#I just got hit with 3 more essays to write and another final to study for

[lcs-library]

This release will be DELAYED until further notice!! I'm so sorry wehhhh

Grab your coat and scarf, and head to LC's Library's cafe on December 7 for the release of the winter seasonal menu! It will mostly be winter-themed, with a few Christmas ones sprinkled in as well! Don't worry, though, the Christmas ones will leave on December 26, and the menu will stay up until late January. See you there!!

[primofate]

Genshin Modern AU - Stress and Comfort

Summary: Woke up late. Missed a class. Forgot that assignment due. Another one due in two days. People are downplaying the things that you do. It’s raining and you don’t have an umbrella. Sometimes the little things pile up all in one day and it feels like all you want to do is to get it over with... and your boyfriend to make everything better.

Warnings: crying, stress, mood swings, other than that it’s fluff

Characters: Kaeya, Zhongli x gn!reader

Notes: Also a commission <3 Thank you for the love. Once again if you want something written for you I have cheap rates XD and I’ll always accommodate to your wants! Just leave me a message!

Kaeya

“Hey, Y/N, do you know how to write this part of the essay?” It wasn’t as if you were a particularly good student. But somehow, the people in your class liked asking you because you were accommodating. Ready to help with a smile on your face. Always there to turn to and rely on. “Yeah, it’s just like this…” and you spend nearly an hour explaining it.

“Oh gosh, I don’t think I can finish this part of the presentation tonight, something came up at home,” Group projects were sometimes difficult too. You understood. Things happened, but when they happened, you’d be the first one to say, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it,” Even though the presentation is tomorrow, even though you barely get enough sleep for the next day. A part of you just wants to quickly get it over with.

“You said this would come out on the test… It wasn’t even there…” The worst part of it is not even receiving any thanks. It’s the way that they look at you when you make a mistake, despite all of the good things you’ve done for them, one mistake, and they make you out and guilt you to be a bad person.

“Your analysis is all wrong, Y/N. This part over here…” Sometimes the price of that was paying with your own grade. You try to listen as the lecturer explains a part of your essay. You’re listening, but it just doesn’t register in your mind. Something about misunderstanding the concept. Those concepts that you’ve tried so hard to remember and to understand. In the end they were all mixed up and confused.

Perhaps the lecturer sees the deflated look in your eyes, and ends quite happily. “Just do better in the next one!” pats your back and lets you leave, handing you your essay graded with a C.

Do better in the next one. Easier said than done.

You shove the paper in your bag without giving it a second glance.

The cafeteria. It was slightly late for lunch but you like it that way. There weren’t a lot of people at this time, which meant you didn’t have to fight for seats. Still, as you put in your order and bring your tray of food to the nearest seat that you see, you somehow bump into someone who topples over your chosen lunch, the tray completely doing a flip and landing on your chest, then on the ground with a plop and rattle.

There’s an ugly stain on your shirt. Forget about hiding it, it had to be washed. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” and yet they can only stare at the stain. What else could they do? Dabbing it with wet tissue would just make it worse. “It’s…fine,” you wave them away, but you leave the mess on the floor in a hurry and in an embarrassed state.

You sigh once outside again. Deciding that today was enough, you make your way home.

Even then, as you sit at your study table, all washed up and changed, sketching a little something on your tablet, your mother stands at the door, observing.

“…What does that do for you?”

You jump a little in surprise and turn, looking at her blank expression. “What does what do for me?”

“That, your drawing. You’re always on the computer or tablet Y/N. If not that, then your sketchbook. That’s all you ever do,”

You turn around because you don’t want to argue. You don’t want to hear her complaining about how you do nothing but stay in all day after lessons and play games and draw. It was one of the biggest forms of comfort you had for yourself and yet she--

“Maybe try a part time job or join a club or some—”

“Mom, I’m still trying to adjust to uni,”

Why does no one understand how difficult it is to juggle the classes and do all the readings required? Why do I have to do so many things all at the same time? Can’t I do it when I choose to and when I’m ready? Can’t I do things that I enjoy?

“The degree you chose won’t even pay the bills…” You hear her mutter as she walks away. Footsteps receding into the hallways.

You push your tablet away and lay your head face down on the table. You’re trying not to lose it and finally, whatever higher being up there hears your plea to give you a break.

A phone call from Kaeya comes through.

“…Hey,” you answer.

“Hey, hun. You haven’t been replying to my messages,” there’s a lilt of playfulness in his voice. He just thinks you’ve fallen asleep or taken a nap at home or something.

“…Yeah, I—” You try to explain. You try to say that you weren’t feeling well. That you didn’t feel like talking. But would he understand? Everyone today seemed to be against you. “I just, fell asleep,” You lie and there’s a few seconds of silence on the other side.

“…You sure?” Now there’s a hint of unease in his voice. The playfulness is gone. “You ok? Do you want me to come over?” Somehow he senses that it isn’t just “falling asleep”. His simple worry and caring attitude towards you breaks whatever composure you had left. You accidentally let out a sniffle as tears start to pool in your eyes.

“Hey… You don’t have to talk to me, but I’ll come over right now, okay?” The sniffle was enough to tell him that perhaps something had went wrong. You couldn’t help but let out a few more sniffles as tears slowly trickles down your face.

“O-okay,”

Minutes later your blue-haired boyfriend shows up at your doorstep. Despite your mom being a little hard on you earlier, when she opens the door to see him, she smiles and says. “I think they were having a bad day, I might have been a little harsh on them too,” Kaeya only grins and points a thumb to his chest. “No problem, that’s what I’m here for,” He’s still wearing his volleyball jersey.

He knocks softly on the door, “Y/N?” there’s a plastic bag in his other hand.

When you open the door your eyes were already a little red around the edges, but seeing him made your lips tremble and fresh tears fall out. “Shh… You’re okay.” He wraps you in his arms, plastic bag rustling, his hand smooths your hair down and the other rubs your back as you cry out your frustrations for the day.

The two of you stay there for what seems like a long time. You hiccupping into his chest and trying to calm down. At some point he moves the both of you on the bed and lets you curl up against him. When you finally ease up, he pulls away slightly to look at your face, then brushes away the wetness still lingering on your cheeks. “Feel better?” He whispers, as if being too loud will break you again.

You smile a little and nod at how gentle he was being. He smiles back and leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Whatever it is, just talk to me when you’re ready,” and it hits you so hard how much he’s willing to just be there with you, even though he doesn’t know what’s happening. How he wasn’t going to judge you for what you say or what you do and your face crumples and grimaces into a face that tells him you’re trying not to cry. “D-Did I say something wrong?” He’s a little startled, but you laugh a little through small droplets of tears that you wipe away by yourself. “No, you idiot. I’m just happy you’re here,”

He sighs and relaxes, taking his own hand and pinching your cheek, pulling at it a little. “Who’s the idiot? Crying and laughing at the same time?” He was joking, of course. He’d only do so when he knew you could take it. You swat his hand away with a slight glare, and he knows that he’s got a little bit of the normal you back. “Alright, come on, here,” He suddenly sits up and presents the plastic bag that he’s been holding all that time.

“Ice-cream, your favourite flavour,” rummages into it and takes out a tub the size of two fists, a little damp from the melted moisture. He’s got spoons in there too. Slowly, as you eat the tub together, you tell him about what’s been going on in uni. How people just expected you to help when you could. How you got nothing in return. How you try really hard and they somehow still end up piling on negativity into your life.

“…It’s okay to help, Y/N,” he thoughtfully says, mouth muffled cause his spoon was still in his mouth. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself too,” then he scoops another bite. “…But even if you don’t…it’s okay,” he looks up at the ceiling. “If you don’t take care of yourself…Then I’ll do it. That’ll be my job. Forever,”

You lay your head on his shoulder as he says this, still eating from your spoon “I love you,”. He smiles and presses a soft kiss atop your head. “Love you too. I’m always just a phone call away, babe,”

Zhongli

“Is there something on your mind? You’ve been quiet for the past hour,” Nothing slips by Zhongli. He’s observant. He knows you don’t feel like eating by the way you’re picking at your food. Knows that you don’t want to talk because you don’t even meet his eyes.

“…Nothing, really,” You just didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

He feels as if this date has gone awry, and he didn’t even know where he went wrong. Though, if he had to guess, it wasn’t his fault. You were just in a particularly bad mood. Not that the two of you were anywhere fancy, it was just your usual sit-down restaurant at a mall across the university.

To him, the right thing to do was give you the space you needed. So, after walking you to your room that night, he’d wait till the morning to contact you. Imagine his surprise when none of his calls go through. None of his texts were returned. He was beside himself with worry when suddenly, near the afternoon, he finally gets word from you.

“Sorry Li, I feel a little sick today. Don’t worry though, I’ll be fine in no time,”

You’re bad at lying. Or was he just good at reading you? You tend to have the habit of withdrawing when you’re out of energy. To give too much without any regards to your own state, your own feelings. Sometimes you don’t realize that you had to watch over yourself too.

It’s nearly 8 at night when he knocks at your dorm room. Zhongli went through a few steps to make sure your roommate would be out tonight. It was from them that he found out you hadn’t left the room at all today, but that you weren’t sick.

“Oh… Zhongli,” You’re surprised at the amount of things he’s holding. There’s a plastic bag that seems to nearly be popping and in his other hand was a mysterious paper bag. Under his arm he’s tucked his laptop with him. He lived in the dorms too, and if someone saw him now, it would look as if he was moving into your room. “You could’ve just asked me to come over to yours,” his eyes trail away, a certain brown-headed roommate pops up in his mind.

“No, Tartaglia’s in tonight,” You make a sound of understanding. His roommate was rather…special. Too energetic for your tastes, and sometimes nosy. “What do you have there?” You ask and invite him in. He chucks the plastic bag on your bed, lays down the laptop on your table along with the mystery paper bag. He notes that you’re already in your sleepwear, which was perfect. He starts to take out a throw blanket from the plastic bag and a hoodie.

“…This..is?” You’re a little baffled by what he’s trying to convey. “…My throw blanket that you like so much…and you said you like wearing my hoodie,” then he points at the laptop. “Do you want to watch a movie in bed? I have popcorn too,”

Then you realize that he’s trying to make you feel better. He’s figured out that you weren’t really sick, possibly just mentally drained. You smile at him and lean in for a hug, to which he responds to by wrapping his arms around your back and whispering. “…I’m not…really good at these things… Tartaglia said it might make you feel better…” You chuckle in his embrace and could imagine the kind of conversation they had.

“You’re the best Zhongli,” he secretly smiles while rubbing your back up and down. He doesn’t ask questions as to why you’ve been acting the way you do, but you’re the one who offers him the answer. “It’s just school… Too many things have been piling up… My class they… They’re really nice people you know? But just… there are times where I wish they would stop asking me for help, but it feels so selfish of me… I have my own things too, but they never think about that…”

It’s always about them, you want to say, but keep your mouth shut. He runs his hand through your hair gently, internalizing the things that you’ve said. “…I see… Would you like to hear what I think?” He’d ask first, because he knew sometimes that you didn’t really want an answer. You just wanted to be listened to. You nod against his chest, you could feel his heart beating from the closeness. “I think, you’re a very selfless person, Y/N,” he places a kiss on your head. “There’s nothing wrong in wanting to take a break from time to time, you deserve it,” and he guides you over to your bed, wrapping the two of you up in his throw blanket. Laptop on, popcorn in the mystery paper bag as you put his hoodie on. It smells just like him.

His back leans against the wall and you’re in the safety of his arms. You’re practically in his lap, encased in his scent and warmth. He’d managed to prop his laptop up on a pile of books and the two of you watch a random movie on the screen. You were paying attention to it, but you couldn’t help but be more interested in the way his chest rises and falls. You can feel him against you, and the comfort it brings is like no other.

You turn away from the screen and rest your head at the nape of his neck. He looks down, movie still playing and asks “Tired?” You shake your head, eyes closed. “No, I’m just enjoying this…” There’s a small rumble from his chest as he lets out a small “Mm,” his eyes are glued to your face. Movie forgotten.

“…Y/N, I’ll always… be next to you,” Your eyes flutter open a little to look up at him, curious. “…Always?” He nods his head firmly to confirm, and you lean up a little to press a sweet and quick kiss on his lips. “Even when I’m not my best and I’m moody?” He chuckles at that and responds with a remark that might have slightly brought tears to your eyes.

“Especially when you’re not at your best, I’ll be there. Just call,”

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[polystyrenequeen]

Alright, I am curious. Why is Jonny Cade queercoded and what queer subtext was there in their relationship with Ponyboys? 👀

TW: mentions of abuse, violence, death, murder

also spoilers for the outsiders!! (i mean it is a 60 year old book, but still)

-------

OOH OKAY OKAY

(In all honesty, I could probably do a whole essay on this, but I'll keep it brief-ish.)

Bit of background on The Outsiders: It's a book written in the early 60s that focuses on the class divide between the rich Socs (Socials) and the working-class greasers (like, "hoods", criminals), or rather the people within each of those groups who don't feel like they fit into the binary.

Ponyboy is the protagonist of the novel. He and Johnny are both greasers and part of a gang with a few others, including Ponyboy's two older brothers and three other boys.

Let's start with Johnny. Johnny is extremely queer-coded in his own right. He's described early on as timid, shy, weak and maybe a little feminine. He's seen as the gang's "pet" and the youngest, despite being sixteen to Ponyboy's fourteen. His friends are very fond and protective of him. A lot of this behaviour comes from his trauma, being abused by his parents as well as beaten nearly to death by a Soc named Bob. However, it also falls into an archetype of stereotypical queer characters. Writing male characters in this way is a way of subtly telling an audience that they are queer. This probably wasn't done intentionally, but should be kept in mind.

Johnny's character development involves him becoming more masculine, almost. The final important act he does in the book is save children from a burning building. Ponyboy comments on the fact that he seemed braver, louder etc in that moment, all traits associated with masculinity, which is 1) a strange reaction to the situation, especially for Johnny, and 2) exactly the kind of narrative standpoint one would take to show that femininity (or queerness) is bad.

Now for Ponyboy - his queer-coding is more subtle at times, and a little different. He isn't timid or shy or scared or feminine like Johnny. (However, he does once say that he "didn't care too much for girls yet", but that his brother said he would grow out of it. This is particularly strange, considering he is fourteen already.) Early on, it's established that he feels like an outsider within his own group. He doesn't really feel like a greaser, or act like one. He likes things that greasers don't like. He watches movies, he reads, he likes to see the sunset. He considers himself different, or "other", and he feels as if he can't talk about it. His friends just wouldn't get it.

A large part of the book, in my opinion, is Ponyboy finding other "outsiders", like Cherry and Johnny. (Cherry being a Soc while Johnny is another greaser.) All three of them talked once, while at a drive-in, Ponyboy finding a particular connection with Cherry despite her not being the only girl there. They all have the same sense of feeling “other”, and not being able to talk about it for fear of being judged.

Now for Johnny and Ponyboy’s relationship, which...oh boy. Some of it is just scenes like this, which feel very queer, outright:

“‘Guess I look okay now, huh, Johnny?’

He was studying me. ‘You know, you look an awful lot like Sodapop, the way you’ve got your hair and everything. I mean, except your eyes are green.’

‘They ain’t green, they’re gray,’ I said, reddening. ‘And I look about as much like Soda as you do.’ I got to my feet. ‘He’s good-looking.’

‘Shoot,’ Johnny said with a grin, ‘you are, too.’”

Not to mention the whole chapter they spend literally just acting like a domestic gay couple while they’re on the run, just the two of them, from the police. There’s also this conversation they have while watching the sunrise in this chapter (which I’ll talk more about later once I get to the symbolism), in which they talk about being outsiders. Here are a few quotes from that:

“‘You know,’ Johnny said slowly, ‘I never noticed colors and clouds and stuff until you kept reminding me about them. It seems like they were never there before.’”

“‘Well, Soda kinda looks like your mother did, but he acts just exactly like your father. And Darry is the spittin' image of your father, but he ain't wild and laughing all the time like he was. He acts like your mother. And you [Ponyboy] don't act like either one.’”

“‘You [Johnny] ain't like any of the gang. I mean, I couldn't tell Two-Bit or Steve or even Darry about the sunrise and clouds and stuff. I couldn't even remember that poem around them. I mean, they just don't dig. Just you and Sodapop. And maybe Cherry Valance.’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I guess we're different.’

‘Shoot,’ I said, blowing a perfect smoke ring, ‘maybe they are.’”

(Honestly, can my whole argument just be that one quote? “I guess we’re different.” // “Shoot. Maybe they are.” Queer stuff, huh?)

Later in the book, when Johnny is in the hospital, Ponyboy stresses again and again that he can’t think about him dying, that he can’t fathom a life without him. Everyone in the group is fond of Johnny, but Ponyboy acts like Johnny’s death would destroy him.

When Johnny is dying, he asks to see Ponyboy. His last words are to Ponyboy, despite Dally also being in the room. One of the other last things he does is write a letter to Ponyboy.

Johnny is also the first person Ponyboy runs to when his older brother hits him early in the book.

When Johnny dies, Ponyboy falls into denial, pretending and convincing himself that Johnny isn’t dead, because he couldn’t handle the grief. He says the reason that he doesn’t go insane with it, like Dally does, is because Johnny isn’t the only thing he loves.

This isn’t nearly all of it, but this post is already long as fuck, and I want to talk about some of the metaphors and symbols too.

Symbol #1: The hair

The is a more obvious one, as the author clearly intended it to be a metaphor, although probably not for something queer. When Johnny and Ponyboy go on the run after Johnny killed a Soc in self-defence, the two of them have to cut off their hair. This is obviously a big deal to them, especially Ponyboy, because they’re proud of their hair - it’s a symbol of the greasers, of rebellion, and it’s one of the last things they have that tie them with their gang back in the city. However, having Johnny and Ponyboy specifically cut off their hair feels like more of a symbol of them severing their ties to the greasers. They feel like outsiders within their own group already, and this is a way of showing that they’re leaving it behind, or starting to. (Shedding symbols of comphet, you know.)

Symbol #2: Sunrises and sunsets

Johnny, Cherry and Ponyboy, three characters who are outsiders within their own community, all spend time watching sunrises or sunsets. It’s one of the things that Ponyboy and Cherry bond over and talk about. Johnny and Ponyboy also watch a sunrise while they’re on the run. It’s a small thing that unites the three of them and becomes almost a symbol of their “otherness”, and thus, queercoding enters the chat. Also, the sunrise that Ponyboy and Johnny watch can symbolise the “beginning” of their relationship, as they start to see each other in a different light. 

Symbol #3: Gone with the Wind

When Johnny and Ponyboy are on the run, Ponyboy buys the book Gone with the Wind from a corner store. They read it together. The book is an idealised story of the southern, free, country life. Johnny makes comments about how the men in the book are charming and gallant and he admires them. The book symbolises both what Ponyboy and Johnny wish they could be, like happy and free and rich (and straight and masculine), and what they are, or what they’re starting to find with each other while in the countryside. When Johnny is in the hospital, he asks for a copy of the book to read. It’s one of his last requests. In my opinion, he asked for it both to remember Ponyboy and to escape to a reality where he wasn’t young and dying, to one where he was still with Ponyboy on the run, or one like in the book where none of this happened at all. The book is integral to their relationship.

Symbol #4: The poem

When Ponyboy and Johnny are watching the sunrise in the church, Ponyboy recites a poem by Robert Frost:

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold,

Her early leaf’s a flower,

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf,

And Eden sank to grief.

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

At the time, the two of them both say that they don’t understand the poem. When Johnny dies later in the book, his last words to Ponyboy are to “stay gold”. In the letter he wrote for Ponyboy, which Ponyboy reads later, he says that he now understands the poem.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you’re a kid, everything’s new, dawn. It’s just when you get used to everything that it’s day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That’s gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be.”

Oh boy, there’s a lot to say about this poem.

First of all, the poem symbolises what Ponyboy gave Johnny - a new outlook on life. A lens with which to see more beautiful things. Johnny said that he hadn’t really appreciated sunsets or clouds before Ponyboy pointed them out to him.

Secondly, the meaning of the poem. When you consider Johnny’s interpretation, also taking into account what sunsets and sunrises etc. mean in this book, it’s possible that the “gold” phase is Ponyboy’s acceptance of himself. Ponyboy loves Johnny. He knows he’s different, and while he doesn’t shout it from the rooftops, he’s happy with it in his own way. He finds other people like him, queer, like Cherry and Johnny.

However, the poem’s whole meaning is that nothing gold can stay. That’s the message we’re left with, even with Johnny’s insistence of “staying gold”. It could honestly be referring to an array of things - perhaps Johnny himself, or life in general (given the amount of death in this book), or youth. Obviously, this whole post is about the queer undertones in the outsiders, so one could argue that it’s about a queer youth experience, especially in the past - finding someone like you, someone you love, but it not lasting forever, and it being especially difficult to find again, given the circumstances.

In the end, Johnny dies, but he leaves Ponyboy with all the things that remind him of him - sunsets, sunrises, Gone with the Wind, stargazing. And ultimately, I think that’s the “gold” that the book is referring to.

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color. 

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain. 

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them. 

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself. 

Okay. 

Alright. 

No distractions. 

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal. 

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way. 

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. 

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them. 

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again. 

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two. 

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too. 

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat. 

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?” 

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times. 

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us. 

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second. 

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one. 

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?” 

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents. 

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing. 

Flash nodded. 

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started. 

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god. 

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp. 

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake. 

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition. 

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

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[theweasleysredhair]

congrats! can you write a james potter with 23 from the angst and 14 from the fluff section?

theweasleysredhair’s 4.6k follower event!

~~~

23. “You’re jealous.”

14. “I could kiss you right now!”

~~~

Character: James Potter

Word Count: 833

Taglist: @dreamer821 @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @tinylumpiaa @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn’t mine, credit goes to whoever made it

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

From one point of view, you and James were not together. You hadn’t agreed to be exclusive, hadn’t done much more than snog a couple times at parties, and had been on two dates, both of which were crashed by the rest of the so-called Marauders - so could they really be referred to as dates?

From another point of view, your point of view to be exact, you and James were basically together. You’d confessed feelings - or rather, he’d accidentally yelled his at you one day and you yelled it back. You’d kissed. You spent nearly all of your free time together. In fact, you were hard pressed to think of a time where James Potter wasn’t near you.

He was, to put it in the simplest terms, a needy not-boyfriend, constantly wanting to be around you, always having an arm around your shoulders or holding your hand. So yes, in your eyes, you were basically a couple.

So to see him stood so closely beside the girl he liked before you - Lily Evans - and working on the potion set by Slughorn, you couldn’t help but feel... no, not jealous. Nope, absolutely not. More... insecure? A tad angry. He knew you were seated two desks behind him, he knew you could see him stood behind her. And yet he chose to continue laughing and joking with her, head bowed towards hers.

Sure, Slughorn had been the one to choose the seating plan, and James had no power over who he was paired with, but the closeness between him and the redhead was more than you could handle.

Which is why you were giving him the silent treatment. Not obviously so, just avoiding him and the places him and his friends usually were. That left one of the only places he wouldn’t ever choose to step foot in unless dragged by Remus - the library.

You’d chosen the table in the furthest corner, hidden from view of the door - and the rest of the room, now you thought about it.

It had been three hours or so since you’d been sat there working on some essays that were due - you were sure you’d missed dinner too, something you weren’t so happy about, but decided you’d be able to get food from the kitchens once you’d finished.

You’d nearly finished the final paragraph on your transfiguration essay when the chair opposite you was pulled back and someone fell into it, breathing out a, “There you are!”

You glanced up, meeting the gaze of James, his shirt rolled to his elbows and tie tied messily - almost as messy as his hair.

“Yep, here I am,” you replied simply, before looking back down at your essay and trying to ignore him. He was silent for a moment, studying you and your behaviour.

“What’s wrong?” He asked with a frown.

“Nothing.”

James shook his head, “There’s clearly something wrong. C’mon love, tell me, I wanna make it better. You’ve been quiet ever since potions...”

You stayed silent, hoping he wouldn’t put two and two together, but you also knew James was smarter than people gave him credit for, and whilst most of the time you loved that about him, in this instance you hated it.

“... ever since Slughorn changed our partners around. Ohhh, you’re mad about me being paired with Lily, right?” His tone changed from concern to amusement, and the corner of his mouth curled up into a half smirk, “It’s not my fault I got paired with her, you know.”

You bit your lip, wanting to stay silent, but knowing he knew he was right made you unnecessarily angry, “I never said it was, I just thought that out of respect to me, you would have tried to be less touchy feely with the girl you used to like, but I guess I was wrong.”

There was another bout of silence, before James offered you a full smirk and stated, “You’re jealous.”

You slammed your quill down and glared at him, scoffing, “Ugh, are you even listening to yourself? I’m not jealous of Lily. If you want to be with her then be with her, but don’t string me and my feelings along if you’re still in love with her.”

