeks at a time. Then there was the war, then ending up here.” His voice seemed to trail off as his mind went through everything he’d experienced in his short thirty years.

“I’ve read ‘On the Road’ and ‘The Dharma Bums’ so many times the spines are falling apart,” Y/N admitted. “There’s something so enchanting about that lifestyle that I can’t help but long for the open road and the uncertainty of where I’ll end up.” Y/N could see the ideas turning around in Klaus’s head as he thought over the words that had been dumped between them.

“Do you have a car?” It was a short and simple question that was answered with a nod of Y/N’s head. “Then let’s go.”

“Just like that? No thinking anything through? You don’t have any ties or anything keeping you here?”

“I just told you my true story. I have nothing and no one,” Klaus stated, subsequently earning an annoyed grunt from Ben. He could tell Y/N was thinking the offer over and the idea repeated in both of their heads like a broken record. “Come on,” Klaus urged, “You’ll be surprised by how easy the act of leaving is, and how good it feels! The world is rich with possibilities,” he loosely quoted the line from On the Road that circulated throughout Y/N’s mind.

“I have nothing to offer anyone but my own confusion,” Y/N responded with another quote, hoping Klaus would understand.

“What are you getting here that you can’t get anywhere else?” Klaus prompted. He had leaned across the booth and was excitedly staring into Y/N’s eyes as his heart raced at the possibility of not having to be alone anymore. “Because in the end...” A hopeful smile formed on Klaus’s face as he began yet another famous quote from Kerouac.

“You won’t remember the time you spent working in an office or mowing your lawn,” Y/N continued.

“Climb the damn mountain!”

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

As weeks turned into months and months turned into years, Y/N and Klaus traveled across the country, hitching rides from farmers, truck drivers, and anyone who was still kind enough not to discourage the allure of being a vagabond.

Stories and poetry were the fuel they doused on the fires of their freedom, and always they found themselves immersed in the artistic and melodic talent of telling tales the other seemed to posses. Throughout their happiness and sincerest sense of freedom, they would occasionally find themselves seeking the comfort of one another. At night, often when the music, poetry, and stories had fallen asleep with their traveling companions--Klaus’s silver tongue and ability to fabricate realities out of small truths had accumulated quite a large following throughout their journey--their minds would drift. In these moments of perceived weakness, that they let their vulnerability shine through to one another.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked upon noticing Klaus sitting before a fire beneath the stars of California.

“What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?” Klaus asked, once again mirroring the words of Kerouac to allow for the deeper meaning to seep into Y/N’s soul.

“It seems like what you have done, in starting an unorganized cult, is the most absurd thing that could have happened in all of the endless possibilities presented to you at every decision you’ve made.”

“But what about my family. What if they’re alive and they’re looking for me? I thought the love of the people I surrounded myself with, the like-mindedness of the commune, would be enough.” Y/N lowered to be beside Klaus as he stared up at the stars. Silently, the pair sat, feeling the heat of the fire against their faces, until Y/N leaned against Klaus’s side and he fell gently into the genuine human connection.

“Unlike Kerouac, I’m not a believer of Buddhism, but finding enlightenment is an important theme throughout his novels. Maybe the enlightenment you’ve found is that this life that you’ve found on the path that you’ve taken isn’t the one that you’re searching for,” Y/N’s wisdom rolled through Klaus’s mind as he fell backwards into the grass in frustration.

“I took this path in hopes of gaining happiness,” Klaus sighed angrily as he slammed his fists into the soil beside him. “I failed my family and I failed at this; this concept of letting go and accepting the endless possibilities before me!”

“You didn’t fail,” Y/N stated firmly in defiance of Klaus’s self-depreciating words. “Experience is the only thing that can teach you. If I were to give you only water and crackers all that time ago back at the diner, we wouldn’t be in California right now. If you chose a different diner to fall into, you would have never met me, and your life would be even more miserable,” Y/N joked and nudged Klaus’s arm in an attempt to invoke the smallest of smiles in his face. “If I would have ignored your idea of taking to the road as two dharma bums searching for a sign for where our lives were supposed to go, I’d probably still be wasting away as a server in that diner. Just because you got to the place we set our course for doesn’t mean you’re at the destination you need to be at. It took getting here with all of these people following us, following you, for you to realize where your passion and happiness lies.”

With a tear in each of his eyes, Klaus sat up and pulled Y/N close to him. As he felt Y/N’s arms fall around him, a reassuring sigh left his mouth and the tears of joy fell onto Y/N’s shoulder. Klaus tightened his grasp on his friend, and hesitantly spoke. “Thank you, Y/N. I know this distance is what you wanted and that the road was kinder to you than to me, but I have to go back to Dallas. I’ll miss you, but I’m grateful to have met you.” Slowly, Klaus rose from where he sat and blew a kiss to the person who had been at his side through it all. It was all he could do as he hid the pain of losing the first person who had shown him kindness three years ago.

“My path is with you. You’re my friend, Klaus, but more importantly, you’re my family now. If not for you, my life wouldn’t have changed. If not for me, yours could have gotten worse. Our paths were intertwined for a reason, and I’m not going to ignore that. When you need me, I’ll be there. That’s what family is for.”

Klaus smiled as Y/N strode to his side and the pair hurried off towards the van. The same thoughts and anxieties that flooded their minds when they left Dallas floated in their minds like a veil of mist that clouded their vision, but this time was slightly different. Sure they had many miles ahead of them, hardly any money to afford the trip back, were in dire need of sleep, and didn’t know the way back, but they knew where they were headed and why, and they had each other, and that was enough for now.

Tags:  @multifandom-ramblings, @bisexual-with-adhd, @ne0n-gh0st, @thehanwen @helena-way07 

Among Us: CR3WM8TS

Updates Required (part 1)

——————————————

With the ship launched and crew settled, it’s time to get to work. Which, for Bunbun, means updating. How smoothly that goes depends on the crewmates in charge... Bunbun’s hoping she’s in good company. 

Featuring appearances by River and Lemon! 

Among Us archive/askblog Fic chapters post

——————————————

Ok so originally I wanted to keep all this together, but decided it’d be better to chop it into pieces. That way I can keep my momentum, keep posting for y’all, and still intro y’all to the crew as things get moving! Hope u guys enjoy!!!

                                                    ===+===+===

Mission Log 2

Ship Model: SKELD D34-H120 Designation: SUPPLY TRANSPORT, EXPLORATION AND DOCUMENTATION OF SECTOR G PLANETS Crewmate Count: 9 Crewmate Colors: DARK GREEN, WHITE, PURPLE, DARK BLUE, YELLOW, RED, LIME, BLACK, PINK

Location: SECTOR E Ship Status: JUST LAUNCHED Course: PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G Systems:

Navigation: COURSE INLAID / STABLE

Engines: UPPER - ONLINE, TANK FULL / LOWER - ONLINE, TANK FULL / OUTPUT ALIGNED

Reactor: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

O2: STABLE

Electrical: STABLE

Communications: ONLINE

Shields: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Weapons: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Security: CAMERAS ONLINE / ALL FUNCTIONAL

Administration: MAP ONLINE / CONNECTION SECURE / SHIP FILES UP TO DATE / ALL CREW ACCOUNTED FOR

Medbay: EQUIPMENT ONLINE / FUNCTIONAL / CREW FILES UP TO DATE

Supplies: FULL

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

Notes: crewmate PINK settled quickly. Launch was successful, no issues of note. Supplies loaded, all systems functioning optimally. PINK noted many systems need updated - updates will be performed in transit. All crew accounted for

                                                   ===+===+===

Mission Log 3

Ship Model: SKELD D34-H120 Designation: SUPPLY TRANSPORT, EXPLORATION AND DOCUMENTATION OF SECTOR G PLANETS Crewmate Count: 9 Crewmate Colors: DARK GREEN, WHITE, PURPLE, DARK BLUE, YELLOW, RED, LIME, BLACK, PINK

Location: SECTOR F Ship Status: IN TRANSIT Course: PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G Systems:

Navigation: COURSE INLAID / STABLE / UPDATES NEEDED

Engines: UPPER - ONLINE, TANK 0.98 / LOWER - ONLINE, TANK 0.97 / ALIGNMENT UPDATES NEEDED

Reactor: OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / RESERVE POWER FUNCTIONAL

O2: STABLE

Electrical: CALIBRATOR OFFLINE

Communications: ONLINE / UPDATES NEEDED

Shields: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Weapons: ONLINE / FUNCTIONING OPTIMAL

Security: CAMERAS OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED

Administration: MAP OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / CONNECTION SECURE / SHIP FILES UP TO DATE / ALL CREW ACCOUNTED FOR

Medbay: EQUIPMENT OFFLINE - UPDATES NEEDED / FUNCTIONAL / CREW FILES UP TO DATE

Supplies: FULL

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

Notes: travel into sector F uneventful. Many systems functioning on reserve power temporarily, as updates are needed. PINK identified systems in need of updates. Updates will be performed today under DARK BLUE supervision. Other crew performing normal activities.

                                                  ===+===+===

Bunbun stood in the hall next to security, foot tapping nervously. If her hands weren’t clutched tight around her tablet, they’d be caught up in her hair, or fidgeting with her bandanna. It was just a routine ship update. Yes, most of the systems needed it. Yes, she was being supervised by a stranger. But it was nothing she hadn’t done before. She knew the ship layout. So did her new crewmate. It was just… extra precautionary measures. Nobody quite knew who they were dealing with nowadays. It didn’t seem like the door to security was about to spring open. It had been closed for all ten minutes she’d stood there. Captain Groud said it was nothing to worry about. Dark blue- or River, as the crew called him- often shut himself into security. At least, he seemed to do it a lot. If the doors are faulty, we’ll know soon enough, Bunbun thought ruefully. She tapped on her tablet screen, sighing softly at its  comforting glow. Her task list was still updating. She watched the number in the upper left tick slowly upward. Yeah. She’d be busy alright. A quick glance at the map confirmed what she already knew- the ship had a standard SKELD layout. A little pink icon stood right outside security. Crew Locator and Tablet Sync are working just fine, she thought. Good. Swiping to the right, the live feed of ship’s systems now lit up her screen. The amount of “OFFLINE” and “UPDATES NEEDED” made her snort. “HQ really doesn’t take care of their older ships, huh?” she muttered. Scrolling down, her eyes swiftly located the vent status. “CLEAR,” declared the system. “Clear,” Bunbun echoed, sighing. For now, at least, she could quell any suspicions of River. 

Speaking of which, the telltale clunk and hiss of an opening door announced his presence. Bunbun straightened up quickly, standing to attention as the door split and slid into the wall. A crewmate in a dark blue suit stood in the doorway. A faded blue security cap was jammed down low over his unkempt ashy blonde hair. His green eyes were ringed with a raccoon’s mask. All in all, he looked like a standard security crewmate. Though his bored look and slouched posture said he might be a little put out by his recent assignment. Bunbun tried for a smile and wave. She opened her mouth to speak, voice a little shaky. “Um, hi, I’m-” “Bunbun, right? The new crewmate?” River interjected, a brow raised. “Yeah. Guessed as much. Haven’t had a pink around here for awhile.” “Er- right,” Bunbun stammered, a little taken aback. Interrupting? And… ‘a pink’? Someone was a little annoyed. “I’m… I’m here for the-” “Yeah, the updates, I know,” River said bluntly. Bun’s face reddened a bit. Was she overexplaining? Or was he just in a bad mood? She wasn’t quite sure. Yawning, River made a shooing motion. “Let’s get this over with, ok? I’ve got cams to watch, and I can’t do that if they’re all offline.” “Of-of course, sir. I’ll get on it,” she twittered. She quickly scooted around him, eyes downcast. Talk about a tough crowd, she thought grimly. 

She took quick stock of the room as she entered. The monitors on the far wall were all dark. The desk along the back had piles of unorganized papers. Records that needed to go to HQ, she’d guess. The vent lay dusty and undisturbed in the back. With the maintenance panel closed and no other ideas, she wandered over to the flashing bulbs near the monitors. The bulbs were blinking red intermittently. Though, from what she saw, she was surprised anything was happening at all. The lights were indicators on an old, massive computer system, split between two shelves. Bunbun hadn’t seen a system like this since her academy trip to the ship tech museum. She gave a low whistle as she hooked up her tablet. Wait till everyone learns I worked with one of the old old models… “You really think you can update that thing?” River called from the doorway. He was leaned against it, arms crossed and gaze impatient. “Or anything here, really. This bucket of junk has been outta the loop for years. It’d probably short circuit with new input.” Bunbun looked back at him a little indignantly. She could understand being irritated with new crew members. It happens. New recruits often get things backwards, or bite off more than she could chew. But she wasn’t new. Her recommendation was high enough to have her bouncing all over. And doubting her skill? The one thing they brought her here for? That was going too far. Standing a little straighter, she held her tablet like a manager with a clipboard. “Even if things go a little haywire, this ship hasn’t dealt with me yet,” she replied. “I’ll get it running.” “Is that so?” River snorted. “I could make ship software run on a half dead toaster.” “Yeah yeah. I bet you could.” Bunbun didn’t miss his eye roll. She just shook her head. Fine. If he wanted to be difficult, he could. But she was going to do her job whether River thought it possible or not.

Raising her tablet, she tilted her head at the screen. She’d never been so relieved to keep the same tablet regardless of assignment. Working with a new one after being used to her personal upgrades would be a nightmare. The data whizzed past at an astonishing speed. Her gaze picked out the important stuff. The camera system was still functioning well, it just had a couple minor bugs. That was an easy fix. First off, the camera movement program had become a little glitchy. Old camera feed confirmed this- the cameras just jerked around sharply instead of sliding smoothly in circles. It only took a moment to find the problem code, pulling and replacing it with a patch she’d worked out years ago. Just for the fun of it, she slid in an extra bit of code. Just to keep the camera movement unexpected. Made the feed edges much harder to track from the outside, even if the cameras weren’t physically going anywhere. After that, she did a little survey of the feed record system. A few more patches here and there, and it was running properly again. 

Bunbun smiled to herself as she closed out the security system, booting up the cameras on her way out. The monitors flickered back to life as she unplugged her tablet. And it had only been eight minutes. Bunbun looked over at River just in time to see him wiping an impressed look off his face. Her smug smile just earned another eye roll. “Ok. Maybe you know what you’re doing. But we got a lot more to get to,” he grumbled, “so you better be just as quick.” “Repair can’t be rushed,” Bunbun pointed out, “but I’ll do what I can.” “Good.” With that, River turned on his heel and left. Bunbun had to run to catch up with him. Despite supposedly sitting around in security all day, the guy moved fast. What was he in a hurry for? “You coming?” he called, standing in the middle of the reactor room. “Yes- yes, sorry-” she stammered, slowing to a stop in the doorway. The reactor towered over her in the back of the room. Glowing pulses slid from the main machine to cables inlaid in the floor. The whole place was awe inspiring.  And very scary. Things could go very wrong very fast if she wasn’t careful. 

“Well…?” River prompted, gesturing around him. “You gonna do your thing?” “Of… of course,” Bun replied, nervously striding over to the control panel. “It’s just been awhile since I’ve worked with the reactor.” That’s usually left to the experts. “Well, let’s hope you know what you’re doing,” River grumbled. As he wandered away to lean on the wall, Bunbun nervously eyed the control panel. The startup mechanism was just as she remembered it. An older model, sure, but the light up cube pattern and well worn keypad looked about the same. Glad I’ve got that going for me, she thought ruefully. As for updating the thing, though, she… didn’t have a clue. Looking around for a place to plug in her tablet was unsuccessful. It didn’t look like it had a touch interface either. Not besides the keypad, anyway. She didn’t want to try wrangling code with that. The only other options she had were with the manifolds- not wise, as fiddling with those could cause a meltdown- or with one of the hand scanners. Her memory told her those wouldn’t do. They were for biological input, not technical. Bunbun bit her lip, looking back down at the control panel. What to do, what to do…? “Ay, what’s the holdup?” River called, making her jump. His shadowed eyes were narrowed, and his arms held tight across his chest. She stammered for a minute as she tried to compose herself. “I- I’m sorry, I’m, u-um, not used to working with reactor equipment- I- I can’t f-find where to, u-um, plug in my t-tablet-” “For the love of- ghhhhhhhhhh-” River strode quickly to her side. Gesturing to the control panel, he gave her a withering look. “You got my cams working in two seconds. What’s so hard about this? You just take the tablet, get it hooked up-” “B-but if I don’t find the r-right place-” “You try again, and you get to work-” “B-but the reactor is delicate-” “So be careful then!” Bunbun was cowering behind her tablet by now. She didn’t know what to do, River was not helping, and she wished she could just get out of-

“HEY! What’s the big idea?!” A voice shouted from the door. 

It made Bunbun jump, and River freeze. She took the opportunity to take a step back and turn towards the doorway. In it stood a crewmate with a bright yellow suit. His short, shocking red hair was rather unkempt, a pair of repairman’s goggles managing to keep the longer locks on top from his hazel eyes. A couple bandages poked out from under his rectangle glasses and stuck to his cheek, and a pair of black hoop earrings hung from his ears. A pale coating of stubble surrounded his downturned mouth, brows furrowed in a very displeased scowl. 

Uh oh.

