#and would demand that it be rewritten before anything else

[vivelareine]

one of Marie-Antoinette (2022)’s most notable failures so far: the lack of etiquette

Rewritten from a thread I made on Twitter.

One of the most glaring failures in the Canal+ Marie Antoinette is the lack of groundwork for Versailles being this place of strict ritual and etiquette. Particularly since that etiquette (and Marie Antoinette being confined by it & later rebelling against it) is hyped up strongly in interviews. But what etiquette? Where is it? Nowhere in the show is the ritualistic world of Versailles, which vexed Marie Antoinette, actually shown.

There's no lack of opportunity. But the show glides by these opportunities every single time. The handover ceremony is... not a ceremony at all! She walks under a bridge cover at the border, that is it. There is no shedding of Austrian retinue (she has none); no changing of the Austrian clothes, no notion that everything Austrian must be left behind.

Only Mops is taken from her, but in this show, all I could think was: why? Literally, why is Mops taken? In the Coppola film, we know why. NOTHING of Austria can be taken with Marie Antoinette as she is transformed into the French dauphine, so the dog cannot be taken because of the ceremonial rules. Simple, easy to understand.

In this series, Marie Antoinette doesn’t have to change her Austrian clothes or leave anything else behind. Soo why can the dog not come, too? It comes across as Noailles making Mops leave because she’s being a bitch, not because of the petty rules of French etiquette.

The complete lack of a structural handover ceremony is baffling. The symbolism writes itself here. Was the show afraid of Coppola comparisons? Why else ignore the chance to show the strictness of French etiquette, of expectation, of the dauphine being pressed into the confines of her role via a literal undressing and redressing? Via shedding Austria and entering France?

The show talks about etiquette not infrequently. But that etiquette doesn't seem to actually exist. It only exists verbally, for Noailles to harp on about.

Can you imagine the real Noailles PUSHING the dauphine of France, and demanding that she curtsy? Where is the etiquette there? Again, the Coppola comparisons must come... in that film, Noailles reacts stiffly to the hug, and we see that it’s deemed as inappropriate in her behavior and reaction. But Coppola!Noailles doesn’t literally shove Marie Antoinette and demand that she curtsy, as she does in the Canal+ series, but we get the idea without it being ludicrous: Versailles is formal, and stiff, and this type of childish gesture isn’t allowed.

And then we get the ridiculousness of Noailles and Marie Antoinette traipsing through the woods with two guards, meeting the king of France and family in a ridiculous manner. Again... verbal talk of etiquette, but where is the pomp and ceremony expected of this moment? Not to be found in a hike in the woods.

Sure, Noailles snipes out a “curtsy!!!” as Marie Antoinette gawks at Louis XV, but that’s about it.

The scene where Marie Antoinette is dressed before her wedding is another missed opportunity.

If anything, Noailles dialogue here is the antithesis of the actual dressing ceremony. Yes, she says that “You will be dressed, in public, under strict rules of precedence.” But the scene doesn’t actually give us an indication why this is unusual, or why Marie Antoinette is supposed to be uncomfortable, or why this is supposed to be viewed as strict and over the top.

It goes too quickly, there is no room to breathe, and nothing is made of what we’re seeing on screen.

We see her bugging her eyes out a big, crossing her hands over her chest... but why? The series doesn’t actually show us a dressing ceremony. Unlike the Coppola film, where the ridiculousness of the rigid etiquette is clear, here, it’s not clear why this should be seen as strange for Marie Antoinette.

It should be strange because Versailles’ dressing ceremony was one, more public than what she would have experienced in Vienna. At Versailles, people with rights of entry could be there, in certain rooms, at certain stages of dressing. Two, it was ridiculous, because if someone of a certain rank came in the room, then the entire thing would “shift” as they had the right to do certain things over others. So the ceremony could be extended, even when Marie Antoinette was sitting there naked or half-dressed, simply becasue someone else walked in the room. Hence, Marie Antoinette saying “How disagreeable! how tiresome!”  in the Campan anecdote.

But does the episode show this? Not really.

What is frustrating is that, on a narrative level, it should not be difficult to show why this is uncomfortable. Even if they were trying to avoid Coppola film comparisons by translating the dressing scene from Campan flatly, they could have done far more to showcase the actual etiquette. Show the ceremony, instead of just showing women standing there helping her dress. Have Noailles explain that depending on who is in the room, they get certain privileges. Explain that she must be dressed in public in certain rooms by certain people, before she can get any privacy.

Or intermingle the dressing at Versailles with Marie Antoinette thinking about being dressed in Vienna. Show the gaggle of courtiers and strict rules, show that she’s expected to take this Versailles etiquette seriously--versus her being dressed by 1-2 servants in Vienna, giggling, having fun with it.

Just... something. But the show completely fumbling the scene leaves us asking: why is this a big deal?

The fact that Marie Antoinette’s dressing scene is interspersed with shots of Louis being literally manhandled and abused by his servants makes it even weaker, on a narrative level. Where's the etiquette here? Bathing and dressing the heir to the throne had its rituals. Louis’ servants would certainly not have been forcing him to undress, abusing him by tossing ice into his bath, etc.

He would have been surrounded by courtiers, valets. So, another opportunity to show people being "trapped" by etiquette, gone. Replaced with something utterly ridiculous.

The show tells, tells, tells us that etiquette exists. But it doesn’t.

Noailles a few minutes before this scene: "No one can touch the dauphine except the mistress of her household, members of the royal family, or a princess of the blood."

Noailles in this scene: Lets du Barry touch Marie Antoinette’s hair, lets her pull her nightgown lower, put makeup on her, etc.

Again, where is the etiquette? One could argue it's Noailles looking the other way, literally and figuratively, because it is du Barry and she can do what she wants. But implying that Du Barry is "above" etiquette only works if that etiquette is firmly established first.

It’s also ridiculous since the cornerstone of the real du Barry and Marie Antoinette feud was because of Marie Antoinette taking advantage of etiquette to snub Du Barry. She can’t talk to Marie Antoinette without Marie Antoinette talking to her first.

I have no idea if the show will go that route. If they don’t, again, it just shows that they are missing opportunities right and left. For all that the cast+creative talk about etiquette and the rigidity of Versailles playing a part in the show, it just doesn’t seem to exist.

We’re TOLD about etiquette throughout episode 1. But it’s not really shown. In the show, guards manhandle Marie Antoinette, even though we’re told no one but a select few people can touch her. Even though it’s ridiculous for the guards to grab her at all. Noailles slaps her Marie Antoinette in the face.

These daily ceremonial rituals that governed courtiers down to minute details don't exist in the show.

And in removing this etiquette, and the “sacredness” of the body of the heirs to the throne, the show is doing itself a great disservice in the future. Because the show is extending through the revolution, wouldn’t it be an interesting bit of symbolism to show Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI being roughly handled for the first time? To show guards grabbing Louis XVI’s arms? To show Marie Antoinette being roughly escorted somewhere?

But, nope. Louis XVI’s servants manhandle and abuse him. Marie Antoinette’s mistress of the household slaps her across the face. So any contrast between how they are treated as king and queen, and how they are treated when the monarchy has fallen, has already lost some of its punch.

The show’s inability to ground its reality in etiquette does it a great disservice in other ways. I firmly believe that some of the more outrageous stuff in the show would be a lot more interesting if they'd established the official etiquette with any skill.

Imagine the scenes showing courtiers spying on the bedchamber... if they'd previously established the courtiers as being bound by this ridiculous etiquette during the day.

You would have the contrast of the “etiquette”-abiding courtiers cutting loose when no one is looking. The pomp and propriety would be a mask for human nature, wanting to spy on people’s private lives, etc.

The dinner scene with Louis XV & co at Compiegne is another example of what they could have done with proper contrast.

Imagine the dinner scene where the royal family is eating with no etiquette, messy and ridiculous, if they contrasted the private family dinner with the public meals with strict etiquette and expectations.

You would have one scene with the pomp and ceremony, with the royal family behaving “properly” in public. Etiquette, etiquette, etiquette.

Then you cut to the private family dinner, with servants only, and they cut loose. They eat with gusto, they gossip and gab, they jab at each other.

At least then, the complete lack of manners in how they eat would have some sort of symbolic explanation, rather than what comes across as simply “ohoho look they’re royalty but they’re eating grossly, see the contrast? see?”