“You’re so jealous,” James laugher, crossing his arms over his chest with a triumphant grin.

“For Godric’s sake, I’m not jealous! I’m angry, but not jealous. I’m so annoyed that I could hit you right now, but I’m not jealous!” You huffed, throwing your books into your bag and standing up to walk away.

“Oh yeah? Well I could kiss you right now!”

Your head whipped round to stare at him, your glare still directed at him as you responded, “Then why don’t you?”

“Fine, I will!”

And then suddenly you’d dropped your bag, forgotten on the floor along with the ink pot that rolled out, as your back hit the nearest bookcase, James Potter’s lips on yours.

[destiniesfic]

i hate everybody (but maybe i don’t) 1/3

This is my @jurdannet​ & @jurdannetrevels​​ Secret Snusband gift for @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves​​! You tapped into a story I’d been wanting to write for ages, so you get three parts and three POVs (Vivi, Cardan, and Jude). Happy Holidays, I hope you like it. ♥ Thanks to @xdarkofthemoon​ for betaing!

This fic is rated E. Content warnings this chapter for excessive alcohol consumption, references to alcoholism, and (prescribed) antidepressant use.

Read on AO3 or read below:

Bars in Barcelona are not especially different from bars in the US. It’s a discovery Vivi has made over the course of her study abroad tenure: everything is different on the outside, but on the inside, not so much. She does like the outsides, though. She likes the tidy streets, the way the buildings don’t rise to blot out the sun as they have a habit of doing in American downtowns. She likes the cozy sameness of the facades, broken by the whimsical surprise of the odd Gaudí contribution. Like a lot of the European cities she’s visited there seems to be some unifying design principle, some common understanding. At home it’s anyone’s guess what the next office building or apartment complex might look like, a mishmash of styles as the cities clamor to reinvent themselves, modernist or postmodernist or deconstructionist or whatever.

Heather could name them all, if Heather were here.

But Heather isn’t here. Tonight, Vivi is out on the town with her two younger half-sisters, Jude and Taryn. Her twin baby sisters, although they hate it when she calls them that. The twins’ spring breaks overlapped by happy accident, so their adoptive dad, Vivi’s biological father, had sent them off on an all-expenses-paid Barcelona trip for a mini family reunion.

Taryn had been thrilled to go out. “I’m so excited that we can drink here,�� she’d exclaimed, as she touched up her makeup in the AirBnB’s living room mirror. It’s a two-bed, two-bath apartment with an updated kitchen and certainly beats the dorms. Vivi was forced to give a silent, resentful thanks, Dad, but not out loud.

“You drink at home,” Jude reminded her from the bathroom, where she was trying to wrangle her hair into some style Taryn had sent her from Pinterest. “We have fake IDs.”

“It’s not the same,” Taryn had huffed, applying another coat of mascara. Vivi got that. It had not been the same when they came to Europe before, either, because they had been with Madoc, Oriana, and little Oak. Somehow parents at the table makes the glass of wine with dinner much less daring.

Jude had eventually settled on a high ponytail, and off they went.

Now they’re out at a bar not far from the AirBnB, with each of the twins perched on stools and Vivi leaning against the bar between them. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t seen them for so long except over FaceTime, but Vivi is shocked to notice that her little sisters aren’t kids anymore. They haven’t been little for a while, not since they overtook Vivi in height when they were twelve, but it’s one thing to not be little and another to be an adult. Taryn, who’s been yearning for adulthood since her tweens, finally looks more at home in the role. And Vivi doesn’t know how Taryn got Jude into that dark purple halter dress, which dips low in the front and lower in the back, but the way she wears that and her lipstick is a stark reminder that Vivi’s sisters are in fact nineteen, and no longer chubby, soft-faced children. It’s weird, and Vivi doesn’t like it.

Vivi gets hit on sometimes—with her undercut and piercings, mostly by “alternative” men and curious women—but the novelty of good-looking twins means Jude and Taryn shouldn’t need to pay for their own drinks. And they wouldn’t, except anytime a guy gets too close to Jude or Taryn, Jude adopts a laser-eyed glare and says, “No,” which is thankfully the same in both languages. Otherwise she might start speaking with fists.

“I don’t know why you won’t let us get free drinks,” Taryn pouts.

“The drinks are on Madoc,” Jude points out, nodding to the credit card Vivi puts back in her pocket. “They’re basically free.”

Taryn mutters, “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You guys are such sisters,” Vivi says, taking a swig of beer.

“What does that mean?” they demand in unison.

Vivi grins and closes her eyes, shaking her head. For a second she just stands there, between the twins, and lets everything wash over her: the sibling bickering, the pungent smell of beer and whatever syrup is in Jude’s cocktail, and the music. Music is a strange experience in bars here. First there’s a Spanish song Vivi’s never heard, and then there’s Halsey, crooning over a Chainsmokers beat, and then back to Spanish with perennial favorite “Despacito.” It’s total whiplash. Vivi loves it.

It’s only because she’s listening so hard that she hears Taryn give a tiny gasp.

Vivi opens her eyes. Jude has gone very, very still. Her shoulders, which had been hunched up around her ears as she leaned over the bar, roll down her back, and the muscles there tense. Vivi is not sure Jude is remembering to breathe. She and Taryn are both staring at some fixed point across the bar, so Vivi looks too.

“Oh, hell,” she says.

On the other side of the bar—of the small space they are all crammed into—are four familiar figures. Three boys, one girl. Vivi has to blink to place them, because it seems absurd that four kids they went to high school with would show up in Spain while they, the Duarte sisters, are also in Spain, and also because they weren’t in Vivi’s grade. She knows them, though. Everyone knows Cardan Greenbriar and his trio of hot, mean friends, but Vivi knows them particularly well because of how her sisters have tangled with them over the years.

Taryn whispers, “What are they doing here?”

“I can go ask,” Vivi sighs. That group of kids has no quarrel with her. She and Cardan were friendly back in the day, meaning “ten years ago when Vivi would go hang out with Cardan’s older sister.”

“No,” Jude says, voice firm. Without taking her eyes off the interlopers, she picks up her cocktail and downs the rest of it.

Vivi doesn’t know exactly what happened, but Jude shed her fight-or-flight response sometime in high school. Now, she only has a fight response. Maybe Vivi took her flight response, because it was Vivi who was the terror until she turned eighteen, when she got the hell out of dodge. Taryn has always been in the middle, trying to keep the peace.

“We can go somewhere else,” Taryn suggests.

“No,” Jude repeats, setting her glass down on the bar a little too hard. “I’m not going to let those jerks keep me from having a good time.”

“Which I respect, and more power to you, but also, like, there are plenty of bars in Barcelona,” Vivi points out.

Jude glares. “I’m fine.” And then she holds up one finger in the bartender’s direction.

“You know those are really alcoholic, right?” Taryn says. Worry begins to seep into her voice like melting snow through cracks in a sidewalk.

“I know my limits.”

Vivi and Taryn exchange a wary glance. Jude might know her limits, but she has no problem blowing past them. Jude may not think Vivi remembers the tae kwon do tournament she sat through when Jude was eleven and Vivi was thirteen, but oh, Vivi does. Vivi remembers how her sister volunteered to spar until she had tired herself out to the point where she could no longer stand. Vivi also remembers Jude driving to school on a single hour of sleep after staying up to finish an extra credit essay in a class where she already had an A. Jude somehow didn’t crash her car, but she had been unbearable the entire day. Jude is a danger to herself and very occasionally a menace to society.

But Jude is also an adult and it’s not Vivi’s business.

“Suit yourself,” Vivi says, with a shrug. “It’s dear old Dad’s money.”

A few minutes later, Jude is nursing her second cocktail, and Vivi and Taryn are trying to carry on a conversation as though everything is fine. Any normal person would be well loosened up by now, but Jude retains that unnatural stillness like a dog who’s noticed a squirrel on the other side of a yard. Or, more accurately, maybe like a deer who’s spotted a human hunter approaching over the ridge.

Jude is no defenseless herbivore, but Vivi knows half a lifetime of being bullied has made her feel like a target.

“Hey,” Vivi says, jostling Jude with her elbow.

“What?”

“Tell me about your freshman year misadventures. Taryn won’t open up.”

Jude snorts. “What misadventures?”

“You have to have a few,” Vivi says. “I didn’t raise my sisters to be boring.”

“You didn’t raise us at all,” Jude mutters at her cocktail.

Vivi has never seen her sister anywhere near drunk before and is not sure she likes her like this. “What about boys?” she asks, gently elbowing Jude again. Then she raises her eyebrows. “Girls?”

“No. Nobody.” Jude finishes her second drink and, glaring across the bar, apparently makes the decision to switch to shots. “Vivi, is vodka still ‘vodka’ in Spanish?”

“I’m not answering that.” Vivi sighs. “What about you, Taryn? Anybody?”

“Huh? Um, no.” Taryn had been looking at their erstwhile schoolmates too. One of the boys, the redhead, is looking back. Locke. Vivi exhales. Bad news. There’s history there, the kind of history that shouldn’t repeat.

“Reeeeally?” she asks. “Nobody? Not one boy?”

Taryn blinks back to herself. “Vivi, I go to school for fashion design. They’re all gay.”

“Well, that can be fun.” Vivi gestures at herself. God, she wishes her sisters had brought Heather along. The hot lady bartender with the gorgeous tattoo sleeve keeps trying to catch her eye, and Vivi and Heather had established a “what happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona” policy before she left, but Vivi doesn’t want a hot lady bartender. She wants her girlfriend.

“Yeah, they’re cool.” Taryn glances back across the bar. Now the blue-haired girl—Nicasia, Vivi recalls—is looking back, along with Locke. Not good.

Since Jude is negotiating for a shot of vodka with hot lady bartender in competent enough Spanish, Vivi lowers her voice and asks Taryn, “Are you feeling especially homesick?”

“We’ve kept in touch.” Taryn doesn’t meet her eyes.

Vivi would hold more of a grudge if someone had tried to sleep with her and her sister, but that’s very much not her circus or her monkeys. She asks, “Did you know he’d be here?”

Taryn shakes her head. “He said they were doing a European tour for spring break, but, like, it’s a big continent.”

“Good news,” says Jude, holding up a shot glass. “It’s vodka in both languages. Cheers.”

“You are going to be sick,” Taryn says.

Jude gives her a sarcastic shrug and then downs the shot. She coughs a little, which somewhat ruins the impression she’s trying to make, but swallows it all down.

“Jude,” Vivi says, beginning to worry, “we really can just leave.”

But Jude is looking at her old high school nemeses again. Cardan had been a particular thorn in her side, or he in hers; Vivi never made sense of that conflict, of who had started what. What she does know is that they’ve definitely been spotted now. The blond boy—Vivi doesn’t quite remember his name—seems to make a move to walk over to them, but Cardan reaches out and grabs his arm, shaking his head. Valentine? Valentino? looks sour, but doesn’t approach. Jude stares them both down.

“I have to use the bathroom,” Taryn announces. “El baño.” Taryn had taken French in high school.

“But—” Vivi begins.

Taryn has already vanished into the crowd. Vivi puts her elbows on the bar and cradles her head in her hands. “This is all going great.”

“Not how you pictured our night out on the town?” asks Jude, who has obtained another shot of vodka from God knows where.

“Yeah, not really.”

“Well, I can fix it.” Jude drinks her second shot and does not cough this time. “I’m going to go talk to them.”

Vivi picks up her head. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“So what?”

“Dad’s going to hold me responsible if anything happens to you.”

Jude fixes a level stare on her. “Dad never holds you responsible for anything,” she says. She slips a little when she gets up off her stool. Vivi wonders if she’s really thinking about fighting someone in those heels.

“You’re mean drunk,” Vivi tells her, trying to grab her arm. “Don’t go.”

“I’m mean sober, but nobody notices,” says Jude, which doesn’t make any sense. She shakes Vivi off. “Besides, I have a few things I want to say.”

And for the second time that night, Vivi watches as one of her sisters pushes her way into the crowd of people, unsure if she should follow or not. Maybe it’ll be good for Jude, in the end, to get some of this out of her system.

The guys across the room are watching Jude approach. Cardan especially. The blond guy is sneering, but Cardan watches Jude with the same strange stillness with which she’d watched him. Like he’s holding his breath until she gets there. Unlike Jude, he doesn’t seem that drunk at all, which Vivi notices because, well, it’s a rare day that Cardan Greenbriar isn’t drunk.

But he is too busy watching her and not his blond friend, who decides that he’s going to intercept Jude before she can even reach Cardan. He pushes over to her first and bars her way, and although Vivi is too far away to hear what’s said between them, she notices the squaring of Jude’s shoulders and the widening of the blond guy’s sneer. Because she is watching closely, she sees that Valerian is the one who shoves Jude first.

Valerian. That’s his name.

It clicks right before Jude punches him in the face.

The bar erupts. Cardan springs to his feet and tries to pull his friend away from Jude. A couple of nearby patrons try to save Jude from herself—Vivi could have told them it was a fool’s errand—by holding her back, not knowing Jude has sharp elbows. Valerian struggles hard and manages to break away from Cardan, only to find himself being grabbed by more pairs of hands. There is shouting in Spanish. Even the hot lady bartender is drawn away, trying to signal her coworkers.

The most Vivi-like thing to do would be to leave Jude to it and keep her nose clean. But Vivi remembers asking Madoc on the day of that fateful tae kwon do tournament, while they revived Jude with sips of Gatorade, why Madoc hadn’t stopped Jude when it became clear she was flagging. “Your sister needs to learn for herself when to stop fighting,” he’d said. “If I make those calls for her, she never will.”

Vivi has a lot of qualms with Madoc’s parenting style, and Taryn is nowhere to be found.

“Oh, hell,” Vivi says again, and she dives into the knot of drunk brawlers to pull her sister from the fray.

---

“I can’t believe you got us kicked out,” Vivi says.

Jude, drunk, hapless Jude, is sitting on the curb with her head between her knees, presumably trying not to barf. There’s still enough anger left in her to flip Vivi off.

“Unbelievable.” Vivi folds her arms and looks left, then right. It seems like a good quarter of the bar spilled out onto the sidewalk with them, a crowd of people chattering about what just happened. Forget kicked out, Jude’s lucky she wasn’t arrested. “Do you see Taryn anywhere?”

“What do you think?”

Vivi pinches the bridge of her nose. Taryn will be fine. She has the AirBnB address and a phone she can use on WiFi. Besides, as far as Vivi knows, she ran off with Locke. Vivi hasn’t seen the two of them come out of the bar yet, and she would not be surprised. She knows a bad decision when she sees one.

“You keep sitting down,” Vivi tells Jude. “I’m going to figure out a ride home.”

“Your face should keep sitting down,” Jude mumbles spitefully.

“Hey, guys? Vivi?”

Vivi cringes as soon as she hears the voice, because she knows the voice, and because in this situation the owner of that voice will only make things worse. Vivi doesn’t have any personal grudge against Cardan Greenbriar—they’ve even sometimes been friends—except for how her sister feels about him. Taryn’s always said he was kind of a dick, but Taryn doesn’t hate him like Jude does. Nobody hates anybody the way Jude hates Cardan. Vivi wonders if Jude has something to prove.

Sure enough, Jude’s head swivels at the sound of his voice like the kid’s head turning around in The Exorcist. “You,” she snarls, and then stumbles to her feet.

“Jude,” Vivi says, trying to catch her sister’s dress to pull her back, but Jude is already out of reach. With another sigh, Vivi stands too.

“What are you doing here?” Jude demands of Cardan, openly hostile. It would be funny, because Jude is a full head shorter than him, if Jude was anybody else’s sister. “We were all having a great time until you showed up.”

“It’s anybody’s city,” Cardan says, but he doesn’t seem to be mocking her. He holds up his hands to show her they are empty.

“Go the fuck home!” Jude yells, and shoves him, sending him back a couple of steps.

Vivi shouts, “Woah!”

“It’s okay,” Cardan tells Vivi over Jude’s head. “She’s not hurting me. Let her get it out.”

With a little cry, Jude pushes him again, and this time he only stumbles back a half-step, but he keeps his hands up and his stance somewhat grounded. The next time Jude shoves him he doesn’t budge at all, and Jude lets out a grunt of frustration, fisting her hands in his jacket.

And then she bursts into tears.

“Oh,” says Vivi, but Cardan doesn’t seem that surprised. She wonders if he’s used to people behaving badly while drunk or just being drunk himself.

“You’re so a-awful,” Jude says between sobs. “Everything’s awful all the time.”

“I know, Jude,” Cardan replies. He gently pries the jacket out of her fists so he can remove it and drape it over her bare shoulders. Jude grabs onto his shirt instead.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she asks, with a small hiccup.

“I don’t,” Cardan replies. His hand rubs circles between his shoulder blades. “But I hope you’re too drunk to remember that.” He looks up at Vivi, and Vivi feels a brief flash of embarrassment, like she’s intruded on something intimate, before she remembers that they’re in public and, also, she has no shame. “Were you going to get a taxi? I can keep an eye on her while you do. I don’t think she should walk back.”

“Oh.” Vivi blinks. “Yeah. I’ve got it. Where’s your ‘friend?’”

“Sent him packing. He’s back at the hotel, or he should be.”

“Well… good.”

But Cardan isn’t listening. He’s already looking down at Jude again.

It turns out Vivi has, carelessly, let her phone die. She isn’t anal about things like that. Taryn’s the one who keeps a charger in her purse at all times, but Taryn has vanished, and Jude’s phone only works on WiFi outside of the States.

So they hail one of Barcelona's bumblebee-like taxis the old-fashioned way, and Vivi is the one who climbs into the passenger’s seat and tells the driver where to go in Spanish that’s fluent, if definitely not Spain-Spanish. It is deeply ironic that Vivi, the only sister without a drop of Duarte blood in her veins, is the one who speaks Spanish the best. But Jude and Taryn were only seven when their parents died. Vivi had been nine. Two years makes a big difference with these things, especially because memories are shaping and re-shaping themselves in the minds of children that young. As far as the twins’ brains are concerned, they only had their parents for a short time.

Vivi remembers more. She remembers sitting on the counter in the old kitchen, legs swinging, as her dad cooked on Fridays—the special day, the end of the week day—and pointing at things in the kitchen so Justin could tell her their names in Spanish and she could echo them back. Cebolla, onion. Queso, cheese, of course. Cuchara, spoon. The words had a favor of their own, different from the English words she learned in kindergarten. She remembers the smell of toasting coriander seeds, the bright songs her dad would hum, the vibrant melodies bursting from the CD player Vivi leaned her elbow on. When she got far enough along in school, she threw herself into Spanish, hoping the words would pave a road that would lead her back to the man who shaped her.

Sometimes Jude gets in a sulk about their awful twist of fate, or Taryn gets weepy, and Vivi just wants to yell Justin Duarte was my dad, too! She feels like her throat is raw from screaming it her entire adolescence. It was easier in the end to just move away for college.

She ended up in Spain because Madoc and Oriana weren’t keen on her going to Mexico. Oh, sure, they’d been before on vacation no problemo, but as soon as Vivi wanted to go alone it was game over. No matter how much Vivi told them it was very racist of them and a total double standard. Apparently Oriana didn’t want her getting kidnapped. Vivi, who has in fact seen the movie Taken, knows she can get kidnapped in Europe just as easily, thanks very much. That had not been a persuasive argument with Madoc.

So here she is, in Barcelona, where familiar words can have entirely different flavors, and that’s even before getting to Catalan, which she can now speak a little but not well. Most of the time, she’ll be honest, she does love it here. At this moment she’s not feeling charitable toward anything.

Cardan helps load Jude into the backseat of the taxi. The driver, looking in the rearview mirror, asks, “¿Su novio?”

“¿Qué?” Vivi asks reflexively. She cranes her head around to see Cardan sliding in next to Jude, his arm around her shoulder. She switches to English. “What the hell, dude?”

“She won’t let go,” Cardan says simply. It’s true; Jude is clinging to him like a very weepy barnacle, her shoulders still shaking.

“Alright, well.” Vivi turns back around. It’s good to have the extra pair of hands. She wishes again that Heather was here. “You’re the official Jude wrangler now.”

“Copy that. I just—” He sighs, and in the rearview, Vivi sees him rub his face with his free hand. “It’s my fault.”

“Sure is.” The taxi begins to pull away from the curb, and Vivi checks her anger. She amends, “Actually, no, it’s not your fault that my sister’s a lightweight and an angry drunk. But from what I hear, the years of prior psychological damage are totally your fault. So, credit where credit is due.”

Cardan nods. Jude sniffles forlornly. Vivi is intrigued by how gentle he’s being with her, how tolerant. His shirt looks like a regular cotton tee, but knowing him it probably costs about the same as a single night in their very nice AirBnB. He doesn’t seem to mind that Jude’s getting snot and tears all over it.

“Hate you,” Jude mutters, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Hate this.”

“I know.” He pushes a lock of hair that’s escaped from her ponytail. “What are you on?”

“Huh?” There’s a pause. Vivi is watching the road now, but she can imagine Jude’s confused blinking. “I don’t… drugs.”

“Meds.”

“Oh, um, fuck.” Another pause. “Zoloft. I switched this year.”

“You’re not supposed to drink on that stuff,” Cardan says, but it almost sounds like he’s teasing. “It messes you up. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Jude sniffs. “It’s not like I’m operating heavy machinery,” she says, slurring slightly.

Cardan chuckles. “I did the Zoloft thing, too. I’m not on it anymore, though.”

“‘Cause you couldn’t drink?”

“Like anything would stop me.” He pauses, and Vivi looks into the rearview mirror to find him biting his lower lip in an exaggerated way, so drunk Jude is sure to get the joke. “No, there were... personal reasons.”

Jude is utterly nonplussed. “What?”

“Ah, you know…” He leans over and whispers something to her. Her eyes widen, and then she lets out a small, nervous chuckle. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I was like ‘If I can’t have sex, won’t that just make me more depressed?’”

To Vivi’s great surprise, Jude giggles. A totally surreal sound. She hasn’t giggled like that in years, if ever.

“There we go,” says Cardan, weirdly indulgent. “No more crying. Or, well—oh, okay,” he adds, as Jude turns her head and begins quietly sobbing into the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess some more crying.”

“You seem very sober,” Vivi remarks.

“Yeah, I’m trying it on. Just club soda for me tonight.” He leans over to rest his head on top of Jude’s. “It, cómo se dice, sucks.”

“Like your accent.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Vivi is beginning to get vaguely suspicious. She says, “But you are handling this well. Just used to dealing with a lot of drunks?”

“Huh? Oh.” Cardan’s dark eyes flick up to meet Vivi’s in the mirror. “This isn’t the first time. Jude got wasted at prom, after the stuff with Locke and Taryn came to light. Completely trashed.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You were finishing up sophomore year, right? In like, Massachusetts? And it’s not like she would have told you. If she’s lucky, she doesn’t remember it. I loaded her into the Uber that took her home.”

Vivi’s stomach twists, but she channels the newfound sister guilt into suspicion and narrows her eyes. “Decent of you.”

“Yeah, I was trying that out, too. Got puked on for the trouble.” Cardan leans his head back against the headrest now. Jude’s sobs have quieted down. “But I still remember the Four Phases of Drunk Jude Duarte.”

“I’m glad somebody does,” Vivi admits. “What are they?”

“Angry, weepy, horny, sick.”

She snorts. “Basically Snow White’s shittiest dwarves.”

“Basically,” Cardan agrees. “But you’re not in danger of her getting sick yet, because we haven’t hit—ah. Um. Well.” He clears his throat. “Never mind.”

Vivi looks up into the mirror again to see Cardan plucking Jude’s hand off of him and returning it to her. “Did we just hit horny?”

“We just hit horny,” he says, his voice strained. Jude has her face buried in his neck again, but this time for entirely different reasons. The hand he had returned to Jude is already sliding back down his shirt. “Okay, hands above the waist. No, above—”

“Oh my God.” Vivi covers her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Great. Very helpful, Vivienne,” Cardan says, grabbing Jude’s wrist and holding it still. It speaks to their relationship as nearly family friends that he can use her full name without invoking her wrath. “Your sister is outright molesting me and you can’t even tell her to knock it off?”

He doesn’t sound totally panicked, though. “I think you might want my sister to molest you,” Vivi guesses, turning around in her seat to look at him. Somehow, Jude has managed to thoroughly drape herself across him, but Cardan is showing admirable and frankly uncharacteristic self-restraint by keeping her from doing anything that can’t be undone. “Just a little.”

“When she’s sober. Jude, don’t bite my ear. Jude—”

Vivi snickers. The rest of the short ride passes like that, with Cardan deflecting Jude’s advances and Vivi deflecting the taxi driver’s questions about what exactly is happening back there and whether Jude is going to be sick all over his floor mats. They are lucky enough to not hit “sick” until Jude is out of the car and walking up the five stairs to the door of the apartment building. With Cardan’s warning in mind, Vivi is able to jump back in time.