Bunbun went right back to cowering behind her tablet as the man strode over. One angry crewmate was enough to deal with, but two? No thank you. Fortunately, he walked right past her to stand toe-to-toe with River. Jabbing a finger into his chest, the newcomer spoke again. “What EXACTLY do you think you’re doing, wandering in and putting bad vibes in MY reactor room?!” he growled. River took a step back, looking quite put out. “Geez- dude, calm down, I’m just watching the new crewmate,” River grumbled, hands up. “I wasn’t even gonna be in here long. What’s the problem?” “You, obviously,” the newcomer huffed, “you should know better than to rush the artists. Speaking of which-” Turning to Bunbun, a soft grin replaced his broody scowl. “Hello there, stardust! Glad to have you aboard! What’s your name?” he bubbled, holding out a hand. Bunbun blinked in surprise. Artists? This guy was… certainly interesting. But it was a good kind of interesting. The kind she knew pretty well. She let her shoulders relax just a bit. Taking his hand, she gave it a gentle shake. “Hello,” she said softly, “I’m, um, Bunbun…” “Bunbun! That’s a fine n’ dandy name. I like it!” he grinned. “I’m Lemon, in case orientation memories are hazy. Glad to finally be workin with ya!” “Y-you too,” she smiled shakily. A glance at River said he was subdued for now. Summoning her courage, Bunbun turned her attention back to Lemon. Time to see if the interests really matched. “Um, so, I take it you’re the reactor caretaker?” “Thaaaat’s me!” Lemon drawled chipperly. “Well, me and my son, but you’ll meet him later.” He waved a hand as if brushing the thought away. “But that’s- eheh- for later. I take it you need somethin’ from me?” Bunbun nodded shyly. “I’ve got a couple updates for the reactor,” she explained, “nothing drastic, don’t worry- just to keep it running up to HQ standards.” “Understandable,” Lemon nodded. “And uh- lemme guess-” he gestured to the control panel- “you can’t find the interaction interface?” Bunbun nodded again, relieved she didn’t have to explain. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you…?” “Of course, Miss Bun! Don’t you worry your fluffy lil head!” Lemon hummed. Gently nudging her to the side, he stood before the control panel. Bunbun watched in silence as he tapped out a complex code with surprising speed. With a beep and a click, the panel slid to the side, revealing… “Hey! That’s the update interface!” Bunbun beamed. “Correct! ‘S a lil hidden here, but it’s all for safety’s sake,” Lemon explained. He took a step back, waving her towards it. “Reactor’s all yours. Just treat my baby like you treat your tablet, m’kay?” “Makes sense. And of course! I’ll have her running smoothly in just a few,” Bunbun smiled knowingly. Seems her intuition had been right. She settled in front of the control panel happily. 

Within a handful of minutes, the updates were once again finished. She stepped back to let Lemon close up the reactor, thanking him silently with her eyes. From his tiny nod and gentle glance, he’d caught onto her gratitude. “You done in there?” River huffed from the doorway. Bunbun’s shoulders slumped a bit. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your leg stuck in a wormhole,” Lemon shot back. Giving Bun a pat on the shoulder, he led her over to River. “You two should head to upper engine next. My son was headed up there to do some alignments, last I heard.” “Ok! Thanks, Lemon,” Bunbun said shyly. He held up his hand- er- fist, smiling at her. It took her a moment to realize what he wanted. With a soft ‘oh!’ she bumped her fist against his. He laughed again, giving her a pat on the back. “Of course, Bun!” he beamed. “You’re welcome here anytime.” “Let’s get going,” River grumbled, turning back to the hall. 

As Bunbun trailed after him, she could hear Lemon’s call of “don’t be a stranger!” I most certainly won’t, she thought happily.

kofi request: sf9s inseong + fairy dust

this little museum on the corner street of a quaint town must be over one hundred years old

the floorboards moan and the wind slips through cracks in the windows

the art is pretty, but the frames are dusty - the elderly woman who’d sold you your ticket and didn’t say much might be the only one taking care of this place

so it’s no surprise that it’s,,,,,,,,,, a little shabby

but you’d feel bad not visiting it - you were sent up to this town for what everyone around you said would be a nice ‘vacation’ from the big city life

the only vacation you’d got was the unfamiliar silence of the nearby forest and the sweetness from locals

which just didn’t exist in too-busy-too-care seoul

you’ve never been great at art - you like it and you can admire it - but you didn’t bring a sketchpad with you or anything of the sort

just the keys to the room you’d been staying in

you stare up at the painting before you, the scenery of the forest in winter when suddenly you hear a thumping

at first, you think,,,,,,,,,, maybe someone is shuffling around above you in the attic 

but the thumping seems closer - and sounds more like an animal than it does a human,,,,,,,,,

you look to your left and then to your right and gasp

a bunny!

it’s fur a light blonde color and it’s easy beady and black

“are you lost?”

you ask humorously - but the bunny’s nose simply twitches in response

you don’t step closer, you know bunnies tend to be skittish, but after a moment it hops - and hops - and hops

till it reaches the corner of the hall and disappears behind it

for some odd reason, you curiously follow

thinking that maybe its owner will show up or maybe you can somehow catch it and set it back into the forest

but just as you round the bend of the hall

you stop nearly short of bumping nose to chest into a tall, languid figure

“im sorry!”

you stutter, skidding back on the old floor that groans in protest

the figure turns and you notice the person’s hair is the same color as the bunny you just saw

which speaking of, you can’t see anymore

he’s got a kind, warm expression - with long pretty eyes and freckles that you can barely see scattered across the expanse of his nose and cheeks

he’s tall - towering over some of the paintings beside him and coming nearly up to the height of one of the statues in the room

circular glasses are threatening to dangle off his face and around his neck is a curious-looking charm

a little bottle with what seems to be sand on the inside

“ah - ive never seen someone else here before”

he states, tilting his head as the blondish curls bounce to the side with his movement

starstruck by his presence, and then second by the fact that he’s quite handsome you gape like a fish until he brings his hand up and chuckles

“that was quite rude of me, im inseong - and you are?”

for a second you think you’ve forgotten your own name but you rack your brain and give him an answer

his hands feel cool to the touch when you shake them, long and elegant fingertips brushing against yours

“you aren’t a local are you?”

“n-no, ive come up from the city...”

he gives a wide-eyed expression of surprise 

“really? and you chose to come here?”

you sort of shrug - it was a town recommend by a friend, you think - really you can’t remember how you ended up here completely

inseong nods as he listens

“it’s a sleepy town, it has that effect.”

“a-are you a local?”

inseong’s wide shoulders straighten a bit and you notice he’s got flower petals stuck to his sweater

but you blink twice and they seem to vanish

“yes, you could say i am. i come to the museum to study.”

“art?”

“english.”

he motions over his shoulder

“there’s a library in the left annex.”

you had been under the assumption that this place was one story of art pieces, it didn’t seem big enough to have a library too

at least from the outside, it didn’t

but you end up following inseong toward the room cramped full of unorganized old books 

before stopping and looking over your shoulder

“i saw a bunny-”

you start, but inseong hands you a heavy novel and taps his fingers on the top

“this one is a favorite of mine.”

the bunny is forgotten as you turn the cover - it’s tolkein’s the book of lost tales

“oh - you like fairytales?”

you ask and inseong shakes his head

“i don’t think they’re fairytales.”

“do you believe in all that? elves and fairies and whatnot? i dont.....”

you ask absentmindedly, flipping through the book to the first page of the story ‘the tale of the sun and the moon’

inseong doesn’t answer, he busies himself through a pile of books and pulls one out to add to another pile

you watch him work for a bit then start your own tour around the tiny, messy library

you wouldn’t call it a library at all 

more like a storage room with how the shelves aren’t labeled and nothing seems to be in order

there are some random, smaller works of art that you look at curiously

and it hadn’t dawned on you till then that

you really were the only other person aside from inseong and the woman downstairs to be here

you had a funny thought - is this place even a museum or did i get swindled - before jumping a bit at the sound of inseong’s voice behind you

“there’s a book up there i need to get -”

he explains and you think he’s asking you to move out of the way

but he just leans up easily and you feel tiny up against his chest

he tugs it down and you ask, how in the world does he know where anything is

inseong scrunches up his nose and his freckles seem to dance along his face

“ive been coming here for a while now.”

he takes the book back and there’s only one table in the room where you could possibly even sit down and you think you ought to be going now

but for some reason, the two solemn chairs are pulled out

and you feel guilty leaving one empty as inseong takes the other

you pick up that book he first gave you, that copy of tolkein’s the book of lost tales

and inseong perks up

“want me to read one of them to you?”

you’ve never been propositioned like that before 

so you agree and find that inseong’s voice is pretty like the pictures throughout the walls of this tiny house

who knows how long you listen to him read

you keep staring at the necklace that settles that little bottle on the point between his clavicles

he keeps adjusting his glasses and sometimes bounces his leg beneath the table

large hands make the thick tolkein book look small

finally, the sun begins to set and the orange hue creeps up into this little space

you realize you’ll miss dinner - which the lady whose room you’re renting out of always prepares at 6:30 without avail

so you get up and inseong offers to escort you out

again, this is supposed to be a museum so you’d assumed someone would come and collect you at some point 

but everything has been a little short of weird today

you push the chair back in and inseong rounds the table to your side

you don’t notice how close he gets

so it startles you and as you step backward, you catch onto a loose floorboard and feel gravity pull you down toward the floor

inseong reaches out, grabbing you by the waist - but just propelling the two of you on top of each other 

in a pile of limbs and bumping foreheads

your hair catches in the clasp of the necklace on inseong’s neck and before either of you can tell

you yank and the thin silver chain comes undone

the bottle charm slips off the length of it and crashes right down to the floor

you sneeze, thinking that the sand inside has reached up to your nose

but inseong sees the glittery white substance on his skin 

“oh no-”

you think you must have bumped your head HARD on the floorboards because inseong still looks like inseong

but his eyes weren’t green before,,,,,,,not this mossy green,,,,,,,and he definitely didn’t have wings

big, thin, translucent - just like a dragonflies

you blink, bring your arm up to support yourself as the light pours in through the window and sets a warm peach glow around him 

but the wings don’t disappear

“h-huh?”

inseong reaches out, picking you up easily 

“your eyes -”

you say as he tugs you in and you see that it isn’t just the lights or your mind playing tricks

the soft browns behind his glasses are now like emeralds submerged below water 

the wings make a gently fluttering sound - you open your mouth again and inseong’s freckles really do dance across his face now that you’re so close

“sorry, you’re not supposed to see this.”

he explains - voice sounding like an echo through the tiny room

“but since you did, i have no choice.”

“n-no choice?”

he hovers off the floor, wings lifting him into the air and he presses his hands to your cheeks

you realize that on the ends of his fingertips are glittery, white traces of something like - like -

“the fairy dust will make you forget”

he starts to move the skin toward your lips, but you take a hold of his wrists

he stops 

“make me forget?”

“what you’ve seen”

“i don’t want to.”

he hums, “didn’t you say you don’t believe in fairytales - you’ll be better off-”

“but you’re beautiful”

inseong pauses, redness of the sunset and shyness mix on his skin

he tries to bring his fingertip to your lips, but you push past them and up toward him 

inseong feels your breath on his skin and you stare into the expanse of his eyes

“i can start believing now.”

inseong knows he should just make you forget, the fairy dust-like sugar on his fingers, but you’re just looking into him as if into his soul

you stay like that, searching his features like some kind of map as inseong tries to ignore the beat of his heart in his ears

tries to reason that he’s kept this secret for years he isn’t just about to - let a stranger know

but 

your voice rings like a bell over the beats inside his chest - the strawberry scent from your hair - the way he’d been watching you since you came in here

youngbin and the others won’t be happy with me,,,,,,,,but they don’t have to know,,,,,,right,,,,?

inseong glides back a bit and you stand there - waiting

“just promise on the forest you won’t tell anyone?”

you nod, eyes wide as inseong pushes himself out the window and you run-up to the side to look down 

you expect to see him 

but all you see is the blonde little bunny from before

it hops off into the green bushes that outline the backyard of the museum 

you sigh, unaware of the fairy dust that simmers and sinks into the old wooden floor behind you

Thin Walls and Fireworks

it’s been months since i last posted any work and i’m really sorry for that, i just haven’t been feeling my writing. this story is probably filled with typos because i haven’t edited it yet, and i have really mixed feeling about the whole thing (mainly the ending). thanks for reading at your own risk!

(not my gif!)

There are three things you should know about Emery before you really start reading this: 1. She wakes up at exactly 7:13 am every morning (she has literally timed how long it takes her to get ready and get to uni so that she can get a maximum amount of sleep every night while still having five extra minutes in case a traffic jam happens). 2. She listens to her spotify playlist specifically made for her morning showers everyday and she sings along because it helps her wake herself up faster. 3. The walls in her apartment are extremely thin. She quickly found the third thing out when she consistently heard music—different guitars and pianos mainly—blasting throughout her home at 1 a.m. within the first month she lived there. She tossed and turned on the frigid December night, and prayed to whatever god there was that the music would quiet down. Yeah... her prayers went unanswered.