Overall, I get a strong sense that the show wants to avoid Coppola comparisons whenever possible and that may be why they avoided any drawn out scenes of dressing etiquette, or an extended handover sequence with the same concept.

But whatever the reason for these changes, these events were rooted in historical fact. Glossing over them and only “telling” us that etiquette exists, without ever showing us that etiquette exists in the show’s world, is poorly done.

This is what Madame Campan had to say about the etiquette of Versailles. The show should have firmly established this in episode 1, but instead we get a Versailles where Noailles slaps the dauphine of France, servants dump ice water and force Louis-Auguste to bathe, and Noailles constantly tells us etiquette exists but we never, ever see it shown in the life or courtiers.

Speaking here of etiquette, I do not allude to majestic state, appointed for days of ceremony in all Courts. I mean those minute ceremonies that were pursued towards our Kings in their inmost privacies, in their hours of pleasure, in those of pain, and even during the most revolting of human infirmities.

These servile rules were drawn up into a kind of code; they offered to a Richelieu, a La Rochefoucauld and a Duras, in the exercise of their domestic functions, opportunities of intimacy useful to their interests; and their vanity was flattered by customs which converted the right to give a glass of water, to put on a dress, and to remove a basin, into honourable prerogatives.

Princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities naturally ended by believing that they were of a distinct nature, of a purer essence than the rest of mankind.

This sort of etiquette, which led our Princes to be treated in private as idols, made them in public martyrs to decorum. Marie Antoinette found in the Chateau of Versailles a multitude of established customs which appeared to her insupportable.

The Coppola film set all of this up in very little time at all. In the Marie Antoinette 2022 series, Marie Antoinette crosses the border around the 11 minute mark, arrives at Versailles by the 28 minute mark, and by the end of the episode (roughly 51 minutes) they didn’t show us anything but a world in which there are no rules or etiquette except for what Noailles occasionally harps on about.

Versailles in this series is devoid of rules, of etiquette, and subsequently the show’s insistence on showing us that Marie Antoinette feels “trapped” and “othered” by Versailles doesn’t hold a lot of weight.

[lancerfay]

A meditation on my experience with people who curate their online experience to “not have abusers and bad people” in it.

There's a tendency in online circles to demand total purity as a good person who's never done wrong (which to be clear is basically determined by your spawn point in life), and to be ever vigilant in the fight against abuse to a degree that it itself becomes a narratively ironic avenue for abusive behavior. Excommunicating someone from every social connection they have because they behaved poorly, branding every fight in a relationship to have an Abuser and a Victim with never having room for people to be mutually at fault, and labeling a person with everything you would apply to their worst friend, as if association, known or not, is the same as approval and support. This is not talking about harms such as if their friend is a proud nazi or if someone physically assaulted someone else in a relationship. Those are common sense to remove someone from your spaces for doing, super cut and dry.

As someone who for a time in my life lived like this, to be always on the lookout for and always pushing against anything that wasn't approved as Good Person Behavior, I needlessly ruined many, many friendships. I hurt people I loved and cared about because they wouldn't be perfect examples of a person made up to be modeled after. I harassed them about it, never let them have a single normal moment around me without me trying to evangelize to them about how they were basically evil people because they were friends with a person who was manipulative previously. In fact I had become a horrible person to be around because all this lifestyle did was make me bitter and hateful and immensely paranoid in the name of “curating my life to be Safe/The Best:tm:”. All that happened was I drove people away, I became paranoid and frankly unstable in how I acted about this cause, and eventually, whether because of that or something else, my fellow crusaders for being the most good and social-justice-aware person turned on me, and I had been violently removed in the exact same way we had done to others before.

I was left now with bridges I torched in the name of demanding only the best, and no one around me who cared. I realized only then that it was a mindset akin to purity culture, no different from an evangelical christian, simply with a progressive paint. To bludgeon others into fitting a mold we deemed acceptable and to feel superior when they understandably left because of it. I eventually in that loneliness mended one of those bridges, I hope to mend them all, but it's not my choice beyond trying, and with how I did behave, I do in fact deserve the bed I made in front of them. Thankfully, the first was more generous and understanding of how people change than I ever gave him credit for when I was advocating clear against him over gross exaggerations of the harm I had convinced others of and been convinced he was doing.

This is rambling, I've rewritten this several times to try and cut it down. The short version is, I learned in one of the hardest ways why to forgive people. What I found was people practicing violence that demanded an out-group, people that felt power in harming others but exercised this in the guise of social justice. Very very few people on this planet are beyond redemption, even the people that brought me down the path and eventually used it to crush me would be welcomed with a second chance by me without hesitation. The more that we label as beyond getting better, the more needless and cruel suffering we introduce to the world as a result. It's not making the world a better place to never give someone a chance to change, it's being hateful. Every one of the people that taught me this way of living, and eventually ostracized me through it, was themselves at fault for just as much as all humans are. Our ideal good person was impossible, unattainable, and all were eventually on the chopping block except those from the innermost circle. The only difference between me, our targets, and them is they wore the proverbial boot to stamp on others’ faces.

It was a lifestyle of hate disguised as cultivating care, and was masking toxicity at every turn. I hope they eventually get to learn the lesson they taught me in a much less damaging way, because I have become a much better person to both myself and others in the time since then. I still have people I find irredeemable, but that experience allowed me to learn why the bar for that must remain very hard to reach. Finally I hope that one day I can apologize to everyone I’ve hurt, and that if not mending the bridge, they can at least feel seen.

[euphoricfilter]

About DTIK (sorry that I was late reading your reply), I think it's really good. Not sure about tumblr cuz it's not as convenient as ao3 in terms of searching and filtering fics. I checked your fic on ao3; maybe change your rating though cuz you put general audience with a smut tag😅. One of the good things about ao3 is the hits really, you can see how many people have clicked your fic. I find your TBAH and DTIK really unique because.. really, not many people write about those. 9 tails and 4 arms demon. And I think that many people post their fics on ao3 because you can just go crazy and write bizzare fics and most readers know that, especially with the extra warning if there's below 18 reader. I know I'm all talk cuz I don't reblog fics on tumblr, but I love to leave kudos and bookmarks to good fics on ao3. I'm sorry, reblogging just kinda takes effort (I don't like disorganization with the tags and I like to stay anonymous here); ao3 is kind of just one two clicks away. I hope you still enjoy writing it, because even if it's not on high demand, if you like it, I think you can finish it. I'm sorry if I cross the line. I just really wish you want to continue it

you’re okay my lovely!!

oh yeah, DTIK was the first fic i ever posted on ao3 so the tags and all that are probably wrong because i didn’t know how to use it LMAO

maybe if i ever repost DTIK id keep it on ao3, i guess it did okay on tumblr, but i find that readers on here mostly don’t like super long fics, or i just didn’t brand it right or maybe something else. tumblr is still a mystery i’ve not figured out quite yet

a lot of people said the same things about TBAH and DTIK when they were only 2 fics on this page 🫡 i used to be so happy having exclusively unique fics too :(( that would have been so fun if that had become my trademark as a writer but i guess it wasn’t meant to be

hmm maybe exclusively on ao3 is the way to go then, i used to read most of my fics from ao3 so i’m familiar with how easy the system is, and maybe then lack of interaction on tumblr won’t weigh me down and kinda make me push the series to the side

i’ve talked about this with someone before on here about his disorganized storing fics are. especially because reblogs help a lot, but then it kinda clogs your page up and likes are useless because now i just have fics i like laying in the depths of my liked tab and i doubt they’ll ever see the light of day again 🥲 i think i go through a crisis every other month at this point, wanting to just re-start my whole blog because it feels like a huge mess and i never know how to fix it.

honestly, the only reason i started posting on tumblr was because of the inbox. it felt like having the anon feature gave people like me, who don’t like being perceived a chance to communicate and i thought, if i posted on here then at least some people might come in my inbox and that would be cute and then we can vibe. everything else about this app is kinda shitty

you’re not crossing the line at all!! i think if anything you’ve helped me out!! i truly do love that series more than anything i’ve ever written, it’s just the lack of enthusiasm from other people kinda made me feel like i shouldn’t waste other peoples time by writing it, like why would they wanna see that on their dashboard, you know???

i said in the last ask, but i have part of the first chapter already rewritten, and obviously the rest of the series isn’t gonna be hard to catch up with in terms of rewriting, i’m not changing the plot. just adapting the style slightly

ahhh you know i used to be so excited for people to finally read the ending because i just knew that if people were invested in the series and they read the final chapter they’d be like ???? oh 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

thank you for lighting the spark of inspiration for me, and thank you for loving the series 🫂 it means the world to me that you like it and want to know what happens next 💞 i don’t think i’ve abandoned it quite yet and i’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long for any sort of update

[dgcatanisiri]

*sigh*

I’m complaining here and just need to vent.