Cardan, who is nearer to Jude, is not so lucky. She leans against the railing and doubles over it, but his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans are still caught in the splash zone. “Okay, great,” he says, gathering her back up. He does not sound entirely tolerant now, but he also doesn’t sound as angry as Vivi might expect. “That’s over. Feel any better?”

“No,” Jude mutters.

“You might in the morning.” He moves them both so Vivi can pass and open the door. “Man, is this really only the second time this has ever happened to you? I have to say, I’m jealous. Not of you in this moment, of course. Just in general.”

“We can’t all be charming teenage alcoholics,” Vivi says, propping the door open so Cardan can help her through.

“You hear that, Jude?” Cardan asks. “Your sister thinks I’m charming.”

“Uh-huh,” says Jude.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Vivi warns. “She’s almost out. Let’s get her upstairs.”

Jude doesn’t make it into the bedroom she and Taryn are sharing. They put her to bed on the couch, on her side, with Cardan’s jacket draped over her. There’s no laundry machine in the AirBnB, but Vivi finds some detergent in the cabinet and they fill the bathroom sink with lukewarm water so Cardan can wash his jeans. Vivi is not sure the right time for the conversation she should have is now, when Cardan is standing in his boxer briefs and Jude is passed out in the next room, but on the bright side, there probably isn’t a worse time.

“You know, I didn’t think we had this level of friendship,” Cardan remarks, dunking his jeans in the sudsy water. “Dealing with your sister must really be a bonding experience. You always liked Rhyia best.”

“Well, Rhyia’s cool.” Vivi folds her arms and leans in the doorway. She kicked off her boots when they got in the door, so Cardan now looks even taller, although certainly not very intimidating in his underwear. “Calvin Klein. Nice. You always struck me as more of a boxers guy, I have to say.”

“Sometimes. These jeans are pretty tight, though.” He looks over at her. “Do you need something?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing. I just can’t believe you’re trying to fuck my sister.”

“I’m not trying to fuck your sister,” Cardan says, massaging his jeans in the sink in such a way that Vivi is forced to wonder whether he’s ever done his own laundry. “She’s wasted. And she hates me.”

Vivi frowns deeply.

Cardan asks, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Vivienne Leigh—”

“Don’t you pull out my full name for this. You’re playing some game here and I will figure out what it—oh.”

“What now?”

Vivi squints at him. “Are you in love with my sister?”

Cardan lets out an exhausted sigh. “Taryn isn’t really my type.”

They both know they aren’t talking about Taryn. “What the fuck. How long?”

“Like a year. Or maybe my whole life. I’m not sure.”

“Does she know?”

“I really hope not.” Cardan grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, and then looks past himself to see where Jude sleeps on the couch. “She’d never let me live it down.”

“Okay, well…” Vivi pauses. This is more older sibling responsibility than she signed up for. “What are your… intentions?”

“I don’t have any.” Vivi purses her lips, and he adds, “I really don’t. I wasn’t expecting to see her tonight. I kind of thought I’d never see her again after we graduated.” He pauses and looks down at the sink. “I think, someday, I’d like to be a person she likes. That she’s capable of liking.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh.” He has it really, really bad. Vivi can’t imagine what Jude said or did to make him feel that way about her. Maybe it was her total lack of regard for him? “Is this why you bullied her for years?”

“I hope not!” Cardan exclaims, in a way that suggests this thought has occurred to him before, and moreover, that it actually bothers him. “I don’t know! I don’t want to be that fucking cliché, Vivi.”

“We’re all cliché in our own special ways,” Vivi says, glancing back at Jude. A vague plot is beginning to take shape in her brain. Jude is the plotter, Taryn the planner—there is a difference—and Vivi the pantser, normally. But there is something here that she thinks she can exploit. “Seeing as you have no pants, you should probably stay over. I don’t think any of our clothes will fit you.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. You can have one of the twin beds.” After a beat, she adds, “I’m not telling you which one is Jude’s.”

“Darn,” Cardan deadpans. “Now I don’t know which one to jerk off in.”

Vivi pulls a face. “That’s the idea.” And then, because Cardan is hopeless, she reaches forward and yanks the plug from the drain. “Rinse off your jeans in clean water. Otherwise they’ll dry all stiff and soapy.”

“Thank you for the advice, oh wise one.”

She rolls her eyes and leaves him to it. After checking on Jude, whose coloring and breathing are both normal, she heads back to her room and looks at her phone. Nothing from Taryn, even though it’s later than Vivi thought, but Vivi isn’t worried. Taryn’s kind of like a cat in that, somehow, she always manages to land on her feet. Vivi fires off a quick text to her, then stares at the glowing screen, thinking about the way Cardan had rested his head on top of Jude’s in the back of the taxi.

She texts Heather: sisters are a lot of work

And:

i wish you were here

It’s much earlier in New England. When the three dots pop up to indicate that Heather is typing a reply, Vivi smiles.

[respectablesentiment]

It’s Tuesday afternoon and like clockwork, Ellie Williams and Abigail Anderson are in the arcade. Every Tuesday and Thursday they arrive within minutes of Dina starting her shift. They don’t come on Mondays as Abby has swim practice, Wednesdays are out cause they both have soccer, and on Fridays Ellie has baseball. Week in and week out, they are here. Bickering and jeering at each other as they bounce between machines, hogging Street Fighter and stuffing ribbons of tickets into their bags. -- prompt: redemption, day 6 of elliedina week small town 90s AU one-shot, Dina works in an arcade and her best customers are Ellie and her meathead cousin

(day 1: ache) | (day 2: dawn) | (day 3: trouble) | (day 4: family) | (day 5: abandonment)

or you can read ‘crushes’ here if you prefer:

crushes 

It’s Tuesday afternoon and like clockwork, Ellie Williams and Abigail Anderson are in the arcade.

Every Tuesday and Thursday they arrive within minutes of Dina starting her shift. They don’t come on Mondays as Abby has swim practice, Wednesdays are out cause they both have soccer, and on Fridays Ellie has baseball.

Week in and week out, they are here. Bickering and jeering at each other as they bounce between machines, hogging Street Fighter and stuffing ribbons of tickets into their bags.

Dina reckons they’d come before school if they didn’t have track multiple times a week.

She doesn’t know how they do it, feeling mildly out of breath just rushing from school to her shift. But they’re gorgeous and sun kissed and athletic and it shows. Strong arms, built shoulders, trim waists, handsome and freckled and gay.

So gay.

She’s unsure if she’s ever seen Abby wearing sleeves outside of her soccer uniform, and every other shirt she owns looks as though she’s ripped the sleeves off haphazardly.

Ellie’s hair is shaggy, still lingering in the awkward stages of a mullet as it grows from a shorter cut, sticking out at old angles under a baseball cap and often half stuck in the collar of one of Ellie’s flannel shirts.

Dina loses too much time each week thinking about it. Ellie’s hair looks soft, her smile is lopsided, her voice scratchy and she just does it for Dina.

There’s something about Ellie that just works.

It’s always worked.

Dina had moved to Jackson when she was fifteen; she sat behind Ellie in math for two years and she barely learnt a thing. Awestruck and stupid at the slope of her neck and the flex of her arms.

She was better now, her tongue no longer heavy in her mouth and the urge to flee was long abandoned.

Dina had worked in the arcade for almost two years, since she was sixteen, and she’d spent many shifts sitting at the prize counter studying for exams, trying and struggling to learn what she’d missed in math that day.

“Hey Dina,” Ellie says warmly, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Hi Ellie,” Dina greets, wiping her face and hoping she wasn’t drooling as she forces a smile.

Their friendship was new and tentative. Dina still mildly nervous at times after crushing on Ellie from a distance all through middle school. She likes to believe at times that her crush was gone but over the last few months of short conversations, she knew she was slipping.

“Did you have a good day today?” Ellie asks easily.

“Yeah, it was alright,” Dina shrugs, fidgeting with her pen and looking down at her homework. “We got that history essay today though, so I think another wave of assignments is incoming.”

Ellie grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck and Dina feels two years of her life peel away as she watches Ellie’s bicep bulge in the movement. “I’m not the best with writing.”

“I- I thought you wrote all the time?” Dina asks, swallowing thickly. “You’ve always got that notebook of yours out at lunch.”

Ellie’s cheeks turn a little pink and she glances away. “Don’t tell anyone,” Ellie says, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “But it’s all just song lyrics and bad poetry.”

Dina grins, butterflies almost violent in her stomach, her gaze lingering on the slight touch of hazel in Ellie’s green eyes.

“Essays on the other hand,” Ellie smiles crookedly. “Not my thing.”

Dina nods jerkily. “Yeah, yeah I get that.” She blinks, registering her words. “I mean- I’ll pick an essay over math any day but-” She shrugs. “Everyone is different.”

“I’d prefer math,” Ellie says, resting her hands on the counter. “It’s my favourite subject.”

“It’s my worst,” Dina admits.

“If you ever want to study together,” Ellie offers bashfully, waving a hand in the air. “Let me know?”

“I- yeah, yeah I will,” Dina says awkwardly, thinking about how entirely unhelpful that would be and how desperately she’d want that.

“Ellie!” Abby’s booming voice calls across the room. “You gettin’ change or what, dude?”

Ellie sighs. “I’m sorry about her,” she says, rolling her eyes. “She was dropped on her head as a baby.”

Dina laughs, holding out a hand to take some bills from Ellie. “It’s all good,” she smiles, opening the till. “She doesn’t really have an inside voice, does she?”

“Nup,” Ellie grins.

Dina exchanging the money without question, forty bucks in quarters is excessive but they both know it’s nothing new. Both Ellie and Abby worked weekends at their family business Miller Construction to fund it. Neither of the last names are Miller but Dina didn’t question it, always stuck on the image of Ellie in a toolbelt more than anything else. Sometimes they wrap up early on Sundays and come in covered in sawdust and sweat, ready to spend their entire pay and leave Dina breathless.

“We’re getting close,” Ellie says, looking up at the water gun on the top shelf behind Dina.

“I feel like you’d be a lot closer if you just bought one outright,” Dina says teasingly.

“We could never find a beauty like that in the wild,” Ellie says dramatically, accepting the rolls of quarters as Dina hands them over.

She’s not entirely wrong. Jackson was a small town and there certainly wasn’t another place around where they’d find it outside of actually driving to a city.

Dina doesn’t get the appeal, but she admires the dedication.

--

In the following weeks, Ellie and Abby start to come in on days after practice with wet hair and eager expressions.  

“We’re getting really close,” Ellie says again one Monday afternoon. The first time she’s shown up without Abby in tow. “Abby thinks we might hit it tonight,” she continues.

They’d been chatting for a handful of hours, Ellie had come up to get change and lingered to chat until she eventually just sat on the counter. The conversation was easy, Ellie’s smile was bright, and Dina didn’t want it to end.

So of course, Abby finally arrives.

She narrows her eyes questioningly when she sees Ellie at the counter and Ellie is almost immediately pink as she hops off the counter.

“How’d you go so far?” Abby asks.

“I, uh,” Ellie runs a hand through her hair sheepishly. “I haven’t started.”

“Dude,” Abby groans, punching Ellie in the shoulder. “Come on, get your head in the game!”

Ellie winces at the punch. “That was hard!” She protests as she shoves Abby. Abby grabs her and they begin to attempt to wrestle each other, their legs twisting as they both attempt the same move to trip the other over.

“Hey!” Dina yells incredulously. “No roughhousing!”

“Sorry, Dina,” Ellie apologises as they break apart, elbowing Abby when the other girl doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry too,” Abby says lamely.

“Excuse my cousin,” Ellie says. “She doesn’t have any manners ’cause she was raised in a barn.”

“Hey!” Abby frowns. “That’s not true and we’re not cousins.”

“We are cousins,” Ellie says rolling her eyes.

“No, we’re not,” Abby protests.

“We are too!”  

“We are not,” Abby says exasperatedly. “You’re the adopted kid of my dad’s sister’s husband’s brother.”

“Exactly!” Ellie agrees brightly, turning back to Dina with a smile. “So, we’re cousins.”

Dina tries and fails to hide her laughter.

“Your aunt is my aunt but we’re not each other’s aunt’s children,” Abby tries to argue, looking mildly confused. “So we’re like distantly connected but not related and therefore not cousins.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ellie says shaking her head. “If my dad is the brother of your aunt’s husband then we’re cousins.”

“We don’t share any grandparents though,” Abby says, scratching her head. “So, we can’t be cousins.”

“Dude, I’m adopted,” Ellie says with a laugh. “It makes no difference if I’m your aunt’s child or your dad’s brother-in-law’s brother’s child, because either way there’s no blood there.”

Abby frowns. “I don’t- I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Dina interjects. “I don’t think I followed any of that.”

“Anyway,” Ellie says. “We’re cousins and we need some more quarters, please and thank you.”

“We just need 217 more tickets,” Abby says, looking up at the water gun.

Dina looks up at the water gun, dust settled on grey and purple body of it. “I don’t know if it’s worth the tickets,” she says apologetically, looking at the small sign reading ‘Redeem for 15,000’ in front of it. “I have no idea much money you’ve spent so far, but you’ve spent a lot.”

“It’s the 1996 CPS 2000 Mk 1 Super Soaker,” Abby says, as though it means something to Dina. “It’s priceless.”

“Is it?” Dina asks.

“It’s the first elastic pressure Super Soaker ever made,” Ellie adds.

The addition doesn’t clarify anything for Dina and her blank expression must tell them as much.

“It was discontinued last year for the 1998 CPS 2500,” Abby frowns. “The 2500 has an even smaller nozzle than the CPS 2000 Mk 2.”

“Is that- is that what this one is?” Dina asks.

“This is the first release,” Ellie says. “The Mk 2 has 25% less capacity cause they shortened the pressure gauge and most of them have a different pump with a visible pin…” Her voice trails off, seemingly a little embarrassed.

“The Mk2 and the 2500 are shit compared to this,” Abby says. “This is the most powerful Super Soaker ever produced, better than the 300!”

“Oh wow,” Dina says politely, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice.

“It’s got the best time, output and range,” Abby continues. “I heard that someone once shot a kid in the eye with one and it removed the eye.”

“I really really doubt that,” Dina says. “Regardless, when you do get it, please do not shoot each other in the face.”

“We won’t,” Ellie smiles.

“Redemption will never be as sweet,” Abby whispers to herself, still gazing up at the water gun.

--

They get it by the Thursday, lugging in several backpacks of tickets for Dina to look at.

“We’ve come for redemption,” Abby says in a gravelly voice, her expression only serious for a moment before it cracks and she’s grinning dopily.

Counting the tickets was a chore and Dina didn’t do it as closely as she probably should have, trusting Abby’s count considering how meticulously ordered and bound the tickets were in sets of 250.

When Dina finally hands it over, Abby hugs the gun tightly to her chest. Dina’s mildly concern that Abby might kiss it.

Ellie and Abby’s jaws drop when Dina takes another identical water gun out from under the counter and places it back on the top shelf.

“There’s another-” Ellie says, eyes wide.

“I want it,” Abby whispers.

“Abby, we can’t-” Ellie tries.

“I want it,” Abby says wistfully. “We can totally get it.”

“We cannot,” Ellie protests.

“Think of how powerful we’ll be,” Abby says, bouncing on her feet a little like she’s torn between running off to play with the water gun or to go back to one of the arcade machines.

“I just don’t get it,” Dina mutters to herself.

--

It takes a week until they show up again; she talks to Ellie at times at school, but they don’t share lunch period and it’s not the same.

Her shifts feel longer, the kids seem more annoying and her homework seems to make less sense.

Their arrival makes her disproportionately happy, beaming at them as they come over to the counter to make change.

“I see you still have both eyes, Abby,” Dina says almost affectionately. “Did it live up to all your hopes and dreams?”

“It really did,” Abby says giddily, her eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna get his brother now, I think.”

Dina grins. “By the way, we just got in Mortal Kombat 4.”

“Finally!” Abby yells, smacking the counter before stalking away.

“I like her,” Dina says to Ellie.

“She’s pretty great,” Ellie sighs. There’s a beat of silence before them before Ellie’s peers over the counter. “How’s your homework treating you?”

Dina groans.

“That bad?” Ellie asks, looking apologetic for asking.

“Math is just not my thing,” Dina says, dropping her face into her hands.

“Can I help?” Ellie asks earnestly.

--

It’s later that night when it happens.

They spend an hour looking through the work, Ellie sitting with Dina behind the counter as she works through a handful of example questions in a crooked handwriting.

And it slowly clicks.

Dina’s almost giddy with relief as she understands. “God, I’m so glad we’re friends now,” Dina says honestly.

“Me too,” Ellie smiles softly, her eyes crinkling.

“You know what’s funny?” Dina asks, unable to stop herself.

“What?”  

“It’s funny but I had a huge crush on you like two years ago,” she admits.

Ellie’s jaw drops. “Really?”

Dina nods sheepishly.

“Wait, really? Two years ago?” Ellie asks pressingly.

“Yeah,” Dina flushes.

Ellie swears, smacking the table in front of her and pacing in the small space.

“What?”

“I had a crush on you two years ago,” Ellie groans, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Dina curses, her head in her hands.

“I know,” Ellie sighs.

“Fuuuuck.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Dina asks, looking up to question Ellie.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ellie repeats anxiously.

They stare at each other almost angrily in their frustration, tense and regretful. Dina can’t blame her for not saying anything and she knows it.

Two years of what ifs between them.

“You good?”

They both startle, jumping in their skin to turn and find Abby on the other side of the counter, glancing between them and chewing gum lazily.

“She had a crush on me two years ago,” Ellie laments, the words rushing out all at once.

“Okay,” Abby says, blowing a bubble and popping it before continuing. “But like, she still likes you, so what’s the issue?”

Dina has never hated her more.

“I- Abby you-” Ellie stammers, looking angrily at Abby before turning to Dina. “I- I mean, do you?”

Dina swallows before nodding awkwardly.

Ellie looks elated, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly with restless energy like Abby the week prior. “Do you, uh, do you wanna go on a-?” She clears her throat. “Can I take- Can I please take you on a date? Would you-”

Dina reaches out to stop her, taking Ellie’s hand gently in hers. “I would love to go on a date with you,” she says sincerely, her cheeks are burning, and she knows she’s probably blushing just as much as Ellie.

They smile at each other eagerly, thrumming with excitement and giddy with affection.

“So like,” Abby interrupts. “Can I get some more quarters, though?”

 (Ellie has baseball practice after school the next day. Dina has the night off work, so she sits in the stands, her homework open and ignored in her lap. They go to a diner for burgers and fries afterwards, holding hands across the table, and they have their first kiss that night at Dina’s front door.)

:)

[sailor-manga]

“Caught” Part Four {Shouta Aizawa}  [FINAL PART + 200 Follower milestone!!]

A/N: So I got a little carried away with it, but I honestly love how it turned out. I would like to personally thank Prisim [ @royal-after-dark​ ], Cece, and Allie [ @queensynderella​ ] for giving me pointers and suggestions, if it wasn’t for you guys, I would still be stuck on this!. Either way, I hope you guys liked the route that I took. <3 

**Side note: I’m working on using mainly last names, as you’ve noticed I’ve used both in this piece but I intend to try and starting doing it the other way unless Reader is close to them. 

Word count: 8,041

Warnings: Smut, Teacher kink, angst, mentions of alcohol, awkward grinding?

You felt like shit, you were so glad you didn’t have to go to classes today.. The only good outcome of all of this was that you were able to make a friend. You had texted Eijiro last night and you two stayed up pretty late just talking and exchanging funny photos, probably why you were so sluggish. Sitting up in your bed, your eyes would read over the messages sent, a tired chuckle emitting from your lips that slowly curled into a smile. Thankfully, those were the only messages you saw, none from Shouta. In the back of your mind, it kind of hurt- But you couldn’t blame him, you ignored him all day yesterday. 

Getting out of bed, you would let out a stretched yawn and go to your closet, since you had the day to yourself, you figured it would be best to at least get out for a while. Despite making a friend, the whole Aizawa situation was still very much implanted in your head, it made you feel like a high school girl all over again, pining for your teacher that made it VERY clear he wanted nothing like that with you. 

Slipping on a black pleated skirt with some black tights, you’d finish the outfit with a simple black V-neck shirt, showing your cleavage in a classy way. You honestly didn’t know why you were getting so dressed up, probably because you just simply wanted to feel better. Sitting at your vanity you would do some intricate makeup and sigh “Why am I doing this” you’d mutter to yourself, you looked great- but you still had nothing to do. As you brushed out your hair, you would pick up your phone and eye Eijiro’s number, would it be too forward to see if him and Bakugo wanted to hang out?

Biting your lip, you would take the chance and shoot him a quick text- Seeing him and Katsuki would like to meet you at your favorite cafe. Tucking your phone into the pocket of the skirt, you would wander out of your room and into the bathroom for deodorant and a quick teeth brush. It wasn’t until you were heading into your living room area when your phone would buzz. Pulling it out, your face would light up in a soft smile. 

Eijiro Kirishima: That sounds great! We’ll be leaving here in just a moment! 

You would let out a soft sigh of relief to see that your advances for friendship didn’t scare him off. Kicking on your creepers, you would snatch your bag from the counter and leave the apartment. 

To your surprise, Eijiro and Katsuki would have beaten you there, already sitting near the window and talking among themselves. You would smile to see Katsuki was slightly more relaxed. 

Entering the shop, Eijiro would happily wave you down, and you would walk over and sit in between them. Katsuki would simply grunt out a hello and Eijiro would pat your shoulder “How are you feeling today?” he asked cheerfully, which caused you to shrug “Still fresh, but I’m making it I suppose” you would say with a light smile. 

You three would idly chat and sip some coffee, Katsuki would occasionally yell profanities at you, but you knew it was just him. “So” Eijiro said with a smile “I don’t know if you remember Kaminari, but he’s having a party. His birthday was a few days ago and of course wants to be the center of attention- Would that be something that interests you?” he asked with a head tilt.

Looking down some, you would ponder- You remembered Denki Kaminari very well, he was always the life of the class, and a bit of a pervert- but hey, he was a high school boy. “That sounds cool, but I never really got acquainted with him” you’d say with a light frown. Kiri would wave his hand dismissively “Oh pshh, As long as you wish him a happy birthday he’ll be glowing. Come on, Y/N, come with us! We want you to come, right babe?” he asked, looking towards Bakugo who was more occupied with the muffin in his hand. Glancing up, he would shoot you a death glare before softening a bit “Yeah, it’d be cool or whatever” he ruffed. 

You couldn’t help the smile that crept up on your lips, you weren’t one tease- But you’d say that Bakugo was definitely okay with you hanging around them. “Well, I suppose it would be fun.. I’ll do it” you said with a grin. Eijiro smacked his knee and huffed out a happy sigh “That’s great! If you would have said no, Katsuki would have no problem dragging you” he joked, but it still caused a blush to paint the top of your cheeks. 

Eijiro was quick to shoot Kaminari a text “Wow, this is going to be like a whole 1A reunion” he said with a smile. That kind of put a pit in your stomach, Shouta wouldn’t be invited right? It was probably just the students.. Trying to calm those thoughts in your head you would pull out your own phone “wanna send me the address?” you ask quietly before Kiri waved his hand at you “No need! We’ll come pick you up” he said with a bright smile “Just make sure you’re ready by nine pm sharp” he said before looking at Bakugo who was idly staring out the window “Ready babe?” Eijiro asked, which made the blonde snap out of thoughts and stand up “Finally” he grunted, taking his boyfriend by the hand. 

Waving a quiet goodbye to them, you would slump into your seat and take another drink of your coffee, the thought of a party was definitely nice, but the subtle fear of Shouta being there almost wanted you to make some kind of excuse not to go. You really didn’t want to, you just started making friends, you didn’t want to ruin that because of your own paranoia. 

Finally standing up, you grab your bag and coffee before heading out. You had quite a bit of time to kill before the party so you figured you could get some school work done and maybe re apply your makeup. After all, you wanted to make a good impression on your old classmates, it could be a huge opportunity to possibly make a few more friends. You kind of felt bad that you didn’t before, Eijiro was so great- who else was as nice as him that you just never gave the chance. It wasn’t your fault though, back in high school and even now you always had socialization issues. 

Shouta was idly typing away on his laptop at home, trying to get some work done before he napped. As the male read over essays, he would raise a brow when his computer chimed, indicating he had an email. The male would stifle a yawn before opening up a new tab and starting to read. It was from Denki Kaminari, one of his old students. Rubbing his chin, he would study the email closely. The writing stated that it was his birthday a few days ago and they were going to celebrate that, and also that it would be really cool to have a little reunion, and it wouldn’t be that unless their awesome teacher attended. 

Hitting reply, he was going to decline- But then it hit him.. If it was a reunion, then surely you’d be there right? He fought with his thoughts for a moment.. Would it be a good idea? 