She was annoyed to say the least. Her boss had called about an hour ago and said that she would have to work the next day after she had asked for one day off after working every day for the past three weeks. So she had pulled her thick grey comforter over her shoulders to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, and took a quick glance in the mirror to make sure that she didn’t look too hideous. After that, she trudged her way out her door and down the carpeted hall, hoping that whoever lived next door wasn’t a complete asshole—her old neighbors in her previous apartment were which was one of the contending reasons for her moving elsewhere. She raised her hand to knock on the door, and mentally stopped herself, taking a deep breath and wondering what the fuck she was going to say. She hadn’t mentally prepared enough to meet someone new, especially not if they were rude, but she knocked on the door anyways; softly, but hard enough that it would be heard even through the music. When the door opened up, it was not what she expected, not at fucking all. Standing there was a tall, decently-muscular-well-built, gorgeous, greek god of a looking guy. He looked like the type of person she would allow to stab her twenty times if he asked nicely; hell, she would let him stab her even if he was rude. And if she wasn’t already ashamed of how messy she looked before she had seen this guy—it didn’t help that she remembered her landlord mentioning that he was famous—she really was now. “Can I help you with something?” She’s pretty sure he has the most angelic speaking voice she’s ever heard. He literally seems like he could possibly be a walking angel, coming second in the “perfection” genre only to Jesus Christ himself (she only thinks that because she’s almost certain that Jesus must’ve been decently perfect... being the son of God and all). She feels like she’s almost lost her voice, like she’s all choked up and unable to breathe just at the sight of this guy. Her eyebrows are raised only in the slightest before her lips begin moving and words are created. “Um—yes actually,” she speaks softly, “I really don’t mean to be rude or come off as pushy in any rude way, b—“ She’s cut off before she can even finish, but she doesn’t even care because she’s cut off by a breath of laughter from him before he looks back up at her. “It’s the loud music mixed with the thin walls, yeah? I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been gone since you moved in I guess so I’m not used to having a neighbor,” he spoke. She nods her head lightly at him. “That’s exactly it, actually. I’m sorry for asking,” she begins, “it’s just that I’ve got a early shift in the morning and rest is needed, ya know?” “It’s fine, don’t worry,” he offers another polite smile, and fuck, she nearly melts like a popsicle on the Fourth of July. She mutters “goodnight” to him and he does the same back as she’s turning to speed walk back to her apartment down the hall. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. *** Emery had a long day so far. That’s really all she wanted to say about it; it had just been a really fucking long day. It started out by thinking she overslept, and therefore freaking out about being late for work, only to find out that her boss had forgotten to tell her that her shift had changed to a night shift and she didn’t have to be in until five this evening. That threw her incredibly off track for the days activities. She went from there to get some last minute things from the store that she forgot when she had done her grocery shopping, but she realized in the checkout isle that she had left her wallet at her place and all she had was about $7 in her pocket. She decided to use that money to buy some coffee to wake her up, but then some asshole bumped into her in the shop and spilled her coffee all over her white shirt, and then proceeded to yell at her like it was her fault. And fuck, by the end of all this happening, it was only ten in the morning. So yes, she was absolutely batshit pissed at how fucking terribly her day had been going. She had finally managed to make it back to her apartment and wanted nothing more than a hot shower to relax her, and then maybe take a nap before going to work later on. She slings her jacket onto the dining table and kicked her shoes off by the front door. She really didn’t even bother to get clothing to change into in the bathroom (living alone really had its perks; she could walk around naked if she pleased, just not on the balcony, and not with the curtains opened). Stripping herself from her clothes and making sure the water was the right temperature beforehand, she hopped into the shower with her bad day playlist that’s titled “for your stressed-out-bitchy days”. She hummed along softly, singing the words softly as she got farther into the song. She was really confused when she started hearing singing from the other side of the wall; singing the exact words at the same time she was. Shawn—her devilishly handsome neighbor—was someone that she had only talked to a few times since she had asked him to turn his music down a couple of weeks earlier. He was nice, literally almost always. She had never seen him in a bad mood, and he often talked to her if they happened to get into the elevator at the same time, or if they passed each other in the hallway. He asked simple questions about her, like how old she was, how long she had lived here, stuff like that. In some cases it could have been weird, but he seemed nice enough and simply a friendly person. There was no doubt in her mind that her greek god of a neighbor could actually hear her, but it made her giggle just a bit when he had even joined to sing along (although it wasn’t that surprising since she had recently learned from her landlord that the reason he was famous was for singing). It was dumb that something as stupid as her next door neighbor singing along to her music—who we can’t forget is absolutely gorgeous—made her day seem a little bit better than it was before. She dries the wet drips of water off of her body with the white, fluffy, hotel-like towels that she loves more than her own life. Everything was quiet when the music was off. No more singing through the thin walls with Shawn, just quiet. In all honesty, she was kind of happy for the quiet, even though his voice was still kind of angelic. It had been such a long ass day, she was just ready to lie down before going to work. So after drying her body off and changing into her most comfortable items of clothing—her favorite pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that was much too large for her—she crawled into her bed, turned on her most relaxing music, and drifted off to sleep. *** Words are unable to describe how much she dreaded to go to work later on that evening after she woke up. It was still a bit rushed getting ready for work, but thank fuck that the owner of the bar was chill and her work attire consisted of jeans and a black shirt (of any kind, just no graphics), and having her hair up. After changing and slipping on her favorite coat, she put her hair up, put on one of the best faces of makeup she probably ever had in a short amount of time—honestly though, her eyeliner is on fucking point—and left with her keys and purse in hand. The backdoor to the bar squeaked a little bit when Y/N opened it up, setting her things in her designated shelf that the manager had bought so that the employees things wouldn’t be unorganized and disheveled everywhere. Her name tag was on the same shelf and she pinned it onto her shirt after taking her coat off. “Hey darlin’,” one of the workers, Tess, spoke to her, Tess’ sweet southern accent dripping from her lips. Tess was a twenty-something year old girl that had moved from Georgia in order to try be closer with her dad (her parents had divorced when she was young, and she had always described her mother as “a backstabbing, no good, pussy-ass-bitch, who deserves to choke on her boy toy’s dick”... she really has a way with words, okay?-). Tess had been there for Y/N since they had started working together, the both of them becoming close friends quickly due to not knowing another soul within a hundred miles. They weren’t necessarily sisters, more like each other’s favorite cousins at family reunions; they gossiped about other people, shared problems, and talked about the cutest guys and girls (because honestly fuck people who say you can’t love who you want to) that came in and spilled all the tea about each interaction with said guys. (Tess actually has a girlfriend named Margot, but honestly the two in the relationship knew that Tess was a natural flirt and couldn’t stop herself even if she tried, despite the both of them being very in love with one another.) “Hey love,” she responded, giving a small grin to the girl that she adored. Tess gave a small wink in return, making Emery’s grin grow wider. The bar wasn’t very busy right now, but that was mainly because it was only five o’clock and most people were just now getting off work while Emery was just getting started. It was weird to have a working schedule like that, and it sucked ass when it came to studying during the school year. But once again, her manager, Mark, was pretty chill—besides the times when it was obvious that the place was going to be busy, just like on Friday nights like this one—and allowed her to get off in time or come in late, just so that she could get some of her school work done. The first two hours of her seven hour shift were brought as hell. People shuffled in and out, maybe buying a drink or two, and then leaving immediately after paying. It annoyed her that people did that sometimes. If people were only going to buy one drink, then why not just buy a bottle of whatever they wanted from the store? Then they would be able to have one drink every night for a long time. She was certainly surprised when Shawn walked in the bar, a couple of guys following him in and she assumed they were probably his friends. They were all laughing about something that must have been said outside and cracking more jokes to go along with it. She did her best to ignore all of it—more specifically just all of them in general because she refused to get internally flustered with Shawn like she had when they first met—and went back to combining some of the partly used alcohol bottles with others. It was boring but it would also maybe get her out of socializing with someone that made her really fucking nervous for no reason. She almost did it too, almost got away with pretending to be distracted until— “Hey, neighbor.” She looked up from the two bottle in hand and nearly choked on thin air. There he was, Shawn, looking fine as hell and all he was doing was standing there. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he commented again. She placed she bottles on the bar and leaned against it, fake confidence taking over he features. “If you come here often then I’m not sure how. But then again, I’ve worked here for seven months this and this is the first time I can remember seeing you around,” she replies. Her cold hands were so close to shaking but she did her best to still them. “Hmm,” he hummed, “Well this is the first time I’ve been home for more than a couple days in about seven months, and I didn’t know about this place up until one of my friends,” he paused, turning around and pointing to one of the guys in the group that walked in with him, “told us all about it last month.” She raised her eyes at his comment, slowly nodding her head once, letting him know that he must’ve been correct. He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at her for a minute and now she’s really fucking nervous with her fake confidence fading away into a imaginary black hole. “Oka—Uh, well do you guys want anything to drink, or are you just really wanting some conversation?” she’s freaking the hell out inside. She wonders how she got those eighteen words out of her mouth. He nods, looking back at his group and does a quick count of how many people were in it before turning back. “Just 6 beers is all.” When she takes the tray of beers to the table he and his friends are sitting at, she can her them laughing again, and the doubt makes her wonder if they’re laughing at her or at something else, but she hopes it’s the latter. She gives a quick smile as she places the dark glass bottles in the table before turning around and going back to behind the bar. *** The night didn’t seem to last long enough. Contrary to what she had assumed, the shift she worked tonight wasn’t that bad. It was filled, but not overcrowded—despite it being New Year’s eve, but then again, most people were at clubs instead of actual bars—which made her job eighty-five percent easier than usual. Plus, most of the people didn’t care how long they waited; they were just waiting for the year of suffering to be over with. Shawn and his friends ended up moving to the actual bar counter and made conversation with her while she made drinks. They had all been curious to know what it was like living next to Shawn, to which she responded with “fine, besides him blasting music late at night when I have to work the next morning.” He had playfully rolled his eyes at that, to which she winked at him when no one else was paying attention (and fuck when that happened she was so confused because where the hell did that little bit of confidence come from?). That’s what the entire night consisted of; laughter, questions, and subtle flirting between Shawn and Emery. A pang if disappointment came inside her when they announced they were leaving after only about an hour and half of staying, but it felt a little better when they had promised to come back, and even better when Shawn winked at her on his way out the front door. She did her best to clean up as fast as fucking possible in order to get back to her apartment, promising Tess that she would do everything in her power to stay awake long enough tonight to call her and tell her why and how she knew the “super hot famous dude that looks like he could be a fuck boy but is most hopefully not” (a.k.a. Shawn). She knew she drove fast on the way back; and it wasn’t to see Shawn even though she almost hoped that he would blast his music loudly again so that she could go over and just see his face again, but he didn’t. He was pretty quiet, actually, and she almost thought there was a possibility that he wasn’t even home until she heard faint humming from the other side of the wall. She smiled, rolling her eyes at the fact that he seemed to love music so much that he couldn’t go without listening to some for of it (even if it was himself) for more than an hour. But the humming didn’t seem to stop, and then music was turned on, and then the music was turned up just enough to keep her awake. Her feet patted across the tiled floor and into her her slides, the top half of her body engulfed in a hoodie that was much too large for her, her hair falling loosely and messily, and her face clean and free of makeup. She knocked on his own door, and it swung open almost instantly. He was still dressed in the same clothing from earlier, looked almost the exact same, but his eyes were a little bit more soft and sleepy (basically just fucking adorable, but what’s new?). All he had to do to know what she needed was look at the slightly raised eyebrow; it was the same look she wore just a couple of nights ago. Emery opens her mouth but Shawn beats her to it, “Turn the music down?” There’s a small smirk on his face. She slowly blinks with a nod. “You got it,” he says. She turns around to walk back to her place with her hands in the pockets of her black Adidas sweatpants when he catches her attention again with his voice. “Hey, um,” he pauses and she turns to face him again, “fuck, this may sound really weird and kinda creepy ‘cause we’ve only talked like, I don’t know maybe five time, but do you wanna come in?” She raises her eyebrows at him with the tiniest grin at how nervous he seems to be with his rambling. If this is how she is, then she really understands why he seems to be smiling at her so much, but she doubts she’s actually this cute while doing it. “It’s just that it’s New Year’s Eve, and I have no idea if you’re alone, maybe you’ve already got people or a person at your place, but I know that it sucks to be alone because you see everyone together and shit... but if you are alone, you’re welcome to come over. Only if you want to, obviously,” he rambling again and she doesn’t even bother to hide the little grin that’s growing on her face. “Yeah,” he looks at her with his eyebrows raised just a little bit. “I’d love to come over. Let me grab my phone and I’ll be right back?” He nods and she practically speed walks back to her place, grabbing her phone from her room and going back out the door, but not before looking in her little mirror to make sure she looked at least somewhat decent. Fuck, she was freaking out. *** Emery decided that Shawn is possible her favorite person now (and for sure her favorite celebrity, even though she knows he’s so much more than that). It was a little half past eleven, and both Emery and Shawn were half drunk/a little tipsy on an unknown type of champagne that Emery insisted was amazing—and obviously Shawn trusts her word on alcohol because she’s a fucking bartender. It’d be weird if she didn’t know—and Shawn just happened to have a bottle of it. They were giggling at the stupidest things, sitting next to but facing each other on Shawn’s sectional, and waiting for the ball drop in New York. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that your brother was choking on a lego, and you didn’t do anything about it?” “I was five, Shawn! I didn’t know what to fucking do!” Emery exclaims back. “Plus, he was fifteen years old, he knew better than that anyways.” He shakes his head at her jokingly and she looks up at him. “What about you?” she takes a sip of the sparkling drink from her glass. “Do you have any siblings?” She can see his eyes light up slightly when she asks him this. “Yeah, a little sister. Her name’s Aaliyah, she’s five years younger than me, and she’s fifty times more awesome than myself,” he chuckles. Emery smiles at how much he seems to care about her, even if he’s hardly talked about her. She’s about to open her mouth to say something when cheering from the tv that was mounted up on the wall erupted, taking the attention of both of them. It was the countdown. She started mouthing the numbers along with all the people in New York, shifting in her seat to get a better look while Shawn does the same, the ball slowly dropping until— “3... 2... 1...” and suddenly everyone went crazy. A smile take over her face and she looks over to Shawn, and it almost seems like he might have been looking at her already, but it’s hard to tell because it’s dark and she’s still a little drunk. She does know one thing though, he’s smiling back at her, and he’s a little drunk too. “Happy New Year,” she smiles, her voice is quiet and soft and sweet. And once again, even though she a little intoxicated off of champagne of all things, she thinks she might melt when he smiles drunkenly right back at her. “Happy New Year.” She wants to kiss him just a little bit. She’s not really sure if that’s because she drunk, because he pretty, or maybe because she’s had a little crush on him for a while, even though she doesn’t know everything about like some girls do. But she knows that she wants to know him like that. She wants to know his favorite color, and how much cream and sugar he puts in his coffee (or if he does at all). She want to know why he plays music so fucking loud, and if he likes sunrises or sunsets more. Fuck she just want to know it all, because this crush she’s got is so fucking big, and she want to have it even after she knows these things. But she doesn’t kiss him, because she remembers that she was supposed to call Tess when she got home, and that was about an hour and a half ago. So she pushes her self up from the couch, and she stumbles just a bit but catches herself. “I should probably go,” she says. “I was supposed to call Tess, so she could be freakin out.” Shawn just nods, and she wants to say he looks disappointed, but like it was said earlier, she’s a little drunk and it’s really dark. He stands up too, walking her to the door and even going as far as “walking her home” even though her apartment was only about fifteen to twenty feet down the hall. They stood outside of her door, his hands in his pockets while she fiddled around with her keys (her door had an automatic lock on it; safety first obviously). She finally managed to get the door unlocked, opening it slightly, then turning slightly to wish him goodnight, and that’s when they both realize how close they actually are to each other. Her breath gets caught in her lungs just a little, and she can see that his breathing has increased. They’re both nervous, at least nervous enough, and seems like years pass with how close they’re standing to each other while the both stare at each other, eyes only flicking to each other’s lips when the other isn’t paying attention. He’s the one that leans down, and she knows that she can’t be imagining it, because when his lips meet hers it’s like the New Years fireworks have started all over again, and she’s freaking out. It’s soft, and slow, and she feels like she’s dying inside, but only in the best way possible. But then he pulls away, and she’s a little disappointed, but at the same time she can’t be. She offers another small smile, and he gives one back, and their both muttering “goodnight” to each other at the same time while blushing profusely. Next thing she knows, she’s shutting her door door with a heavy sigh, but a huge smile on her face. And all of this is because Emery has a huge fucking crush on her greek god of a neighbor that blasts music through the thin walls.

Baggage Claim Pt. 3

Description: Seunghoon back from a business trip only has a mind for growing his company. You are in the middle of running from the by the book life that was drowning you. When a minor inconvenience sets you in his path will you be the reason he eases up? And could he be what you need to get serious again?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

I guess I spoke too soon about deadlines lol I wrote a double length part this time since I missed two weeks. This story is really giving me a lesson on pacing and I’ m glad I decided to use my bias to do it. Thanks to everyone for feedback and even taking the time to look at these. And @negrowhat thanks to you always. About 4k words 

He ate his cold cereal and looked at his refrigerator like he had for the last two weeks. He had grown use to your picture hanging there. Bright smile greeting him every morning before he went off to his office. He was sure it wasn't a good idea. He was sure he should take it down and either throw it away or some how get it back to you. But how could he do either? He had gone back and forth in his mind about calling you. You would find him creepy...he was sure you would want nothing to do with him. Because what would he say? "Hey, sorry but my idiot friend opened your bag and your card fell out. I have this picture of you..." He couldn't think of a way to phrase it. He supposed he could call and be blunt. He crunched away wishing he had never found the picture in the first place. Wishing that Mino had never touched the zipper.

Every morning he had the same mental battle but he had yet to take it down. He walked by it as he left his apartment. There was always work to keep you off his mind. His firm was doing good. He only needed Seungyoon to sign everything so he could get started on his campaign. He already had ideas for it. Something nostalgic, something that would make the niche company big. At the office he went straight to his door. Everything was as he left it, clean and organized. He sat down, ready to work when Mino casually strolled in. “Morning busy bee.” He said as a greeting. Seunghoon barely acknowledged him with a nod. “Sit down,” Hoon instructed as he got his computer started, “did you hear anything from Seungyoon?” He asked. Mino sighed, “I heard he went to another agency for a meeting.” Hoon stopped moving. He looked up, “which one?” He asked.    “Yg.” Mino stated. They shared a look and Mino couldn’t fight his smile, “I’m sure they’ll make us look better.” He reasoned. Yg was a big company. But lately they were woefully unorganized, clients had been leaving the company left and right. Complaining about a lack of creativity and missed deadlines. It was going down but still posed a threat to them if only because of its size.    “The only thing they can promise him is connection. They do have a lot of those.” Hoon said.    “True.” Mino granted. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, “There’s a sort of industry get together tonight.” He started. Hoon turned back to his computer. A get together meant a party. Mino always tried to frame it as a business opportunity. ‘Networking’ was his favorite word. “We should go.” He said. “Why?” Hoon asked, “You just want an excuse to drink.” He said. “Don’t make me sound like an alcoholic...this is a legitimate networking opportunity. It’s being hosted by a big media firm.” He said, “it would make sense for us to go. Schmooze a little see what other potential clients we can meet.” It wasn’t a bad idea. He just didn’t like parties. It was tiring to have to make conversation, to act interested in things that he wasn’t usually interested in. Mino was much better at them. His personality was fluid. He could adapt himself to people in a way that Hoon envied. Mino made it seem genuine, he imagined that if he tried to act like him it would come off as fake. He wished the idea of an industry party wasn’t so annoying to him.    “Think about it.” Mino said as he stood, “also I emailed you some art for Seungyoon. I had an idea last night after I talked to you.” He shared. This made Hoon feel better to a certain extent. He leaned back in his office chair and stared at the ceiling.    “What time is the…get together?” He asked.    “7 I think, it’s two blocks over, on a rooftop.” Mino said.    “Fine I’ll go, but I don’t want to spend all night there.” He spoke while he spun lazily in his chair, “and please don’t leave me to make small talk.” He warned.    “Ok, ok. I promise.” Mino played annoyed but he was smiling, “I promise to do all the talking. You just be the face.” He urged. Hoon left it at that. If he didn’t give into his friend every once in a while Mino tended to get unbearable. He went back to his computer and started checking emails.

   The last two weeks had transformed you. Your mood was sky high, the crushing feeling had almost completely left your chest. You had been all around the city. Visited local parks, gone to a few museums. When Cherry didn’t have jobs to do she accompanied you. Playing photographer with no complaints. Your phone was filled with shots of you and her exploring. She took you to her favorite places, and gushed about her family. She never mentioned much about friends but it didn’t much matter to you. You learned her father owned the building she lived in and that he had put her in charge of running the Airbnb. The garage doors below you two were actually two whole other apartments that were usually rented for the summer. She promised that once summer rolled around that you two would take a trip to a beach town. It was everything you wanted it to be. Except today your new friend was sick. You sat on the edge of her bed as she sniffled and coughed. “I hate so much to ask you,” she paused to sneeze. You waited as she dabbed at her nose. “This staffing place makes us find our own replacements. And ordinarily it wouldn’t matter to me I always get called for jobs...but I’ve been dying for a call back from this company cause they pay so well and you get to keep all your tips.” She explained. “Tips?” You echoed. “What exactly do you do?” You had never asked her before. She always left the apartment in regular clothes. But your mind was running wild, a stripper? “Oh, I never told you?” She asked between coughs. You shook your head. “I get called to staff events. I’ll serve drinks or bartend at private parties, or networking events. It’s fun.” She sniffed, “I get to meet a lot of people, and the pay is pretty good.” You let out a sigh of relief. Serving drinks at private parties for good pay didn’t sound like a bad deal mainly because it seemed like something you could do. But you still hesitated. “I don’t have a work visa though.” You pointed out. She waved that worry away, “these companies never check stuff like that. They just call a name and look for a body to say ‘here’ then they cut the check and mail it the next day.”   “Don’t you have...friends you could call?” You asked quietly. She closed her eyes as a particularly hard set of coughs racked her body. She shook her head. “I decided on a new start for myself too…” She finally got out. “I’m not the same person I use to be.” The last sentence seemed to be the end of that topic. You swallowed and nodded. “I’ll go for you.” “Oh my god! Thank you so much!” She erupted. She was so loud a whole new set of coughs and sneezes stopped her celebrating. You patted her back until it passed and then she was hugging you. Germs be damned you thought darkly. “I really really appreciate this so much.” She said. “It’s not a problem...it’ll be fun.” You said. “Exactly!” She agreed, “you’ll meet cool people and get good tips.” She pointed out. It took a slight effort to pry her off. But once you were clear you got up to make her tea. She needed to rest and you needed to make sure that you wrapped your mind around what you had just agreed to.

“So when you pour the beer, make sure you say the tagline, ‘magic in every bottle!’” The man speaking seemed to want to be anywhere but standing in front of you and two others. A tall girl who you were certain was going to get all the tips. She was model gorgeous and paid very close attention to everything the man was saying. The other person joining you at the booth was a man who you were sure was sailing by on looks alone. He would suck up the tips that the girl standing next you didn’t get. Leaving you with...at least an opportunity for people watching.    “Stand behind the booth. You don’t have to walk around. It’s free booze they’ll be flocking to you guys...you each get a tip jar, and you each get to keep any tips in your jar.” He looked down at his clipboard and cleared his throat. “Any questions?” He asked, glancing up quickly. You all three shook you heads. He smiled for the first time and sighed. “Alrighty then, see you again at 9:30pm.” He said. He turned on his heel and walked away with incredible speed. You looked at the booth you were suppose to be manning.  The backdrop of the it was mostly blue, with a smiling blue genie coming out of a larger than life beer bottle. You sighed to yourself, “well I don’t mind being off to the side.” You said pointing to the left jar that had ‘tips’ written across the front. There were three jars and the model pranced her way to the middle. “I’ll take center stage.” She said with a little laugh. You squinted at her name tag, Rita. The man rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He ran his hand through his perfect hair and strolled to stand behind the jar on the right. You went to your place figuring time would pass soon enough and you would be back with Cherry.