I will NEVER understand how people can cite TLJ as flawless, the best of the trilogy, the best Star Wars period... Absolutely NEVER.

Well, I can understand SOME audiences, given how it refocuses its time, focus, and attention on the white boy they can woobify, rather than the women or people of color in its cast, but... The people I often hear this from are people who supposedly are conscious of the issues of representation. Who argue against the rise of fascists and authoritarians, but then turn around and call Kylie Ron a character who deserved better.

Maybe it’s who you think is the main character of the trilogy - I came out of TFA, and I saw Finn and Rey as the central characters, and, really, in that order. FINN was the character that the plot hinged on. His choices drove the plot advancements - he chose not to fire, he chose to escape, he chose to go back for Rey, he chose to take up that lightsaber, he was making active choices through the plot, so that while it was Rey who had the climactic final fight of the movie, it was still sparked because of Finn’s actions. Rey mattered to the story, but Finn advanced it with his choices.

So to have TLJ sideline him, knock him down from his position as the leading man of this trilogy to a comedic C-plot that even those who LIKED TLJ say was a bit of a plot tumor... That’s an unforgiveable sin. To do that WHILE elevating Kylie Ron to the position it kicked him out of, to make HIM the leading man, after introducing him to us with mass slaughter and the murder of Han Solo? That is, in my view, unconscionable. That is saying we reward being a neo-natsee. Based on his actions in TLJ and TRoS, that is saying that a last second change of heart is all it takes to become a hero, even after years of evil and fascism, without actually TRYING to make a genuine difference or owning what had been done.

Like, yeah, I’m a fan of Anakin Skywalker, but I am fully aware that, once he submits to Palpatine, he has crossed the line and cannot just casually come back from what he’s done. It’s not that his redemption came at the cost of his life, it’s that redemption IN LUKE’S EYES came at the cost of his life. Luke believed in that good, but to the galaxy at large? To LEIA, his daughter? He will always be Vader. Luke may make a distinction, but he’s probably the only one who would. And yet, when I look at how much TLJ wants us to sympathize with Kylie, it is trying to present him as teetering between light and dark - when the climax of the last movie was him making a decision between them.

Unfortunately, we in general have this habit of not just believing that villainous, antagonistic characters can and should be redeemed, we also want to justify the sunk cost we have put into these ideas. Some people do deserve redemption. But the other side to that coin is that some DON’T. Some people make their choices and must live with them. More importantly, even if they say that they want to change, their victims are NEVER under any obligation to accept their redemption. 

But that’s what TLJ wants us to do - to believe in the idea of redemption, even as it makes it clear that Kylie doesn’t even WANT it. He MAKES his choices. But, because those among THE AUDIENCE want his redemption, that ends up being guaranteed by the narrative itself. Of course we’ll redeem him by the end of the trilogy, don’t worry. You can downplay everything he’s done, you can reinterpret his actions as self-defense or consented to, you can ignore the damage he does to the actual heroes, you can reframe everything to believe he was always the true hero of this trilogy, don’t concern yourself with all the things we’ve established that he did knowingly and intentionally that are evil, we’re just going to pretend that the things that happened on screen didn’t happen.

And I haven’t even started on the logistical issues - I’ve been over before how the First Order of TFA and the First Order of TLJ are two different organizations in terms of scope, scale, and power, how Holdo is a bad leader who Poe was right to act against, how the “Rey Nobody” “reveal” was done more to subvert the audiences expectations rather than give this character a genuine arc and emotional catharsis... I’ve made this post long enough as is, look through my “the last jedi critical” tag for more details on my problems with all of that.

TLJ is a mess. It’s a standalone film shoved into a trilogy, and any problems someone may have with The Rise of Skywalker? Can be traced back to the way that this movie left things. I can only hope time will be more and more unforgiving with it, because it is the place this trilogy derails.

[eureka-its-zico]

Irrevocably Yours

Request: hey! can i request a scenario of jungkook being a rich kid who has ome of his legs is leg failure , basically can't walk without a cane , And he falls in love with a normal girl , and they end up running away , happy ending plz , also if u can , LIT IT Up with smut ' thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So. This request was sent to me a long ass time ago. I mean a LONG time ago, and I spent so much time working on it...it became too long. So I broke it up in half. Just to see if anyone actually becomes interested in how this ends. Just to see if anyone still reads anything I write. So if you end up enjoying this, please let me know and I’ll post the last of this. I have so many things buried inside my google docs that need to be set free from hibernation. 

Also, I’m sorry if this isn’t any good. I’ve rewritten this a thousand times trying to fix it, and I’ve done all I can for now. I hope someone out there enjoyed this craziness. And to the original person who asked for this, if you ever see this, I’m sorry it took so long. P.s. I also took creative liberties and changed it up a little. Much love, Jenn

Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 13,756 (yeah I know, it was longer before I halved it. Sorry!)

Genre: fluffy/Smutty(later)/First Love drama sorts mess

A part of you would always remember the first day you’d met Jeon Jungkook. His presence standing in the doorway to the classroom held every single one of your classmate's attention along with yours. Jungkook silently demanded to be noticed, even though in a way he wanted no one to notice him at all. The classroom felt louder than usual, or maybe that was just how you recalled it. Maybe it's what caused the ringing in your ears when the room was swallowed up in silence. The sound of his cane hitting the stained linoleum; ticking like a time bomb with every step. 

At first you couldn't see why he necessarily needed it. Jungkook was a master of hiding things. Even pain. It wasn’t until he’d reached the teachers desk, his hip moving to rest against it to ease the extra strain off his good leg, that the stories of his accident became true.  Not one of you were willing to look too long at the challenge in his face. Defiance turning his soft features bitter as he glanced out across the room. Jungkook wanted to appear strong; to dare anyone to mutter even a word that he wasn’t. That he wasn’t the same person he was before the accident. 

He must have been able to fool your home room teacher into forgetting. His eagerness to introduce Jungkook only caused him to accidentally come too close to his legs in passing. The teachers’ waist moved and harmlessly bump against Jungkook’s bad leg. A small movement that was enough to change Jungkook’s entire demeanor for just a second. 

The whole room collectively took a breath; waiting for him to scream out in pain. To turn savage and yell or curse at the stupidity of the teacher. Jungkook did none of it. He continued to look out into the room with his chin held high. 

You could see, however, through the crinkle by his eyes and how heavily he now leaned on his cane that it’s caused him a great deal of pain. A brief moment in showing what he tried to hide and if you weren’t staring so hard at him, you were sure you would’ve missed it.

An infamous legend among other schools as his face showed up on Sports articles that featured proud features of parents beaming excitedly at cameras. Taekwondo and track metal’s around his neck by the dozens. Grades to match the intensity of his athletic drive with a rumor that if he tried something for the first time, Jungkook would still be phenomenal at whatever it was. 

Even without ever actually meeting him - everyone in that classroom knew who he was. Jeon Jungkook was a hard man not to hear about. 

In the beginning of the year there’d been a different headline for him, however. He’d been the passenger in a friend's car that was struck by a drunk driver. The ferocity of the impact leaving the car looking like a bow. Jungkook lost a friend that night, and part of the mobility in his left leg. The driver himself died instantly and you weren't sure if that was justice enough for the two boys who’d lost so much in a matter of three seconds. 

And with so much, yet so little known about him you found yourself unable to join the others in measuring up the boy in front of you. 

Jungkook was taller than you thought he would be, or maybe you’d silently been hoping the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give someone talent and every single attractive feature known to man. He’d been played up like he was a god among the rest of you feeble mortals. You figure’d girls were overacting, I mean it happens. Imagining after listening to all their swooning, you’d somehow shockingly find out he was nothing more than your average - ordinary - boy. 

Jungkook was anything but ordinary. 