Quickly typing that he would attend, he would close the laptop and run a hand through his locks. At this point he didn’t care what was right or wrong, he needed to see you, needed to make things okay between the two of you.

Once nine came around, you were sitting in your living room fumbling with your fingers. You were pretty nervous, but hey.. At least you looked great. You had wiped off your makeup and did a whole different look. You also changed your shirt into a tank top, something to hug your curves and show off a little more, why? Because you were so sick of being a wallflower. You were going to stand out tonight and make friends!

Your phone buzzing snapped you from your thoughts and you would pick it up to see that Eijiro and Katsuki were waiting outside for you. Standing up quickly, you would sling your purse around your shoulder and shove your phone in there before zipping it up and rushing out. 

As you closed the door to your complex, Eijiro would honk his horn and wave “Over here, cutie! Let’s go” he cheered out while Katsuki sat on the passenger side with his arms crossed. 

Hopping over, you would slide into the backseat and Eijiro would turn around, eyeing you up and down “Wow, Y/N.. You look really. Sexy” he breathed, the cheerful smile still painted on his face. Katsuki would growl out and snap his head to the side, bending over to look behind the seat. You could tell he was about to say something rude, but his eyes went right to your perky breasts. 

Turning the color of Eijiro’s hair, he would huff “Y-Yeah.. You might look good, but don’t forget you’re just a fucking extra” he grunted out, quickly averting his eyes and sitting in his seat. Eijiro would chuckle and you would soon follow. A compliment.. Kind of? 

“Thanks, both of you.. I really wanted to stand out tonight, and thanks again for inviting me” you would say in a soft tone. “Ah shush, we wanted you to come!” Eijiro would muse before finally pulling out of the spot and heading towards their destination. Leaning back in your seat, you couldn’t fight your smile that didn’t seem to want to leave your face. It felt good to be seen. 

When they pulled up to the house, there were students still filtering in. You recognized most of them, but the question was.. Would they recognize you? Getting out, you would smooth out your skirt. Katsuki would get out with a huff and Eijiro would practically jump out, very ready to party. “Let’s go!” he chimed out, the beat of the music reaching all the way to the car. Eijiro would grab Katsuki by the hand and surprisingly, he would do the same to you. With him in the middle, he would yank the both of you towards the home. 

As soon as you guys entered the house, a blast of heat from the number of bodies would wash over you. Immediately the two males were greeted by multiple people. Standing behind Eijiro as everyone exchanged hugs, you would feel a tight embrace. Blinking frantically, the stranger would lift you up and swirl you around. Once you were set down, you would look up through your lashes to see Tenya Iida “My goodness , Y/N! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” he boomed with a large smile on his face. Blinking a few more times, you would give him a shy smile “I-I didn’t think you’d remember my name” you’d say sheepishly.

Tenya would let out a loud laugh “What kind of president would I be if I didn’t remember the names of my classmates!” he said, patting your shoulder warmly. 

Before you could answer, another hug would swarm in. Letting out a gasp as the mystery person seemed to squeeze the life out of you, you’d finally see Denki Kaminari “Y/N! I tried to invite you personally but no one had your number, I was so thankful that Kiri had your number” he said with a bright smile. You felt like you were going to cry, but for once.. It was happy tears, here you thought that no one would know who you were, but everyone seemed to remember you “Happy birthday” you’d say shyly, earning a laugh from Kaminari “thanks! Don’t just stand there, come on” he said quickly hooking his arm around yours and pulling you further inside. 

Turning your head, you would see Kirishima and Bakugo stay back to talk to Iida for a moment, Mina slowly walking up to greet them. 

“Let’s get you a drink, we can’t have anyone being too shy now” Kaminari mused before grabbing a red solo cup and starting to mix you a drink. You would laugh nervously before rubbing the back of your neck, you still couldn’t get rid of the warmth inside you upon discovering your classmates actually knew who you were. 

Your thoughts were cut off by Kaminari holding the cup to your face “Here you go!” he chimed. Taking the cup from his hands you would take a sip and immediately make a face of disgust “Jesus.. This is so strong” you’d mutter “Duh! That’s how it’s supposed to be” he yelled over the music. 

A dry, unpracticed chuckle would come up from your throat as you attempted to get used to the strong taste of alcohol flooding your senses. Kaminari would pat your back with a snort before pointing over across the room “Ooh! Uraraka is here! I’ll be back” he said quickly, leaving you alone at the table. 

Tapping the side of your cup, you would look around. Everyone was chatting with someone, and you were here.. Being the wallflower you swore you wouldn’t be. Letting out a sigh, you would bring the cup to your lips and chug it down, resisting the urge to cough it back up. 

The contents in the cup were soon gone and you found the room already spinning. Letting out a sigh, you would hold your stomach.. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. Licking your lips and setting the cup down, you would find a group that wasn’t too occupied. It wasn’t long before your eyes fell upon a messy head of green hair “Midoriya” you muttered, you remembered him being very friendly, so that couldn’t go wrong could it? 

Pushing yourself off of the wall, you would walk straight towards him and offer a smile “Hello, Midoriya” you’d say bowing your head to him. Izuku would glance over and his eyes would go wide “Y-Y/N? Woah! I didn’t think I’d see you here” he muttered out shyly before opening his arms. Unlike Iida and Kaminari, Midoriya would hug onto you gently, patting your back softly “How have you been?” he asked as he pulled away. 

Licking your lips again, you would give off a slight shrug “Oh, you know.. Just college, college.., and more college” you said with a soft chuckle. Midoriya would nod with a friendly smile “I understand that, I’ve been cramming for an exam I have next week, thought this would be a nice break- It’s great seeing everyone again” he said shoving his hands into his pockets. You would nod in agreement, blinking your eyes a few times.

You knew now that it was definitely a bad idea that you chugged that drink. Not only did you have a severely shitty alcohol tolerance, but it was probably even worse now since you barely drank in the first place! 

“Y/N, you okay?” Midoriya asked with concern “Oh, um.. Yeah, I’m fine” you said with a giggle, turning a slight shade of rose. Before the male could offer you a bottle of water or something, Kirishima would quickly wrap an arm around you “There you are! Oh, hey Midoriya!” Eijiro said, tipping his cup to the other. Izuku would nod a hello and offer a smile. “Look at you, did you already start drinking without me? No fair!” Eijiro chimed out before turning you around and leading you back to the table.

Shaking your head some you would hold up your hands “I-I don’t think I need anymore alcohol, Kaminari made sure I got a good intake” you would say with a hiccup, your words slightly slurring. 

Grabbing two more glasses, Kirishima would look over at you “Come on, just one shot with me- To celebrate you coming tonight! I promise I won’t bug you to drink anymore and I’ll watch you to make sure you don’t do anything foolish” he said with a pout. 

Rolling your eyes, you would grab the cup and hold it out while he poured a portion-able shot of vodka inside. Capping the bottle, he would pick up his own cup and tap it against yours “To my manliness- and your amazing looks” he said before tipping the glass to his mouth. You would quickly do the same and make the same face as disgust as before. 

“What a face” Kiri commented with a chuckle, using his thumb to wipe some vodka that had dribbled down your lip. The tips of your ears would flush as the song would shift, upbeat, techno, perfect for dancing and Kirishima caught onto that quickly “That’s what you need, you need to dance!” he chimed. Quickly lifting your hands, you would quickly shake them “No, no.. I don’t dance” you claimed. Kirishima would stare at you for a moment before pouting “Would you dance if it was Bakugo?” he asked with a smirk. 

Raising a brow you would tilt your head “W-What is that supposed to mean?” you muttered out. Kiri rubbed the back of his neck “You both seem to not be having a good time is all” he said holding up a hand and dashing through the crowd, he was back as soon as he disappeared but his time he had Bakugo in hand, chugging down a beer. “You two, go dance” he urged, which made both of you glance at each other “What are you trying to do, shitty hair” he grunted with a soft slur. 

Kirishima would roll his eyes and lean towards his boyfriend, whispering something that made the blonde flush “S-Stupid dumb ass” he growled before setting his bottle down and grabbing your wrist “W- huh?” you’d mutter out with a slur. 

As you two got swallowed in the crowd, he would growl out “That idiot doesn’t listen, can’t you see that?” he huffed, his free hand taking your other wrist and resting both of them on his shoulders. You would look around shyly to see that other classes were arriving too, Shinso in particular was someone you noticed right away, chatting with Kaminari on the side lines. Your attention snapped back to Bakugo when his hands traveled to your waist “Don’t say one fucking word, you hear me dumb ass?” he hissed. 

You immediately closed your lips into a tight line as Bakugo pulled you close to press up against him, the tips of his ears growing red. “Y-You don’t have to do this, you know.. I know I’m awkward, but I can manage” you muttered, trying not to keep the male there if he didn’t want to be. 

Bakugo was quick to let out a grunt before one of the hands that rested diligently on your hip moved to the small of your back “If I didn’t want to be here, I would have told shitty hair to fuck off” he barked, causing you to flinch. With the way he was swaying you around, the alcohol seemed to be mixing further into your system, causing you to lean your weight onto him “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he muttered out, hooking his arm further around you to make sure you didn’t slip and fall onto the floor. 

“Mn..” you groaned quietly, which made Bakugo scoff “You’re trashed” he slurred. Looking up at him through your lashes, you would giggle out “So are you” you noted, which actually roused a smile from the angry male. You two went quiet as you awkwardly ground on each other, to anyone else you two looked like two young adults just having the time of their lives, but in reality, both of you were quiet and simply moving to the beat, not quite sure on what to say to one another. 

You didn’t know if it was a curse or a blessing when Kirishima hopped over and leaned in between you two “Mind if I cut in? I think I’ve tortured you enough” he said to you with a soft smile, helping you stand “You want to go over there?” he asked, nodding his head to the couch where Midoriya and Iida sat. Shaking your head, you would lightly pull yourself from his grasp “I got it” you slurred “You two enjoy yourselves” you said with a drunken smile, sauntering off back to the table in hopes you’d find some water. 

Pushing through people, your sights would be on the refreshments, but your feet wanted to betray you. You found yourself stumbling into people and drunkenly muttering sorry every five seconds. 

You had just made it to the table when you were soon to realize that the other bodies were what was helping you keep your balance. Falling forward, you would quickly feel an arm around your waist, quickly pulling you up to stand up straight. You would mutter a drunk thank you but the arm didn’t seem to loosen. 

Turning your head, you would freeze.. It was like time itself frozen as you stared into the eyes of a frustrated and concerned Shouta Aizawa. Once you were able to come to your senses, you would quickly attempt to struggle from his grasp, but it only tightened “If I let go, you’re dropping” he warned. 

Not listening to his reason, you would continue to squirm in his grasp, letting out small whimpers as you did so. Aizawa would grab a bottle of water and let out a growl “Come on, we’re going outside for a moment” he said before pulling your body into his and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, making sure to guide you carefully through the crowd. The male was actually really attentive to you, making sure that no flying arms would smack you, or making sure another body didn’t stumble into you to make you lose your balance. 

The second you two got outside, he would lead you to the porch. The cool nights breeze would caress your flushed cheeks and now that you were getting some fresh air, you didn’t feel like you were going to knock out. Drunkenly pushing him away now, you would stumble and quickly find your balance by leaning against the wall “What are you doing here? Why are you still bothering me?” You spat out, hints of drunken venom poisoning your tone. 

Shouta would stare at you for a long moment before he took a tentative step closer as he lowered his tone into a deep command “Why didn’t you answer me”. Staring at him through your lashes, you would scoff “Because you’re an ass hole, because you hurt me, and I don’t owe you the pleasure of answering your texts” you spat back. 

His arms were quick to cage you in, keeping you pinned against the wall “I was worried about you, Y/n.. I..” he choked on his words for a moment “I made a mistake okay? It was wrong of me to drive you away” he admitted quietly, his eyes going soft as he gazed upon your drunk, angry expression. 

You didn’t want to hear it, you immediately began to push at him, trying to get free of the kabedon. Aizawa didn’t let up though, he towered over you and let out a soft sigh “Please, Y/N.. Just hear me out? Stop..” he muttered, pressing his broad chest closer to you to give you a little less wiggle room. You still weren’t having it, letting out a frustrated grunt, you would place your elbows on his chest and shove as hard as you could but your legs seemed to buckle out from under you, causing you to quickly pull away to keep yourself up.

Letting out a gasp, you would feel another panic attack coming on, you had to get away “G-Get away from me” you blurted out, your hand quickly coming up and connecting to his cheek with a loud ‘SMACK’. Shouta let out a soft hiss, and squinted an eye closed, but he didn’t budge “I deserved that..” he’d mutter out, his hands slowly sliding down the wall to wrap around your waist “Shh, please Y/N.. Calm down, I’m here.. I know you hate me right now, but please..” he cooed into your ear. 

Turning into a puddle of mush in his arms, your face would bury into his chest as you broke out into a loud sob. One of his hands was quick to trail up and down your face “I was wrong about you, Y/N.. You’re different from the others, and I know that now.. I’m so sorry I hurt you, but I need to fix this, I want you” mused quietly into your ear as you dampened his shirt with your tears. 

You so badly wanted to keep pushing at him, even wanted to hit him again- But those words.. Those words washed over you and seemed to melt your panic away as if it was nothing. Shouta said nothing, he just let you cry, he comforted you the best he could. “Here” he finally said, pulling you away from his chest and uncapping the water he had grabbed, putting it in your hands. 

Trembling, you would lift the bottle to your lips and take a few strong gulps before pulling it away with a gasp. The male would quietly take it from your hands “Let me take you back to my place, you can barely stand right now” he whispered. 

Letting out a shaky breath, you would give a minuscule nod. That was all he needed. Tucking the water into his pocket he would bend over and hook an arm around the back of your knees, lifting you up with ease and into a bridal style carry. 

Quickly latching your arms around his neck, your head would slump against his cheek “It’s going to be okay, Kitten” he muttered, taking you to his car. Carefully he would strap you into the passenger seat, making sure to place the water on your lap before closing the door gently and circling the car to get into the drivers side. 

As the car took off, you would slump against the door. The drive wasn’t easy, bile kept creeping up your throat but you would wash it down with water. It wasn’t until the male actually parked when you would push the door open and practically hang out as you released the vomit that you had forced down. 

The only thing that was holding you was the seat belt, and you were thankful for that. Letting out a whimper, you would feel your hair slowly raise from your face “Let it all out, Kitten.. It’s okay” Aizawa would muse quietly, his free limb rubbing your back in soothing up and down motions. You two would stay like that for quite a moment before he unbuckled you and carried you into his house. 

When he got you inside, he would close the door with his foot and take you to his room. Laying your body down on the plush comforter, he would push more hair from your face “Look at you..” he said softly before letting out a soft breath “Stay put, okay? We’re going to get all that makeup off your face and some more water” he said softly before making his way out of the room. 

When he left, you would roll onto your side, inhaling his scent on the blanket.. You had never felt so secure and safe.. You never wanted to leave this spot. Sprawling your arms forward, you would gather the bedding and press your face up against it, letting out a soft whimper as you went in and out of a dozed state- If you even remembered, you’d have to find Kaminari’s number and scold him for getting you so drunk, of course Kirishima had a play in that too. 

You didn’t know how long he was away, but soon his strong hands would slowly roll you back onto your back. Feeling a lukewarm cloth on your face, the male was gentle with wiping off the streaks of makeup that tainted your cheeks. “Think you can drink some more water for me, Kitten?” he asked quietly. Your eyes would flutter open to see him gazing down at you with a frown “Yeah..” you’d mutter in a soft slur. 

Propping you up a little, you would lazily grab the water bottle and uncap it, taking some small swigs before licking your lips “Thanks..” you’d say quietly, handing the bottle back to him. He would nod some and set it on the nightstand in case you wanted more. “I’m so sorry, Y/N” he growled, causing you to look at him with a frown “I will make it up to you, if you let me, Kitten.. I want to take care of you” he confessed, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. 

“I-I’m still mad at you..” was the only thing you could get out. The male would chuckle and nod “You have every right to be” he mused softly before standing from the bed and grabbing his blanket, pulling it over your body “Rest now, okay? We’ll talk more in the morning” he said, turning his back to walk out. 

Biting your lip quietly you would reach out and quickly grab the back of his shirt. Shouta would turn around and you would suck in a breath “Stay in here.. It’s fine.. I don’t want to take your bed” you’d mutter out. He would stare at you for a moment before nodding “Very well, as long as you’re okay with it” he said softly before blinking and looking down at your feet. Reaching down, he would carefully remove your shoes and place them on the floor and reach over to flick off the light. 

You could hear the light shuffles of him stripping off his clothing and soon you would feel the other side of the bed sink in. He was respectful, he kept his distance from you and even used a separate blanket to cover up with. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was trying to get in your pants, not after what he did the first time. 

He did reach over to pet you though. Soft and slow his fingers would slide through your silky locks, causing your eyes and stomach to flutter. You didn’t know when you actually fell asleep, but it was pretty hard not too with the soothing touch of Shouta. 

When morning rolled around, you would immediately groan at the light invading the room. Covering your eyes, your throbbing headache would remind you of where you were. Quickly sitting up, you would look next to you to see an empty spot. Looking down to see your clothes still intact, you would sigh out and glance over at the water bottle and snatch it, chugging it down greedily. Crinkling the plastic, you would set the now empty bottle back on the nightstand. 

It was then when Shouta came in, granola bar and aspirin in hand “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting at the edge of the bed “F-Fine.. I suppose” you muttered, taking the aspirin from his hand and popping it into your mouth, using your saliva to swallow it down. “Eat” he suggested, placing the bar in your lap. Picking it up, you would start to open it “Where is my bag?” you asked quietly. Reaching over as you started to nibble on the granola bar, he would carefully place your bag on your legs. 

Fishing out your phone, your eyes would widen.. You had over thirty texts from Kirishima, and a number you didn’t recognize, but you soon found out it was Bakugo. You felt so guilty.. You left last night without a word. The last time Kirishima saw you was when you were drunk and stumbling away. Quickly opening the messages, you would shoot him a text explaining how sorry you were and that someone had brought you home because you wound up getting sick. 

Letting out a sigh, you would feel the grip of his hand resting on your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze “Y/N.. we need talk about this sooner or later, will you please hear me out?” he asked quietly, gauging your expression to see if you would run again. 

Sucking a deep breath, you would gaze up at him “I-.. I’m willing to give this a chance, don’t think I’m not still mad at you, but last night you showed me that you wanted to fix things” you muttered out, glaring at him “And if you ever fucking do that to me again, there will be no second chances, you wi-” you were cut off by the rough eagerness of his lips. You hated how he had this weight over you.. You melted into his kiss, the simple gesture alone sending jolts throughout your whole body. 

Shouta would break the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting you two “I swear to you, Kitten.. I will never fucking do anything like that to you again, you’re mine now.. And I intend on keeping it that way” he breathed out, his hand slipping behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. Lifting your arms, they would make quick work to hug around his neck to pull him closer. 

Breaking the kiss, Shouta would smirk some “You’re welcome to use my shower and kitchen if you’d like” he noted softly, his body leaning more forward, but you would seem to perk up at the thought of the shower “Actually, a shower sounds awesome” you’d mutter out. Aizawa would lean away and let you get up from the bed. Taking the half eaten granola bar from your hands, he would point to the door “It’s the door right on the left” he instructed.  

Lifting yourself up, you’d smooth out your now wrinkled shirt and quickly shuffle away. Once you were in the bathroom, your face would heat up and you would cup your cheeks into your hands. He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven so quickly, yet all he has to do is whisper sweet nothings and you’re like putty in his hands. He seemed serious, he wouldn’t have cornered you at that party if he wasn’t serious, and if all he really wanted was to fuck, he wouldn’t have cared if you were hammered last night, he would have done it. 

Sighing softly, you would strip out of your clothes and lay them neatly on the sink counter, stealing some of his mouthwash to get the disgusting taste off of your tongue. Turning the water on hot, you’d twist the cold knob only a little so you wouldn’t burn your flesh off. As steam started to fill the room, you would hold your hand under the water before letting out a soft hum. You weren’t in there long, you really just wanted to wash your body and hair, rubbing and pushing through those sweaty bodies last night left you with a gross feeling. 

Turning off the shower, you would step out and push the wet locks from your face. Looking around, you would bite your lip- the whole bathroom smelled like his cologne, hit drowned your senses and made you step forward, sneakily opening the medicine cabinet. Your eyes went right to the little back bottle with some kind of fancy name on it. Plucking it from it’s spot you would uncap it and inhale it’s scent, causing your head to spin and your knees to buckle slightly. 

No matter how much you wanted to dislike him, it was clear that you were still head over heels for the guy, so much you were sneaking through his cabinet just to take in his scent. 

Drying off best you could, you would put your clothes back on, minus the thigh highs. Clutching them in your hand, you would dry your hair a little before exiting the room and going back to the bedroom where Aizawa laid, dozing softly. Biting your lip, you would stand at the door for a moment to take in his sleeping features, he looked so sweet, so relaxed..

“Why are you staring at me like that?” the words slapped you in the face to snap you out of your daydream state to stare at Aizawa who now had one eye open, gazing at your figure. The tips of your ears would flush and you would quickly shake your head “S-Sorry.. You just looked so peaceful is all” you admitted, which caused a deep honey coated chuckle to leave his throat. 

“Come here, kitty” he ordered quietly. It seemed like your body was more compliant than your mind because right when his sentence finished to linger in the air, you would move forward and take a seat at the edge of the bed next to him. 

His strong hand was quick to come up and rest against your lower back “Kitten, is it too soon?” he asked in a low rumble. Meeting his gaze, you would purse your lips innocently at the question “Too soon for what?” you’d ask tilting your head some. Grabbing the back of your shirt he would pull you to lay on top of him “You know what I’m talking about, kitten.. I want you” he purred. 

Though you were laying on him, you would cross your arms and let out a soft huff “Yeah? Just because I gave you another chance doesn’t mean I’m going to immediately let you fuck me” you breathed, still enjoying his warmth caressing your body. “Oh?.. But what if I could.. Convince you?” he teased, causing your thighs to squeeze together. Slick had been pooling in your panties since he pulled you on top of him, you knew he would win- But being the competitive girl you were, you would huff “Fine, if you think you can convince me, then go ahead and try” you’d say with a firm nod. 

Aizawa wasted no time with grabbing his capture scarf from his neck, the fabric immediately going around your wrists and pulling them to your chest “O-Oi, wouldn’t that count as cheating” you breathed out as the male shifted himself out from under you “Hm? We didn’t state any rules, kitten..” he trailed off with a smirk.

The tightness caught you off guard, looking down you would watch as the scarf made itself comfortable around your plush skin. Aizawa was quick to crawl on the bed, his hands slowly prying your thighs apart so he could get in between “Do you know how hard it was for me to not bombard you last night? This cute little skirt and those sexy fucking thigh highs.. You were driving me mad” he growled, his fingers slowly kneading into your upper thighs, his nails just barely gazing you, sending jolts of shivers throughout your entire body. 

He was doing this on purpose, massaging you so close to your dripping cunt. You already wanted him to cave, but something in you said that you’d be able to hold out just a little bit longer “Mmn.. Kitten, your skin is so soft” he groaned, itching himself down so his face could press against you. Letting out a shaky breath, you would quickly let out a soft mewl as his stubble grazed against you, and that mewl became louder when you felt his teeth sink in. 

“What are you doing?” you’d gasp out, going to move your hands to his hair but the fabric would tightly hold you back. The male didn’t answer for a minute, he was sucking on the inside of your thigh, his tongue lapping at it eagerly. With staggered breathing, you would lay there to take it, your legs twitching around his body. When the male finally came up, he would look you in the eye with a mischievous smirk “I was marking you” he growled, his hand moving to brush against the now purplish pink mark that painted your thigh “M-Marked me?” you’d ask in a hazy state “Yes, my pretty little kitten.. You’re mine now, I had to make it official” he said with a chuckle before lifting himself up just to grab a hold of your skirt, raising it slightly to see just how wet you were. 

“My, my.. Look at that pussy, I can see your folds twitch through your panties.. Mn.. and that damp spot?” He’d muse, his eyes occasionally glancing at your face to see just how red it has gotten “A-Aizawa.. Please” you muttered out embarrassed, but his hand would quickly cut you off “No, no kitten.. Is that anyway to speak to your old homeroom teacher?” he asked sternly, which caused your breathing to once again irregular.

“Mr.Aizawa?” you’d ask sheepishly, which earned you a firm smack against your ass “That’s a good girl.. Right now, you will address me as Mr. Aizawa” he said before dropping your skirt and deciding to just get rid of it altogether. Watching as the fabric was sent flying, you would attempt to close your legs, but he was quick to place his hands on both of your knees to keep them from denying him such a lewd sight. 