He truthfully had forgotten about the ‘networking gathering’. His mind was wrapped up in a project. He wrote and rewrote copy, then sat with Mino and discussed the best places to put the adds. It was for a smaller account, a company coming out with fresh organic juices. He had originally marked the deadline much later but there was an organic food festival coming up and he wanted to get ads out beforehand. Mino drew up art, that they scanned and emailed to the company for approval. The copy went next, then emails back and forth about placement. Before he had known it the sun had set and his eyes were burning from looking at his computer screen. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes while he sighed. “So you ready to go?” When he opened his eyes Mino was standing in his doorway, a mischievous smile on his face.    “Did you get an email back from the juice place?” He asked in response.    “No,” Mino waved his hand back and forth in the air dismissively, “we’ve done all we can for them today...clear that from your mind.” He pushed. Hoon shook his head, “Mino.”    “I’m talking about the rooftop thing...you ready to leave for that?” He asked more forcefully.    “Let’s wait just a bit, I don’t want to miss their response.” Hoon said. He also didn’t have the mental energy to make any sort of small talk. He didn’t want to go at all.    “You get the emails on your phone.” He whined. “Listen, I hate to say this but I can’t sit in this office any more today. We’ve been trapped all day. Let’s please go out.” Mino looked like he was ready to dig in for a fight. Every so often he got like this, demanding that they did something other than work. Hoon rubbed at his face. “Stop stalling, let’s go.” He demanded. Hoon dragged himself up with a groan. “You are the only person I know, who needs to be forced to have fun.” He added as Hoon walked passed him. He followed nagging all the way, “you would be blind if it wasn’t for me dragging you away from that computer screen.” “Ok, ok,” Hoon acknowledged him with a pained face. “I’m up, we’re going...stop nagging.”

They walked to the building with the rooftop terrace in relative silence. He had his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. His phone hadn’t buzzed and he was beginning to worry. They needed an approval so they could start buying ad space… “Fix your face.” Mino warned in the elevator. He glared at him then stuck out his tongue. Mino rolled his eyes, “listen, no one, is gonna wanna do business with a sour pus. Fix your face.” He said. Hoon rolled his shoulders then his neck. By the time the doors dinged, he had fixed a mostly pleasant look on his face. The deck made use of the small palm trees planted around the edge by hanging white twinkling lights. There was a fountain in the center white and invoking luxury. All around were different booths manned by bright smiling people. All trying their best to bring attention to their products. Besides them small groups of people formed little circles talking amongst themselves. There were waiters milling around with trays of hor’ devours and the dj was playing atmospheric music. Nothing loud enough to drown out conversation. Mino rubbed his hands together as they walked out of the elevator. “Doesn’t this look nice?” He asked. “I guess I’m not staying all night..an hour tops.” Hoon said. Mino stopped walking, “two hours.” He bartered. “Fine.” Hoon grumbled. He followed behind his friend, dragging his feet as he went. Mino led them from group to group. Introducing them and making small talk. He wanted to be home. Instead he was trying to hand out business cards and not appear grumpy. He saw his opportunity for a break when Mino mentioned getting a beer. “I’ll grab it!” He said quickly. His friend eyed him but didn’t argue. He strolled off, avoiding waiters and waitresses. Trying his best not to catch anyone’s eye. His long legs carried him to the blue booth with the smiling Genie coming out of a beer bottle. There was a small line of people in front of it. This would take up plenty of time. He smiled to himself, weirdly thankful for the gimmicky genie. He took step after step forward his mind naturally thinking of better taglines then, “taste the magic in every bottle.” He wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been. He stepped to the front of the line and looked up. “Good evening, can I see your ID please?” He gazed at you, his mouth stuck open in shock. You on the other hand didn’t seem bothered. In fact you leaned forward a small smile on your face. “Well well well, if it isn’t the suitcase snatcher.” You said, then you laughed and held your hand out. It took him a moment to realize you were still waiting on his ID. He pulled out his wallet and then yanked it free, gaining some of his composure back. “I didn’t snatch your suitcase...we switched.” He asserted. You nodded while you scanned the card for his birthday. Once that was done you gave it back. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It was almost like you were glowing. Your smile was close to the one he had been looking at on his fridge, not quite as bright but still beautiful. He opened his mouth to mention the picture, then thought better of it. There wasn’t a way to bring it up without him sounding weird. Maybe later, he could always come back to the booth. “How many do you want?” You asked. He watched you push some of your hair off of your face, “one beer or?”  You waited politely as he took a little bit too long to answer. “Two.” He finally said. He didn’t like beer, in fact he had an annoying allergy to most alcohol. But he asked for two anyway.  You nodded and pulled the bottles from under the counter, “I’m guessing you’re here for business?” You asked. He nodded. You popped the tops with a bottle opener. “Two genie beers...I’m supposed to say ‘magic in every bottle’ but it’s a little lame.” You said with a laugh. “A little.” He agreed. He noticed the tip jar. There were two other people at the booth. Their jars looked healthy, nearly full. Yours could be better. He reached into his wallet again and dropped money into your jar. “You don’t have to,” you said with a slight frown, “it isn’t a big deal.” He reached forward and grabbed his beers, “fair is fair.” He said. He didn’t want to walk back to Mino. He wanted to talk to you at the genie booth. “Have fun networking.” You said. “I’ll try.” But he knew it would be a futile effort.  

He hovered near the booth. His eyes straying to you. When Mino was finished with his beer, Hoon was quick to suggest he go and get another one.    “Go to the shortest line...and make sure you give her a good tip.” He added. Mino snorted,  “a tip? For beer?” He rolled his eyes and pushed him gently towards the booth, “tip her for the smile then,” he added.    “That other girl’s smile is more my type. It’s nicer.”    “It is not!” Hoon snapped. He was insulted on your behalf. He pushed Mino harder, “go to the shorter line and tip that girl. The other girl has enough.” He pointed out.            “What are you the tip police?” He asked in confusion. Hoon rolled his eyes, annoyed that Mino was giving him such push back.            “Just do me this favor ok? Get a beer from her, and make sure you tip.” He said. Mino finally strolled off. He watched the whole time as Mino walked up to the booth and leaned forward to talk to you. You took his ID and made small talk. You nodded along to whatever Mino was chatting about while you pulled the beers from under the counter. He waited anxious until he pulled money from his wallet and put it in the tip jar. Mission accomplished. Now all he had to do was take his beer and walk back. But in true Mino fashion he lingered. You leaned on the counter talking to him and your smile was more subtle. Mino said something that had you looking up and finding Hoon in the crowd. Then just as quickly you were looking back down at his friend. He was suddenly envious, Mino was probably smooth talking you, something he could do extremely well. He tapped his foot, waiting for Mino to come back. The two of you chatted for a bit longer before he took his beers and made to leave. He strolled up a pleasant look on his face.    “So that’s the girl who you switched suitcases with.” He stated. Hoon balked, he opened then closed his mouth. Mino looked incredibly satisfied. He sipped his beer and then cleared his throat.    “She asked me how I knew you…” He said slowly. Hoon tapped his foot harder. His nervous energy was out of control. He had no comment. His mind couldn’t form one. He had come up to the party completely wrapped up in thoughts of work. Placing ads, worrying about email responses, all the things that were chiefly important had been mentally pushed aside. “I told her we were friends and business partners, wanna know what she said next?” Mino was very much enjoying himself. He sipped more beer and waited. “What did she say?” Hoon asked. He shoved his hands into his pocket and tried not to glance in your direction. “She said that you two switched bags, and she wondered if you were always that serious.” He said. He exhaled, serious wasn’t too bad. He expected you to say pushy or something along those lines. But serious wasn’t exactly negative. He rubbed his chin. “I think she likes you.” Mino said, “you should go over there and talk to her.” “She’s working,” he countered. He pulled his arm out of his pocket and looked at the time, “it’s been two hours,” he stated. Mino rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?” He asked. He knew the answer. Hoon was completely serious. “You stay here and mingle, but I’m going back to the office for a bit.” He said. For once Mino didn’t argue. He looked at the blue booth and caught your eye again. You smiled, there was no one in your line. No one to distract you from him. He swallowed but fought the urge to walk over to you. He had work to do.

When the party finally ended you were tired. Your tips were nowhere near Rita’s or Samuel’s but you had much more than you thought you would. Now all you had to do was take the bus back. Cherry had warned you away from the train. “At least the bus stops are on streets with moving traffic, not underground or elevated. It’ll be safer.” She said. So you walked to the stop that your phone indicated. You had your earbuds in and hummed along to the song playing. The stop was empty but well lit. You sat on the bench and sighed. You didn’t want to think about him but Seunghoon popped back into your mind. You had watched him after he left your booth with the beers. He seemed almost a little nervous. He fidgeted and immediately gave his bottle away. Instead of disappearing into the little crowds of people trying their best to sell themselves he stayed in eyeshot. He glanced your way every now and again. Then his friend had come over. His tall friend with the rich golden tan skin and a perfect smile. You could tell he was more relaxed. “My friend tells me I have to tip you well…” He had said. You couldn’t resist asking how the two of you knew each other. Business partners, and friends. You leaned forward on the counter, eyes flicking to Seunghoon while you spoke, “you know he and I accidentally switched suitcases not too long ago.” You had shared. Mino’s eyes widened and then his face had turned knowing. “I see.” was all he said slowly. “Can I ask you something?” You began, finally handing him the beer. “Go for it.” “Is he always that serious?” Because you were genuinely curious. He was serious at the coffee shop, and even though he had been a bit surprised to see you at the party. He had kept the mostly serious feel to his eyes. Maybe it was the party in general and not you? You bit your bottom lip and continued to wait. The bus felt like it was never coming. The longer you waited, the colder it got until you were holding your arms against your body. You looked down the street and didn’t see any signs of it. There were cars on the street, but not many. You shivered and seriously considered the taxis that passed every so often. You decided to give the bus just a bit longer, then you would get up and wave one down. You leaned forward studying the oncoming traffic that was slowing at the light. No bus again. You leaned back and sighed. “Hey!” The voice had you ripping your earbud out. The car stopped in front of the light had it’s window rolled down. Seunghoon was staring out at you. “Do you need a ride?” He asked. You had all of moment to decide what to do. The light was going to change. A smart woman would shake her head and wave him on. But there was something that was making you defy that smart side. Something that had you power walking to the car and setting your hand on the handle. “Yeah, I do.” You said. He popped the locks and you plopped in moving a little to fast to be graceful. Once you were all settled in with your belt buckled you sighed, “it was starting to get so cold.” “I could stop if you want?” He began. You looked at him and he was smiling to himself, “I could get you some hot coco?”  

Oh right I wanted to rant. Im still on my phone so there might be typos but oh well

Edit: this got way longer and rambly than I expected oops. I hope this read more works, i never actually checked yesterday when I used it to see if it still worked on mobile so if it doesnt oops and sorry

Anyways. In september a new company took over our contract and thats a whole rant on its own. The previous lead (my dad but not important) left before the new company came and he left Sam in charge. Sam has been there for like four or five years and he's a pretty good guy. When the new cobtract started he was very quickly overwhelmed with the bs and also with the paper abd computer stuff he had to do so he stepped down. Hes still there and actually was still in charge for a bit after he stepped down because we didnt have a new lead.

And now we do have a new lead. This was apparently a Process from what ive heard. Nobody really wanted the job and im not sure how the Boss from the company even went about hiring but i heard that a couple people he considered weren't interested and then I was told that someone was hired or was going to be hired and quick before she even started. I heard these from two differenr people because one told me she qas being walked around and woukd start soon and another said she wasnt coming a day or so later. Someone was hired though and the first night he was there so was the Boss showing him around kinda. I spoke with him a bit and he seemed nice. Def better than the Boss who I cant stand beinf around for long hes got weird and annoying vibes around him.

None of this is actually particularly relevant or necessary for this rant but it came out anyways.

So this new lead has tried all thr different shifts/jobs out and and has been with us for like a month or so now maybe? The first schedule he was properly scheduled on was such a SHIT week/schedule because I went from working 5-4 days a week to 3 and instead of doing bathrooms which is 3 hours or 4 depending on if I'm also doing trash to working 2 hours one day, 2 or 3 the next, and 3 or 4 the last. And it sucks. Then, the first schedule to come out that he made (with the help of the Boss) had ALL of us on less days and hours and HE now working every day but one and working both in the morning AND at night. Now I'm not convinced this was soley his decision because I know he made this schedule with the Boss and i have a suspicion that the Boss encouraged him or persuaded him or some other kind of bull shit to do the schedule like this. And then the week after was the same schedule copied again and this week coming up is the same minus a few small changes.

Now all this is annoying and bull shit on its own but not even the main fuel to this rambling rant. With this schedule, hes scheduled to clean the bathrooms and trash every day except Sunday, which is when I am scheduled on them. Last week was the first week of this and besides the day I'm specificed to do bathrooms im not given a specific job. Imbonly told to do "extras" so ive asked Sam and hes told me to do offices one day and some windows the other. I come in Saturday ready to do the windows which ive been dying to do because they look awful and they used to be my Thing so I get really annoyed about them often but then I notice the trash hadnt been done. So I start doing that thinking maybe that was what I was supposed to be doing. Then while doing this I notice the main breakroom doesnt look particularly clean, breakrooms are a part of the bathroom persons job. This was annoying but because it wasnt Bad I left it. I then go to the next break room which is smaller and always messier because more people stay in it for longer, this one also looked dirtier than it should be. In addition, the bathroom's trash hadnt beeb taken out which is a part of the bathroom job. Bathroom trash is separate from trash trash as far as jobs go, theyre usually done together but if someone is doinf "extras" and someone else bathrooms, bathrooms normally gets bathroom trash abd extras the rest. Something felt really off about the bathroom as well and combined with the breakdowns I had a suspicion that bathrooms hadnt been done. So I decided to check the costumer bathrooms for their trash and their cleanliness. When I got there they absolutely had not been done. Which ! I hadn't planned for. I was taking my time on trash and now I had to do bathroom s.

Nobody had been called or texted about the lead not being at work. And he absolutely has our numbers. We used to sign in on a time sheet and that would have helped us noticed but we recently got a finger print time clock which, as far as I know, we cant check other peoples hours on. So we had no fucking clue he just hadnt been in the previous night.

Then this week comes along. Friday talking with Sam he mentioned something along the lines of not checking the bathrooms. Mentioning that its not really our fault if we dont abd they havent been done because since were not scheduled for them, we have no reason to assume they wouldnt be done. So I hadnt looked in the bathrooms but I did notice the break room looked a bit messy and which had me a bit concerned about a repeat of the previous week. But I didnt wanna do them and I knew Sam didnt either so I left it be but texted nick to ask if hed seen the lead the previous night. Nick confirmed hed been in and was seen cleaning the bathrooms. Yesterday, I briefly looked into the main break room and it looked not great, and then later I went to the bathroom in the smaller breakroom's bathroom (they have really nice soap they buy themselves thats not really importantto this tho) and noticed that one looked AWFUL. It absolutly hadnt been swept and I felt bad but it wasnt what I was scheduled for so I just kinda left it... Their bathroom also had 1ply toilet paper in it, which is what we had when the company first took over it its AWFUL everyone complained so we switched but the unused rolls are still in our closet. Nobody told our new lead this so he had put some of this in the bathrooms. Then later on in the morning, I noticed several trash cans had stuff in it. Not trash but like residue from trash? Like sticky spots of soda oe coffee, some gum, things like that. Basically things that pointed to him only dumping out the trash and not changing the bag. The bags dont always get changed everyday, thats not really an issue, but if theres something still kinda in them they normally are changed because thats gross and why would it just be left like that... I also noticed that up front by the entrance door none of the trash had been got. The busiest area for trash (from customers) and it was still ! There! And I had actually heard Friday or last Friday that this wasnt the first time. Again I left it because I had other things to do.

Now this morning. I worked bathrooms and trash. Trash went ok, I changed a lot of the bags becsuse I prefer to do it regardless and it was just normal overall. Then bathrooms. The bathroom cart is a mess. Which started my mood. The top is all unorganized and theres dirty water in the mop bucket. When I went go get new water, I had set the mop off to the side assuming it had already veen run out and dried because it had been in the part of the bucket where you ring it out and it had been there since yesterday morning. I finished filling the bucket and then look over and notice the puddle forming under the mop because my assumption had been wrong and worse, it smelled like pee. ! Carring on The first two bathrooms were ok, not great but fine. Then I got to the main breakroom and noticed itd clearly been cleaned, Sam worked the day shift Saturday so I assume he swept and mopped. I also swept and mopped. Then, the small break room. Sam didnt clean this one. Which is fair on his part because I think throughout the whole day at least one or more people are sitting in it with no time for someone to clean. So I start and its just the whole thing, even the bathroom floor, was so bad. Aside from the floor the bathroom part was ok, but the floor really didnt seem to have been swept. And the main floor absolutely hadnt been swept. This was obvious from the start but it kept making me madder and madder as I swept and saw how much trash was on the floor. It absolutely put me behind because I wanted to get as much as I could. The cutomer bathrooms also looked pretty bad which is had to tell who thats on, but wheb I got to them it was apparent somethibg else I hadnt fully thought of as a problem until then. Behind all the toilets, like on then but behidb the seat part, there was so much DUST. I had noticed before in the other bathrooms but didnt really think about it because of things plus i see the dust more often collect in the orher bathrooms than that one for some reason and I didnt even realize this but because it was something New in the costumer bathroom it was really noticeable now. Which made ne even madder. Its not hard to clean, were supposed to be cleaning the toilet seats anyways so getting just behind them isnt anything!

And its just so aggrivating. The longer at work i was this morning the more it pissed me off. Especially because in addition to what I was seeing, the things I had heard from others over the last couple of weeks started piling on.

With my own eyes i had seen how bad the cart had been and from sam I heard that the water in the bucket had been in there all week, he suspected that he wasnt changing it. He also commented on the rags all over the cart thinking that he wasnt using paper towels to clean and instead used the rags. I heard about how a couple of times now hed forgotten or ignore the front trash cans and some others. I heard from someone in the meat room that when he cleans it he doesnt do that grear a job and even broke a couple small things. Which is all very concerning to hear since thats a fucking sanitation issue!? And I heard from nick yesterday that he thinks that the lead isnt cleaning all thw bathrooms every day and is instead only cleaning them when they look dirty. Which I'm a bit inclinded to believe because the underside of some of the seats seemed much dirtier than id expected.

And its all infuriating! The Boss is the one who showed him all the jobs, none of us showed him any of what we do it was all the Boss. So like, did HE tell the lead not to do this or that? To do some of it to save time? I dont know but some of it is common sense regardless of what hes beeb told hes still fucking it up and hes our fucking boss. And the main one doing everything!

The store hasnt looked as clean from the start of this new contract and now it's even worse and its awful!

And I dont have a way to end this rant it got really long snd feels like it needs a good closer but I dont have one...

Sober Corner

My nails pierce into my palms. Annoyance causes eyebrows etch, causing my demons to quiver in fear. All while my tail is sent to a blaze. Burning rage engulfs me. I then explode, letting out a fierce shout that shakes all four corners of Hell. With my better judgement blinded, I rush towards the closest demon I could find. She screams and sobs, as my nails punctures her throat. She chokes on her own suffocating blood. Her eyes roll back until a pitiful demon rushes into the scene, slamming the door wide open while doing so, I loosen my grip.