His lean frame still retained years of training that wasn't so easily hidden, even under the layers of the school uniform. You could see the care he still placed on his outward appearance. The rising star who was still handsome, even underneath all his brooding. His school uniform strained against tight muscles in his arms and, worse, was his legs. Your cheeks heating into an embarrassed blush as his eyes landed on what seemed like your desk. It was silly to think he’d caught you gawking. Everyone was gawking at him, but even a millisecond of his gaze made your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the idea of being caught. 

There was gossip of him not wanting to go back to his old school; his old life. You didn't really blame him. Why be stuck in a place where there were millions of memories of a time you had with a close friend? Of having the ability to walk down the halls without everyone looking at you like you were damaged goods. 

“Everyone pay attention!” Mr. Choi shouted. 

It all seemed unnecessary. Your attention was already on him whether he wanted it or not. 

���I’d like to welcome our transfer student, Jeon Jungkook. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“I don't need you to defend me,” he snapped. 

He started moving his way down the aisle towards the only empty seat in the room: the one next to you. 

You quickly turned away from him and started cleaning up your space. Jungkook got to the desk faster than you thought and dropped his backpack down on top of the desk. His long body slumped down into the seat, placing his cane next to the window seal. 

“We’re going to continue with our previous lecture from yesterday. You can share with Y/N until you get your own books.”

You flipped to chapter eighteen with your many notes scattered inside. Your eyes giving him a sidelong glance before sliding the book neatly between the desks. Jungkook didn't bother to look at the pages: his gaze was locked elsewhere. Somewhere outside the window with the freedom far beyond the gates of the school. 

The enter class you’d spun a hundred different sentences in your mind. Each one playing out in your head as pure idiotic or unnecessary. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt wrong letting him sit there like no one cares. To be a part of the prying gazes of the class; to know his name and him not knowing yours in return. You weren't sure why you gave a shit so much, anyways, but you did. 

At the sound of the bell he was the first one to hop back onto his feet. His hand instinctively taking hold of the cane to keep him propped up as he moved to situate his backpack over his shoulders. You’d followed close behind him and gathered up your things. 

You didn't see him again until fifth period. His brooding presence in the back of the class hung like a dark cloud you couldn't shake. You knew you weren't necessarily the most cheerful person in the room, but even Jungkook’s sour puss attitude was making you want to throw glitter at him. 

He didn't acknowledge you when you came to your usual seat at the window, and it didn't bother you. No one usually acknowledged you anyways. What did bother you was that he was sitting in your window seat. Statistics was by far your least favorite subject this year, and the one thing that kept you sane was that window seat.

“That's my spot.”

Your voice didn't hold any hint of malice. It was just definitive: you wanted your seat. Jungkook didn't look at you straight away. His eyes still daydreaming through the window and the world beyond. When he did finally look at you, you were sure the annoyance in his face was meant to send you packing. Too bad for him you’d seen worse. 

“Is that look supposed to scare me? It doesn't change the fact you're in my spot.”

“I don't see your name on it.”

Your laughter turned to a scoff; cut short by your disbelief. 

“What are we in middle school? If you want to get technical, it was assigned by the teacher aka my name is theoretically on that seat. So -” 

You acted like he was a pet you could shoo off your bed. The hand motion earning you his brow to raise in return. 

“You’d really make a cripple get up?”

“Is that what we’re calling you? A cripple? Because it looks to me like you’re still capable of doing things, oh say, a paraplegic can't.”

The anger rolled through him suddenly like storm clouds. All the possibilities of playful mischief disappeared as he regarded you with so much hate, it was as if he’d struck you. 

“Oh, really? I didn't realize that they were giving away M.D titles in high schools now.”

Your mouth opened to - to what? Apologize? The sensitive part of you told you that you should. His accident hadn't been a full year yet, and here you were badgering him. Yet, you knew if you continuously babied him like everyone else it was only going to do more harm than good. Your next choice of words were cut short when your teacher walked in and asked why you were still standing. 

“He’s in my spot.”

God, now who sounded like they were in middle school? Your teacher seemed to draw a blank. His gaze moving from you to Jungkook then back to you. 

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You did so with a huff. Your arms pulling your backpack you’d sat down on the desk closer to you like a pillow. Just so you could rest your chin on top of it and tried to ignore the smirk that was now on Jungkook’s face. 

After you’d gone to your next class you couldn't stop thinking about your exchange. It  turned your mood sour the rest of the day, and you couldn't understand why. A part of you wondering if it was because of your choice of words or the defeat that shown all too bright in his doe eyes. 

The end of the day couldn't have come fast enough. You just wanted to get home and out of your uniform and maybe get a chance to go take some photos before your parents got home. You were too preoccupied with thoughts of where you wanted to go, and what coffee shop you wanted to stop at, when you collided into the back of someone else. A loud curse followed suit of the sound of a cane dropping on pavement making your eyes shut tight and your throat constrict around a groan. 

“Jesus, can't you watch where you’re goi- oh, it's you. Enjoy attacking cripples, do we?”

You opened your eyes to see a less than amused smile on his face. He acted more like a judge at your hearing and whatever sentencing he was giving out, it wasn’t in your favor. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't paying attention.”

You moved to pick up his cane for him when his hand angrily swatted yours away making you jump back a step. 

“I don't need your charity. I can do it myself!”

“No one said you couldn’t! I was only trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well, go and be nice somewhere else.”

He situated his weight on his good leg and bent at the knee low enough for his hand to reach out and grab his second form of support. The movement so graceful that it left you stunned, but not as much as his words did. 

“You know, just because something bad happened to you, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. You aren't the only person to lose someone or something important. Get over yourself.”

With your hands latched underneath the straps of your backpack you stomped around him. Not caring that you left him standing stone still. His mouth slightly agape as he watched you take your exit. 

During your walk home, somehow, Jungkook plagued your thoughts. Your mind unable to comprehend why you were still thinking about him. It was the first time you’d met, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If you were being honest with yourself you knew from replaying the last thing you said to him.The look on his face saying plainly that you were an asshole.

Everyone’s pain mattered. Grief and loss wasn’t measured by anyone else’s pain but the person who experienced it, and to diminish it in any way was unfair. Regret was building inside your chest and it was all you could do to keep your feet from sprinting back in his direction. 

When you got home you went directly to your room, throwing your bag on the bed, and sulked to your desk. You had more pressing matters to attend to than a boys’ possible hurt feelings. No matter how many times you tried, however, you weren’t able to write out theories on government history or explain anatomical questions.

The only thing your brain appeared to focus on was how to apologize. 

You thought about Jungkook while you showered and brushed your teeth. You thought of him when you laid in bed and struggled to find a way to sleep. Your mind playing out the million different possibilities of how your apology would be taken from him. You didn't necessarily understand what it felt like to have your dreams stolen from you. To be forced to cope with a new life you hadn’t asked for and the emptiness of losing someone you loved all in one go. 

If the tables were turned and it was you, wouldn’t you feel equally as bitter? 

The following morning in between toaster cooked waffles and fixing your uniform in the mirror, you’d resigned to apologizing to him. No matter how much thinking of it made your teeth grind and a growl rise in your chest at the thought. You imagined him sneering and replying with smart remarks and it caused your mind to waver, but you were better than the pettiness swelling in your chest. You were okay with knowing his prickled exterior came from something you couldn't ever understand. 

You made sure all the time you had while you walked to school was used up by mumbling the speech you’d made up the night before. At crosswalks practicing the best stance that didn't appear threatening, was friendly, but wouldn't be misconstrued as flirting. 

That was by far the last thing you wanted to happen in his eyes. Sure, Jungkook was undeniably attractive...as much as you would've loved to laugh sarcastically in his perfectly sculpted face that his obviously very masculine features did nothing to make you weak in the knees. That you hadn’t noticed when his elbows, still clad in his jacket, moved to rest on the desk it’d caused his biceps and shoulders to equally fight for whatever was left of the fabric. Or that small scar on his cheek caught your attention when he became annoyed; his tongue poking out at the side of his jaw. 

No, you hadn't been paying an embarrassing amount of attention to him at all (or at the ridiculous outline of his thigh muscles in his school uniform)  with every step he took. 

So, since you hadn't personally taken notice of any of physically appealing traits, why would you flirt? You were well aware of the vast difference of not only your social scale, but also of your class ranking, and looks overall. You were lightyears away from ever being able to consider being more than a female acquaintance he happened to get stuck next to at school. He wasn't the first boy who was out of your league, and Jungkook wouldn't be the last. Why it bothered you so much was a child's thought you refused to entertain. 