“Now, Kitten.. Do you want me to stop? By the look of that sopping pussy- I’d say it’s a no” he said with a smirk before moving a hand to press against your clothed slit, rubbing up and down painfully slow “A-Ah..No..M-Mr. Aizawa” you would quickly groan out. “Then what is it you’d like me to do?” he asked

You didn’t want to admit it, you caved when all he did was give you a hickey! It wasn’t fair that this man had such a hold on you “I want.. Your cock, Mr. Aizawa” you’d stutter out quietly, which made the male smile, his hand quick to shrug down his pants and boxers. You would watch as his length sprung free, already dripping with pre cum “Okay, Kitten.. But where do you want my cock, hm?” he continued to press. 

Letting out a loud whine, you would throw your head back onto the pillow “I want you to fuck me, Mr. Aizawa!! Please!” you’d beg, rolling your hips forward against his finger moaning from the touch against your almost naked core, protected only by the thin fabric of your sopping panties. 

The male would let out a primal growl at your words, his finger hooking around the fabric and pushing it aside, his eyes narrowing in on that sloppy pussy “Mr. Aizawa is going to take good care of you, kitten” he growled, his capture scarf loosing from your wrists “Get undressed, now” he ordered in a low domineering tone, shaking your core. 

Quickly sitting up, you would lift your hips and discard the ruined panties before quickly taking off your shirt and bra, he would do the same, though his gaze never left you. When you had both completely rid of your clothing, he would put his hands on your hips, staring down at you with such a scary gaze “W-Why are you looking at me like that?” you’d ask quietly, which made that gaze meet yours. “I’m just thinking about all the filthy things I’m going to do to this sexy body of yours, kitten.. Mm” he said in a hoarse tone before caging you in his arms and trapping you underneath his naked body. His breath would hit your face as one of his arms trailed to one of your breasts, roughly grabbing onto it and starting to roll your erect nipple in between his finger tips. 

“M-Mr. Aizawa.. P- ah! Please.. I can’t wait any longer” you would moan out, your legs raising and wrapping around his waist to try and pull him closer. He didn’t answer, he only met your lips to lock into a feverish kiss, his tongue quick to demand entrance. Parting your lips, you would find his dominant wet muscle easily pinning yours down so he could explore the depths, his hand leaving your breast cold and sensitive and it reached down to grab onto his cock, stroking it a few times and rubbing it against your drooling slit. 

Moaning into his mouth, you would buck your hips forward, causing his swollen head to push against your clit. Breaking the kiss he would growl at you “Patience kitten, you’ll get what you want..” he warned, causing you to bite your lip. 

It was within seconds when you felt his thick, long shaft pushing inside of you. Stretching you out to fill his cock. Velvet walls were quick to cling around his cock and his head would hang forward. 

You would let out a loud moan in bewilderment, absolutely astonished by the way Aizawa made you feel as he buried himself in that needy pussy. The male kept inching himself in until his base was at your folds, his engorged cock head easily kissing your womb. He would let out another growl and lift his head slightly to nip at your lower lip “I’m going to make sure nobody is going to be able to pleasure you like me, you won’t ever be able to get off to another man” he said possessively, which made your walls constrict around his throbbing cock “Oh? You like that Kitten? You like it when your teacher claims you?” he moaned, which resulted in a minuscule nod on your end.

Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait much longer. Soon his hips began rutting against you roughly, earning a moan from the both of you as your sweet cunt continued to suck him in “So..fucking tight, kitten.. God damn, you’re fucking perfect” he said breathlessly as he met your lips once again. Continuously moaning against his lips, the feeling of every vein rubbing against your walls was noted, sending waves of pleasure through your core. Before you could even say anything, you would break the kiss and practically scream as your first orgasm ripped through you, causing you to clench further on his cock, which he plowed right through, hitting that G-Spot over and over. 

“That’s right, Kitten.. Cum all over my fucking cock, destroy my bed sheets with your slick.. So fucking good” he growled, his hips still moving. 

By this point, Aizawa had bottomed out in you, his balls were slapping roughly against your folds and the male held you so tightly you felt short of breath “Mn, fuck yeah.. Gonna fill you baby girl, you want that? Tell me you want me to fill you up to the fucking brim” he grunted, which made your lips part in a moan as you could feel your second orgasm nearing “Y-Yes, Mr. Aizawa! Cum inside of me.. Please, I’m begging you!” you pleaded loudly, which resulted in one last rough thrust before you could feel searing hot ropes of cum start to coat your walls. Arching your back, you would feel another orgasm ripping through you, clenching so hard on his cock that you made sure you milked him for all he had. 

Collapsing on top of you, his stubble would tickle at your neck as he placed small kisses up and down “F-fuck, Y/N.. Your pussy is marvelous” he groaned out. Biting your lip and stifling back a blush you would giggle out “Your cock isn’t that bad either” you’d pant. 

“I can’t wait to do so many filthy things to you, Kitten.. You’re mine now” he whispered into your ear, his teeth grabbing a hole of your lobe, causing you to gasp out.

“Y-Yes, Mr. Aizawa.. I’m yours” you’d mutter out. 

The male would roll off of you, making you whine and feeling your use hole feel so empty. “Good girl, now come here” he whispered, pulling you against his side. Cuddling into him, you wouldn’t be able to control the smile on your face. 

I guess shit like this really does come true..

Tag list: @hipster-merchant-of-death​ @nighthoodhawk​

[tangledstarlight]

julie’s ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke’s about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they’ve just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

days go by and seasons change (lets try again next winter)

trigger warnings!!  just general swearing 

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

winter (again)

From her seat by the front window Julie can see people walking up and down the street, clutching coats closed and shopping bags swinging in the wind that’s been steadily picking up since she’d ducked inside. The sky is grey and she knows the weather people have said it won’t rain, but if she’s learnt anything from her time in the UK it’s that people are very particular about how their tea is made, there’s an unexplainable rivalry between the north and the south of the country and that you should always be prepared for rain.

The little bell over the door dings and she watches a couple walk in laughing about something, wide smiles and raised eyebrows and all the little signs of two people who don’t always need words to talk. It makes her smile a little, tracing small patterns on the table top in split sugar as she tries not to stare at them. That’s what she wants. Someone who makes her laugh, who she can raise her eyebrows at and they’ll automatically know what she means, someone who makes life seem a little easier.

She taps the screen of her phone to check for any messages and tries not to let out a sigh when there’s still nothing new on her screen. It’s still early, there’s still time. To avoid looking at her phone she looks around the cafe, takes in the mismatched tables and the short queue and the way the register makes a little chime every time it’s closed.

Everything about the place has become familiar and comforting over the last year. And she’s really going to miss it when she leaves in a few weeks. Sure there’s cafes back home that do good coffee and a decent lemon sponge. But none of them will have witnessed her crying at 3:30 in the afternoon when she lost half her essay on the use of magic in Shakespeare. That’s just between her, the walls, and poor Sarah who was working that day.

Her phone lights up and Julie tries not to look too excited as she checks it, and then tries not to let her disappointment show when it’s just a notification for her train in forty minutes.

Blowing out a breath she leans back in her seat and lets her eyes wander back to the window. It doesn’t feel like she’s been here a year. That she’d started it a little lost, a little confused, a little broken. She frowns a slightly at that, because well, she’s still a little lost and a little confused and a little broken.

But she has a general direction, and she can write and play music again and she might always be a little broken, but the jagged edges aren’t so sharp anymore. It hurts a little less to breathe and look at the stars.

It’ll be nice when she goes home to be able to look her family in the eye and mean it when she says she’s okay. She really can’t wait to show her dad some of the things she’s been working on. Some of the things she’s finally been able to finish. With the help of Luke.

Julie really can’t wait to tell him about Luke.

Someone calls her name at the same moment that someone walks past her table and bumps into her suitcase next to her chair, and for a moment she forgets where she is as she turns her head, expecting to see floppy hair and a sleeveless shirt and a cocky grin. Instead it’s a middle aged man in a business suit who gives her a quick sorry before walking away. Someone calls her name again and she looks up to see Sarah, standing by the end of the counter with a little paper bag in one hand and a take out cup in the other.

“One vanilla latte and cinnamon swirl for the journey,” she says with a smile, the same kind smile she’d used when Julie had started crying.

“Thanks Sarah.” Julie’s quick to get over her disappointment and get up from her chair to collect her goods, shooting the other girl a grateful smile as she carefully stows the pastry away in her bag and rests her hands on the handle of her suitcase. “Guess I better get going.”

Juile doesn’t know why she’s suddenly so nervous, she’d been fine all week. Nothing but excitement and plans. But now it’s the day of and she feels like she might fall apart from nervous energy. Or throw up. One or the other.

“Hey, you’re gonna have a great weekend chick. We’ll expect you here Tuesday morning to fill us in on all the excitement,” she wriggles her brows as she says it and Julie laughs, shaking her head a little as she starts walking backwards towards the door, case in tow.

“I promise not to spare any details,” Julie grins quickly, shooting her an awkward wave with her coffee before walking out the door, grateful for the scarf wrapped around her neck as the wind blows her hair around her face and Luke’s jacket. She’s about to start walking when her phone chimes from her pocket and, keeping her case in place with one foot, she pulls it out and doesn’t even try to stop the wide smile that breaks out over her face at the text on her screen.

Feeling a little more calm and steady, she takes in a deep breath of cold air and starts walking to the train station.

//

The restaurant is a lot busier then Julie had been expecting it to be. Which, now that she thinks about it, is pretty silly. It’s the last Friday before Christmas, everywhere is obviously going to be busy with last minute shoppers and even people who aren’t organised need to stop to eat.

But it makes her anxious, eyes darting to the door every few seconds because what if it’s too busy and when Luke walks in he can’t see her, so he leaves? Or finds another table and she has to awkwardly walk over to him like she hadn’t gotten her extra early? Or even worse, what if he doesn’t show up at all?

Julie chews on her bottom lip, clasps her hands together in her lap and twists her fingers together, forces herself to stop and pick up her glass of water to try and calm her nerves. Her fingers start tapping an unfamiliar beat on the table cloth as her mind comes up with more and more disastrous scenarios that all seem to end with her having to apologise to her very sweet, but slightly judgemental and overworked waitress who has been to check on her twice already, that she’ll be eating alone and that she’s sorry for taking up her time.

She’s in the middle of trying to decide the least amount of food she could order while not seeming on the verge of tears or like she’s been stood up. Maybe the salad? Or soup. Soup was easy, right? She could eat her soup, leave a generous tip and make it back to her hotel before crying. Half an hour tops.

She only notices the door has opened when she sees it shutting again, and she strains her neck to try and see if someone has come in or left. But there’s no one by the door or the little ‘please wait here to be seated’ sign so she slumps back into her chair, draws her hands back into her lap and lets out a little sigh. She’s never been stood up before. She’s especially never been stood up by someone who had text only a few hours earlier that he was excited for their –

“Hey,” a breathy voice above her startles her out of her thoughts and Juile looks up with wide eyes to see Luke. Looking at her. Smiling at her. In front of her.

In a far away part of her mind – the part that is still functioning and cataloging important information – she notices that he’s wearing a soft looking dark blue jumper with a shirt collar peeking out of the top and he’s already draped his coat over the empty chair. It’s the first time she can remember seeing his arms fully covered. And he looks nice, his hair only a little rumpled, like it had been styled before he left but has been running his fingers through it since then and she can’t even see his silly little jean chain that normally holds his wallet. Which means he’d made an effort and she suddenly doesn’t feel so overdressed in her skater skirt and thick tights and pretty top.

His smile faults, just a little and that’s when Julie realises she hasn’t said anything. She’s just been staring at him with her mouth parted and eyes wide. She’s not even sure she’s blinked. Giving her head a small shake and wetting her lips, she smiles at him.

“Hi, I–” she doesn’t know what to say, and gestures a little awkwardly at the chair opposite her, wincing as she hits her knuckles on the underside of the table in the process, “Shit, ow.”

“Are you okay?” He asks as he slides into his chair, concerned eyes going from her face to the hand she’s rubbing and back to her face. A breath catches in her throat as she realises how close they are. There’s no screen or ocean or land mass separating them. Just a table. And god, his eyes are so much prettier than she remembers.

She clears her throat, shaking her head a little at him, “I’m fine. Just misjudged the distance.” She waves her hands in the air a little, like it will prove her point. Though Julie’s not sure what point she’s trying to prove and immediately wrinkles her nose at herself, she’s never felt this out of sorts before. What does she normally do with her hands? Does she normally look someone in the eyes this much? Fuck she’s spiraling and making everything feel awkward. If Luke notices any of it, he doesn’t comment. Or maybe he’s just being polite.

“Good. I uh–” he rubs a hand at the back of his neck and lets out a small chuckle, “I’m sorry I’m late. I uh got a little lost.” He looks around the room before leaning in closer to her, and Julie copies him on instinct, “All the streets around here look the same. And have weird names.”

A laugh bursts past her lips at the frown on his face and she leans back, shaking her head at him. But, whether he did it on purpose or not, the weird, awkward, out of sorts, feeling that she’d had is gone. Replaced with the familiar ease and joy she’s felt every other time they’ve talked in the last year.

“I think they’d call that culture,” she comments, sliding one of the menus over to him as she notices their waiter walking towards them from the corner of her eye.

“Hi! Can I get you guys something to drink?” Luke looks at her, eyebrow raised and she bites back the urge to grin at him and instead smiles at the girl.

“I’ll take a coke please.”

“I’ll have the same,” he nods once with a polite smile, eyes darting to the waitress once before back to his menu.

A silence falls between them as they look at their menus, and Julie looks up and finds Luke looking at her, a light blush spreading up his neck at being caught, but he doesn’t look away so she doesn’t either.

“You uh, you think they’ll judge me for being American if I get the cheese burger?” He asks quietly, and he’s talking about food but the way he doesn’t pop their sudden little bubble makes Julie want to lean across the table and kiss him. She blinks at that thought, files it away to deal with later.

“Probably. But aren’t you used to that by now? Alex said you and Reggie almost got thrown out of a restaurant in Italy for talking about the pizzas,” there’s a teasing smile on her lips that’s rewarded with a look of offence on Luke's face.

“You and Alex talk too much,” he mutters after a moment when he realises he can’t argue with it.

“Where else am I supposed to get these great stories about you from?” But now she’s a little worried she’s overstepped somehow. Did he not like her talking to his friends? With his eyes back on his menu Luke stops the thought from taking roots and forming a worry, probably without even realising he was doing so.

“You could just ask me for them. I’ll tell you every embarrassing story if you asked. Plus, when you talk to Alex or Reg or Bobby it means you’re not talking to me,” he frowns a little at that, eyes still down and she watches as they widen and dart up to look at her. Like he hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud. But he had. And now Juile was grinning at him, leaning her elbows on the table and letting her menu drop to the table.

“Aw Luke, do you like talking to me?” Even though it’s basically what he’s just said, she still kind of wants to hear him say it. So she bites her lip and waits, eyes not leaving his face.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face despite the raising blush on his cheeks. “Oh, of course I like talking to you. It’s my favourite time of day, when we’d facetime or whatever. You made even the shittiest and more exhausting days of the tour feel like the best.”

Now it’s Julie’s turn to blush, and she’s thankful for her darker complexion so it won’t show quite as obviously as Luke’s has. Part of her wants to look away at his words, but she makes herself maintain eye contact, lips pulling into a softer smile.

“Talking to you was my favourite time of day too,” she admits.

For a moment neither of them look away, and it’s like the restaurant around them has faded into static in the background because all Julie can see is Luke looking at her and hear her heart beating quickly in her chest and watching as one of his hands comes up to brush a loose curl behind her ear, fingertips lingering a few second too long on her cheek before he’s pulling back and clearing his throat with a shy smile.

“Well, glad we got that sorted.”

And she knows he doesn’t mean her hair or if they liked talking to each other or if any of the wait staff are judging them.

“I–” Julie starts, clears her own throat and leans back in her chair again, looks up at him through her eyelashes to find him smiling. “Me too.”

//

“I’ve always wondered how they get the lights on trees that big,” Julie murmured, head tilted a little to the side as she looked up at the tree in all its glittering glory.

“Really, really big ladders I’m guessing,” Luke steps up to her side, she can feel his eyes looking at her and she turns her head to see him grinning, “Or stilts.”

Julie rolls her eyes, blowing out an exasperated breath and shoving his shoulder lightly, “Ha, ha,” she mutters, but can’t quite keep the smile off her face either.

“Ow, you asked,” he claps a hand to his bicep, lip sticking out in a pout that just makes her smile wider.

“Have you done any christmas shopping yet?” She asks turning back to the stalls filling the square and trailing off down side streets. The whole place is a little overwhelming, bright lights and a cacophony of voices and too many scents to pinpoint.

But she kind of loves it. She loves it even more when the crowds get a little tight and Luke has to walk right by her side, hands brushing. (She’s still working up the courage to just grab it, but she’s also kind of waiting for him to make the first move. They’re playing a very low stakes game of chicken.)

“I’ve done… some,” he sounds a little like he’s avoiding saying something, but Julie’s willing to let it slide for now for an excuse to look at the different stalls, she glances up at him once before looking back at the stalls. “Do you have a plan of attack for this?”

“I’m thinking we… start on the left and work our way through?” From what she can tell most of the food stalls seem to be in the middle which means they can stop for a snack half way through. She’d passed by a stall with huge meringues when walking to the restaurant earlier and had been dying to get one ever since.

“Lead the way boss,” Luke says, putting his hands on her shoulders only long enough to steer her in the direction she’d chosen and nudge her forward a step. Then he’s stuffing them in his jeans pockets and walking next to her like nothing had happened.

She kinda hates it, him, for the casual touches that don’t last long enough for her to get used to them. Just little touches to her arm or her back or her shoulder, and then gone. The rational side of her knows that she could just grab his hand first, link their fingers together and not let go.

But she’s feeling a little stubborn about it now, especially as they’re stood shoulder to shoulder and looking at a stall of little wooden carvings. Luke lets out a little gasp of excitement and leans down and a little closer until his face is right next to hers and he’s pointing to one of the little name plaques hung at the back with his name on with little music notes dotted around.

“That’s so cool! It’s like they knew I was coming,” he grins – and Julie can feel him grinning because his cheek is almost touching hers and fuck she never knew she wanted to know what his face felt like when he smiled –, excitement evident in his voice and, before she can stop herself, Julie is reaching down to take the hand that’s dangling between them in hers, linking their fingers together and squeezing once. She’s watching him out of the corner of her eyes and sees him freeze for a moment, head dipping down to look at their joint hands and up again quickly to look at her. If it was possible, she’s pretty sure his smile would get bigger, but it can’t, so instead he squeezes her hand back and pulls her away to the next stall. So she gave in first, she’d be more mad about it if Luke’s hand wasn’t warm in hers.

It’s almost like he’d been holding himself back from touching her too much before, because now that’s she’s made the first move and taken his hand, Luke’s wrapping an around around her waist when they walk through the thicker parts of the crowd.

He’s tugging her against his side when they look at homemade soaps, and brushing hair out of her eyes when she picks ones up to smell.

In those little moments between them holding hands and not, his arm slips around her shoulders, fingers tracing pointless patterns into the fabric of his coat and whispering comments into her ear, each time it sends a shiver up her spine and she could swear he smiles when he notices.

And well, she can’t find it in her to be mad about it either. Because everytime he pulls her closer or relinks their fingers a flurry of butterflies are unleashed in her stomach and a giddy feeling of ‘oh! he likes me!’ fills her head.

It’s both infuriating and intoxicating.

After an hour, and weaving through rows of stalls and reaching the food section, it starts to snow. Little flurries of white flakes spinning in the air and Julie lets go of Luke’s hand to use both of hers to try and catch them.

She’s seen snow a few times in her life by now, but it doesn’t make it any less exciting each time. A few tiny flakes land in the palm of her hands and she pulls them close to her face, unable to stop the excited giggle that leaves her lips as she watches the flakes melt away into her skin. The flakes start coming down a little quicker and a little bigger and she turns in a slow circle, head thrown back to watch them before remembering she’s in public and must look a little crazy right now.

Trying not to blush, Julie bites her lip and turns around to find Luke, who’s already looking at her with a look on his face that she can’t describe. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are just looking at her, softly and fiercely and like he is seeing something wondrous. She does blush now, and looks away from him, brushing hair in front of her face because she doesn’t want to try and name the look on his face. Not right now.

Someone bumps into her from the side and Julie stumbles slightly, then Luke is next to her, arm around her waist and smiling softly.

“Hot chocolate or mulled wine?” He asks quietly, nodding in the direction of a wood fronted food truck. The look in his eyes is less intense now, or maybe she’d just imagined it. Caught up in the wonder of the snow and maybe he had been too. Julie looks at the menu, if only for something to do before glancing up at him.

“Hot chocolate. Extra cream.”

//

Cups of hot chocolate in hand, they slowly walk through the rest of the market stalls, buying little souvenirs and trinkets sometimes, but mostly just talking. Laughing.

It’s only as the sky starts turning orange in the slowing snow that Julie notices they’ve left the main section of the Christmas market behind and are walking through the streets towards the river. There’s less people on the streets now so they don’t really have to walk as close, but Julie isn’t about to put any distance between them and it doesn’t seem like Luke is either.

As they get closer to the wall overlooking the river Julie realises that the sun is setting. It doesn’t feel like they’ve only spent four hours together. That four hours ago she’d been sitting in a restaurant and worrying that he wasn’t going to show up. Worrying that the last year of her life talking to him hadn’t meant the same to him. Which just seems so silly now, that she’d ever thought that. Hindsight she supposes.

“Why’d you call the band Sunset Curve?” She asks, it’s something that she’s idly thought about in passing, but never remembered to ask. Luke huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, starts swinging their linked hands as they walk.

“We spent ages arguing about the name and Bobby said we should just throw a bunch of options into a hat and the one we pulled out would be the band name,” he shrugs, turning to look at her, “We got Alex’s little sister to pick one because we all started thinking one of us was gonna cheat. She pulled out Sunset Curve, Reggie literally yee-hawed, and we’ve been that ever since.”

“That’s… anti-climatic to be honest,” Julie laughs, and laughs a little more when he frowns at her. “You hear some of the lyrics you write and you’d think the band name would have more meaning.”

“You think we should lie about our band origins?” He puts his free hand on his chest in mock offense, drawing his brows together as he looks down at her, “And I thought you’d be against lying Miss Molina.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs, pushing him away from her which backfires when Luke just pulls her along with him, using the momentum she’d given him to pull her flush against his side as he brings them to a stop by the river wall, wrapping one around around her waist and Julie lets her head rest on his shoulder, perfectly happy to stay in his warmth.

“I mean–” she starts, eyes looking out over the river and the reflection of the sunset in it, “Sunsets are all about endings but also beginnings, y’know? They’re this moment of change that only happens twice a day, you see the sun starting to go down and you know that– that you can start to rest. That the day’s coming to an end and if it’s been hard you can take a breath. Try again tomorrow. And they’re beautiful, sunsets. Even the most dull ones are beautiful. Every night the sky paints us a picture with orange and red and purple and sometimes green and–” Julie pauses to blow out a breath and turns her head to look up at Luke who’s once again already looking at her, but she doesn’t mind the look in his eyes this time. “I think sunsets are magical moments. And I think it makes sense that your band is called Sunset Curve because I think you’re pretty magical too, Luke.”

It feels like a cheesy thing to say. And inadequate compared to some of the things he’s called her. But the words are out in the open now and she can’t take them back. Just watch the way his eyes glimmer and his smile turns soft.

“You think I’m magical?” He asks.

And maybe it’s the sun setting in front of them, or the snow that’s still falling around them, or the extra cream from her hot chocolate, but all of sudden Julie feels extremely brave.

“I think you’re wonderful and talented and funny and cute and so many things. But yeah, I’d say you’re pretty magical.” She holds her breath as she waits to see what he’ll do or say in response, and when all he does is let his eyes roam across her face, Julie almost opens her mouth to take it back.

But then.

Oh.

Her heart stutters a beat as he dips and tilts his head to press a kiss into her temple, lips lingering for a few seconds and she could swear she feels them move, whispered words that she can’t hear, lost to the snow and setting sun. Luke pulls back just enough to see her face and smiles at her, one eye dropping into a wink that almost makes her burst out laughing and ruining the mood.

“I think you’re pretty magical too.”

//

With the sun setting the snow seemed to start falling in earnest and a breeze started to blow up from the river that chased them back to the shelter of the streets, hands clasped and giggling the whole way.

It’s only just after five, but Julie’s fingers started feeling like ice-cubes half an hour ago and she knows even Luke’s starting to feel the cold with the way he’s been trying to hide his face further into his coat.

“Do you want to maybe um–” He rubs the back of his neck as they wander aimlessly past stalls they’ve already visited, “Head back to the hotel and warm up? With drinks! Hot drinks. Or food. Not– I–” he starts stuttering and Julie bites her lip to stop from laughing too much at him before taking pity and nodding.

“Warming up with hot food or drinks at the hotel sounds good to me.”