“S-Sir, with the time we have left it would be best for you to talk with him,” a hint of fear taints his very question. He begins to shake once I turn my direction towards him. Now focused on him I throw the demon I was choking moments before, letting her go. She gasps for air after slamming into the wall..

“I wouldn’t have to step out of my own fucking office if you fucking bastards actually did your damn job,” my voice once more shakes hell. I raise up my bloodied hand and in seconds emanate a flame. I chuck it at the demon, missing him by centimeters. He gasps and turns white, scared to move or even speak after my purposeful miss. While the other two demons in my office try to hush their cries, pleading I wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on them. My claws grip the carpet beneath me, stopping myself from killing these demons before me for the third time.

Then, to relieve my annoyance over how incompetent these bitches are, I grip the necklace that’s been hanging on my neck throughout this whole fiasco. I breathe a long, needed exhale. I grumble and point my finger towards the door, which they follow accordingly by scampering out.  With a snap of my fingers the demon, who had dared to burst into my office, comes to a halt.  

“Do you think I hadn’t thought of that already? Huh?”

“Yes-”

“Don’t ever talk back to me! That’s not a question I wanted to hear you speak an answer I already understood,” I shouted into his ear. Blood squirted from him because of it. I swung my tail across his face, slicing into his skin.

“Then what keeps you from doing so, master?” once more he speaks out of tongue. A rude bastard he is. I have to teach him his place.

I whip my head around, turning directly at him. Anger once more builds up, my body engulfs in flames once more. “That is an answer you will never receive!”

With another snap of my fingers he instantly incinerates, turning to ashes. So I call forth for another demon to clean up the mess he has made. She shakes, as she brushes him into a tray. I eye her down, judging her efforts. That being said, they were unsatisfactory. She’s too slow and annoying me for doing so. When she did manage to finish she ran out, leaving me.

I groaned. It’s been too long since then. Since facing him. I wasn’t scared. No, I am Satan. The king of all evil There is no one, not even God himself, would have me shaking. I suppose I’m just aggravated they can’t do their job right and because of that I can’t enjoy the beauties of Hell. At this time of the year the fires turn blue and the second level covers in ice. You see I let my people write their desires, which are sent to my office. I then approve of each one, making sure they’re not impossible. Such as the numerous amounts of letters about getting a second life, going to heaven, or becoming a Devil. While I approve those below me are suppose to make sure they have written their names, addresses and are legible. It’s supposed to be organized, that is how I like it since it always produces the best product. I have to read trillions of letters, so it irks me if I can’t read what they’re trying to say in the first place. The reason why I even put up with this is to make sure their loyalty is bound. When they are pleased then there won’t be a reason for them to rebel. No chaos can ever tain my land or else they will face my wrath.

I snap my fingers once more. A portal is summoned. A gust of wind arrives with it, but its cold temperatures does nothing to the likes of me. With a groan I drag my hooves and in seconds I am transported to his cold domain, the north pole. I feel a headache now pound because of the use of my powers.

With each step I take the snow grabs a hold of me and sinks my hooves three fit under, causing me to wish I calculated my portal closer. I try to hold in my annoyance, but with my next step landing me in shit I break. My eyes twitch and I shout to the heavens. Fire engulfs me, turning snow into water all around me. I hate getting water on myself, especially the parts of me that were fur. It always makes me sticky and fur unkempt. I growl, as I continue to walk into the water.

I grip the necklace that is still around my neck while those pointy eared freaks stare at me. I ignore them and the ongoing headache as I knock. Three knocks later and the door swings open. It reveals a woman with white hair, glasses too big for her, and a frail body. She gasps, which alerts the creatures from before to run towards us. Surrounding any chance of I exiting.

“Lucifer! It been too long!” She grabs a hold of me and swings me around, surprising me from the strength she still managed to have. The creatures look at each other while some fall from shock.

Once she lets go she introduces me to these “elves”. She goes on saying how we’ve known each other for a long time. That’s where the elves warm up to me and smile, I’ll be it a little artificial. She calls forth for the person I was there for, Claus. The staircase creakes with each step he takes until he manages to step before me. A wide smile forms on his blubberous face and he slams his hand onto my back, but not at powerful as Mrs Claus’ strength. A boisterous laugh erupts from his lungs. Nostalgia hits and blinds me, making me focus on details from both of them that I was unable to see moments before. Their faces were covered with wrinkles, his beard reached his belly and was now white while one of Mrs Claus’s eye was grey. It saddens me seeing how much time has past. I am immortal while they simply have longer lives compared to humans, meaning they are able to die from age. Still, rather than abusing that power, they use their power to give. Bringing smiles just for the sake of it, especially for those lonely on times likes these. Like I, which brings me to weakly smile. Many would believe I would just hire demon strippers to please me or fuck with human ones, but that is not the case. I have done it once. Never will I ever want to feel that pain again.

“Lucifer? Lucifer?,” they call me back to reality.

I shake my head, “I am sorry for bothering you two and being unable to listen to what you are saying, but I am in a rush. This is short notice, I know, but I am unable to deliver their letters as of yet. They’re all unorganized and useless.”

“Oh? Is that what you came all the way here for? Lucifer just give them to me and I’ll handle them. It’s the least I could do for what you have done for me.” He holds Mrs Claus’ hand, which causes the both to smile. I nearly shed a tear at the sight.

“No. No. I couldn’t have you do all of my work.”

“Luci, don’t be so humble. It’s about time we repay you, but if you only wanted to tell us that why not send a letter. Forgive me for protruding, but knowing you there must be another reason you’re here. It’s been at least three hundred years and now you’re at our doorstep,” Mrs Claus pleads.

I grip my eyes shut, holding back the tears. I grip the necklace around my neck once more. I snap my fingers and a stack of letters teleports on the coffee table behind them. “I’m sorry. I must go,” I stumble out and run.

“Lucifer! Wait. Hold up,” Mrs Claus cries out for me. Before she can run after me Mr Claus stops her, gripping her shoulder and pulling her back inside.

It’s been an hour since the visit. In that time I have made sure no one were to bother me, pushing away those that dare to knock or even walk in. I simply pace back and forth, trying to forget.

The painful memories I tried so hard to forget came rushing back once my eyes roamed to the portrait. I push my coffee mug and papers off my desk. I Satan, let the tears pour out. My fists bang onto my desk, leaving cracks in my wake.

Centuries ago I had a daughter who was half mortal. Her mother was a caring and lovely woman who was cursed with the doings of lust for money. Which attracted the lust in me one night like this one. I, shapeshifted into a man who carried a broad chin and shoulders with hair gelled back. I stumbled into her succubus like domain and the rest became history. In case you query about her finding out I simply revealed myself after the birth. She was shaken, but learned to accept it for her newborn daughter. Unfortunately, she would no longer see forth her daughter. As her illness took affect, I was unable to aid, and she deceased. Leaving I to parent alone. I had hoped she would be sent to hell, but the universe works in mysterious ways by sending her soul to Heaven. I had grown to become attached to her, so when her passing came I had fallen into a depression, hiding myself away from demons. It was my daughter that filled the hole she left by her pleasant smile and prankster actions. She always hid my stuff, threw water balloons at me, and I would find her tripping my workers. She was a troublemaker, just like her father. Where once she said, “Hi dad I made this necklace for you” turned into “I’m leaving dad”. She had grown up, finding no need for her father. I wish she didn’t age as fast as humans, a curse of her being part mortal. She found love in a man who would later become my best friend, Nicholas. Another half mortal he was. I was furious to say the least, but no matter how many times I shouted and bursted into flames it was never enough. She left without saying goodbye. I tried taking her back one night, but watching her smile through her window stopped me. I headed back. She needed someone in her life other than her father. Someone who was as gentle and loving as her mother. Sometimes I miss having to organize my papers after she mixed them up. Her happiness means more to me than anyone can ever comprehend.

The tears stop and I collapse onto the floor, headache subsided. I turn facing our family portrait. I smile, remembering how happy she is.

Unimaginable Loss

Yo! This is my gift to @aerefyr for the @starwarsminiexchange! 

It’s basically a lil fic about Kit Fisto after Order 66. It’s also complete shit, and for that I’m really fucking sorry oops. But yeah, without further ago, here you go! (note: it might be easier to read on AO3)

Aaron flew through the doors of the bar, crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Grimacing, he spat behind him and wrapped a hand around his ribs delicately. “Bastards,” he hissed, withdrawing his hands. Those dipshits had broken a rib, maybe two. He winced as he drew himself up, brushing at the mud on his cloak absentmindedly.

He looked back at the filthy bar. He supposed he shouldn’t be so judgmental, considering the street was covered with at least an inch of sewage sludge in even the cleanest parts of the Coruscant Underworld, but he wasn’t feeling very congenial at the moment. The flickering purple lights above the doors advertising the entrance weren’t doing such a stellar job; the sign blended in with the usual unnatural lights radiating the lower levels, poisoning its citizens with the synthetic replacement for sunlight they weren’t given access to- even if the lights weren’t doing a goddamn thing to illuminate the dark abyss. Aaron brushed off the thought, knowing he’d need another drink if he kept thinking about the people who lived their entire lives without seeing the surface. And right now the closest available drinks were on the other side of three particularly burly Besalisk.

Aaron huffed and rubbed his sore arms where they’d inevitably left bruises grabbing him with their sausage fingers. Fuck. That. Shit, he thought as he turned away and started down the street.

-

The maze of the Underworld was not something to be taken lightly. It was some kind of running joke that the reason so many never saw the surface again after entering the Underworld was because they simply couldn’t find their way back. Aaron didn’t find it very funny- both because he pitied the lost souls if the joke was true and he didn’t like the implication of the fate if it wasn’t.

Nonetheless, the point was still taken. While locals had a fairly good idea of where they were within a good fifty mile radius of their home (horizontally, that is- most people didn’t go more than four floors up or down of their residence) and people who’d been born down there could easily navigate 100 miles and survive long enough to make it home no more than 200 miles, most off-worlders or surface dwellers couldn’t so much as leave a trail of breadcrumbs and make it back to where they started. And not just because you’d have a swarming herd of kids picking up your scraps or some seven-foot thug find you and kill you for the bread.

For all of the quote unquote progress that Coruscant represented for the galaxy, there was no order to be found even in the foundation of the Underworld. Aaron couldn’t even blame the Empire for the hellhole he lived in. The winding, unorganized ruins of whatever ecumenopolis preceded modern Coruscant was now nothing short of a deadly labyrinth infested with starving families, two-penny crime lords, and other vermin. The first dozen levels had become nothing more than an entire layer of uninhabitable garbage-ridden marsh full of shit and trash from the upper levels. Aaron dreaded to think what would happen when that filthy soup crawled it’s way up to the industrial levels, where generators working constantly to run whatever machines were needed on the surface made the entire Underworld feel alive with constant noise, warmth, and steady movement.

The streets became more crowded as he approached the station. He pulled his hood tighter over his head instinctively, covering his face from passersby. As if his face wasn’t automatically recognizable, the tattoos would certainly draw attention. Still, he pressed through the crowd that was steadily growing as he approached the train. Aaron knew taking the public line was a risk- the cars were brightly lit, allowing more chance for recognition. Truthfully, he didn’t really care any more. He just wanted to get home and he didn’t feel like walking half a dozen miles with broken ribs.

He stumbled into the car, thankful that it wasn’t as crowded as usual. He didn’t think he could handle being stuffed with dozens of other people like a bunch of animals waiting to be slaughtered without at least six more drinks. Despite the array of open seats he decided to stand. He winced as he raised his arm to hold onto the overhead bar; the movement had bothered his ribs. He ignored the pain and glanced around the car, assessing his surroundings out of habit.

A twi’lek woman and her child caught his eye. The boy was no more than six and he seemed to be content playing with his stuffed animal. His joyful cries were hushed by the mother, who ran her hands over his head tails lovingly. She looked tired. The bags under her eyes were dark and she was too thin- he’d seen slaves that were better fed. Likely she gave all the food she managed to scrape up to her son and whatever other mouths she had to feed.

With something resembling curiousity (he knew better than to fool himself into thinking he really cared about anything anymore), he noticed her clothing. The tunic, while certainly dirty and mended many times over, was made of valuable cloth and the intricate designs on the side were similar to the markings frequently worn by the ensemble of diplomats sent by the citizens of Ryloth. They’d been “disbanded” after the anti-alien prejudice had made its way to the depths of the senate, effectively razing any sort of committee focused on the betterment and better treatment of off-worlders on Coruscant. With vague interest he wondered how this woman had managed to escape- with a child, no less. Assuming she hadn’t just stolen the tunic from a rotting corpse, which was definitely more likely.

Before he could even decide to start thinking about it, a small squadron of stormtroopers boarded the car and began walking the aisles, shoving passengers and demanding IDs. Cursing under his breath, Aaron pulled his hood closer over him and tried to cover his face. He didn’t feel like encountering a group of armed soldiers today. He slowly worked his way through the crowd, pushing to the other end of the train, hoping they wouldn’t see him.

Of course, with his luck…

“You! ID, now!” The barked order was broken coming through the filtered speaker. Aaron didn’t look up or so much as acknowledge the command. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” The stormtrooper gripped his arm.

So much for getting home quietly, he thought. He brought his elbow down in the crook of armor on the assailant’s arm, bending it unnaturally. The trooper howled, alerting the other guards, before Aaron twisted his leg around him, bringing the soldier to his knees. Aaron brought the trooper’s head to his knee before grabbing the unconscious soldier’s gun and thrusting himself through the crowd, shoveling people out of the way.

The crowd parted and clung to the walls, but otherwise showed no indication of the tussle. It was a common enough occurrence. No one tried to stop the stormtroopers, but no one tried to stop Aaron either.

Another guard had grabbed Aaron’s arm, apparently not learning from the former’s mistake. He repeated the motion, but this one leaped back after the wounding, yanking off Aaron’s cloak as he did so. Aaron cursed. “Clone!” the trooper shouted to the others. He stepped further back, speaking into his communicator. “We’ve got another renegade clone on level 337, line RT3 heading-“

Aaron grunted as he slammed the butt of the stolen gun into the soldier’s helmet, knocking him unconscious. The other soldiers were pushing their way through the crowd, but the passengers were, if anything, shoving them forward. Aaron looked around widely. People were huddled against the wall, clinging to each other and looking at the clone in fear. They all remembered what had happened. What he had done. Aaron winced.

This wasn’t the time to be thinking of that, though. He had a much easier time maneuvering the crowd now that everyone shrank from him like he was diseased. Aaron made his way to the door, though the train wouldn’t make its next stop for another ninety seconds. A quick glance behind him at the guards told him he didn’t have that kind of time.

Grimacing, he flicked off the safety and shot at the doors, blasting them open. People screamed and covered their ears- as used to gunfire as they were, no civilian is used to gunfire in an enclosed space like that. Aaron’s own ears were ringing. He couldn’t hear the train hurdling forward, but he could certainly feel the gusts of wind through the now doorless exit. Luckily everyone else on the train, including the stormtroopers, were still recovering from the burst of noise. Aaron stepped towards his exit, gripping both edges of the doorframe tightly. He looked out- they were going over a platform any second now.

Aaron flinched as a hand grabbed his arm. He turned towards his assailant, ready to attack. “Don’t,” the twi’lek woman urged in a heavy accent. She thought he was committing suicide. Oh, blessed soul, he thought to her fondly, I don’t have the bravery for a stunt like that. Instead he said nothing, giving a comical two-finger salute before falling out of the train.

Aaron fell hard on his shoulder, but he threw himself forward so he’d keep rolling on his side until he finally came to a stop. He crawled to a wall, using it as support to draw himself to a stand. He touched his shoulder lightly. Dislocated. Angrily, he slammed the palm of his hand into his shoulder, forcing it back in the socket painfully. He looked back to the tracks and spat, watching the glimmer of the train continue in the distance.

With a sense of disgust, for himself, his situation, and those around him, he continued on. He’d never been to this particular station before, but thankfully he still knew the way home. He limped forward. His knee wasn’t too bad- but the soldier’s armor was thicker than he remembered. Then again, he wasn’t really dealing with much more than bar fights and street brawls nowadays.

-

As he approached his second hour wandering the streets, he came across another dead end. Sighing, he collapsed against the wall and slid down, not really caring what kind of grime got on his cloak. Two fights ending with him getting tossed into the street and two hours of failed memory later and he was fucking exhausted. He might as well just sleep on the street. If anyone wanted to mug him, let them the take the six credits he hadn’t spent at the bar. If anyone wanted to kill him, they’d be doing him a favor. He shut his eyes.

“My my, it looks like I’ve finally got company.”

If anyone wanted to bother him, they’d be in for it. Just slit my throat or be done with it, he thought.

“I’ve got nothing to slit your throat with, I’m afraid. Nor do I have any mind to mug you. Six credits would be a lousy reward anyway, for the extent of my troubles.”

Aaron frowned. Had he really said those things out loud? Well, he supposed going completely bonkers wasn’t out of the picture.

“No, you’re quite sane, as far as I can tell.”

Aaron opened his eyes at last, with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. He sat up, but didn’t come to a full stand. It took him a moment to notice the raggedy figure sitting on a rotted box. He couldn’t make out anything beyond the badly weathered cloak- it had certainly seen better days, that’s for sure, if it was even a cloak at all. He didn’t see any weapons, but there could be a small gun or knife concealed somewhere.

The creature moved its head. “Come now, do I really seem like much of a threat to you?” The voice seemed aged and hoarse, but somehow Aaron could just tell the man was grinning. Aaron doubted he wanted to see the state of this guy’s teeth.

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

The figure laughed. Aaron was caught off guard by the sudden outburst. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I was a general in the Clone Wars, after all.”

Great, this fucking dumbass thinks he’s a Jedi. Just what I need right now. Another crazy. Aaron leaned back against the wall, too tired to argue. “Right, right. I’m sure you were in all sorts of battles.”

“Oh yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I was in all sorts of battles. But the battles weren’t the good parts.”

“Oh, there were good parts, were there?” Aaron closed his eyes, trying not to think about why he was appeasing the crazy old man.

“Well, you wouldn’t remember. You’re a clone- you never knew us before the war.”

“’Us’ being the Jedi?”

“Why, yes!”