When you finally got to school you hurried up the steps and briskly made your way down the hall. Not stopping even after Jenny cursed after you for nudging her as you went by. As soon as you swung open the door for homeroom, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s position. His cane leaning against the desk, hands tucked inside the pockets of his uniform slacks as he leaned back against the chair. 

His gaze was focused somewhere outside the window, completely blank and motionless, and you wondered if he could've been having a thought at all. He was close to being marked as unreal in your book when he blinked and turned his gaze towards you.

You hadn't realized you’d been staring until that moment. Your gaze dropping to the worn linoleum as you briskly made your way down to your desk. A mumbled, “Good morning,” falling like a bad habit from your lips while you came around the side to slid into the desk chair. Nervous hands clutching tightly to your bag as you stared straight ahead, unwilling to glance in his direction. 

Somewhere between cursing your awkwardness and staring out the window like an escape hatch your teacher started the lecture. None of it to which you were paying attention too, which was probably why you heard him call your name. You jerked in your seat as he yelled it a second time. Your eyes no doubt wide from giggles that sounded around the room. 

“Y/N, since you're listening, you can go ahead and answer number forty-seven in the workbook.”

Panic sent your eyes wide as you stared back at his expectant face: waiting for you to fail. You hadn't even taken your book out since you’d sat down, finally moving to do so, when you felt a light tap against your bag. It was enough to jerk your gaze away from the teacher and down to a completed book of all the problems done by Jungkook. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands back inside the pockets of his trousers easily not understanding the severity of how his actions had left you wide-eyed in surprise. You were still taking too long, causing your teacher to prompt you with a grunt and Jungkook to casually reach out and tap the answer again. Your eyes trailing over the written answer before standing up and clearing your throat. The answer rolling off your tongue as easy as breathing; as if you didn't just steal it from a notebook. 

You made a silent prayer the teacher didn't notice the sweat threatening to break at your temple. The nervous ticking of your feet tilting from spot to spot. A rush of relief escaping your lips when his response to your answer was to continue class. 

You took your seat next to Jungkook; unable to acknowledge him just yet for saving you from whatever punishment your teacher would've no doubt thought of. The realization that Jungkook himself was the reason for your lack of concentration making your cheeks flush an embarrassing pink making your arms wrap protectively around your backpack. 

You’d never even brought out your textbook. Never dropped your bag from your desk and no doubt Mr. Choi knew you were given the answer. You buried your mouth against the coarse nylon in a weak attempt to stifle your embarrassment. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes caught the soft tilt of his brow as it rose at the muffled words. You could make out his left shoulder leaning him down towards your huddled position, making your hands involuntarily tighten into your backpack. 

“What was that?”

The husky whisper of his words weren't anything you’d heard before, and they resonated up your spine to leave you staring starry-eyed.

“Th-thank you. For giving me the answer.”

He didn't respond. His gaze fixed solely on your face until you forcibly struggled to keep from fidgeting under its weight. After what felt like a small eternity, Jungkook nodded his head and faced forward. The sudden ghost of the death of your conversation causing you to blink at his profile. 

The rest of the class was spent with your focus lacking on taking notes. How could you focus with his presence commanding your attention? A small army of ants creeping along your nerves demanding to acknowledge him. It was so strong, when the bell rang you jumped up from your seat to try and escape into the freedom of the school’s hallway, only to end up with your knee connecting straight into the hardwood of the desk. Jungkook’s snort at your misfortune was enough to remind you how much of an arrogant pain in the ass he could be. 

“Wow - good job doofus.”

Your head snapped back in his direction; tongue rolling in your cheek as he hopped up from his seat. A hand snaking out to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder as the other reached for his cane. You held your head high despite how awful your knee was stinging, and stood up adjusting your bag. 

“Seriously? That's all you've got? Doofus? Next time let’s try harder.”

Jungkook didn't seemed miffed by your retort, actually seeming more amused than anything, and for some reason it only bugged you more. Did you really want to get into another argument like you were in primary school with him? You discarded the thought as you tightened the strings on your backpack and decided to take the mature route and leave him behind. 

The hallways mass of bodies rushing to get to their next period giving you comfort; until you remembered you shared the same economics class. Today was also a field trip to a farm to learn the process of making soy products. It would take up the last few classes of the day. You’d been excited to spend the day out of class and enjoy the rustic scenery out of town. Your only hope was that he hadn't been able to get his parental slip signed; he’d just started the day before. How could he?

When the teacher walked in and asked Jungkook for his permission slip you wanted to howl. Why was the universe so cruel? But why did you care so much? 

It was a question you didn't bother to think about; you just grumbled the whole way to the bus. Your teacher standing at its entrance to put a check by your names every time one of your classmates passed him by like lined up cattle. You were the last checkmark: the last person to find an available seat. You rounded the final step and your stomach sank down into your shoes. The universe seeming to play a sick joke of musical chairs; your only options being Jungkook or Amber, the girl who actively struggled to make sure your life was a living hell. 

You’d rather be eaten by dogs than even attempt to sit with her. Jungkook it was, then.

Your hand clasped tighter around the strap of your bag as you moved it farther up your shoulder. A large sigh accommodating your steps as you side-stepped down the aisle ending with you in front of his seat. His cane taking up what was left of it. 

Jungkook didn't seem to register your presence or he just decided to pretend you weren't there. Either way you felt your annoyance grow as you cleared your throat to grab his attention. His chin barely leaving the perch of his fist as his head turned; gaze intimidating in a way that left your fingers pinching the fabric of yours clothes just to make sure they were still there and he hadn't stared straight through them. 

“Can I help you?”

“I need a seat.”

He looked back and no doubt noticed the open spot next to Amber. Jungkook’s giving the slightest nod as he retorted, “There’s one right back there.”

“Come on, Jungkook. What do you want?”

“You're bribing me now?” 

His smile was so bright, borderline adorable, and you hated how it threatened to make you retaliate with your own. 

“Stop being a brat and just tell me,” you snapped instead. 

Jungkook shot a quick glance back at Amber’s giggling figure. You were sure most people thought she sounded like wind chimes or something else cute and feminine, but to you it just sounded like a cat dying. When he looked back at you, Jungkook checked you out one last time. His eyes stopping at the lone earbud that sat against your chest. For a moment, you thought he was actually staring at your breasts making your cheeks burn and your gaze to look anywhere else but at his smug face. 

“Let me listen to your iPod there and back on this trip, and I'll let you sit with me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  

Jungkook did a lavish hand sweep at the window. The motion reminding you of the showgirls on The Price is Right, making you believe maybe he’d somehow watched it, and one too many times. 

“You get to use your imagination while you look out the window.”

“No way. Joint custody.”

“Fine. Joint custody, but I get to pick the music the whole way. If you have shitty taste the deal's off.”

He stuck out his hand for you to shake and there was a moment, a minor second, that it felt like you were making a deal with the devil. However, the sound of Amber’s laughter practically had your hand bolting into Jungkook’s. You shook it harder than was necessary before dropping it and shooing him to move. 

Jungkook removed his bag and cane from the seat. Your legs giving out moments later so you could plop down in it, only to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The smile that spread across his lips shining brighter than the mischief in his eyes. 

“As per our agreement: the iPod.”

He wiggles his fingers and you wanted to smack him. Your own squeezing tighter against the metal until, reluctantly, you chose your fate by placing it into his hand. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your current look of displeasure while you watched him begin to scroll through your assorted music collection. 

At least the seat was warm. 

The first few seconds were somehow more awkward than you thought possible. Eyes locked in a fifty-yard stare so intense a soldier would’ve been envious. The only movement you caught of him was from your peripherals. Jungkook’s thumbs picking up speed from the leisurely way he scanned through the artists you’d offered. And no you did not, whatsoever, happen to notice the way his bottom lip would dart inside his mouth just to be held gently between his teeth. All the while his eyes focused on the task in front of him.

Nope. You weren’t paying attention to him. Not even a little bit. So how he was able to make you jump twelve inches out of your skin, while you were most definitely not embarrassing yourself by gawking over a beautiful man, was beyond you.

“Ya!” Jungkook clicked his tongue in distaste. His hand wiggling the ipod in your direction, as if it had caused some great offense. “What is this?”