They hadn’t intentionally booked the same hotel to stay in, it just so happened to be the one with the best deal on for the weekend they’d arranged to come. And if it meant things were a little more convenient for them, then well, who was Julie to complain?

“Should have bought those knitted gloves at that stall,” she mutters, mostly to herself, as she pushes the hand Luke isn’t holding into her coat pocket, and wishing it came with built in hand warmers or something.

“You would have looked incredibly cute in bright green gloves, especially with the matching hat,” Luke grins, but starts rubbing little circles with his thumb into the hand he’s holding in an attempt to warm her up.

“I think that would have clashed with this very nice coat I’m wearing,” Julie grins, turning her body to face him even as she keeps walking so he can see the coat clearly, just in case he hadn't noticed that it was his. (But she’d seen the way his eyes had traveled over her body earlier when she’d first put it back on inside the restaurant, the way they’d glazed over for a moment before he’d blinked and given her a lazy half smile that had filled her with warmth.)

“That is a very nice jacket,” Luke agreed with a grin, shoulder bumping against hers as she shifted back to his side as they walked down the street.

“Thanks. I stole it from some guy I met on a night out, never saw him again to return it.”

“Probably for the best, it looks better on you anyway,” he uses his empty hand to reach across and tug at the collar, knuckles brushing across her cheek as he does so. And Julie knows that was on purpose from the way he keeps eye contact the whole time.

“Stop. You can’t say things like that to me,” she doesn’t mean to whisper it, but it comes out low anyway, lips barely moving as her eyes roam across his face, slight furrow between her brows. God she wants to kiss him. She wants to fall asleep wrapped in his arms and wake up in the morning to his stupid face. But there’s a little voice in the back of her head that’s whispering doubts and she hates it.

“Why not?”

They’ve stopped walking now, Luke pulling them to the side without Julie putting up a fight as he guides her until they’re stood in a small alleyway between a bookshop and a bakery. Fairy lights and tinsel and a little fake Christmas tree’s lights illuminating them in the semi-darkness. There’s untouched snow on the ground around them and every time one of them breathes out clouds of air mix together. It makes her feel a little like a dragon, and somehow that makes her feel a little brave too.

“Because– fuck! When you say stuff like that it makes me want to kiss you,” Julie bits her lip as she looks up at him, shaking her head once, shoulders shrugging helplessly because she’s pretty sure he wants to kiss her too, but what if she’s wrong? She really doesn’t want to be wrong about this.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Luke raises an eyebrow at her, and she can tell he’s trying really hard to keep a smile off his face and his feet firmly on the ground. The jittery hands at his sides a dead give away, and under other circumstances she would probably find it incredibly endearing. How excited he apparently is. But she’s going through some thoughts here, so that will have to wait.

“No. Yes. I mean– I – No. It’s not a bad thing because I want to kiss you but I don’t know if you want to kiss me the way I want to kiss you and what if we do kiss and it’s terrible? Because we’ve built it up now, like a lot. Like, twelve whole months. And if it’s terrible then that’s my fault because I said no that first night but if it’s–”

Luke cuts her off by gently grabbing her hands that she hadn’t even realised she’d begun waving around in the air, and kisses her fingers, one at a time, eyes wide and dancing with an emotion she can’t place and then his lips are finally pulling into that wide smile he’s so clearly been trying to hide.

The one that she’s grown to love so much over the last year. The one that looks so much better in person.

“Julie, stop thinking about it so much,” he whispers.

And then he’s kissing her.

Lips soft and slow, and hands in her hair and hers around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer, and they’re smiling against each other's lips. And it’s awkward and a little cold and a lot rushed and it’s perfect.

Luke pulls away first, breathing heavily and rests his forehead against hers, she can feel his breath across her nose and ruffling her eyelashes. She smiles, presses a kiss into his chin and lets her hands fall from his neck to around his waist and tries to pull him closer still.

Because she wants too, and because she’s still cold and hugging Luke is something she’s wanted to do for twelve months now.

“You’re right, that was terrible,” Luke teases as he pulls away just enough to detangle his fingers from her hair and wrap them around her shoulders. Julie digs her fingers into his sides, feeling his squirm and let out a giggle, which she files away for later. “Just means we’ll have to practice a bit. Or a lot. Somewhere warm. Preferably on a bed. But I’ll take a couch too.”

He’s rambling, and Julie smiles into his chest before she pulls back to look at him with a raised brow.

“Then I guess we better get back to the hotel for hot food and drinks and practicing,” she teases, hands trailing up his sides and down his arms still wrapped around her shoulders until she reaches his hands and links their fingers together, stepping backwards out of the alley and tugging him with her.

He follows her willingly, with a smile on his face and they make it all of three steps before he’s tugging on their joint hands to bring her closer and then he’s kissing her again in the middle of the street under an old fashioned street light with snow falling around them.

It’s magical and amazing and the things people write songs about. And she can’t wait to get to write about it with him.

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

It's midterm season and Emily runs into JJ at the library, they decide to study together.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

There were no seats left in this entire goddamned library. Not a single one. Emily was on her second lap on the third floor, desperate for somewhere to sit down and have some peace and quiet to study for her test. She should have assumed this would happen. It was midterm season and the libraries were packed with students around this time each year.

She quietly made her way through the stacks and came upon a long, rectangular table near the back window. It overlooked a dark parking lot. The books were gigantic tombs of old academic journals that no one had probably even opened in decades.

There were eight seats and seven people, with one selfish asshole storing their backpack on the empty seat. Well, could be saving it for their friend, but with it being midterm season, those rules really shouldn’t apply anymore.

Emily braced herself and, with a smile, tapped the boy on the shoulder.

He had a large pair of headphones on. He lifted one side off his ear in a gesture of: ‘what do you want.’

“Is anyone sitting there?” She whispered, as quietly as she could, pointing to the seat next to him.

“Oh sorry,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, moving the coat and bag, inviting her to join him. She smiled in thanks and sat down.

Carefully unpacking her laptop and books, Emily tried to avoid disturbing the other folks at her table, the silence making each noise she made boom through the library. She settled down and pulled out her thermos, taking a sip of her coffee and bracing herself for a long night.

Her core classes for psychology were brutal, filled with endless memorization of terminology, stacks of mandatory books to read and countless essays.

At 8:30 the next morning it was her Introduction to Clinical Psychology midterm, worth a whopping thirty percent of her grade. She spent the entire day, between classes, at the Starbucks on campus, drinking her way through her student funds in coffee form and making endless flashcards.

She already had a stack of almost one hundred cards and she still had a couple hours of work left.

Just returning from dinner at the cafeteria, Emily had decided that she needed the relative quiet of the massive campus library to focus on the memorization period of her evening.

She flipped to the right page of her textbook: page 315, with a large header reading “SEXUAL DISORDERS” in large caps. Emily sighed, it was a strange thing to spend her time learning but at least it never failed to be interesting.

At least she wasn’t in Statistics this semester.

Emily took another sip of coffee, then rummaged through her bag for her wireless headphones, connecting them to her phone in order to play her studying playlist, which was mostly movie soundtracks, interspersed with Emily’s favourite classical music and of course, some lo-fi hip hop beats. She could not listen to music with words when studying, she would get too distracted and get nothing done.

Emily began gnawing at her thumbnail, focusing on writing down the definitions.

After around two hours of writing, Emily finally finished her flashcards. She stretched her back, closed her textbook, and went on her phone for a short break.

A Snapchat notification popped up on her screen.

Cheetobreath98 added you as a friend.

Emily frowned. Who on earth was that? Emily clicked on the profile, revealing the familiar face of Jennifer Jareau.

JJ had added her as a friend! On snapchat no less! That was at least three steps more intimate than Instagram.

Woah. Slow down there Em. She told herself. Don’t make it something it’s not.

They kept running into each other. JJ was probably just being friendly. She probably just wanted to say thank you for the cookies or send her funny snaps of the other students on their floor.

She has a boyfriend, a boyfriend she is having trouble with, but a boyfriend nonetheless. You can’t go around thinking about intimacy and Jennifer Jareau in the same sentence.

Emily accepted the friend request. Did that make them friends now? Emily hoped so. They could be friends.

As Emily stared at their chat, a new snap from JJ came in. Emily couldn’t help herself, she opened it immediately and she was met with a photo… of herself.

Emily’s head shot up looking around. She looked back down and it was clearly a photo of Emily, hunched over the desk with her head resting on her chin, staring down at her phone, taken from somewhere to her left.

JJ waved at her from between some books. Emily shot her a surprised smile in response.

She closed her laptop, stood, and walked over to her.

“Creeper,” Emily whispered with a giggle.

JJ had a large textbook and some notebooks in her arms, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder, and leaned in towards Emily to speak quietly, which let Emily catch the light, fruity smell of her perfume, blending nicely with the earthy smell of the old books around them.

“Guilty as charged,” JJ smiled.

“What are you working on?” Emily asked, gesturing at her heavy load, she leaned and took a peek at the title of the textbook.

“French,” JJ said, “It’s hard to bullshit that when you don’t know it. I’ve got a midterm tomorrow.”

“Bien sûr,” Emily replied confidently in French.

JJ blinked.

“Tu parles Français?” JJ’s French was shaky and uncertain, with less of an accent than Emily would expect.

Emily coughed quietly and tried to clear her throat.

“I do,” she replied in French, “I’ve been told that when I was a toddler, I was speaking it more fluently than English.”

JJ glanced down, seeming to be translating her words for a brief moment before replying, slowly, clearly excited to use Emily for practise.

“Are you French?”

“No,” Emily said, “My mom wasn’t around much when we were living in France and the nanny didn’t speak English.”

“Ton nurse?” JJ asked, not knowing the definition of ‘nanny’ in French.

“Oh uh,” Emily replied in English, “My nanny, the lady who watched me when my mom was working. She’s an ambassador.”

JJ nodded, then switched to English. She didn’t ask about Emily’s dad, which Emily was grateful for.

“My family is French, originally I guess,” JJ said, “Hence Jareau , the French name. I remember my grandparents speaking it when I was growing up. I only learned a few words from them so I thought I’d take a course here. I need language courses for my communications degree anyways.”

“Your French is good!” Emily assured her. “Honestly mine is getting rusty, I have no one to practise on.”

“Well,” JJ said between coughs, “you could tutor me?”

Emily smiled. An opportunity to spend more time with her? She would take it. She nodded.

“Mais oui!” Emily replied in her most dramatic accent that she could manage, sending both girls into a fit of giggles.

“Shhhhh!” Someone at Emily’s table hissed.

The two girls made eye contact, then burst into another fit of giggles.

“I have a study room booked for nine,” JJ said, “If you want to join me.”

“Absolutely,” Emily replied, “I have a midterm tomorrow as well, so I’ll be here for awhile.”

“Allons-y!” JJ whisper-yelled.

Emily collected her things and followed JJ into a room down the hall, tucked behind the stacks. Inside, was a desk, a couple of white boards and a small window facing into the quad. It was small, with only two chairs. It was shocking that JJ even managed to snag that, the booking system filled up days in advance during midterm season.

“I hate whispering,” Emily said at normal volume once the door was shut.

“Libraries are supposed to be quiet,” JJ said.

“I’ve never been good at quiet.”

JJ laughed.

Emily sat down next to her, stealing a glance at JJ while she was distracted: she had a pair of track pants, with a loose fitted t-shirt on top, a pastel blue which complemented her skin tone well. On top, she had her varsity hoodie unzipped, with their school’s crest on display. She looked good, as always, despite being in basically athletic sweats looking ready to go to the gym at any moment.

Emily placed her books down next to JJ at the table, stacking her flash cards neatly next to it. JJ’s eyes widened at the sight of the pile.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t have time,” JJ said, “Honestly I would just appreciate the company.”

“Nonsense,” Emily replied, “I’d be happy to help. I’ve been working on these flash cards all day, I need a break anyways. How ‘bout we work through your practise sheets, then you quiz me after? What’s your test on?”

“Conjugation,” JJ replied, flipping her notes open to a page full of irregular verbs and their conjugations.

“Oh sweet,” Emily scanned the notes, “Present tense, I can do this.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, pulling her feet up to sit crossed-legged.

“I was worried you were going to ask me the difference between plus-que-parfait and subjonctif or something.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Lucky,” Emily said.

JJ then reached into her bag, pulling out a small case and revealing a pair of glasses—reading glasses—and put them onto her face. They were gold rimmed, round framed, and made her eyes slightly larger with the magnification.

“You-” Emily stuttered, her brain feeling like it was short circuiting at the sight of JJ, “Have glasses?”

“Yeah,” JJ muttered flipping through her notebook, “I don’t really need them but I’ve been staring at screens all day and my eyes are tired.”

“Nerd,” Emily fake-coughs. JJ’s draw drops and she hits Emily playfully with her notebook, whacking her on the arm lightly.

“You promised to help me, not mock me for my bad eyes,” JJ huffs.

“Ok fine let’s conjugate… hmmm… ‘voir’ to start,” Emily jokes, spinning her pen between her fingers.

“I know you’re kidding but I actually don’t know that one.”

Emily grins and begins explaining to her how to conjugate ‘to see’ in French.

“Now,” Emily says, “If you want to talk about how I can see, and you can’t—because you’re blind—you would write: Emily voit. Emily sees.”

“Elle voit? V-o-i-t?”

“Oui, et, Jennifer ne voit pas!” Emily giggles, “Jennifer does not see!”

“Ha-ha,” JJ says, not laughing.

“Sorry, I’ll stop now,” Emily says, picking up the worksheet and reading it over.

“Basically,” JJ says, “I need to just memorize this list of common irregular verbs by tomorrow. I already have the regular er, ir and re verbs down.”

“Cocky girl,” Emily said. “I like it.”

“Ok what verb should we start with?”

“Vouloir,” Emily said, “to want.”

The deeper meaning of this was not lost on her, even as she said it. Emily was far past the point of denying it to herself, or Morgan when he teased her, Emily wanted JJ.

“Start with je,” Emily continued, unfazed by her own internal monologue. “What do you want?”

“Je veux… un biscuit,” JJ said, sticking her pen in her mouth. She was so cute when she focused, chewing distractedly on the cap, with her glasses falling down her nose.

“Now what would I want?” Emily prompted, trying to focus back on the worksheet and not JJ in profile, gazing at the gentle slope of her nose, her pink lips that would probably taste like chapstick.

“Tu veux du thé?” JJ grinned, evoking their previous late-night hang out.  

“Oui,” Emily smiled, “I could definitely use some of your tea right now. Stuck with coffee for now though. I need the caffeine.”

They continued through that verb, moving down her list and covering aller, mettre, venir, before cycling back to the most important ones to make sure JJ had them memorized. Covering lots of ground, the two girls spent almost two hours straight working through her midterm prep booklet.

“Thanks so much for helping,” JJ said. “Maybe you could tutor me again sometime.”

Emily grinned. Maybe it was just tutoring but that meant hours alone with her and her pretty face and her laugh and the way she smelled like warm vanilla.

“Whenever you need me!”

“Je suis excité!” JJ said, in French, which was definitely not what she aimed to say.

Emily began to laugh. Hard. It started as a giggle but the sheer ridiculousness of her situation made it so much funnier. Her crush just looked her in the eyes and told her she was horny.  

“What?!” JJ demanded, nervously laughing at Emily’s reaction.

“Oh gosh I’m sorry,” Emily tried to calm down, to hold in her laughs. “In French we never say excité. It does not mean excited.”

“What does it mean?”

“JJ you just said that you were horny,” Emily made out between laughs. It must be the lack of sleep that made the simple mistake so much funnier.

“Emily!” JJ laughed, “don’t laugh at me I didn’t know!”

Emily’s laughter was infectious and before long the two girls were lost in a fit of giggles.

“You should say: ‘J’ai hâte!’” Emily said eventually, “it means I can’t wait. Like: J’ai hâte d'étudier avec toi. Or Je suis ravi. Or impatiente. Just don’t go around telling people how horny you are.”

“Fine,” JJ said, with a slight pout, “ J’ai hâte. ”

Emily nodded.

“I guess I can say I learned something today,” JJ murmured, “I guess it really is the language of love.”

Emily didn’t say anything, taking a sip of her cold coffee to muffle the squeak threatening to come out of her throat

“So,” JJ changed the subject, “gimme your flash cards. What are you learning?”

Before Emily could earn her, JJ flipped over the first card which read: ‘SEXUAL DISORDERS!’ in Emily’s messy script.

“On the same theme,” JJ murmured.

And so for the next hour, JJ and Emily made their way through her psychology flash cards, slowly making sure that Emily had the endless serious mental health disorders, personality disorders and other terms memorized before her midterm.

Luckily, In the process of writing them down, and due to her religious commitment to attending lectures, Emily had already retained most of them. Studying with JJ did help, because it forced her to explain some of the concepts in plain language, which, she found, furthered her understanding.

Moreover, JJ had brought snacks. Which made studying every more doable when she  could award herself with an m&m for each correct answer.

The thing was, half way through Emily’s stack of cards, and as the night crept on, JJ’s energy crashed as the girl’s body decided that it was way past her bedtime and that she should be asleep.

Unlike Emily, JJ was clearly not a night owl.

Eventually, Emily finished up her studying alone, discovering that the blonde was just about useless, as she read out gibberish and expected Emily to understand her. JJ finally fell asleep sitting up at about one-thirty in the morning. Emily decided to leave her be as she still needed to jot a few things down.

“JJ?” Emily murmured after a few minutes, poking the other girl with her pen. “JJ? Wake up.”

“Mm?” JJ murmured, her eyes still closed shut, her head heavy resting on her hand. She was adorable.

“I’m calling it,” Emily said, closing her textbook. “It’s almost two. We’ve studied enough.”

“Mmm… yeah I don’t know if I can fit any more French in my brain,” JJ rubbed her eyes.

“I think you’ll do just fine!”

They packed up their things, bundling up against the cold fall air. JJ went through the motions with her eyes half shut, allowing Emily to guide her out of their study room, down the spiral staircase and into the lobby.  

Unfortunately, as they stood just inside the library door, the clouds broke, sending rain pouring down onto campus. Sighing at their poor timing, they pulled their hoods over their hair in an attempt to stay relatively dry.

They walked home, laughing as it rained down onto them.

JJ seemed to wake up and her prior drowsiness seemed to fade into the night sky. She giggled as she splashed in a puddle, and her yellow jacket lit up under a street lamp.

Emily grinned, feeling elated in her exhaustion. How lucky she was! Splashing in the rain with JJ, which was a strange yet pleasant ending to what had promised to be a dredge of an evening. JJ waited for a moment, letting Emily catch out before grasping onto Emily’s hand and holding on, pulling her through the rain.

They tore through the torrential downpour, their hands clasped together, unbothered by the cold as the fiery feeling of JJ’s hand in her own had her full attention. A warm feeling filled her chest as she thought about how it was JJ who wanted to hold Emily’s hand.

Not caring whether it was just a friendly hand hold, or if it meant more, Emily’s heart soared.

JJ’s hand was smaller than hers, and their fingers fell together perfectly, comfortably linked like they were built to do so.

They only let go once they reached the door to their building, as Emily fumbled with the wet metal key ring in her pocket, unlocking the front door and offering the two relief from the rain.

They lingered in the hall, both damp, looking at each other as the tiredness returned and settled into their bones. Emily could see the bags under JJ’s eyes, the exhaustion clear on her face. Her cheeks were flushed from running through the rain and her blonde hair wet and tangled from the wind.

A voice in Emily’s head demanded that she reach out her hands, firmly grab the sides of JJ’s perfect face and kiss her then and there. It would be so perfect, their lips would meet and JJ would rest her hands on Emily’s hips. She would pull her in close and their bodies would crash into each other, fitting together perfectly. Emily’s tongue would graze against JJ’s lips, and their kiss would deepen until finally they would pull apart and-

“Goodnight, Emily,” JJ said, smiling at her sweetly, “Get some sleep before your midterm.”

Emily was brought crashing back into reality.

“Oh,” Emily said, “Yeah you too, you need it.”

“Thank you for helping me out,” JJ continued, “I was having a really bad day and you really made me feel a lot better.”

JJ looked down.  

“Yeah, uh, this morning I broke up with Will. Or maybe he broke up with me. I don’t know,” she admitted, “and with the midterm… then the home game tomorrow afternoon...“

She sighed.

“It was a long day and I’m grateful for your company.”

Kiss her, the voice in her head screamed, do it!

“I’m sorry about your break up, either way,” Emily said sincerely. “I feel the same way. I mean, I enjoyed your company. I think I’m going to do well on my midterm too.”

She smiled at JJ who returned it sleepily. Emily kicked herself for the awkward phrasing but blamed the fact that it was late at night and she was processing the fact that her crush was single. Single and had held her hand.

“Bonne chance demain,” Emily said with a wave, wishing JJ luck.

They looked at each other for another moment, before turning and unlocking their individual rooms. That night, Emily dreamt of Paris, cookies and the girl across the hall.

[blackromslashing]

Lester sinclair teaching his so how to swim.

Hey, y’all, I’m so sorry that I’ve take so long to get back on here! I haven’t had much motivation to write recently and with all the essays I’ve been piled with in my English class, I’ve been trying to at least stay motivated to write those. Today, though, I got a sudden burst of inspiration for this request. I hope the length of it (3 pages on my master document) will make up for how long it took to come to you all.

Thank you for your patience!

-Blackrom

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Character: Lester Sinclair (House of Wax)

Words: 1301

Warnings: None

Working Title: You’re Really Into Snails (Derogatory)

Date: March 11, 2021

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Lester Sinclair wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he could see how apprehensive you were. It was mid-July, you and Lester stood by a secluded pond. You glared at the water as if it had personally offended you and, in a way, it had. There were many things about yourself that brought you shame, but nothing felt more shameful than the fact that you’d never learned how to swim. You were so embarrassed about it, in fact, that you neglected to mention it to your boyfriend, who eyed you suspiciously, trying to piece together your adverse reaction.

You tip-toed into the chilled water, desperate to get the concerned attention off of you. You sat in the water meekly and dug awkwardly at the sand, trying your best to seem interested in whatever trinkets you may find. Your passive aversion to actually getting into the water perplexed Lester beyond belief. As far as he was aware, you’d never been afraid of the water before. You hung out when the boys made their makeshift pools when the summer heat blazed too hot for even them to handle, you took long, hot baths when you were stressed, and you never shied away from any body of water before. That’s when it hit him. He’d never actually seen you swim in the pool or the bathtub, in fact, he’d never seen you swim at all.

Lester’s mind did backflips, trying to rationalize how he’d never noticed this before. He was a people watcher, he studied mannerisms and expressions, measured tones of voice and even the slight glances people went to when they were afraid. He knew so much about people, you especially, and thought he knew you better than you knew yourself. But you knew you couldn’t swim, and now he did too. He approached you gently, slowly inching his way into the water until he was just a little past ankle deep. He braced himself for your reaction as you looked up to him cautiously. He knelt down to you.

“You havin’ fun, there?” he asked, trying his best to make his voice sound calming. You stiffened, wondering to yourself if he’d figured out your embarrassing little secret. With highest hopes, you played along.

“Yeah,” you chirped, a mixture between a smile and a grimace crossed your face, telling Lester a different story, “I found a cool little shell, it’s still got a snail inside, see?” You held it up to him, showing off the hard-formed mucus plate, hoping he’d bite into the role you were playing.

Lester gingerly took the small creature from your hand and examined it closely. If you didn’t want to talk about it just yet, he wouldn’t force you, he’d learned from experience that it would only make you that much less receptive.

“Huh, never knew you liked snails so much, [Name],” the side glance he gave you sent chills down your spine. You knew he knew, but continued to play this dumb little game anyway.

“Yeah, when I was little, I used to play with them by the dock when we went to the beach,” you muttered, losing confidence in your charade by the second. You really couldn’t keep this up much longer, and you knew that even Lester’s endless patience with you would begin to wear thin eventually. You had to drop the act. You sighed, embarrassed and exhausted. At this point, all you really wanted was for Lester to comfort you and tell you that it was okay. Maybe he’d go on a little well-intended tangent, telling you stories about when he learned to swim as a kid.

It didn’t take long for Lester to catch onto your change in demeanor, “You okay, [Name]?” He asked, already moving to rub circles against your exposed back. You breathed in deeply one more time, grounding yourself.

“Lester, I-” you started, finding it much harder to get it out than you’d hoped, you paused andlet in a few shaky breaths and swallowed your pride, “I don’t know how to swim.” You hesitated to look him in the eyes. You knew Lester understood how you felt, but shame and anxiety got the best of you. Finally, you gathered yourself enough to look up at him, if only through your eye-lashes. You saw the soft, caring expression on his face and your anxieties melted away. You leaned forward slowly, and gently rested your head against his chest. He smiled and moved his hands from your back to your hair, pushing his fingers through it gently.

You stayed like that for a few moments, your form no longer shaking when he quietly offered, “Ya know, I could show ya how to swim,” his voice was soft and endlessly comforting. You laughed quietly at yourself, chastising yourself for ever thinking Laster would judge you over something so miniscule.