Aaron huffed. “Tell me, if you’re a Jedi, how come you haven’t killed me yet?”

“I should be asking that question. After all, you were the ones who started the massacre.” Aaron tensed. He didn’t like thinking about that time. “I mean in a fight between the two of us, you’re more likely to win considering the historical aspects.”

“Would you like to try and prove your theory?”

“Ah, you spent time with Master Plo, I see.”

Aaron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you think that?”

“Am I wrong?” The figure took his silence as affirmation. “He was a good friend of mine. But you are no wolf.”

The man might be crazy, but he knew at least something about the war. Aaron shrugged to himself. No harm in humoring an old man. “I was once. An injury turned me into a dog.”

“Ah, a Coruscant guard. Strange to see a lost pup all the way down here.”

Aaron snorted at the ‘lost pup’ comment. While a little humiliating, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “I could say the same thing for a Jedi.” As insane as the man was, he was entertaining and he hadn’t killed him yet and Aaron was tired and didn’t mind the company. With a start he realized this was probably the longest conversation he’d had with a sentient being in maybe years.

“If you want to know how I got down here, I’m afraid it’s a rather long, sad story.”

The two sat in silence for a moment.

“I thought you were just going to get into it.”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“You’ve practically dragged me into this conversation. I figured you were more than happy to continue doing so.”

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?”

“By all means, continue.”

The figure turned to him and for the first time Aaron noticed he hadn’t even been looking at the clone. “What is your name, child?”

Child? Though he supposed in standard years he’d only be in his twenties. “Aaron,” he answered quietly.

The figure bowed its head respectfully. “Very well, Aaron. If it a story you want, I will tell it. But it is not my own.”

Aaron huffed, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Kit’s eyes shot open. The first thing he noticed was the searing pain in his side. The second was that he was being pulled through the hallway by clones, thought they were not any clones he recognized. These were not the compassionate, valiant men he’d come to know the past five years; they were cold, impassive, and distant in a way that frightened the disoriented Jedi.

Yet he knew he couldn’t allow his fear to compound him. He drew in the Force and shoved the imposters into the distant wall, rendering them unconscious. Blearily, the Nautolan quickly assessed his surroundings. He was in the red hall connecting the Supreme Chancellor’s private study to his formal meeting office. The windows had been shattered and glass littered the far end of the room. In the distance the Jedi Temple was in flames.

In flames? It was then that Kit noticed the pain, not in his body, but in the air around him. It was suffocating, the screams of Jedi pouring into his lungs and drowning him. His world, so full of life and color, was suddenly empty. Nothing but fire remained. His heart wrenched as he felt desperately for someone, anyone. Looking back he could see the dark colors of the Chancellor’s study as well as too motionless robbed figures.

He brought his hand to his head, trying to shake away the darkness that clouded his mind. He could faintly remember going to confront Palpatine with Mace, Agen, and Saesee. Mournfully, Kit gazed at the bodies of what could only be his two friends, wondering if Mace had escaped. Clearly he hadn’t been successful, but Kit knew his friend better than to think Mace wouldn’t give his life before fleeing. Prodding gently with the Force, he could tell neither Master Kolar nor Master Tinn were alive. He dropped his head, despair washing over him. Just how many Jedi had fallen?

He shook his head. Now was not the time to grieve. He needed to focus on the present with the all the energy he could muster if he were to survive. He looked to the heaps of armored men. He’d need to be extra cautious if these were not the only imposters. It was unlikely they were.

He crawled out of the hall and into the lift, dragging himself up until he was limping heavily. The gash in his left side had cauterized, thankfully, but he sensed there was something darker within the core of the wound and he wouldn’t last long on his feet. Black spots had clouded his vision since he’d risen to a stand. Nonetheless, the stubborn Jedi refused to submit to his fate so easily. Not when he didn’t know who else was out there.

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. The hall of the Senate was absolute chaos. Essentially the lobby of the Senate building, the large “hall” was a giant room that took up the entire floor of the building, meant as a holding area for concerned citizens come to express their grievances to their designated representative. Though, due to both the extensive reach of the Galactic Senate, most systems had separate representatives to meet with the people. Of course, once the war started, it soon became impossible to not have at least one secondary representative. Even with the thousands that came pouring in everyday, the room was so massive that it was never completely filled.

Until now. The crowd was enormous. Kit had seen battalions smaller than this. Everyone- from senators to guards to servants to citizens to droids- all clamored about, scurrying in every direction, bumping into people. There were at least three separate fights as people knocked each other over in the hectic environment, growing violent in the bustling room. People were screaming in fear, getting trampled, exchanging what little information they had with others and demanding explanations from clones who were supposedly standing guard, though remaining stoic and eerily silent, not bothering to help the fallen or the injured, transfixed by some unknown presence within their own minds. Kit shuddered as he ducked past one, fortunate that the crowd managed to hide him from their sight. Luckily no one paid heed to the Jedi groping his way past them towards one of the lesser-known routes to a worker’s hangar.

The hangar was surprisingly empty considering the tumultuous circumstances. Kit hauled himself into a nondescript ship of average size, hoping to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He quickly made his way to the cockpit and collapsed in the pilot seat. With a start he realized he had no idea where to go.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t go to the temple. His very instincts were fighting against the desire to investigate the burning building that represented the center of the Jedi, but something even deeper within warned him of the dangers. If he went now, he would surely be going to his death. For all the despair dwelling in his heart, Kit thought mournfully, he wouldn’t mind death about now.

No. He shook the darkness away. He needed to stay alive- he didn’t know how many Jedi were remaining. If all the clones had indeed turned on them, Kit doubted many survived. With his list of enemies increasing drastically, he realized he wouldn’t be able to go to any Republic outposts, which severely limited his options. He cursed- as friendly as he was, he hadn’t exactly made many acquaintances outside the Republic.

Grimly, he set his course. He wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed, but he was at least halfway certain they wouldn’t kill him on sight.

He was headed home.

-

From space, Glee Anslem looked rather similar to the mineral chrysocolla, found on carbon based planets. The crystal blue water was luminescent even in the depths of the darkness of space, speckled with the occasional stretch of green land. Although it didn’t look inhabited, much less industrialized, the population of Nautolans were located mainly in underwater cities that served as focal points for trade and commerce throughout the Jalor sector. Yet their increased involvement with the Namadii Corridor had recently sprouted several minor cities and towns on land, causing territorial disputes with the Anselmi, who had problems of their own well before the intrusion of the amphibious species. The Jedi were likely to become involved, despite the mutual disdain for off-worlders held by both species, but the Clone Wars had taken up time usually meant for actually keeping the peace.

Nonetheless, Kit was able to easily locate one of the Nautolan cities and headed for the nearest dock, where the guards had already come to greet the unexpected arrival. Kit stumbled out of the ship, his arm pressing against his crudely wrapped bandages. He’d feared sleeping on the ship, not sure he would wake up, so he’d busied himself attempting to clean his wound. Unfortunately, Kit was far from a medic and all he seemed to be doing was making it hurt more by moving, so he stuck to trying to reach out with the Force to any Jedi stragglers. He grimaced. He knew he’d already pushed himself past his limits- the brief respite from action on the journey hadn’t done much to replenish his vigor. He was draining himself of the Force just trying to keep himself conscious, using more energy to push himself onwards in the past few hours than he’d probably used in the past month of the Clone Wars, and he was definitely feeling the impact.

The injured Jedi all but collapsed into one of the guard’s arms. The Nautolan discarded his spear, shooting his partner a wary look. “Are you alright?” he asked, returning to the stranger and pressing a hand gently yet firmly against his back to hold him steady. Kit took a moment to assess the two before him. The first guard’s amphibious skin was a light green, not dissimilar to the Jedi’s own color, while the second was a pale blue. Both were in Glee Anselm soldier garb, a uniform Kit had only before seen in pictures as he studied the culture of his homeworld from the distant Coruscant. Their torsos were bare and they had plain knee length shorts, since the ability to move freely was more necessary to a Nautolan warrior than protection, though they had armored tassets hooked to their belts and lightweight arm guards.

Kit flashed his teeth in a pearly grin. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Though if you were on your way to stopping by a medic, please don’t hold back on my account.”

The first guard huffed, amused by the stranger’s bitter humor. Yet the second nodded slightly to the stranger’s ruined robes and easily distinguishable weapon. “Who are you?” the blue one asked gruffly.

Kit’s dulled senses hadn’t picked up on the subtle communication between the two. Though thirty years of isolation granted him an excuse as to not being able to recognize the Nautolan’s meaningful eye contact, which was capable of conveying warnings and tidings much faster than verbally. “I’m Jedi Master Kit Fisto. I come from Glee Anselm. This is my home.”

The blue one stiffened. “You haven’t been able to call this home since you left for the temple, Jedi,” he spat.

“Drex!” the other snapped, instinctively tightening his grip protectively around the injured man, who tried not to wince at the pressure.

“Lerel, you heard what they did to the Jedi,” Drex hissed. “If the Republic finds out one of them is with us, they will crush us. It’s not like we need more enemies right now.”

Lerel looked at the man in his arms, who’d gone completely silent, his eyes distant. Lerel could sense the emotion radiating off the Jedi in waves. He didn’t need pheromone-sensing headtails to know he was thinking about the massacre. He frowned resolutely. “He was one of us before he was one of them. We’re taking him to Aki’s.”

Drex grimaced before helping his friend carry the man to the local medic.

-

Kit Fisto, like the others in his species, was more than accustomed to being underwater. Their gill-like structures on the sides of their heads paired with their humanoid lungs made for a distinguished class of amphibians highly evolved to accommodate the bodily needs to survive on both land and water. No amount of time spent on land could change that. Kit Fisto was a Nautolan through and through.

That didn’t mean it was any less of a shock when he woke up several hundred feet underwater. The Jedi’s eyes shot open and he seized out of bed, floating up a few inches, subconsciously gasping for breath. The sudden movement sent a searing pain running up his side and he cursed admittedly loudly.

Before he could bring his hand to the offending area, a strong grip quickly grabbed his wrist. Kit didn’t have a chance to register what was happening before he flung the assailant across the room. Physics didn’t work quite the same underwater, but it still worked. Kit jolted up, flailing his limbs in a failed attempt to escape, still not accustomed to the sudden adjustment of moving underwater.

Suddenly more hands wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him to the bed. “Get him down! Get him down!” He didn’t register the panicked shouts. “Be careful! Sedate him if you have to!” Kit thrashed against the clutches of the restrainers, his hands curled into fists and kicking wildly. There was only one part of his mind that was awake and aware: escape.

“Don’t antagonize him!” the command was sharp and clear from across the room. Instantly the grasp relaxed on his limbs, though still firm. Kit blinked, the dreary haze clearing from his mind as he began taking in his surroundings. The two guards from before were holding him down gently, as well as three others. When he looked up at them, they seemed to sense his lucidity that his moment of madness had passed. The one he remembered as Lerel looked down at him and smiled comfortingly. Kit looked towards the Nautolan he’d thrown to the side- the one who’d ordered the men to stand down. Her skin was a pale orange and she was in medic garb. The standard Nautolan base clothing was paired with what resembled what could only be a lab coat or something to that effect.

She grabbed her tablet and came to his bedside, looking down with large, prodding eyes. “Do you know where you are?” Her voice was low and somehow soothing despite its detached clarity.

He opened his mouth to speak. He had a general idea of where he was, but he didn’t know exactly where-

“Nod your head yes or no,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He blinked before shaking his head no. She raised an eyebrow and tapped her screen.

“Do you remember coming here?” A hesitant nod.

“Do you remember what happened before coming here?” He grimaced before shaking his head.

Her gaze softened. She nodded curtly to the guards, who backed off. Kit noticed they were still within arms reach should the Jedi try anything. “You’re Kit Fisto?” He nodded warily. “You’ve been here three weeks. After your unanticipated appearance on the docks, Drex and Lerel brought you to me and you’ve been in a sort of coma ever since. I’m Doctor Aki. I’ve cleaned and bandaged your wounds. You’ve already begun the healing process, which is amplified by your Force-sensitivity. Er, so I’ve read. Anyway, the cut, which is presumably by a lightsaber, didn’t cut through any major arteries or organs, but I’m afraid we’ll need fibronetting to secure some of the areas around the wound just to be safe. It’s the nerve damage that concerns me. We’ll be doing routine tests for the next four to six months to make sure your left leg isn’t experiencing any problems. We need to be careful; any strenuous activity could lead to further disruption of connection between synapses, which we wouldn’t be able to fix. In the meantime, I’d suggest-“

“Are there others?” Kit had always prided himself on being patient in hospitals, especially compared to his fellow Jedi who generally detested med bays as a rule, but he found the doctor’s astute prognosis to be taking a rather long time.

Dr. Aki frowned and checked her charts. “There weren’t any other wounds that I’m aware of, other than some superficial bruises and scratching-“

“Are there other Jedi? Did any others survive?” He chided himself for being so harsh. The medic’s shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly and none of the guards would meet his eyes. He looked at her desperately. “Did any others survive?” he repeated.

“Not that I know of,” she spoke softly. He rested his head against the pillow and shut his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry. The Jedi have been deemed traitors by Chancellor-“

“Emperor,” a guard coughed.

“-Palpatine. The senate is putting up a reward for all remaining Jedi who survived Order 66.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me yet?” Kit asked through gritted teeth. No one survived? He was painfully aware of the guards’ stares. He hated mourning in front of an audience.

Before the doctor would respond, Lerel spoke up. “You’re a Nautolan. You’re one of us. You always have been and you always will be. We protect our own.”

Kit felt his emotions bubbling to the surface. Grief, that he was the only survivor. Relief, that at least he was safe for now. Guilt, he should have died alongside his family instead of leaving them to die. Shock, as he realized for perhaps the first time that he’d never see his loved ones again. Shame, for being so selfish as to feel such pain for their deaths instead of rejoicing their reunion with the Force.

Anger, at everyone responsible for this.

“But it’s not up to us what to do with you,” Dr. Aki broke his disturbing chain of thoughts. “The elders will decide whether to keep you here. But they don’t want to risk the wrath of the Empire.” Kit winced. He realized coming here endangered whoever housed him, but he had nowhere else to go. The medic began unwrapping his bandages and checking his wound. He was in no state to leave on his own. But how could he accept the Nautolans’ kindness knowing what would happen should the Jedi be discovered?

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

-

The Council of Elders had been a form of authority long before the Republic had decreed mandatory senatorial representation from its territories. Each notable region would elect and send their most well-respected elder, who either achieved such esteemed recognition through wisdom or battle, where they would debate the needs of the people with the morals of the land in order to create various treaties, legislative decrees, and other major decisions involving the wellbeing of the underwater inhabitants of Glee Anselm.

The reappearance of Kit Fisto was certainly a point of interest among the elders. With the bounty out on all Jedi, harboring the fugitive was certainly dangerous, but the tightly bound nature of Nautolans refused to accept discarding the friendless man. Nautolans were cautious around outsiders as a rule, so an offworld entity demanding the exile of one of their own was not something the elders would normally consider. However, the looming threat of the Intergalactic Senate was not something to be taken lightly. If Master Fisto was discovered, the Empire would not be forgiving to the secretive species. With increased aggression from the Anslemi, the last thing the Nautolans needed was another war.

The heated arguments weighing the consequences of either action would continue for quite some time, though they’d at last come to one decision: they would not kill the Jedi. Which Kit supposed he should be grateful for.

The Jedi’s arrival had been kept a secret for precautionary reasons, but, as is the norm with close-knit communities, everyone in the city quickly knew. Information was limited, but spread like wildfire on the Jedi’s circumstances. Some said it was just the remains of the Jedi smuggled from the massacre on Coruscant. It was also rumored the Jedi was secretly training others to fight against the Empire. It was even claimed that the Jedi had bewitched the medic and was holding her hostage until he got what he wanted. Nonetheless, people found themselves paying close attention to Dr. Aki’s for the next few months.

Kit was restless. Even after over two weeks of being fully conscious, Aki wouldn’t let him do anything requiring any physical exertion whatsoever. The most he could get away with was swimming aimlessly around his room. It wasn’t until the elders finally made their decision that he was allowed to go to other parts of the hospital. It was when Kit was allowed visitors that he finally realized why Aki was so desperate to keep him separated.

Eventually, after the initial swath of curious citizens got their first look at the real-life Jedi, the guards decided to filter out the majority of the adoringly pestilent visitors and well-wishers. Kit was surprised at the sheer amount of cards and flowers he was sent. Although he’d had his fair share of admirers, he hadn’t had such direct gestures of veneration. Nonetheless, he was more than appreciative of the guards preventing the avid enthusiasts from harassing him constantly.

However, he’d rather face one hundred zealous supporters than the far less cheerful visitors the guards allowed inside. Two families had come to see the Jedi to ask about their sons, who had been taken to the temple as well. Kit knew they just wanted a little information- nothing any parent wouldn’t want from their child. After all, the temple rarely reconnected with the parents, even to inform them of death. But that left the Master woefully unprepared to deliver the frightful news.

Knox’s family came first. The father and mother were clinging to each other with a desperation that made Kit’s heart long for something akin to that kind of companionship- the sort of craving a Jedi only gets after seeing what kind of life they could have led. The family’s remaining child shadowed them closely, though he could no longer be considered a child. He was at least a foot taller than his father and his defined features and odd birthmarks reminded Kit painfully of Knox. His news was undeniably easier to handle, since Kit actually knew with absolute certainty the poor Padawan’s fate.

Kit stood up at the sight of the family huddled together. “Ex-excuse me,” the mother choked back her sob. “Master Fisto?”

Kit nodded solemnly. Easier or not, this would still be difficult.

“I’m Jerra and this is my husband, Reynar, and our eldest son, Oden. Our boy Knox was taken to the temple nineteen years ago. Tell me, have you seen our son?” she asked. She laughed softly, though he suspected it was only to keep herself from crying. “I’m sorry. I know we can’t expect you to know every Jedi in the temple, but I figured since he was a Nautolan-“

“It’s alright, ma’am.” Kit raised his hand. “I knew your son.”

The mother stared at him, her wide eyes filled with hope Kit couldn’t bare to see. Her husband’s grip on her waist grew tighter. Oden scowled darkly at his parents. “See, he’s dead, just like we thought.”

Reynar glanced back at his son, sputtering, “We don’t know that.”

“He said he knew Knox. There’s no point in false hope, father.”