Your neck tiled as you regarded him like he’d grown two heads. You were also positive if your eyebrows knitted together any harder you’d end up with a unibrow. 

“Ugh, a mystical device that plays music.”

The look on Jungkook’s face faltered from frustration to annoyance. It was so sudden it ended up sending a bark of laughter in his direction. And just like that, the annoyed look was back again. 

“I mean, what the hell do you have on this thing. Who is The Dead Weather? City and Colour? Joji?”

“They are artists I enjoy.”

“They’re shit.”

You rushed to try and snatch it back from him. Jungkook’s reflexes proving to be faster than your growing urge to smack him.

“Excuse me, little miss,” he began. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He used his index finger to push gently against your forehead, but with the current level of irritation, he still proved faster than you. Your failed attempt to swat his hand away meeting only empty air. Earning you a smirk of smug satisfaction. 

“I’m trying to get my things back.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

You tried one last time to take him by surprise. Your right hand shot out too hard to grab at the object clasped in his large hands. The momentum carried you forward to land shoulder first against his chest. Leg nudging against his with enough force that it caused his cane to move an inch. It took everything you had to keep your head down to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“And now you’re assaulting me.”

If your eyes were capable of rolling back any father you might've seen brain cells.

“I was only trying to get my property back. Since the only thing that’s coming out of you is complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” he snapped. “You’re acting like an Indian giver.”

“Is that all you know how to do: complain?” You continued, completely ignoring him. A slight smirk now etching your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flicking down to notice your amusement at his expense. “I believe they call it, ‘trying something new.’” 

His eyes narrowed on you and for a split second your pulse began to race. Sure, the agitation on his face at your teasing was obvious, but you could’ve sworn...maybe...just maybe he was smirking. Could you have possibly been able to make him smile? 

“I should make you go sit with Amber.”

The smugness in his voice and the cocky smile that joined it instantly made whatever fun you were having come to a complete halt. Jungkook was so pleased with himself he had the audacity to shimmy his shoulders like he’d already won. The rolls had reversed. It was your eyes turn to throw daggers in his direction. 

“Now who's the Indian giver.”

Even though he played up on what he felt like was a win, you could tell he was not as amused. His non-injured leg bounced to an incredible rhythm that he could only hear. Probably a furious count to a hundred to keep himself from saying anything else to continue your usual thrilling conversations. So when he handed over one earbud, and the iPod, but placed the other into his ear, it was fair to say it left you baffled. 

You were waiting so long for him to give an explanation, but all he did was continue to stare at you. It was starting to make your pulse race again. Why did he constantly have to feel so intense? Everything about him. Not even his current state made him seem any less notable. It just didn’t seem fair. 

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat did you realize you’d been staring. For god knows how damn long. 

“You gonna play something or not?” he asked. 

His hand motioned towards the music while his fingers adjusted the earbud he’d kept. 

“I’m so confused.”

“You look it,” he retorted, causing your earlier thoughts to remember, although handsome, he was an incredible pain in the ass. 

“Ten seconds ago you complained about my music. Now you want me to play it for you.”

Jungkook turned his gaze away, his body relaxing back against the hard foam of the seat. His eyes still cast outside the window as if he was trying to find some way to escape. 

“Either I can spend the next couple hours listening to you talk, or “try” out some new music. If I have a choice, I’ll pick the music please and thank you.”

Oh, how you wish you could’ve shoved him out that tiny window. But as much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook was right. Music was the only reasonable escape from possibly having either of you commit murder. 

It was your turn to try and get comfortable. This time your thumb scanning down the list of artists until your eyes caught sight of one he’d mentioned. Without giving him warning you pressed play. The haunting melody of Joji’s “Dancing in the Dark,” flooded the earbuds. His voice melancholic as he began to sing a sad tale of not wanting to be the hidden second option. 

The song choice was enough to finally get Jungkook to look back at you. Somehow already having enough with the song choice before it’d barely even reached the chorus. 

“Just listen.”

It was the only advice you could give him, and hopefully the reassurance you’d tried to ease into your tone was enough. Whether it was or not, by the time the chorus began he seemingly relaxed again into the seat. His arms moving to cross lazily against his chest. He seemed to actually be taking in the song while he watched out the window. The passing of the steel and concrete that was Seoul into the rural areas of green and forest. 

The music itself was calming. It was enough to let yourself fully relax back against it and close your eyes. With your eyes closed you could easily fade out the sounds of the sporadic conversations on the bus. Even though you only had one ear bud, all you needed was to concentrate on the music to drown out the world. 

It took a few seconds for you to be pulled into a Joji’s song about terrible longing and being left behind by a lover. I mean, you didn’t really know too much about the latter, but hey, a girl could daydream. His voice was seconds away from heading into the second verse of the chorus, when you heard the sound of the melody being lightly sung beside you. 

The voice was beautiful. The most startling part, not the fact of its softness, or the way it swelled in perfect harmony with the song, was that it came from Jungkook. Your eyes flung open with your head snapping to gaze at his serene expression. He continued to face the window, daylight playing along the profile of his face, and his gentle voice singing perfectly in tune. 

It wasn’t loud enough that anyone else could’ve heard it over the dozens of bursting conversations being spoken throughout the bus. That the only conclusion you could come up with to why he would be singing at all. He thought no one would be able to pay attention. You probably would’ve stayed gawking at him if his eyes fluttering open didn’t send you crashing back against the seat and clutching your eyes shut. You needed to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Or else he would stop. He would hide this part of himself that showed he was more than what he tried to portray. 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was glancing in your direction. To see his eyes gaze over you with suspicion before settling back and listening to the next track. Khalid’s intro of “Talk,” beginning to play into your earbud. 

You spent the rest of the trip staying beside him, close as you could get without looking creepy, just to hear him gently sing. He breathed a gentle version of each one he knew, or came to like, and made it his own. Even being a few times were his nerves got the better of him. His voice rising ever slightly when he drew too deep into the song. He would quiet after each outburst, but to your pleasure Jungkook would start back up moments later. 

After all the bickering, you could definitely say the trade was worth it. You were so taken with listening to him that when the bus came to a stop, you didn’t realize it until your earbud was yanked from your ears. Your eyes heavy from sleep fluttered open and closed a few times before they focused on Jungkook’s face. 

“Ya, didn’t you hear them call us off the bus?”

Your response came in the form of slow blinks and a mouth half-hung open. You wished more for a nap than going out to explore a farm, but your limbs were screaming to be stretched. You went to answer him when, instead, Jungkook grabbed his bag, cane, and started to try and scoot over you.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to get by! So excuse me!”

His backside rubbed against your arms and, to your horror, your chest. Without thinking, your hand lashed out to smack across his bottom causing both of you to go as still as the dead. Your heart was thundering as you looked at your hand like it’d just finished committing murder. Maybe it had. But the only person it’d murdered was you with your eyes roaming up to see a shocked Jungkook gawking down at you over his shoulder. 

“Did you really just smack my ass.”

“It was an accident!”

“An accident?” He questioned.

“Self-defense!”

Jungkook tried to hide the amusement your no doubt panicking was causing him. His mouth struggling to keep the frown that was tilting ever so slightly at the top of his lips. 

“If anything needed to be defended, it was my honor. Over here just smacking people’s ass’s without a warning.”

You knew by now your face looked like a fire hydrant. 

“Self-defense from you dragging your ass all over me! I’m not a seat, ya know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

This time Jungkook didn’t try to hide his smile. To your surprise, it wasn’t a malicious one that showed he enjoyed your embarrassment. No. This one decorated his face in something softer that made your heart thunder to a different rhythm entirely. 

“Oh, look you guys. Shit Stain and The Cripple are flirting.”

Amber’s grating voice was one you’d grown painstakingly accustomed too. The sinister way she spoke impossibly loud just so everyone was forced to hear her. Whether they wanted to or not. You were used to her coldness and the constant way she harassed you. What you weren’t so used to, was having Jungkook as part of the punchline. 

Immediately, you felt his legs tense where they touched you. The muscles ramrod straight and flexing under the skin. The lighthearted tone you’d heard seconds before in your banter was now replaced with an aloofness that made you stiffen in your seat. Jungkook’s jaw held tight as he regarded Amber as if she were no more than a pest buzzing at his ear.

“Ya, fix your nose before you bother talking to me. I can see half the planet up there.”