You nodded against his chest, a warm smile on your face as your chest filled with butterflies, “I’d like that,” you laughed, relief swarming your every syllable. Lester rested his hand on one spot in your hair, and just scritched at slightly before standing, pulling you up with him.

“Alright, why don’t we start with the simple stuff,” he suggested walking out a little deeper into the water, “Come ‘ere a second.” You quickly joined him, a little apprehensive about the chest-deep water surrounding you. Lester took your hand gently and pulled you closer, picking you up nearly bridal style, your whole form almost consumed in the warm surface of the water. He instructed you to relax.

“If ya don’ relax, ya won’t float,” he explained. “Now, put your arms out and spread your legs a lil bit,” you did as he asked without question, knowing you were in good hands.

“Good, now breathe steady, jus’ like this,” he demonstrated, slow, deep breaths pushing from deep in his lungs. Your face warmed slightly, the feeling of his deep breaths against you and his soft voice calming you. You matched his breathing as he gently whispered little praises, encouraging you in the best way he knew how. You felt your body slowly relax around you, losing your eyes and taking in another concentrated breath.

You barely even noticed as Lester’s hands left the small of your back, leaving you to float on your own, lost in your thoughts which ebbed and flowed like the gentle tide lapping against your skin. It was his voice that snapped you back into reality, “See, look, simple as breathin’,” he chuckled at his own stupid pun, his laughter was infectious and before you knew it, you were right side up again, nearly doubled over in laughter. After the laughter died down, you and Lester exchanged fond smiles, slowly wading towards each other. After a moment’s embrace, you both become acutely aware of the chorus of crickets and the slow setting sun. The air is slightly cooler and the shadows of the trees are long and winding.

You both gather your things back up and start the trek home in quiet mirth, occasionally pointing out pretty things to each other as you passed through the woods. Soon enough, through trees and bushes and thorns, you made it home, still on a soft high.

Lester held your hand gently and opened the door for you before you pulled him inside. When you finally got inside, Bo sat on the staircase, fidgeting with something or another. He looked up at you two, confusion and some vague notion of disgust dripped through his features.

“Why y’all just comin’ back? ‘S almost dark,“ Bo scolded, though he found the situation to be more amusing than anything. He watched as you and Lester laughed, never really answering his question, and going to sit on the couch to wind down for the night.

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #2

“pick who dies”

Notes: This got out of control. I was going to add an Obi-wan + Anakin section but I had to cut myself off as I do have other things I need to get to today. This is less whump than...a set of pretentious character studies with THE LINEAGE (including Rael) and an excuse to explore the trolley problem within a Star Wars setting. I blame my recent Hannibal obsession for what you see below. First part here, rest under the cut. Note, I am a musician, not a philosophy student, so allow for some creative interpretation here. 

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

~~~~~~~

(excerpt from “The Padawan’s Guide to Philosophy.” Eds. Masters Thrife-Foran & Ugaaalich. 616th e. Coruscant, 940 ARR. Holobook.)

Premise:

You are out for an afternoon walk in the outer regions of Thymilla, a moderately-populated city on the planet Ungar. On your walk, you pass by a set of hovertrain tracks, which branch into two separate arms - one an extension of the main track, the other a smaller offshoot which leads to a cargo loading zone, about fifty clicks south of where you are. (Diagram 3)

As a hovertrain approaches from the north, you hear screaming, the words of the driver becoming clearer as the hovertrain barrels towards the switch. The brakes of the train have failed and there is no chance of repair. If the train continues on its current path, it will kill five workers making repairs on the track. If you pull a switch, the hovertrain will divert to the offshoot, where it will kill one worker at the cargo loading zone.

Because of an anomaly in Ungar’s atmosphere, you cannot access the Force.

Do you pull the switch or do nothing and allow the train to speed forward?

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Dooku shifted on his meditation pod, the firm material groaning as he uncrossed his legs from the lotus position, gingerly setting both his bare feet to the cool, tiled floor of his Master’s chambers. The young man allowed himself a small wince with the action. Yoda might have been able to keep that damnable position for hours, probably days on end, but Dooku was just a few months shy of his eighteenth life day, and another recent growth spurt seemingly focused all on his legs made sitting for any long amount of time…uncomfortable, to say the least.

Which was likely why Yoda had had him trapped him here for the past three hours, running through one ethical thought experiment after the other, poking his literal and metaphorical gimmer stick precisely at each gnarled and swollen joint in both his body and thoughts.

To act - to pull the switch - would mean to commit premeditated murder, even if it were for the greater good. Hardly a Jedi-like action. But then again, they had been taught - indoctrinated, really - with the idea that is was acceptable to sacrifice one life for the lives of many. A supposedly fair trade-off, although Dooku had seen enough of the Jedi’s relationship to the Senate, had seen enough of the Council’s internal politics, to know that two lives did not necessarily hold equal weight.

But to not act - to let the train barrel through, to leave it up to the will of the Force...Dooku clenched his teeth. That seemed more in line with the Order he was coming to know, was consistent with the Council’s lack of action on Protobranch, when Sifo-Diyas had seen the calamity that was to befall the planet and yet the Council, his Master, had done too little, too late, preferring to allow events to transpire as they would, the Jedi only impassive bystanders.

What was the point of their abilities, their training, their place in the universe, if they weren’t able to change the course of events for the better?

“I suppose,” Dooku began slowly, coming to stand, suddenly not caring if he was maintaining his proper meditation position. The young man padded towards the slightly shuttered windows on the other side of the room.

“I suppose it depends on the relative worth of each life,” he said, turning away from Yoda as to not see the subtle moue of distaste Dooku was certain would cross the old Master’s face.

“Is not all life sacred, Padawan?”

Dooku barely bit back the dark chuckle threatening to escape from his chest. Only in the holos and classrooms and the empty rhetoric of the Council was all life sacred. The Jedi could do so much more, he could do so much more to change the galaxy and yet the Order allowed itself to be chained to politicians, leashed like akk-dogs until receiving command.

No, Dooku thought. There was no balance - not here and not in the Force.

“From the information you’ve provided,” Dooku said, ignoring Yoda’s question. He peered through the slits of the rotor blinds into the watery illumination of Coruscant’s night sky. The dome of the Senate building rose through the rain like an oddly-shaped umbrella, shielding those in power with its wide beadth. “We can assume both parties of victims are of equal social standing, being manual laborers. Because of this, we must find other ways of determining their worth, their ability to enact change in the galaxy.”

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, daring to turn to face his Master’s displeasure.

“The question becomes whether you want to hold sway over the transit network of a forgettable city, or the imports and exports that may go off-world. Exports which might include valuable resources or even smuggled goods. Items which could affect the governance of our imagined city and therefore, by extension, an even larger part of the populace.”

“Which is why, in this case,” Dooku concluded, his posture straightening, “I would choose to allow the hovertrain to continue its course and save the cargo worker.”

Yoda folded both claws over his gimmer stick, frowning. After a moment, he let out a small grunt, his features now inscrutable.

“And see yourself as the final arbiter of worth, do you, my young apprentice? Stand you above all others holding a golden scale, you do?”

Don’t we, as Jedi, hold these scales every day and yet choose to ignore them? Dooku thought.

“Someone,” the young man replied, “will make the judgment regardless. Is it not better for the Jedi to use our powers to make such decisions?”

This time Yoda did let out a wet sigh, shaking his head.

“Dangerous, these thoughts are, my Padawan,” Yoda grumbled, gesturing at the meditation pod. “Sit, young Dooku. Much we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Rael.”

Rael Averross slung an arm over the back of Dooku’s couch, sleeves of his Master’s borrowed robe hanging long near the tips of his fingers. It had been the third time that month Rael had “misplaced” his own robe, his Master’s foisted upon him in the wee hours of the morning, Dooku grunting something about “Jedi propriety” before shoving Rael out the door. (The things were a damned inconvenience, and made him look like something straight out of a space station ghost story, to boot. Was it so surprising he showed up to Dooku’s quarters in a state which his Master referred to as “half-naked?”)

Rael bit his lip, trying to not think of all the times he had actually been half-naked in the Temple. Those were fun times. Unfortunately, Dooku could probably mind read them out of him right now if he weren’t so concentrated on this thought experiment.

“Why not save them both?” Rael drawled amiably, scratching at the beginnings of a beard with his other hand as he hoped to distract his Master from any hint of his past indiscretions. It was about time, too, he thought. Never going to look my age going around all smooth-faced like a transparisteel window surface.

Dooku gave a small smile. “You cannot, Rael. Those are the rules of the scenario.”

“Rules,” Rael scoffed, picking at the hem of Dooku’s overly-fancy robe before suddenly launching to his feet, unable to contain his restlessness. The younger Jedi paced up and down the length of Dooku’s couch, grateful his usually strict Master was allowing him this indulgence. Not that Dooku had any problem sitting still for what felt like forever - stiff as a board, that one - but Rael was too jittery, too full potential energy to keep his thoughts in neat line with his body. “Rules are meant to be broken, Master,” Rael gave a swift chop with his hand in illustration. “You’re the first one to tell me that.”

Rael heard his Master let out a soft snort in response. Only Dooku could make such a noise sound dignified. “I suppose I did,” the older man answered evenly.

“So there you go! Blow up the train and everyone’s fine.”

“And kill the driver?”

Rael spun to face Dooku, the other man’s eyebrows raised not in condemnation, but genuine interest. It was days like this Rael truly appreciated having Dooku as a Master. Sure, he was as pretentious as any big-city Senator, a hard taskmaster in his lessons, and an even tougher dueling trainer - but at the end of the day, Dooku only expected Rael to follow Dooku’s rules, and not the Order’s.

And as much as Rael chaffed under any collar, he’d take Dooku’s version of the Code over the Council’s any day.

“I mean, the driver is the one in control of the train,” Rael shrugged. “Sure, it’s an accident, but the they were going to be dead either way once they hit those other bodies. Probably would go flying through the window and bash their skull in. This way, you save six lives,” Rael gave his best used speeder salesman grin. “Buy five, get one free.”

That little addition did cause his Master to roll his eyes.

“You are…” Dooku pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. It was as close as Dooku ever got to a casual posture. “Colorful rhetoric aside, you are essentially advocating for pre-emptive action. Very interesting, Rael.”

“Interesting as in,” Rael pulled a sour face, imitating Dooku’s proper Serennian accent, “‘And now I will assign you five Jedi moral precepts to memorize and write a five-page essay about’ or interesting as in ‘I will now have you learn the complete codified law of the Umbargans, whose entire military strategy revolved around non-preemptive attacks.”

Dooku chuckled - actually chuckled - at Rael’s minor impertinent outburst. “Neither, Rael. Although, I must say you have provided me the perfect means by which I may punish you later on.” Damn, dug my own grave with that one, thought Rael. 

“No,” Dooku continued, “I merely find your stance on this matter to be refreshingly…original.”

“You mean the Council wouldn’t approve?”

It took his Master a full minute to answer, his gaze shifting beyond Rael, beyond the confines of their shared quarters, Dooku seeming lost in some memory.

“Hardly,” he finally said. “And that is for the best.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan?”

Qui-gon Jinn sat motionless on the small patch of grass, listening to the susurrations of the light breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains finger through a nearby thicket of Borto reeds. Across from him, Master Dooku sat in a mirrored pose, long legs crossed over the other in the lotus position, expression unreadable, his presence in the Force - or, his effect on the Force presence on the vegetation around him - one of controlled expectancy, a single blade of grass erect and ready despite the buffeting winds.

“We shouldn’t have to choose, Master,” Qui-gon replied, trying to steady his own uneven thoughts and emotions. Although he had been Dooku’s Padawan for almost five years now, Qui-gon still found himself worrying his responses to thought experiments like these would not pass his Master’s high and stringent intellectual standards.

“In an ideal world, Qui-gon, we wouldn’t. But as you have learned - as I have shown you - the status quo rarely measures up to our ideals.”

The status quo, Qui-gon thought. Code for the Senate, for the Council, for the Republic at large. That much he had figured out, had learned from Rael, whose ability to translate Dooku’s sometimes opaque rhetoric to something more digestible never ceased to amaze Qui-gon.

The status quo. The more years he spent with Dooku - with Rael, when the younger man was around - the more Qui-gon understood. Perhaps he always had a predilection to question, to challenge what was “known,” the dictums etched in stone handed down from the Council to the Council’s Masters to its Padawans. But with Dooku’s guidance, and with his own exploration of the Jedi prophecies, Qui-gon had developed his own sense of right and wrong, of how the galaxy ought to work in consonance with the ideals of the Jedi Code and his own moral compass.

“In that case, I would ask the Force for guidance,” Qui-gon replied, thoughts slipping back to the many hours he had spent in the Archives, poring over ancient holocrons. The Force had provided for the seers of old, why shouldn’t it provide now?

“Perhaps the Force cannot provide all the answers,” Dooku countered, as if reading his mind.

Qui-gon frowned, tilting his head. “Is that not what the Jedi teach, Master? What you teach? To follow the Force?”

“To a degree,” Dooku assented, rare amusement curling the side of his lips. “But the Jedi work in symbiosis with the Force, and even that is within a certain self-imposed definition of what the Force may or may not be capable of.”

Self-imposed definition? Qui-gon ran his hands through the soft grass at his sides, no longer able to keep that perfect stillness now that Dooku had so upset his equilibrium. Had his study of the prophecies not proven that exact point? That the Jedi of now no longer regarded the Force with as open a mind those of millennia ago?

“The Force is more infinite, has more potentialities than the confines of what we could possibly hope to study in a thousand lifetimes,” Qui-gon hedged.

“And so you hope to use prophecy to save these doomed beings?” Dooku retorted with a small wave of his hand. Ah yes, the hovertrain problem, Qui-gon grimaced. He had almost quite forgotten about the whole reason for this conversation.

“I would hope to…” Qui-gon cocked his head, watching a pair of butterflies flutter over a Byrsonima crassifolia, fragile leaves fluttering in their wake. An action - or a lack of action. If he saved one life or saved five. What would the repercussions be? How could he know he was making the right choice? How could the Order know, if not for guidance from the Force, in all its possible iterations?

And yet, the study prophecy of was considered at best, an esoteric hobby - at worst, a dangerous arm of mysticism by much of the Council.

Which is why your Master encourages you to think beyond the dictates of the Council, Qui-gon concluded.

“Yes, then,” Qui-gon stated, suddenly more confident in his answers. “I would hope to ameliorate the situation by using a similar mindset of the prophets. One of openness, wonder, and possibility - to find my way in this situation.”

“And just how far would you be willing to take supposed,” Dooku trained him with an enigmatic expression, “openness?” The word weighed heavy with implication.

Qui-gon started. What exactly is Dooku trying to get at here? Hadn’t it been his Master who had introduced him to the prophecies, to the Force beyond the dictates of the Code? So far, Dooku had not steered him wrong, and yet just as the nearby Byrsonima crassifolia cast a long shadow over the open grass, so did Dooku’s unspoken entreaty.

But before Qui-gon could cobble together an answer, Dooku seemed to break out of his trance, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet. He extended a long arm to Qui-gon, who took it without hesitation, coming to stand at his Master’s side.

“Meditate on the answer, Qui-gon. For now, I believe it is past time for dinner.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Obi-wan Kenobi shifted in the overly-large, overly-plush velvet chair which threatened to swallow him whole. He and Qui-gon had been dispatched to Barstovia, a little-known desert mining planet in the Mid-Rim. A simple mission, really, overseeing a trade deal between Barstovia and Ord Mantell, opening up some shipping lines of the rare fermenium mineral to the Republic. A wholly forgettable mission, if Obi-wan were being honest, except for the fact the diminutive race of Barstovia seemed to prize, of all the unlikely things, oversized, over-upholstered furniture.

While Obi-wan struggled with a crimson throw pillow the size of his torso, his master, Qui-gon Jinn, sat across from him, perfectly serene in his eight-foot tall, royal blue armchair.

“Well, Master,” Obi-wan said, words strained as he punched the pillow to his side with un-Jedi-like ferocity. Of all times for Qui-gon to pull out a thought experiment.

“The prevailing wisdom would say to sacrifice one life to save five - a utilitarian outlook and the most practical, at least on the surface.” Obi-wan pushed down on the seat of his chair, trying in vain to straighten his posture, to lend his answer some form of credence beyond his words. Inevitably, Qui-gon would hold the exact opposite opinion from Obi-wan’s, and while Obi-wan had often kept his feelings to himself under the guise of “picking his battles,” he preferred to express his thoughts while at least looking the part of an almost eighteen-year-old Padawan, and not some child stuck in a chair too large for him.  He struck at the recalcitrant cushion one last time. “But as Jedi, we often prioritize a single being or beings if they hold an important role.” 

“In the short-term,” Obi-wan grimaced suddenly, pulling an impossible second pillow from under his right thigh, “we would lose four lives over one, granted. But in the long-term, that single life lost might mean the eventual deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“But you do not have this information, Padawan,” Qui-gon replied, a crease of annoyance in his brow. Obi-wan noted there was no accompanying crease in the cushion of his Master’s chair. “All you know is the number of beings.”

Obi-wan bit down on a caustic reply. Yes, I know that, Master. I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. But when did Qui-gon actually ever listen to him?

“Yes, Master, this is true,” the younger Jedi answered, Obi-wan impressed with the evenness of his own response despite his increasing irritation. “Which is why I would endeavor to save them all.”

A beat. a raised eyebrow coupled with a subtle sigh. “Quite the feat, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon finally said, his words laced with skepticism. “How would you accomplish such a thing?”

How in the world is he not drowning in that chair? Obi-wan thought, distracted by his Master’s impenetrability, despite the audacious situation. There was Qui-gon, halfway across the room, composed and neat - well, as neat as Qui-gon ever got - against the regal backdrop of the humorously-sized chair while Obi-wan floundered in a sea of crimson, just out of his Master’s reach.

And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their troubled partnership?

Obi-wan wiped at his brow. “It’s quite simple, Master. The hovertrain could be diverted, or at least impeded by a third party inserting themselves into the equation.”

Something in Qui-gon’s expression shifted at the statement, earlier annoyance now melting into something closer to concern. The older man leaned forward in his chair, for the first time exhibiting a pang of discomfort as he battled the voluminous material.

“And who might that be?” Qui-gon asked, batting at the tsunami of beige woven blanket at his side.

“Myself, of course.”

Dead silence met Obi-wan’s words.

Wrong answer, Kenobi. Absolutely the wrong answer. Disappointment was written all over Qui-gon’s body language, even emanating from his usually controlled Force signature. Obi-wan fell back into the chair, not bothering to fight the dunes and valleys of velvet threatening to overtake him, averting his gaze to some preposterously-sized side-table and vase. Hopefully, his failure to provide the correct response would be the end of this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Qui-gon would assign him some reading and meditation, and let the matter rest until they returned to Coruscant.

But Qui-gon only peered at Obi-wan with a piercing stare, apparently not ready to give up on the exchange.

“You would sacrifice yourself to save the others?”

Obi-wan found himself mirroring his master’s movements.

“Isn’t that what it means to be a Jedi?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “We are servants of the Republic, of the Force - if our actions can save lives so that Republic may continue in peace - “ Obi-wan’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words that would express his devotion to the Order, the Code, his own sense of honor - but found himself gaping like an Ithorian cuttlefish.

Once again, Qui-gon fell into contemplation, back arching against tall, bulbous pillows, brushing his mustache with a single finger. A minute, then two went by, the only sound the clicks of a nearby chrono. Over eighteen feet tall, the clicks sounded more like the steps of a lurking gundark than a timepiece, doing nothing for Obi-wan’s nerves.

Finally, Qui-gon broke the uncomfortable semi-silence. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away your own life, Padawan. As you rightly said, the death of a monarch may cause the deaths of many others down the road. But you cannot know how many lives would remain unsaved if you were to treat your own so lightly.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose. That had not been the reaction he was expecting.

“But how am I to know when that sacrifice is necessary?” he asked automatically. Obi-wan would make that sacrifice gladly, although...to be perfectly honest, he would prefer not to die as a seventeen-year-old Padawan. 

“The better question is how you can work to reach a more productive option rather than coming to such a dire conclusion.” Qui-gon’s voice softened. “I am serious, Obi-wan. You have much to offer the galaxy. Don’t let your strict adherence to Jedi ideals extinguish your star too early. Not only would the Republic be at a loss, but…” Qui-gon looked away, staring down at some invisible pattern in the corner of the room. “I would, as well.”

Obi-wan’s mouth dropped open. “Master, I - “

“Ah, Master Jedi!” A new voice squeaked from the gargantuan entranceway. “Thank you so much for waiting,” proclaimed the three-foot Minister of Commerce, Parhary Hatch, bedecked in a long, flowery robe whose velvet train stretched back several feet. “Please, if you would,” he gestured towards the tall archway.

“Yes, of course, Minister Hatch,” Qui-gon replied in his diplomatic voice, jumping neatly off the chair, his landing as elegant as a Coruscanti ice skater.

Obi-wan frowned, joining his Master in a slightly less dignified, but no less effective maneuver. They had been on the verge of…something, some kind of understanding, or at least a truce. Whatever words had remained unsaid between would likely stay so, the moment gone, the trip back to Coruscant, and then to a Hutt outpost taking priority over these types of conversations.

Another time, then, Obi-wan sighed to himself, following the slinking violet trail of the Bartovian minister and his Master into the long corridors of the palace.

[lovely-ateez]

For The First Time Pt.2~

ꕥPosted: 7/25/20

ꕥGenre: College!au, Fluff

ꕥPairing: Fem!reader x Jongho

ꕥWord Count: ~1k

ꕥWarnings: None

ꕥA/N: I know this isn’t a popular series which makes me a little sad but I wanted to finish it anyway. If people end up liking it and it actually gets attention I might(?) make a part 3. It’s most likely gonna end here tho. Read part 1 also if you wouldn’t mind! Things will make a lot more sense if you do. You can do that here

ꕥA/N Cont: So even though I provided translations for some words, there is a phrase that I clarified in the middle of the writing bc I didn’t want to spoil anything

ꕥPhrase Guide:

你= You

加油 = You can do it (encouragement)

Jongho was surprisingly easy to talk to and we got along better than I thought we would. Not that I thought we wouldn’t get along, but I was still surprised.

After we had lunch together we exchanged numbers and began to hang out more, usually every couple days given our busy schedules.

He was so talkative that I found out almost everything about him in no time. He just turned 20, was a music major, and took Chinese because he wanted a challenge. He loved snow but hated the cold. Soccer was his favorite sport but he didn’t play often since he was always either studying or working as a tutor for underclassmen. He was born in Korea but grew up in America. Fluent in Korean but insecure enough about his American accent that he only spoke it with close friends and family. He met Mingi during a soccer camp he went to in middle school and his best friend - the guy with the mullet - was named Hongjoong and apparently much friendlier than he looked.

The more I spent time with Jongho, the more I realized I had feelings for him and the stronger they became. When Marina and I were alone in our dorm, I told her everything I was feeling and the response was exactly what I suspected.

“HA! KNEW IT!” Marina yelled, “I just won myself ten bucks.”

“I’m sorry, YOU WHAT?”

“I may or may not have made a bet with Mingi that you would catch feelings within three months of meeting Jongho. And you’re two days away from three months, girly.” She shrugged but kept the smile on her face.

“Oh my god you did not. Actually speaking of...what’s up with you two? Are you official yet?”

Marina went quiet for a moment then bit her lip, finally speaking up, “Well...not yet, technically, but we’ve seriously considered it. We have another date this weekend. Now all you have to do is get with Jongho and we can go on a double date.”

“Yeah I don’t know about that, M.”

“Y/n he totally likes you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No I know. He’s got a few tells so I know he feels at least a little something. I’m just not sure if I should commit to anything, you know?”

Marina let out a loud laugh before speaking again.

“Pfft no. I dated all throughout high school. If I’m being honest, though, I really think you should give it a chance. People always freak out about possibly ruining a friendship by confessing but honestly if a friendship can’t withstand a little crush then you probably weren’t solid friends in the first place.”

“You know what? You’re right. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah girl! Go get him!”

-

The next day arrived way too quickly. Although I told myself I would confess, I was getting anxious. I walked into Chinese class holding hands with Marina for emotional support. We were the first ones there, as always, so I had a bit of time to rant.

“I’ll be honest, M. I’ve never felt butterflies like this before. I’m actually shaking.” I lifted up my hand to show her my slight tremor.

“Oh sweetheart! It’ll be all good! Promise. Just take a few deep breaths.”

I slowly breathed in and out for the next several seconds.

“You’re right. I can do this.”

The trio walked into class several minutes later. Mingi gave a quick kiss to Marina and Jongho gave me a friendly smile. Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the four of us and walked to his usual seat, propping his feet up on the seat in front of him.

The rest of the class filled in and soon our professor arrived.

The professor loudly clapped her hands, speaking up, “Alright class. Today I’m going to have you pair up in groups of two and work together. I don’t care who it’s with, as long as it’s with somebody. We’ve got an even number of students so we should be fine. I’ve got some games for you to play today.”

I turned to Marina but she was already halfway up the stairs to sit next to Mingi. I looked at Jongho but he motioned at Hongjoong, mouthing that he was sorry.

Okay. That’s fine. I thought. I’ll find someone else. Looking up I saw the unfamiliar young man standing in front of me. He blanked for a moment when I looked up at him.

“Hey! Uh...would you maybe want to be partners?”

“Are you sure? With the both of us together we’ll probably beat the whole class by a landslide.”

He laughed and sat down next to me, visibly more confident.

“I’m sure they can manage. I’m Tommy, by the way. You’re y/n, right?”

I nodded and smiled at him as we shook hands. I looked Tommy in the eyes and saw a slight blush on his cheeks. What I didn’t see; however, was the death stare Jongho was giving him.

The professor looked up and let out a laugh, pointing at Tommy and I.

“Yeah no way in hell am I letting that happen. You two are my best students and - no offense everyone - but no one would stand a chance against you two.”

“Ouch.” I heard Mingi say.

Jongho quickly stood up and raised his hand, “I’ll partner up with her!”

“Very good. Get on with it then.”

Tommy looked upset, making me feel bad for leaving him.

“Hey that’s okay, Tommy. Maybe next time?” I gave him a smile that he soon returned.

I walked up to Jongho, sitting next to him as Hongjoong sat down next to Tommy.

Jongho leaned in and whispered, “I’ll be honest, y/n. I’m really glad the teacher separated you two.”

“Yeah, I bet everyone is. We are the best in the class, no offense,” I laughed.

“Actually no I meant-“

“Alright class. I have talked in English for an unusually long time but in my defense, I was up basically all night grading essays so I’m running on two hours of sleep and a cappuccino. Nevertheless, I’ll now switch to Chinese. 加油.”

The first game was simple enough. The teacher wrote beginner to intermediate level phrases for us to translate. If we got it right, we got a point.

My team eventually won, beating Tommy and Hongjoong by a single point. Jongho really surprised me, getting almost as many questions right as I did.

Mingi and Marina ended up last because neither of them were paying attention, instead flirting with each other.

The second and final game was a little more complicated. We had to translate the sentence, as well as pronounce all the characters correctly. Tommy’s team was tied with mine until Jongho answered the last question correctly. I smiled at him and bounced in my seat.

“We won, Jongho!” I exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. He froze at first, but then put his arms around me and pulled me closer.

The professor spoke up once more, “We’re out of time for class today but remember you have a test next week. I expect you all to be studying!”

Our classmates soon left the room along with our teacher. Hongjoong quickly ran out to meet his new boyfriend - Seonghwa I think he said? - and Mingi and Marina were already gone. I assumed they left class sometime during the second game.

“Hey,” Jongho said to me as I was slipping on my backpack, “I was wondering if you could help me out with my writing in Chinese? Sometimes I mess up the stroke order and I could use the practice.”

“Sure! When do you want to study?”

“How about now?”

Jongho grabbed my arm and led me down to the whiteboard at the front of the class. I looked around at the empty classroom and nodded. I didn’t want to disturb anyone. He picked up a marker and began to write.

“I’ll write and you tell me if I make a mistake, okay?”

I laughed, “Sure, Jongho.”

As he started writing I didn’t see any mistakes. When he finished writing, I gasped.

“我喜欢你。你喜欢谁?”

[I like you. Who you you like?]

I smiled and took the marker from his hands, placing it back on the podium. I looked him in the eyes and cupped his face. “你” I said as I kissed him. I pulled back and looked into his eyes. He smiled and kissed me again, this time wrapping his arms around my waist.

We pulled back for air and I whispered, “You know, I was actually planning on telling you today, too. Marina encouraged me to tell you, but I guess I didn’t have to after all.”

“I mean you can still tell me, if you want.”

I gently kissed his cheek, “You already know how I feel.”

“Hmm. Actually I’m not quite sure. Could you clarify for me?” Jongho laughed when I playfully hit his arm.

“You know,” he continued, “when I said I was glad the teacher separated you earlier, I meant that I was glad you were away from Tommy. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and I really didn’t like it. I got so nervous because even though I tease, this is the first time I’ve felt like this. So I guess the question is...will you let me take you on a date?”

“Absolutely!”

[sometimesiwritebadly]

Rehearsal (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: Peter and you have to rehearse a scene for your theatre class, which just so happens to have a kiss in it. (Gender neutral reader!)

Prompts: 1. “Why would you do this?” 22. “This is the part where you kiss me.”

Warnings: good old fashioned fluff

Note: Lol this one kinda got away from me. I used a random number generator to choose the prompts and only expected this to be like 800 words max but I ended up with over 2k so. but I really like what I ended up with so I hope y’all do too <3 mostly from Peter’s POV btw. oh and I tried to keep it gender neutral but it’s natural for me to write with a female reader so let me know if I accidentally left a few she’s/her’s in there.

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist

Peter Parker is a nerd. He’s good at science and math, which is why he’s attending Midtown School of Science and Technology. Despite the STEM focus the school has, there’s still a requirement for at least one art-related class in order to graduate. When Peter chose an entry level Theatre class, he hoped it would focus more on the study of famous plays than actually having to stand on a stage and act. Peter was very, very wrong. For the first assignment of the semester, students had to pair up and perform a short, dramatic piece. He had been paired with Y/N Y/L/N, who he had a minor crush on. Ok, major crush. After he and MJ broke up last year, he honestly didn’t think he’d find anyone else for a while. But then Y/N transferred to Midtown, and he was whipped right from the start. 

“Look man, you gotta use this opportunity to make a move!” Peter and Ned were walking down the hallway between classes, Ned trying to convince Peter again that this was a great chance to finally tell Y/N how he feels. “Just look up some cute scene for the two of you to perform! It’ll be like when Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie fell in love on set!”

“I’m pretty sure they broke up, Ned.”

“Whatever. The point stands.”

The pair approached their lockers, where you were waiting. You had a few papers in your hand, which held your attention until you noticed Peter in front of you.

“H-hey. What’s up?” Peter tried his best to contain his stutter, but couldn’t help it. Y/N just had that effect on him.

“Hey Pete, I, um, I found some potential scripts for us to use for our assignment. I thought you could look over them before we rehearse at mine on Friday? I like them all, so whichever you wanna go with is fine...although I did put a star next to my favorite piece.” You handed half of the papers you were holding to Peter, keeping copies of each script for yourself. Peter noticed that the copies you kept had already been highlighted and annotated, while his were straight from the printer. Except for the small star at the top of the first script in his stack. Before Peter could respond, the warning bell began to ring, signaling only a minute to get to your next class. “Just text me whichever one you want, and we can walk to my place after school tomorrow to rehearse.” You said this as you began to walk away, giving Peter and Ned a small wave before you turned around to race to your final class of the day. 