Kit tentatively reached out with the Force, calming the eldest son. His pheromone sensing was heightened underwater, but he found it cruel to practice his untrained skills on the grieving family. Either way, he could sense the Oden was just taking out his sorrows on his parents. “I’m so sorry,” he affirmed. “But your son died a few years before the Empire.”

Jerra gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “What?” she managed, her breathing coming in rapid pants. Her husband’s knuckled paled where he clutched her, his lip quivering.

“He was on a mission defending a temple on Deveron during the Clone Wars. A manic Zabrak attacked. His body was burned at the temple and he was given many honors-“

“Who cares what honors he was given in death? He’s dead!” Reynar snapped. “Where was his master? Where was his master to protect him from that?”

“Master Halsey died defending your son, on that I can assure you.” He reached for the family, attempting to comfort them.

They flinched away from the Jedi, the two parents retreating back into the hallway, sobbing at the loss of their son. Oden didn’t look up from his feet, but he stayed in the room. “What was he like?” he asked at last.

Kit smiled softly. “He was a sweet boy. He was very protective of others- more so than the other Padawans. And he loved to learn. I don’t think he was tardy to a single class, not even astro-chart readings.”

“How do you know?” he asked quietly.

“I spoke to him every so often. It can be difficult for the less humanoid younglings in the crèche, so I’ve been sort of looking out for him.”

Oden nodded slowly, a sad smile forming from his tired features. “You know, I always wanted a little brother.” His confession was little more than a whisper. Kit found himself at a loss for words as the child- even if he was twenty, he was still a child- followed his parents out the door.

Kit returned to his bed, emotionally exhausted by the encounter. The Jedi had taken away their child without any attempt to ease their pain. Kit had always assumed the parents gladly gave up their children, not stopping to consider the repercussions of losing a child. Even if they were still alive, the children were lost to the parents; they had no way of contacting their family and were shunned from asking too many questions. What kind of cult would rip away a baby from its mother’s arms?

Before he’d never questioned the sanctity of the Jedi. They were right, and that was that. But lately he found himself evaluating the decisions that led to their downfall. The Jedi took children from all over the galaxy and raised them to be peaceful warriors destined to die on some distant planet far from anything they’d had a chance to call home. They fought fights that weren’t theirs, even long before the events of the Clone Wars.

Kit had always been told that the purpose of the Jedi was to establish order and maintain peace in a galaxy ravaged by chaos and other elements of the dark- the tendrils of lust and greed and wrath and gluttony had twisted itself into the minds of susceptible being everywhere, calling for the aid of the Jedi just by showing weakness to such evil. Yet none of these sins were lost upon the so-called purity of the Jedi. By claiming moral superiority over all living things, what else could the Council be but arrogant?

His troubling thoughts were interrupted as the doctor came in to check on him.

A few days later, he received a visit from another anxious family. Zatt’s family was admittedly large, which only seemed to make the news worse, as so many more ears had to hear it. Other than the mother and the father, there were four other children; the oldest seemed to be about seventeen and the youngest couldn’t have been older than twelve.

“I’m Berut,” the woman introduced herself, her arms wrapped protectively around her children. She was much calmer than Jerra, presumably for her kids’ sakes.

“I’m Knin,” the father seemed like he was going to shake hands, but thought better of it. He pointed to his children from shortest to tallest. “This is Fip, Rhirru, Yat, and Fresseh.”

“But we came to ask you about our other child. Zatt? He would’ve been a year younger than Fip, here,” Berut asked. Although her demeanor was serene than the disorderly sorrow from Jerra, the same desperation was still in her eyes. Kit found that eyes were another means of communication that came naturally to Nautolans, but he had yet to refine his skill.

“Yes, I remember him. He was sweet and charming. He loved those datapads of his,” Kit chuckled lightly, remembering numerous separate occasions where the little Nautolan would run into walls or other people in the halls with his nose stuck to his screen and wrist-deep in mechanical grime. “He was smart, that one.”

Berut nodded. “So he’s gone, then?”

Kit grimaced. “In all likelihood. He was in the temple when the clones attacked.”

“Is there any chance he could have escaped?” the father asked despairingly. He was less successful at keeping up appearances.

“I- I do not want to give you hope where there is none.”

The parents nodded in unison, quietly containing their devastation. One of the children, Rhirru, piped up. “Was he happy?”

The Jedi was caught off guard by the question. “Yes,” he reasoned. “He had friends and a family. He was happy.”

“I thought we were his family,” Fip looked up at his mother. Berut hushed the child and ushered them out of the room, turning back to give Kit one final nod of thanks.

Was he happy? Were any of them happy? Kit struggled with the query. Of course they were happy. They led very satisfying lives; they dedicated everything to helping others. They lived surrounded by their friends and people who could sympathize and empathize with them. Due to their strict moral code, nothing controversial was accepted, so there was no possibility of real opposition. They had what were essentially superpowers. They lived ultimately peacefully, defined by the way their lives affected those around them. That was surely happiness.

But were they given a choice otherwise? Their entire lives were dictated by a creed dating back before even the eldest could remember; anything beyond that was forbidden. For all the glory or humility in the world, they had to keep vigil and watch as people outside their little bubble led their lives and truly, truly lived. They suffered through love and loss and failure and favor. Yet the Jedi weren’t allowed any of that. They were told, under no exceptions, to completely bind themselves to their duty until the line between idea and man had become blurred beyond perception.

The most alive Kit had ever felt was with Nahdar  and the secret love he’d harbored for the boy. Not every master felt such patriarchal affection for their padawan, but Kit knew he certainly did. And until Nahdar ’s death, Kit hadn’t known true pain. Certainly he’d gone through physical suffering, but that was nothing compared to the agonizing loss of what he considered to be his child. Yet, for all that despair and wretchedness, Kit wouldn’t trade all of those moments of bliss and serenity for anything in the galaxy. Perhaps what he’d been told was happiness all this time was nothing but ignorance. Perhaps true happiness lie in the forbidden- in love.

Kit was once again roused from his thoughts by the medic. Dr. Akri poked and prodded at the oddly silent Jedi. Over the past few weeks, Akri had grown rather accustomed to the patient’s near constant chatter. She frowned down at the man as she changed his bandages. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

The Jedi took a moment before responding, running a hand over his face and blinking rapidly. “Why are all the Jedi the youngest children?”

Dr. Akri looked down at him. “I imagine giving a child away and never seeing it again is no different than losing one. There’s rarely a recovery for that.”

Kit shut his eyes for a moment before gazing back up at the doctor, whose brow had furrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, returning to her datapad. “It’s just curious how you blink. Nautolans don’t usually blink. In some parts of the galaxy it’s debated that we even have eyelids. But I suppose it’s a cultural habit you picked up on Coruscant.”

Kit exhaled. “It’s ridiculous that I’m estranged from my own people. I have to relearn my own culture, my own identity. I hadn’t even noticed that’s why people have been looking at me funny until now.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she chuckled. “That’s not the only reason people are looking at you funny.”

He shot her a look, which only made her look even more smug. He rolled his eyes.

-

The doctor was accompanied by Lerel and Drex on her next visit. Kit frowned and sat up, sensing something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

Dr. Akri sighed. “The elders haven’t been able to come to a decision. Senator Darsana won’t hear any more arguments. He’s coming from Coruscant to assess the situation himself and hopefully spur the elders into a more authoritative roll.”

“So he’s coming to kick me out?”

“No,” Lerel said, his comforting grin firmly in place. With a start, Kit realized he used to grin just like that not so long ago. “He’s just coming to put more pressure on the elders.”

“That being said,” Drex added with a friendly smirk, “try not to get on his bad side. It wouldn’t hurt for him to like you. It’d make our job a lot easier.”

“And what’s your job?”

“To protect you.” Drex stated confidently.

The Jedi blinked, causing Dr. Akri to laugh. A knock on the door disrupted the four and another guard swam into the room. “You have a visitor, Master Fisto.”

Dr. Akri nodded to Kit as they left the room, passing a woman holding a curious bundle in her arms. The female Nautolan was petite- smaller than most women he’d seen here. Her robes were weathered and cheap, clearly from years of wear. “Master Fisto?” Her voice was high and nearly shaking. He could sense the anxiety coming off of her in waves.

“What is it?”

“My name is Arcaena. I need your help.” He hadn’t even recognized the third life form in the room until a split second before she revealed the contents of the blanket.

It was a baby. A beautiful baby boy with almost iridescent blue skin. Kit sensed something different about the boy and, with a start, realized the child was Force sensitive. He looked at the woman in astonishment. Did she know the risks of bringing the child here?

Of course she did, he realized, that’s why she’s here.

“Please, I need your help. You need to take this baby.”

Kit was startled. “What?”

“Please, I can’t take care of him. You need to protect him.” Her eyes were watering. “Please. The father is gone and I don’t know what else to do. They’ll find him and they’ll hurt him, I know this in my heart. He’s too strong for me. They’re too strong for me. Please. You’re a Jedi; he’s one of you!

He found himself at a loss. Her emotional tirade seemed genuine, as did her helplessness. “I- I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Take him,” she urged, thrusting the baby towards him.

-

Kit had turned away, saying he needed time to think about it. The woman had given him on last desperate look before leaving him alone. How could she want to give away her own child? He swept a hand over his face. She had never even referred to the child by his name. He couldn’t believe that a mother could really hate her child, but he believed that a mother could fear him.

It occurred to him that Arcaena must love her child immensely to be willing to give him up for his own safety. She viewed herself as weak and incapable of handling such a responsibility. Then again, it was rare for a Force sensitive child grew up outside the realm of the Jedi temple. She had every right to be scared, especially with the rumored Jedi hunters relentlessly searching the galaxy for any stragglers. The news of the hunters came as both a blessing and a curse: there were enough survivors to warrant special operatives, but these hunters were likely highly trained and ruthless unlike anything they’d ever seen before. It takes more than strength to kill a Jedi- it takes cunning. Kit’s own experiences with sadistic bounty hunters led him to believe it wouldn’t be long before the Jedi’s already painfully low numbers dwindled down to nothing.

Kit shuddered to think what would happen to a child that was found- likely something far worse than death. Force sensitive children had always been coveted, especially for slavers and other traffickers. But he doubted the Empire would be so merciful. His thoughts dwelled on Maul, who he knew spent his adolescence tortured beyond all imagining to keep him firmly in the clutches of evil. For all the wrongs the Jedi had done, at least they had not tormented children, he thought. Manipulated and sent off to war? Yes. But not this.

Kit’s musings were cut short by a curt knock on the door. Kit rose as guards lined the room, eyeing them cautiously- these were not the guards he had grown accustomed to and he couldn’t see Lerel or Drex anywhere. No, these were more than just your average soldiers. Unlike the regular city guards, these had chest plates and helms, designed for maximum protection. It didn’t take Kit long to figure out that this wasn’t for fighting- it was for defense. Should the object under their care come under fire, it was these men who would throw themselves at the danger, sacrificing themselves. It didn’t take a Jedi to figure out what kind of rank would be deserving of such dedication.

“Senator Darsana,” the Jedi bowed respectfully, risking a glance up at his new visitor.

A far cry from the rags that clung to the begging mother, the Anselmi was adorned with fanciful clothing. Despite the uncomfortable material needed to make the outfit waterproof and pressurized, the suit had a discreet elegance fitting for a royal senator. The only thing that really threw off the look was the rather large helmet allowing the much more human-like humanoid to breath underwater, though he supposed that couldn’t be helped. Through the glass, Kit could see the Anselmi features: large dark spots peppering the edges of the face in an almost reptilian pattern, the sporadic patches of muted feathers indicative of a stressful daily process, the dark small eyes bereft of the emotion that was so blatantly obvious in the Nautolans’, the nose slits humming dutifully and the thin mouth pursed into something not quite resembling a frown. Kit grimaced when he realized the whole Jedi situation was probably doing a little to dampen his mood.

“Master Jedi.” The Anselmi were known to have liquid voices. Kit would’ve thought liquid voices underwater wouldn’t sound as nice as it did, but the soothing drone was nearly enough to disarm the Jedi. “I’m pleased to finally meet you at last. I must admit we’ve been somewhat following your exploits since you left us all those years ago. We’re proud that such a mighty warrior has come from our world.”

Kit put on a nice smile, preparing himself for the tedium of politics. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”

There was a glimmer in the Senator’s eye. “An honor to be a warrior, to be watched, or to hail from here?” Kit blinked stupidly. Darsana chuckled, bringing his elongated fingers to tap on his own shoulder, his elbow resting on his arm. “Tell me, Master Fisto, what brought you to our humble star system after the fall of the Jedi?”

Kit repressed a gulp, but still found himself appreciative of the man’s directness. “I had nowhere else to go,” he admitted. “Nowhere else to go but home.”

The Anselmi nodded thoughtfully and began pacing the room slowly. “You’ve brought a great danger to my people by coming here. It’s not a secret that relations between the Nautolans and the Anselmi are tense right now. The last thing we need is unwanted attention from the Empire.”

“So it is unwanted?”

“While we could easily agree that any attention from fascists is unwanted, I’m afraid the safety of the people is worth more than any petty personal vendetta I may have, don’t you agree?”

Kit flushed, embarrassed that his sorry excuse for a negotiating strategy had been found out so quickly. He’d hoped to rely on the senator’s well-known spite for the chancellor, now emperor, as a way to weasel his way into the senator’s good favor. He cursed himself for not listening more closely to Kenobi’s prattling on the intricacies of rhetoric. Instead he realized this meeting would be safer as a one-way conversation. “Yes,” he said stiffly.

“Should the Empire get word of your presence, they would no doubt bring a swift and destructive end to your residence, which would certainly end in collateral damage. The Republic has never been known for its discretion in such matters and I’m afraid the brutality has only increased with the transformation into a much more regimented regime.”

“Yes, sir,” Kit thought of the innocent casualties suffered at the hands of Republic troops, including his own, in the past five years. The cries of dying children echoed through his mind.

“As much as I pity your position, you must do well to understand ours. I’m afraid we can’t have you here without endangering the lives of our people.”

“I understand.” Kit understood more than the senator could ever know.

“My hands are tied. The fact is, I swore an oath to the Republic.”

“So did I.”

The senator paused and Kit noticed for the first time that he seemed genuinely concerned for him. “I’m sorry we can’t do more. Ultimately it is up to the elders to decide, but I will ensure that they at least allow you to remain until your wounds have fully healed.”

Kit subconsciously pressed his hand to his side. “And if they decided I would stay longer?”

Darsana sighed and reached to scratch his neck, startled when his hand thudded lightly against the glass helmet. “I’d present your case to the senate and, should it come to that, we’d gather our warriors and prepare for invasion.”

Kit was silent as the senator nodded respectfully and left the room, his entourage not two steps behind.

-

They would not survive a war, Kit thought, looking out his window at the glowing depths of the city. The fact that his staying was still a debate was proof enough that there were those willing to fight and die for him. At least one or more of the elders were adamant about him remaining and would give up Glee Anselm’s fairly pacifistic ideals in order to protect him.

Kit couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t just sit back and watch as these wonderful, colorful, benevolent people threw their lives away for him. Even beyond the code of the Jedi, that was just something that Kit wouldn’t consider from a moral standpoint. He’d grown up his entire life knowing he would die to protect those in need. What kind of hypocrite would he be if he allowed these people to sacrifice themselves for him?

Of course, Kit wasn’t so selfish as to think this was all about him. The authoritative totalitarian government the Republic turned into had cast doubts in the mind of every free star system. Whispers of a Rebel alliance growing to oppose the looming evil of the Empire were suddenly solidified as reports of increased attacks on trooper convoys and Imperial outposts trickled in from around the galaxy. Raids far too numerous for the standard pillaging of pirates could only mean the rise of some league of insurgencies to combat the toxic spread of the Emperor’s curling fingers. More and more star systems were secretly aligning themselves with the traitors, giving more validity to the defense of any remaining Jedi.

Of course, what were the Jedi? What were they other than reminders of a broken past? The Jedi, for all their esteem and regard, were nothing compared to the lengths of the mistakes they made. Over the weeks Kit had spent on Glee Anselm, observing real people and real places, he realized just how much had been taken from him. His chance at real life had been stripped, as had all the others who were so easily deceived by the cunning lies set up by the Jedi. Yet after generation upon generation of practitioners, was it even a lie anymore? The empty promises of peace and prosperity had their own merit merely by surviving for the centuries that it did. The vibrance and joy they had all sworn to uphold was nothing but a dull throbbing of mutilated abstention. How could Kit blame the Council for merely abiding by the only lie they’d ever known?

Did that allow Kit to continue the cycle? Kit was barely a knight himself before he’d taken on young Nahdar as his padawan. The headstrong little runt was so full of life and energy. He would’ve given anything to see what he would have become without the binding tenants of the Jedi. The Mon Calamari pupil was so eager to please; there was nothing he wanted more than to gratify his master. It was that determined altruism that led to his downfall.

Kit hadn’t been able to teach him how to deal with the pressure of concealing his emotions. Instead, Nahdar became an unstable deity susceptible to eruptions of anger stemming from his own inability to suppress his unimaginable powers. With so much pure vitality and no outlet, Nahdar became yet another victim of the Jedi’s cruel inadequacies.  He couldn’t do that to another child. He wouldn’t.

He thought of Arcaena and the boy she’d do anything but live for. As the baby grew into his powers, it would begin drawing more attention. Arcaena would live in fear of the day the Empire would find them and take her child away. Eventually the mother would grow wary of strangers’ glances, suspicious of everyone and everything that showed the merest hint of curiosity in the boy. At last, overwhelmed by the claustrophobic weight of eyes on her and her son, she’d leave. She’d gather up her minimalist resources and travel throughout the galaxy, slowly selling herself away to care for the pair. They’d be hunted relentlessly. The child, as he grew up, would live to see his mother’s misery and would blame himself for it, going so far as wishing death upon himself if it would ease her suffering. He’d do everything he could to help her, but she wouldn’t allow it. His exposure left too much up to chance; if he was found, she would lose everything. He was all she had left. She was all he ever knew. So she continued killing herself to keep them afloat and he would wait out his days in little more than a prison, hiding from the world. His capture would be inevitable. They would find him and rip him from his mother’s grasp. It wouldn’t matter if they killed her- she was dead anyway. In truth, she had died long ago. Only the love for her son was keeping her together, like a thin thread holding a ruined tapestry. His loss would devastate her beyond all imagining. Whether they killed him or forced him into becoming something far worse, she’d be left to suffer a fate worse than death.