Amber’s eyes flashed hellfire as she glowered over her shoulders to stop the giggling that ensued. When all grew quiet enough to where she felt like she would be heard, a harsh smile spread her lips. Her legs began to take a step to move away from the two peasants who’d held enough of her attention. 

“Whatever, Cripple. Try not to get your stick in any holes.”

She was passing the front of your shared seat when, suddenly, Amber’s legs gave way. A tumbling mess of shrieks, bleached hair, and her arms flapping rapidly a solid indication of her mysterious attempt at taking flight. The only thing that moved to catch her was her face. The minute the laughter began to bubble up inside you, you quickly placed a hand over your mouth. Least the she-devil hear it escape. 

You took a second to inspect what could’ve possibly taken down the ice queen. Even when she wore ridiculously high heels, Amber walked with a grace you knew you’d never pull off. Not without looking like a newborn giraffe, that is. Glancing down you noticed Jungkook’s cane strategically placed right where her foot would’ve landed. The culprit in making Amber a freshly minted carpet on the bus’s floor. Somewhere on the bus you knew she was up from her tumble and huffing a few choice words. You were sure she knew, just like you did, that Jungkook was the one who’d done it. You paid no attention to her tantrum and kept a transfixed gaze on him. 

He’d finished scooting the rest of the way to get to the middle of the bus and was situating his cane and shoulder bag. His hand suddenly reaching down into view and patiently waiting for you to take it. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”

You knew you looked like a fool. Your eyes mirroring the thousands of silent questions that threatened to make you ill. A part of you hoping he understood your dumbfounded look simply begged him to find some way to answer you. You’d stared starry-eyed up at him for so long you half expected the patience of Jungkook’s open hand to fall flat. Instead, he continued to surprise you. His gaze gentle, and hand openly waiting for you to take it when you were ready. 

With eyes wide and mouth agape, your body rejected your stunned silence and placed a small hand in his. His own quickly enveloped yours perfectly and gave you the added support you needed to find stable footing beside him. Jungkook finally looked away from you to stare at the remaining goons. 

The moment you stood beside him you became painfully aware of the noticeable height difference. Your gaze moving up inch-by-inch until your eyes were locked onto his face. The stubbornness of a hard set jaw and eyes that dared anyone to speak enough to make your heartbeat pick up in your chest. When he appeared to be finished making sure his presence was known, Jungkook’s eyes turned back to you. A silent request of reassurance to know you were alright making you answer with a quick nod. 

Your cheeks blushed furiously as you struggled to look away from his gaze. No longer were you so worried about Amber; your mind trapped on a repeat of questions. Did Jungkook always smell like Calvin Klein cologne? Could it be considered weird how you felt undeniable comfort pressed up against him? Or really weird if in your head you suddenly imagined recreating this scene a million times later with you being braver beside him, instead of being the damsel in distress.

He didn’t seem at all perplexed with your case of sudden shyness. His strong legs pulling you both forward and past the horde of Amber and her lackeys without missing a step. His head held high while the other hand helped him keep his balance without using his cane. For the small world that was high school, Jungkook showed them he was still that once popular boy who was known for not taking shit from no one. A demi-god amongst mere mortals that were somehow honored by his presence. 

And here you were. So close to the orbit of his sun and walking away unscathed.

Your train of rushing thoughts kept you from paying attention. It was something you soon were going to regret when he led you off the steps of the bus and onto the dirt road. Jungkook’s exit was obviously graceful while yours in comparison was a train wreck. Instead of your feet stepping off the last step and landing like a normal person, you lost your footing. Your clumsy feet sending you struggling to find a balance with the earth before you crash landed on the floor. Luckily, Jungkook’s back was there to catch you. 

The momentum of your fall sent his feet skittering to correct you both before you fell into the dirt. A few choice cuss words leaving his lips and crimson flaring up on your cheeks to make the dance of falling even more entertaining. You could practically hear the cackling of the witches echoing out of the bus like a cave. 

Jungkook made quick work of righting you both; his good leg furiously hoping to support the weak one. His cane dug into the earth a good inch to add some more stabilization. You let go of his hand and moved away from his side where you’d previously been planted. You weren’t worthy of being there. This boy who saw your distress and helped you. Only for you to ruin it in the process. 

“Well that’s one way to ruin an exit,” he huffed. 

He glanced in your direction and you could’ve sworn he was smiling. Or was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was quickly washed away as his eyes took you in. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry!”

Your words rushed from your lips with your back snapping to bow a perfect ninety-degrees. Your hair a curtain to try and hide your embarrassment. 

“Ugh...for what?”

“For bumping into you like that. I should’ve been paying attention.”

A soft laugh bounced from between his lips and you were willing to beat his face lit up like pure sunshine. You moved to stand upright just in time to see you were right. Jungkook was either oblivious to the way you were looking at him, or was simply unfazed. His shoulder hiking the backpack where it’d begun to fall as he adjusted himself to get ready to move to join the rest of the class up ahead. 

“You did ruin one hell of a stylish exit.”

“I don’t know how stylish you can be stepping off of a school bus, but...thank you.” 

The both of you locked eyes with one another. A large part of you hoped Jungkook was able to see the sincerity or at least hear it. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass after all. That soft smirk you’d grown accustomed to etched back on his lips as he took the first step towards your waiting classmates.

“No problem. Plus, I figured I owed you for letting me listen to your music.”

You felt your brow shoot up in mock surprise. Your legs falling into step beside him. 

“I thought you said I had terrible taste.”

“I never said terrible,” Jungkook corrected. His eyes danced with a playfulness that lifted a smile to your lips

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but thank you. I actually ended up liking most of it, at least.”

“Oh, what a sweet way of insulting my musical taste.”

“Hey! I said I liked most of it. It’s like a win-win. Kinda.”

You wanted to be snappy. Give him some more hell for always playing up on being a condescending moody jerk. In reality, walking next to Jungkook while the silence swelled around you without the awkward pressure; you knew that wasn’t all of him. He’d proven how sweet he could be at the memory of how easily you’d felt protected by a simple stretch of a hand. The look in his eyes while he waited for you to take his extended hand a plea to know you could trust him. Strangely, a part of you already felt like you could. 

You snuck a look over in Jungkook’s direction, and felt a smile begin to sweep up the corners of your lips. It was a different, but nice, change to have someone come to your defense. Yeah, most of the time you wanted to throttle him for seeming like he could care less. In that moment, however, he cared enough to help. That had to mean something.

“You’re welcome.”

You hoped your words conveyed the gratitude you felt in that moment. Prayed that Jungkook could hear it. When he looked at you, you made sure to give him a quick smile before you looked away. Your eyes struggled not to look back at him; to tell him all the things that were racing through your head. It took every ounce of your will to stay focused on the group of classmates that were growing closer. Somewhere along the way, you’d hoped Jungkook would’ve replied with his usual smart ass remarks. It worried you how sad a small part of you felt at his silence. 

Now, you worried maybe you were going a little nuts.

Instead, you came to the edge of the group in silence. Your ears struggling to grasp on to the middle of what your teacher gave out for instructions for the day. 

So what if that insane part of you didn’t receive a smart ass remark in return for your gratitude. You were more than happy with the fact Jungkook stayed by your side. The close proximity just enough to convey what you were both feeling without unnecessary words.

______________

For the past hour the farmer -Kim Sejung - had shown the class around his vast property. The beginning of this magical tour starting with where he manufactured the tofu once it was fermented then sent down to be processed for packaging. He was a man who took immense pride in his work. The next room where the fermentation took place and, his overeager explanation, spelled out how devoted he was to his craft. 

The whole entire backwards presentation was something your teacher decided became a chance for everyone to write down everything you’d been shown. A punishment you knew was coming when Kim Sejung lost half the class to their own conversations long before you’d hit the second part of his speech. 

Now, anyone could be wondering why all of you were taking the longest stroll of your life out in the middle of the farm. A fair question you’d been asking yourself since you realized your shoes were completely covered in mud. You’d been trying to understand why this hadn’t been the first place Kim Sejung would’ve taken all of you. Your only guess being he just enjoyed showing the process backwards. Or maybe he was secretly a  mastermind at torture. It was the only logical conclusion you could come up with at having the entire class now out in the muddy acres of his farm.