~~~

Instead of paying attention to his teacher’s lecture during Chemistry, Peter spent the 50 minute period reading through the scripts you had chosen. Peter already knew he wanted to perform the script you liked, but he was nervous. Your favorite scene happened to be the only one which called for a kiss, but he didn’t know if he had the guts to go for it. He could easily choose either of the other scenes and call it a day, but...well, was this your way of making a move? Had you intentionally chosen the script with a kiss to find out if Peter liked you? Did you like him? Or did you just choose that one because you genuinely thought it was the best option?

The bell rang, interrupting Peter’s thoughts and signaling the end of the school day. Hopefully a few hours of swinging through the streets of New York would be enough to distract Peter from thinking about you all night. For once, Peter was actually hoping New York criminals would keep him busy.

~~~

When Peter slipped through the window of his bedroom, his thoughts were unsurprisingly still revolving around you. Despite a somewhat busy night - two muggings, an almost-car crash, and one lost little girl now safely back with her mother - He still hadn’t been able to come to a decision. Half an hour ago you had texted Peter asking if he had chosen a script yet, and he still hadn’t responded. 

“Just go with the script they want, Pete. Even if Y/N doesn’t like you, at least you’ll get to kiss them.” He thought as he removed his skin-tight supersuit and changed into some sweats and a t-shirt. He grabbed his phone from the pocket of his backpack, and, after another minute or so of arguing with himself, finally began to type.

8:31 pm

Y/N:

hey pete, have you decided which script you wanna do yet?

9:06 pm

Peter:

Uh, yeah. I think the one you liked is the best.

9:08 pm

Y/N:

yesss, i was hoping you’d choose that one. i have great taste ;)

9:08 pm

Peter:

Haha, yeah, you do. We’ll rehearse tomorrow after school right?

9:10 pm

Y/N:

yup! i’ll meet you by your locker again :) see ya tomorrow pete

Peter decided to let the conversation end there. Honestly, he had no idea what to think. What does “I have great taste ;)” mean? Is that a reference to the kiss? Does this mean they like him? Or is it just a joke? Peter sent a screenshot of the conversation to Ned for help, but Ned being Ned wasn’t helpful at all. 

9:15 pm

Ned:

Just. Make. A. Move. 

9:16 pm

Ned:

Betty thinks you should make a move too.

Despite his confusion and nerves over tomorrow’s rehearsal, Peter managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time. Hopefully tomorrow he’d get the answers he was looking for.

~~~

Peter waited by his locker after the final bell rang. As the hallways began to clear, he noticed you making your way over to him.

“Sorry, I hope you weren’t waiting too long. My English class is basically all the way across the school.” You looked nervous. Is that good? Or bad? Have you been thinking about the kiss too?

“Y-you’re fine. I’ve only been here for like a minute.” That was a lie. Peter’s Chemistry class was just across the hall from his locker, but you didn’t need to know that. After he finished talking, you seemed to lose all sense of nerves.

“I guess it wasn’t me causing the nerves then…” Peter thought, his mood dropping a little.

“Oh good. Let’s get going then, my apartment is only a couple blocks from here.” And so you began the short walk to your place. You made some small talk on the way there, talking about your other classes instead of the one class you did share. 

“You have Mrs. Jenson third period right? I have her during fifth. Maybe we can study together for her tests...I know the school year just started, but I can already tell she’ll make her tests unnecessarily evil.” You said as the both of you entered your building. 

“That’s a good idea, I know someone who took her class last year and they said she always had essay questions. Not to mention 5 choices for multiple choice questions instead of the usual four.” Peter responded. As he spoke, they headed towards the elevator, and Y/N pressed the button, causing the doors to immediately open. After hitting the number 4 on the wall, the doors slowly began to close. Despite the unfortunate news he was sharing with Y/N, his voice had a hopeful tone to it; They want to hang out with him again. Sure, it’s just loose plans to study for a test sometime in the future, but hey, he’ll take it.

“Damn. History has never been my subject, so I’ll definitely need the extra study time. I can never remember all the important dates.” Your phone buzzed after that, causing you to glance down at it. As you responded to whoever had texted you, Peter was left to his thoughts when the elevator began to move. It wasn’t until the elevator doors opened and you stepped out that the conversation resumed. “That was my mom, guess she’s gonna be at work for a few more hours. We can order a pizza if you want, I’m not sure how long we’ll be rehearsing today.”

“Pizza, uhm,” Peter’s voice cracked, “Pizza sounds good.” Peter cursed to himself, but if you had noticed his voice cracking, you had the decency to ignore it. You pulled your keys from your backpack, and unlocked the second apartment on the floor. 

“Cool, I’ll order something online. Pepperoni ok for you?” You asked as you walked into the apartment, holding the door open for Peter. Peter only nodded, not really trusting his voice for the moment. He took a second to look around the place as you closed the door behind him. When you came into his eyesight again, you were looking at your phone, presumably ordering the pizza. “Since my mom isn’t here we can rehearse in the living room, it’s just this way.” Peter followed you as you led him across the apartment, then sat on the couch. He tried to give you space as you continued punching in the pizza order. While you were busy, Peter opened his own backpack and pulled out the script you had agreed upon. Last night he had highlighted his lines, although luckily for this assignment the teacher had mentioned that memorization was optional. After all, the school year had just begun and it was a beginner’s class.

“Ok, pizza will be here in like half an hour. Now we can get to work!” You quickly pulled out your own script from your backpack, and turned to face Peter. “Do you wanna just read through it a few times, then once we’re used to it we could start working out the blocking?” You suggested.

“Y-yeah, sure, that works for me.” Peter was relieved at this option; read throughs meant he didn’t have to worry about the kiss yet. “Your character starts, right?”

And so the two of you began reading through the script. It was short, only a few pages, and featured someone on the day of their wedding, and the man who was trying to convince them to leave their fiance. At first, the reading was a little awkward, as neither of you had any experience in acting, but by the third or fourth time you had gone through the script together, both of you were feeling much more comfortable. Instead of sitting away from each other on opposite ends of the couch, you were close, the way your characters would be. The blocking had even begun to take shape naturally, so you and Peter stood for the fifth reading, walking around the room, trying your best to embody the characters as they argued. This time, as you approached the end of the script however, Peter’s nerves returned.

“Why would you do this? Just barging in here on my wedding day?” You said, trying to act as frustrated and confused as you felt your character would be. 

“You and I both kn-know you don’t love him! You’ll never be happy with him!” Peter tried to keep his nerves in check, but he knew what was coming.

“And how do you know I’d be happier with you?” Following the stage directions indicated on your script, you stepped closer to Peter. Instead of continuing with the scene, Peter just stared at you, no longer looking at his script. “Uh, Pete?” He still didn’t respond. You were confused, until you looked back at the script. You weren’t sure how you had forgotten, after all, this is why you chose the scene in the first place. “Peter, this is the part where you kiss me” You said quietly. You had taken his choosing of this scene to mean he liked you too, but you weren’t sure. His eyes widened a little at your words though, which made your confidence drop. “O-or not, um, we could do a stage kiss, or you could just kiss my cheek, or we could just cut it complet-” Peter cut off your rambling by putting his hands on your cheek and bringing his lips to meet yours. You were shocked, but easily melted into the kiss. He was gentle as he kissed you, his nerves disappearing the second you kissed him back. After a while, you both separated from the kiss. Neither of you spoke for a minute, just staring at each other.

“U-um.. that was ok, right?” Peter whispered, as you were still pretty close to him. You only smiled, and gave him another short kiss as a response. Before you guys could do anything else, there was a knock at the door.

“Pizza!” Someone said loudly through the wood. Before you could make a move, Peter had grabbed his wallet and was already walking towards the front door.

“I’ll pay...after all, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you pay on our first date?”

[slightlyaggressiveaffirmations]

I feel like some people I know (including my supervisor and occasionally professors) don't understand that I sometimes take longer than other people to complete tasks or learn things (probably due to several of my disabilities). Do you have any advice for explaining this to other people but not making it seem like an excuse? My accommodation of extra time on assignments in school doesn't allow me very much extra time. Can I also request some affirmations about it's OK to learn at my own pace?

Hi Anon!

I have similar problems to you - because of my cognitive dysfunction, I am a slow learner, and I usually need three times as long to read anything. I am currently working on a research project for my degree that should take me one semester - but I have been able to negotiate much much longer - the initial plan is that instead of the usual 15 weeks, I will aim for 27, with the option for additional time if I need it. The reason: I cannot take in more than about 10 pages of reading a day, and that’s simply not enough.

So... let’s talk about how I explained and negotiated my way to this agreement:

1. I am registered with Disability Services

So, not every school has one, and it doesn’t help with a workplace, but essentially what this means is that I took steps to explain my situation before it became a problem. As well as registering that I need assistance (which I’m guessing you have done too - hence the extra time) I always speak to a new lecturer or professor myself after the first class. I say something like:

“Hi. My name’s Kate and you will have recieved an Education Access Plan for me. I just want to let you know some things...”

My school has rules that the Plan has to be followed, and the staff aren’t allowed to ask me why I need my special accomodations, but I like to be upfront and explain to them. Then they feel like I’m honest and trustworthy, etc. And I find them always very accomodating.

2. I make sure people see the effort I put in

I am a high achiever. At school, in the workplace, in my activism work, in video games! At school, I care a lot about my grades, but I also make a deliberate effort to be sure my lecturers and teachers can see my effort. I ask a lot of questions and raise my hand when I know the answers to things. I contribute to class discussions. I email if I am sick and I go to consultation hours and ask for help.

This means that when I need that extra time to finish an essay, they know wasn’t lazy or wasting time (and sometimes, maybe, I was!) because I have that track record of being a good student who puts effort in. I’ve even got a reputation now with staff I haven’t met.

I do the same thing at a job. I work hard and I make sure I’m seen working hard.

Note: You should not have to do this! I should not have to. Our word and a medical certificate should be enough. But it often isn’t, and you asked for advice, so this is it, sadly.

3. I explained exactly what my need is and why

When it came to negotiating this specific longterm extension on my research, I had to ask my supervisor to commit to much longer. That’s a big ask. So, I needed to be clear on what my problem is and I also came to her with a proposed solution to that problem. The clearer you can be, the better (which can be hard with a cognitive disability - but writing it down can help)

So. Problem: I can only read about ten pages or so a day of the kind of complex academic language this research requires. That’s drastically below the amount I need to read in the timeframe available.

Solutions: I need more time. There’s a way we can enrol me so the computer system allows me to take more than one semester, and I came to her with that information. I wrote a proposed study plan of how long it might take me and when I might have a first draft, a final draft, etc. I included what kind of information I thought I needed and how much time I thought the first few of these might require (Two weeks on Subject A, Three on Subject B).

I also explained to her how varying the tasks I’m performing helps me to keep focused - so I wrote a list of the tasks I needed to do besides reading, and gave her these too, so she could see how I’d help myself work better by varying tasks.

People love it when they don’t have to do that much work! If you say “Here’s the problem, I already found the solution, please tick the box that says you agree” they fucking LOVE that. The thing is done with the least inconvenience to them.

So, your problem: You need longer to complete tasks or learn something new.

If you feel comfortable, it will help to explain why this is. In simple terms, but not patronising. I always say:

“I have trouble concentrating, especially if there are distractions like other noises - even something minor like an air conditioner. I get tired easily, I can only focus for short periods. I fall asleep when reading long passages of text. I read slowly. Some days I cannot read at all.”

All of those things make up “I need more time”, but they explain WHY I need more time, and often a person who is just ignorant about disabilities simply hasn’t bothered to think about it and when you explain it like this, they begin to understand why you find things more difficult than they do.

Another thing I like to say is “Think about how you function when you’re very tired. When you try to read a book but you’re ready to fall asleep and the words blur - that’s me all the time” - that’s an experience that they can relate to, and that really helps!

Then you can tell them the solution: “It would really help if I had extra time. That would give me more time to read everything over twice to make sure I understand it.” Or you could say the extra time helps you because you can only work for a small period each day and therefore you need more days to give you an equal amount of work time as your classmates.

OK. In summary:

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with an “excuse” - it’s just a reason you didn’t or can’t do something and we shouldn’t attach negative connotations to that. But I know what you mean when you say you don’t want it to sound like an excuse, so ways to avoid that include:

1. Make your needs clear BEFORE you need them. (I realise you’re already in the situation, but note for future) If you’ve already told someone about a potential problem, it will not sound made-up to them when you bring it up during a deadline.

2. Make them trust you. Show them that you wouldn’t lie. If they think you are an excellent student/employee/citizen/etc, they will not see you as having a reason to make up some excuse. Why would you when you’re normally so diligent and enthusiastic?

3. Explain the WHY (I do and learn things slower because...) and offer solutions by explaining HOW they help (More time would mean...)

This was an extremely long answer... Not sure I could read it all in one hit myself, tbh! :p Might be pushing that ten page limit.

Good luck, Anonymous Friend. I hope some of this is helpful to you.

- The Slightly Aggressive Affirmer

[spideychelleforever]

She received the email a bit after 4 PM, providing a link for her to sign the lease. And she saw his part had already been completed.

Without knowing what she was getting herself into, MJ signed the legally-binding document that would seal the deal for the next two years that she would spend living as Peter’s roommate.

****

For his part, Peter was a good roommate. He cleaned the bathroom and kitchen when needed, he cooked regularly, he bought groceries, he vacuumed, and if she asked him to or not to do something, he did it or stopped doing it. Sometimes it annoyed her when she’d find him laid out on the couch snoring during the middle of the day or something, but it was a minor inconvenience.

It was their junior year of college by now. They’d reconnected after a fateful reunion at Target that took place about a year ago, and as if the gods had heard MJ’s cries, they had spent a crapton of the last year together. Studying, working on projects, helping the other practice something, watching movies and TV together, eating together. They had been roommates in all but lease, so they eventually decided to just make it official and pool resources together.

And despite the fact that she’d gotten one of her best friends back, MJ couldn’t deny sometimes fantasizing that one day Peter would think she wasn’t home and walk out of the shower with little to nothing on and it would lead to them...

Stop! Something in her head screamed at her. She frowned, remembering that Peter would never love her back.

***

“Shit, Parker,” MJ sighed, enjoying the warm sensation in her stomach as a generous amount of what she’d just swallowed began sticking to it, “that was actually really good!”

“I’m so glad you liked it!” Peter smiled as he got up to get their plates. “Do you want anymore?”

MJ shot a look warily at the pan which still had a good bit of the porkchops Peter had somehow blessed her with. Despite being full already, she figured a little more wouldn’t hurt. “Yes please,” she nodded, wincing a little since eating in excess was never a good thing to her. But when it was a new recipe from the idiot she was in love with? She could take it.

****

Another night in paradise was one of their all-nighters. Peter had procrastinated too much and was now struggling to get a book report done before 8 AM the next day. Which was only 5 hours away by this point.

“Come on dude, concentrate,” MJ yawned. “You can do this, or whatever.” Despite her love for him, not even MJ could fight running on 18 hours with no sleep that easily. “Tell me again, what’s your theme for the third page?”

“The third page.. will... try to...”

The next thing MJ knew, it was 6 AM. Two hours until Peter lost a significant grade going into the last few weeks of the fall semester. And Peter was currently out of service, his head leaning against the couch as he smiled peacefully.

Adorable as this was, MJ’s blood turned to ice once she remembered their situation. She took his laptop, which he’d laid on the coffee table, and looked at what was left. She cringed seeing there were still 3 paragraphs and the conclusion from the outline left.

MJ looked between the laptop and her sleeping love a few times.

After about twenty minutes, she pulled out the book he was writing about and started typing.

At 9 AM, MJ was woken with a start by a frantic cry. “OH NO OH NO OH NOOOOOO”

She jolted upright, not quite remembering when she’d fallen asleep, and looked to see Peter frantically ripping his laptop open and immediately hitting the bookmark for his class website. “No-no-no-no-“

He read it. “Submitted at 7:45 AM.”

He sat there, dumbfounded. Eventually he went into the document file and opened it. And somehow, there was an entire, immaculate essay written based on his outline. Completely from scratch and... frankly it looked and sounded better than what he’d already written.

The turns of phrase, the vocabulary, the sharp, biting tone. None of this was like Peter’s writing. This was.. this was...

Wait. Peter looked deeper at his laptop screen. Something was there.

He turns around to see MJ standing over him, sipping a glass of orange juice.

She’s eying him with a raised eyebrow, fighting the dizzying light-headedness eating at her because of the stupid puppy dog eyes he’s making at her. It’s not like she likes those stupid puppy dog eyes or anything. But then the wind is nearly sucked out of her when he jumps to his feet to stand in front of her. They were close enough that you’d think they just stopped slow-dancing.

“Did you-did you really do my paper for me?” Peter asked softly.

MJ’s eyes were in that sort of blank, unsure mode that was a tell that she was trying so hard to not show emotion, even though her eyes so badly wanted to return fire to those puppy dog eyes of his.

“Oh, yeah, I.. yeah I figured you needed the extra two letter grades I’m gonna get you with what I wrote,” MJ tried to snark. “Plus...” her voice softened involuntarily, “you were tired.”

Peter’s grin exploded onto his face, just like how MJ liked it, and she nearly dropped her orange juice when he suddenly grabbed her and hugged her.

She’d been hugged by Peter before. They were friends, roommates, best friends. But every hug felt like the first time. And to be held with such affection by the boy she so badly wanted to grow and build with was just... exquisite. Feeling his solid jawline resting on her shoulder, feeling those rocky arms wrap around her, the fiery gravel of his abs on her comparatively average stomach...

Finally, MJ put down her cup of juice and hugged him back. Her long arms went around him and melted at the feel of his smaller, rockier body. She didn’t know why, but her right hand ended up gently resting on the back of his head - oh wait, right, it was to bring him closer to her, duh. She loved how warm it was. How cozy and sweet and right this felt.

The way it felt to be held like this by Peter, the way it felt to be hugging and comforting him, the warmth, everything, made it clear that signing their lease with him was one of MJ’s better life choices.

****

This is a belated entry for Day 5: Roommates of Spideychelle Week! @spideychelleweek