Knowing all his, Kit couldn’t bring himself to take the child. He may be wrong by not accepting the responsibility, but he wouldn’t be making the same mistakes he’d made in the past. He wouldn’t ruin a child’s life by subjugating him to the one he had. Not anymore.

His decision was made. Late at night, he gathered up a few basic materials and snuck out of the hospital. He ran to one of the docking ports and boarded a ship, stealing away before anyone could know he was missing. Kit hesitated as he thought of Dr. Akri and Drex and Lerel and all the other friends he had made here. He shook his head and clasped the controls resolutely. He wouldn’t allow people to suffer because of him any longer. He wouldn’t give them that choice.

He didn’t know where he would go, but it would be far away from here.

Aaron opened his eyes at the man’s silence. “Is that it?” he asked, unwilling to admit that he’d wanted an ending with a little more closure than that.

The figure turned his head to face the clone. “No, I suppose not. But it’s getting late and you have regained your strength.”

Aaron stood up, grimacing and clutching his ribs. He contemplated for a moment. “Why did you tell me this?”

The figure shrugged. “You don’t seem that different from Kit, to me.” He chuckled as Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Come now, it’s just a story. Just a silly old story some poor sop on the street made up.”

Aaron scowled. “Why?”

“A man once said to me, ‘You don’t know real loss until you love something more than yourself.’ Neither of us knew at the time that I loved everything more than myself because I was undeserving of love. I grew up in a world where I meant nothing. That was all I knew. So when I lost my world, I lost everything that I thought had meaning. But in reality, I still had the most important thing in the galaxy: myself. The world doesn’t end just because you die. Why should you end just because the world dies? I had the ability to breathe love into a new reality, and, after many years of trying to remember how, I did. Oh, I did.” The hooded figure, despite the shadows concealing his face, still managed to stare directly at the clone. “We are not so different, you and I. We are so much more than what we were told. We are so much more than our maker.”

Aaron found himself getting frustrated at the man’s remarks. All his life he’d been told he was worth nothing, that he was just a number. If he lost the only thing that he’d ever known, the only thing he’d identified with, he was nothing. He may be a sorry excuse for an absconder, but at least he still had that much. Angrily, he spat at the ground beneath the tattered figure and stormed off, determined to find his way home.

He was nothing. He was nothing.

He’d never been told differently.

He’d always taken that mantra with a grain of salt. As he fought alongside his brothers defending the innocent and fighting for the righteous, he knew that, with them, he was more than a number. He was a part of something good and glorious, and that made him at least part good and glorious. He’d always thought that. But when he woke up from that horrible trance all those years ago to find the horrors he’d done, he finally believed them. He was a tool. A pathetic little manipulated pawn created for the sole purpose of being used in a millennia-old feud that had nothing to do with him. He was insignificant. None of anything he’d done in his entire life had any meaning or purpose. He believed that.

-

The next day the old Jedi woke up. Of course, it was impossible to tell what day it was so deep in the Underworld, but Kit liked to think he could tell when the sun rose. He smiled as a grimy little loth cat bounded up to him. He admired the undeterred vigor of the creature. No matter what traumas it had suffered through, it still managed to look up at him with those hopeful eyes. He smirked as the loth cat’s purrs as he began scratching its striped back.

Suddenly, it bounded away. The Nautolan grinned. “Back for another story?”

For the first time in years, Aaron smiled. “Maybe just one more.”

Another ooc post

Like I said sometimes even if you have a good job it has its bad days and boy a couple days ago wasn’t exactly a good one. It honestly was fine til another shift supervisor came in. I don’t particularly like this shift mainly because when she wasn’t one, all she did was talk shit, complain about everyone and say how we aren’t doing our jobs right and nit picks everything, and heck even combats customers on things that honestly My company won’t back up because they prefer happy customers over mad ones (I’m pretty much the same to a degree, it’s still a business afterall) anywho she comes in, talks with our manager for literally 30 minutes(she came in when I started my lunch) guess it was about how no one listened to her, on Monday when our DM came in. And they were goofing off instead of working, and that she’s probably gonna step down because no one wants to listen to her. Honestly, I’m glad if she does because the whole time she’s been a shift supervisor, she doesn’t want to be the one in charge and always passes it back to the other supervisor on duty. And when she does, she’s incredibly unorganized and rude and very upset if things aren’t going to according to plan. Like one time one of our machines shut down and she’s freaking out calling all the managers and our stores manager. She’s forgotten my breaks multiple times and does not respect other people. If she doesn’t like you, she’s very rude and over the top for no reason. She’s jumped down people’s throats about goofing off and wandering off but this chick literally goes and talks with old friends for god knows how long and then wants to take her 10. Anywho leading into the fact she spent all that time trying to take digs like telling me to clean up my mess when she leaves them constantly. She has the nerve to tell me when I ask her as I’m about to leave what can I do(we have to do a task before we leave). She’s all “well I’m keeping you longer because so and so went to go get stuff from another store” I’m like “um I’m off at 1” she’s all “well is there anyone coming in at 1? Can you check.” “There’s no one coming in at 1 but I’m off at 1” “well we’re gonna need to keep you then cause it’s us 2” at this point I’m irritated. “No I’m leaving at 1, I have things to do and can’t stay” she’s all “ you can’t stay for at least 5 minutes” “no” she’s all pissed and goes to the back to talk shit to our manager. (Mind you if it was that busy she can ask our manager to come out and help) i basically didn’t care because even if she did complain my manager can’t make me stay. So she basically was pissy for nothing I snuck back there and she’s all talking about how she has a higher work ethic then all of us. um what work ethic? she NEVER stay to close when someone calls out. She NEVER wants to be the one in charge and when she is, she’s terrible. What’s worst is she tries to be your friend and talks hella shit about you. Honestly as someone who’s been a manager, it’s all about your actions and how you say things. I get how frustrating it is, when someone can’t stay longer but at the same time. There life does not revolve around their job. I’ve had to learn that a lot from working, I’m tired of being guilted into staying. If I want to stay cause I feel I can and it’ll help then sure, but the fact you couldn’t have least asked and been respectful about it, then no I can’t stay 5 minutes, I need to get my stuff and DIP. It’s life, and if it’s rough after I leave it’s rough. But it was slow, she can STOP what she’s doing (that’s why she wanted me to stay so she can finish what she was working on) and finish it when so and do returns, I’m sorry that they didn’t think the timing wasn’t off. I have pulled doubles, split shifts, worked at other stores to give my support. She has done none of this but work at her old store to close for them and that honestly speaks volumes on how she is. She always says she doesn’t know how to close at our store that’s why she doesn’t. But it’s not hard to learn. It’s just different. Shes such a brat and I honestly hope she steps down and finds another job cause this is not the job for her. At all. She did this to my other coworker saying she can’t leave if so and so doesn’t show up. Sorry bitch you can’t keep me. Lord. Also another btw; it was literally 7 minutes after I was off (my manager was asking when I wanted to start some training, and had to get all of my stuff together) and so and so wasn’t back and didn’t get back til later than that. So no bitch 5 minutes I technically couldn’t of spared 🙄

We did something off late…. And it’s hurting us

(Two years’ worth of learning and updates in less than 15 minutes)

It’s unbearably hawwtt these days! No doubt bow dah. And as much as we hate to say it, but summer brings brisk business – at least in the home services industry – owing to the increased demand for all types of repair related cases. So you know summer is good time for business. And cousin – business is a booming!

In an industry where people have perpetually relied on local technicians to meet their home services needs, we are beginning to witness an inflection point. More and more urban/ suburban, inner city and connected peripheral areas are coming online to find home services. After the (relatively) mainstream-ization of cabs, food, and ecommerce like industries, it was about time the highly unorganized, fragmented, good-for-nothing services industry fell in line. People have had enough of its inefficiencies. And it was time it needed to be standardized. To be honest, that mean, toolkit, plying, wrenched, inefficient piece of sheet had it coming for a while. 😠😡😡

Deep breathe inhale….exhale. Aaaaahh…!! It’s okay, I’m fine now. Phooooff…!!

Anyway, so I wanted to tell you about this little update we rolled out few weeks ago. And the update is .…. MR. RIGHT IS LAUNCHING IN LONDON, DUBAI, and SINGAPORE.

Errrr….. not really. Not quite yet.

Yes, it’s something we’re working towards but in order to be able to do that, we need to identify and fix the core problems of our case fulfillment system. In order to be a scalable business, we need to build a product that can automatically complete the entire case cycle i.e. book, assign, remind, update status, bill, and close the case. – All by itself. No manual intervention.

It’s not only how we intend to move towards complete automation, but also how we intend to stay lean and small. We are (still) a team of 12 people who are technology focused and trying to find the most efficient ways to solve the challenges of home services industry.

So, coming back to the “update” I’ve been hinting at so far – it’s COMPLETE AUTOMATION.

Yes, complete automation is the real deal. Automation helps:

Cut cost – by eliminating the need for a call-center like team to manually oversee your day-to-day operations

Minimize inefficiencies – By removing manual intervention during case assignments and follow ups

Scale your business – Obviously

Avoid laying people off to cut cost before eventually running out of money – and business

Well, as awesome and easy it may seem to read; reality is twice as cruel and challenging to crack. But as one to not give up, I’ll share how we intend to get there and the developments we’ve made so far.

What's hurting Mr. Right?

This sentimental and gripping movie is about a regular guy taking care of his family after the unfortunate death of his father. But then one day he meets som….

Voice: Dude, are you thick??? You were supposed to write about what’s hurting Mr. Right? Instead, you’re writing about the movie “What’s eating Gilbert Grape”?

Me: Of course I know. What do you think I’ve been doing? I was just checking if the readers are still paying attention.

Voice: I’m watching you gimp boy.

Me: 

What's eating Gilb (darnit), What’s hurting Mr. Right?

Okay, so we’ve been talking about automation and how it’s a make or break deal for us. Okay, hear us out.

We claim to have 20,000+ Pros (service professionals) across 10+ cities in India. And while that is correct in every sense, it was more important for us to identify the ones who are serious about their jobs and serious about earning through Mr. Right platform.

Over the course of past two or so years, we have noticed that the highest earners are the ones who are sincere towards their jobs. Well, duh!! Okay, here’s more. These Pros also tend to automatically follow up on their cases, reach on time, complete the job satisfactorily, provide proper billing/ invoice via Pro app, close the case and ask for customers to provide honest ratings/ feedback upon case closure. They were also the ones with internet data services active on their phones and relied heavily on Pro app for all kinds of case related updates and communication with customer.

And while all of our Pros have Mr. Right Pro app installed on their android phones, we realized our requirement wasn’t quantity but the quality of Pros.

A Pro having our pro app never guaranteed hassle-free case closure. Actually, it never guaranteed anything. We could’ve put a hundred reminders on the Pro app regarding his (Pro’s) upcoming job but you can only do as much.

In come, Real-time Pro Tracking

So then we brought in solutions to track Real-time Pro location (around end of 2015) to ascertain the pro’s instantaneous location and know whether or not he’s going to make it on time at the customer site. If not, then the system would automatically assign the case to someone else in the vicinity who has a better chance of reaching at the customer location on time.

We even distributed pro devices (smartphones) for the same purpose. The devices were locked and could only operate Mr. Right Pro app. Lol, we were possessive af. Long story short, it didn’t fledge out well. (Same goes for relationships, know what um sayin).

There were several hiccups such as battery consumption and other technical and field challenges. I mean offering a company provided phone was expensive enough, providing a portable charger on top seemed overkill. 

So, we slowly, quietly pulled off our Pro-devices aaaaand…. yup, we pulled out all the devices. Yup, that’s it! Nothing to add to that.

So, how do we track Pro locations now?

Hmmmm… that’s the recipe we’ve been working on after the (not so successful) custom pro devices. We’ve been able to build the tracking module extremely light so that it has essentially no effect on the battery as well as data consumption. Also, we don’t need to track them 24 hours a day (more on that later) …. I mean what are we, NSA or something?

Continuing our build towards automation and customer experience

We recently introduced Virtual IDs to both Mr. Right Customer and Pro app. And what virtual ID does is when either of them (customer or Pro) calls the other, the system creates a virtual ID of their phone number while keeping the actual number masked to the receiver. What this helps accomplish is:

1.     It keeps both customer and Pro numbers masked without inhibiting/ affecting the exchange of information

2.     It helps us know exactly when the customer and the Pro contacted each other, which is a good sign that the case is moving in the right direction.

Switching to Auto Mode

So at this point, we had pretty much everything we needed in place, for e.g. we had adequate number of Pros, increasing customer demand, all Pros with mobile apps, real-time tracking etc.

The only thing we didn’t/ don’t have is enough people to handle the operations (remember we’re only 12 people.… inclusive of all taxes). And that’s never going to be enough…. especially when you have to expand and scale, there’s never gonna be enough people in your team to handle and manage all the ongoing cases. Automation is the only way forward for us to manage the hundreds of cases booked everyday on our platform.

I’m sorry. I was wrong. Actually, you can have as many people as you want for your operations. Actually, you can have actual people calling up the Pros and customers to know the status of the jobs. Yes, you actually can do that. In fact, there’s no better way than having dedicated people overseeing your operations 24x7, giving a human touch, and ensuring things are running smoothly. But there’s always a catch to it. A strength of 300 employees looks super cool on the company’s profile and from marketing perspective, not so much on the financial sheet. 

There’s always a cost to it. And from the numerous companies that have tried doing it the traditional way, it hasn’t worked out well for them. Out of the 260 something companies founded in 2014 in the home services category, only a handful are left. And I’m not even talking about the bootstrapped or non-funded ones; I’m talking full-blown marquee VC backed startups who blew too much money too soon chasing vanity numbers the traditional way. It’s a different story that it doesn’t hurt VCs too much because it’s what they do for a living. They make informed decisions. Sometimes they win, sometimes they learn. So it kinda balances out for them. 

There’s a general belief in the startup world that everything works out on scale. Ummm… sorry to break it to you pal but NO it doesn’t. There’s a lot of “ifs” and “buts” that need to be considered. And it definitely won’t if one can’t control the operational costs. Ehh… but who does even think about that. Who does even think about unit economics and profitability.

Sorry, we’ve come waaayyyy toooo far from what we were discussing. Every man for himself. We’ll leave it to that.

So where were we? Ummm… yeah we were talking about switching to Auto mode. Yep, in fact we’ve already done that few weeks ago. As a result:

Soon enough there WON’T be an operations team at Mr. Right.

And how exactly do we propose we do that? We have few ideas:

Going forward, the system will only be assigning cases to Pros who have an active internet connection and are online within the last 15 minutes. That means we have their last known location every 15 minutes. This data can then be translated into further useful actions by the system.

We have stopped sending customer details via SMS to Pros. The details are only available on Mr. Right Pro app. So they need to log into the app for further details like name, address, type of work etc.

And all this, ladies & gentlemen, implementing all this is WHAT’S HURTING MR. RIGHT.

Hurting? Hurting how, you may ask! Here’s precisely how it’s hurting us:

We are missing out on almost 20-30% of our cases due to unavailability of (active) Pros – the ones who were logged in and connected to 3G/ 4G data service in the last 15 minutes.

We need to invest more time and efforts in educating Pros to keep their data services online and follow the new set of procedures from start to closing a case. We need to consider the fact that we’re dealing with all kinds of Pros, starting from a carpenter, plumber to a full-fledged cleaning or pest control provider. We need our process to be simple enough that even a not-so-educated Pro can also operate but flexible and equipped enough to meet the various requirements of more sophisticated service providers. Notice we used the word “invest” because we know later on it’s going to pay-off.

Yes, we’ve faced resistance from Pros. They are still reluctant in keeping their data services ON. And it was understandable – two years ago. It was the reason we equipped our Pros with a smartphone and 3G data. But it’s not an excuse anymore. Internet data has never been cheaper. And the fierce telecom rivalry has only made it rain for Indian consumers. So we’re ruling out the possibility that a Pro is unable to go online due to high maintenance cost. Nope, not buying that.

De-prioritizing or suspending Pros who score poor on customer ratings & feedback. Their cases remain suspended until they set things right with previous cases/ customers. (Remember this point, you’ll know why)

But it has its merits too – long term as well as short

One of the main areas that have benefited the most almost immediately from this radical shift is customer feedback. We’ve been starting to get tons of customer feedback about the services they just availed. We’ve also made numerous tweaks in the customer app to encourage ratings and feedback.

A screenshot of Daily Rating Status email

It didn’t take us long to realize that on an average, customer satisfaction was well above 80% in the first go itself. Previously it used to be… ummm…. lower (if not satisfactorily high). All this by making few tweaks in the case cycle and the app.

Needless to say.....

{ Oh I know you're thinking what about the remaining 15-20% cases with poor customer feedback. You just couldn't leave that couldja...?? Well, we resend the Pros back so they can fix their ratings with the customers. Remember when I asked you to (Remember this point, you’ll know why) a while ago? Well this is why. }

Moving on!

Needless to say once we’ve created the right recipe to tackle the challenges of the services industry (we’re betting on automation and technology), that’s when we will be ready to scale it to any city we want including the ones mentioned at the start of this post. Speaking of scaling, we’re going live in Chennai soon. More on that next time.

Trivia – Didja know?

At Mr. Right, we have a habit of releasing internal (CRM & app) updates every fortnight – duration what we also call a ‘Sprint’. The requirements for these updates are gathered in advance. So at the start of the next sprint (say any given Monday), the entire team gets an email regarding the updates that’ve been made during the previous sprint.

Summarizing: So, here’s what you can expect in the coming few weeks:

Full auto-mode. No manual assignments. Our ops execs can’t assign someone even if they wish to. This part will be completely taken off their KRAs.

Expect only the best Pros on the system. We’ve set the bar for ourselves, now it’s time the Pros comply. If your booking has been assigned, you can rest assured you’re getting only top rated Pros at your service.

More focus towards customer service. We can’t shape a trend overnight. There will be mess-ups and hiccups along the way. But slowly, steadily, we will succeed in charting a new path for ourselves.

We will continue to post our learnings and epiphanies. So subscribe to us on twitter @mrrightindia​ for latest updates. Also we value your feedback so please feel free to hit us up on Twitter or email at info at mrright.in

- I’m Mr. Bulldops 

UPDATE: May 25, 2017

The goal to make our home services division completely automated is already underway. We are rethinking and reworking the entire system from the ground up.

Screenshots of documents containing the entire upcoming workflows and workarounds

As always, I’ll keep you posted.

Yours truly,

Mr. Bulldops