And sure, maybe your attention was being sent over your shoulder every five seconds. A certain boy with exhaustion creased in his brow making it harder for you to ignore. You were looking back so often you felt like you’d end up with whiplash at any minute. Really, it was all Jungkook’ fault for causing you to worry; becoming painfully aware with each glance at Jungkook’s struggling frame. 

How Sejung -, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t noticed he was falling further behind the group with every step left you completely perplexed. You’d gave up listening to whatever the farmer or teacher talked about or what questions they were throwing around. You could bet it had to do about soil. 

If everyone else could ignore him why couldn’t you? It’s not that you hadn’t tried, cause of course you’d done exactly that. Your bottom lip now held a semi-permanent indent from your teeth. Whenever you felt that tick in your neck to look back to check on him: you bit down. When you felt like drawing attention to him by saying something: you bit down. A part of you willing to bet Jungkook would never forgive you if you did. 

Your solution? It was ingenious, really. 

You fell back behind every classmate. Patiently, you waited for everyone to pass you up. Your feet dragging in the muddy dirt until you were sure no one would notice when you inevitably stopped. 

With a soft count of three under your breath, you came to a halt at the back of the group. Your small count continued for another round before you were comfortable with the distance it’d placed between the group, Jungkook, and yourself.

You let out a huff of satisfaction as you turned around to give Jungkook your complete attention. Your neck thanking you for the small favor. What you found, however, greeting you was far from what you’d hoped to find. 

Jungkook’s current location became a solid five feet behind the group. His feet finally coming to the large puddle of mud that you and the class had easily maneuvered Jungkook had not. His struggle coming to a standstill at the muddy puddles edge. Jungkook’s face etched itself in harsh determination to no doubt allow him from moving forward. You told yourself you would stay back and wait for him. 

Just wait, You kept telling yourself over and over. A broken record having nothing on what you felt capable of standing there. Your pulse bonding in your veins and feet bouncing with anxiety as he assessed his options. All you were supposed to do was hang back to walk with him. That was it. You weren’t his nanny. You knew how he felt about being pitied, and yet, when he took his first tentative step out into the mud and his cane sunk deep and his bad leg followed suit, your feet deceived you. 

It appeared Mother Nature had her own way of pushing you past your reserved good intentions. Your feet sprinted forward fast enough that you were embarrassed at their quickness. The expected movement bringing Jungkook’s frustrated gaze up from his current dilemma to you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

The annoyance held in his question didn’t go unnoticed by you. If it was you in his position, you’d be annoyed seeing you standing there too and not offering to help. 

“I came to help you.”

The words just streamed out with your running thoughts. Your feet willing to move forward back into the mud to help him. Jungkook noticeably began to struggle to remove his foot that submerged quickly underneath. 

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t have too, Jungkook. I want to help.”

“Let me rephrase myself.” His irritation was pure fire in his eyes as his words hurled in your direction. “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.”

You wish you could say you handled his dismissal with grace. That you understood he was only being a jerk because he was embarrassed and angry at his current predicament. You really wanted to be that bigger person. Well...that most definitely wasn’t what happened. 

Your eyes narrowed in on him. Your previous desire to help evaporated as you watched his leg sink deeper. His other foot soon joined the first in a poorly calculated attempt to release the other. Your arms crossed over your chest as you took in the scene before you. 

“Well, Jungkook, I’m not sure if you noticed but you’re slowly heading towards being buried under that mud.”

“Thank you for that astute observation. Anything else you’d like to add?”

“Why are you being such an asshole?!” you snapped.

Your arms came loose down at your side and turned to clenched fists. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected his reaction to be. You knew Jungkook held a hatred for being pitied. Hell, you would too if it was the other way around. You knew he wasn’t helpless, but you also knew he couldn’t do everything alone. No one could. So what was so wrong with offering to help him?

You weren’t sure how you looked. Maybe crazy? Or did the desperation of not knowing how to handle the situation have you appear sad? Whatever it was Jungkook saw, it was enough to look away. His eyes dropping down to his covered feet. 

The space between the two of you swelled with tension. His hair perfectly covering his face, and kept you from being able to steal any glance. It was enough to make you unsure if you should prepare yourself for a verbal battle with him or if you should simply walk away. What if you’d made a mistake thinking Jungkook would want to be bothered at all with help. Especially from you. 

“God, this is embarrassing.”

His words were so light you weren’t sure at first if he’d spoken. A part of you wondering if you’d made up the sound of his voice as Jungkook’s face continued to be hidden by layers of hair. But, lord help you, you knew you weren’t imagining things. The sound of his voice is something you’d come to recognize with ease. You knew without a doubt it most definitely was him. And the sadness that reverberated from his words made your anger dissipate instantly. 

“What?”

Could you have picked a stupider response? When Jungkook lifted his head up to look at you, you knew he silently agreed.

“It’s embarrassing!” His hands motioned to take in his current predicament. The hurt shown on his proud features made your heart ache to comfort him. “How pitiful can I get? It’s so damn frustrating! The cripple unable to get himself out of some stupid mud.”

“Jungkook, you are literally the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, it doesn’t make me any less stuck.”

You took a step forward and began to try and edge around what you could of the puddle. You knew there was no way you weren’t getting more mud on your shoes, but the purpose was worth it. 

“Why didn’t you just go around it?” Your question earned you a dead stare. One that reminded you of your mother when she felt like you’d asked the silliest question. You held your hands up in surrender and said, “Hey. It’s a fair question.”

“If I just go around it, it proves that I can’t do the simplest thing, Y/N. It proves…”

“That you aren’t like everybody else,” you finished for him.

You could’ve kicked yourself. How could you not have noticed it sooner. Jungkook just wanted to prove to himself that he could still do things like he did before his accident. Because even though he showed people bringing up his disability didn’t bother him, it did. He still hadn’t come to terms with what happened, and believed the current state of his leg deemed him less worthy. 

He looked away from whatever he saw in your eyes. His own fighting not to show the sadness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 

“You aren’t like everyone else, Jungkook.” Your words tore his head back in your direction. His shoulders quickly squared up to take whatever verbal blow you were about to hurl in his direction. You were happy to convince him otherwise.

“You don’t need to prove anything to a single person. Yeah, you aren’t a hundred percent who you used to be, but it doesn’t make you any less you. You aren’t defined by a damn leg and if another human being does treat you differently because of it: fuck’em. Now, get your shit together and hand me the end of your cane.”

The both of you stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook’s face unreadable as his eyes took you in making you squirm just the slightest bit. Whether he was looking for a hint that you were deceiving him; that something hurtful laid underneath, he wouldn’t find it. You made sure with your hand this time open and waiting for him, that he could see just how much you meant what you said. 

After what felt like a baby size eternity, Jungkook answered you in a way you’d grown to expect. In one swift motion, he picked his cane out from the mud and placed it, dirty end first into your waiting hand. Your face scrunched up in disgust, as the leftover mud squished between your fingers. The action enough to break the coldness of Jungkook’s blank expression into the smirk that was all too familiar. 

“Oh my god! You would do that.”

The amusement on his face was enough to tell you he’d most definitely done it on purpose. Of course, you’d already known that. You didn’t need his raised eyebrow or that devilish smirk to inform you of that.

“Oh, so you think you know me now.”

“I know enough to know, without a doubt, this is something you’d do. Brat.”

You saved the last word for good measure and it was met with a bark of surprise laughter. His reaction was not something you’d expected, but a welcomed one as his face instantly lit up brighter than you’d ever seen. Jungkook’s laughter and smile was genuine and good god, was it breathtakingly adorable. 

Who knew calling him a brat led to so many heart stopping possibilities? Like no longer having a permanent scowl. 

“Alright smart ass, how about we settle this for when I’m not stuck in the mud.”

“You got yourself a deal. Only if you stop pouting.”

“I was not pouting!”

It was your turn to laugh wholeheartedly while your other hand moved to secure itself to his cane. There was no way you’d be letting it slip free from you. Mud or no mud. 

“Tomato potato: pouting is pouting.”

Jungkook’s head tilted to the side. His brain noticeably trying to comprehend what it was you just said.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Jungkook now grab a hold of yo-“

Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. He’d already given you a muddy end of a cane. It was the perfect foreshadowing moment that was leading up to this, and yet, somehow you were surprised when he pulled with full force. You figured he was strong - not freakishly. Not enough to send you flying face first toward the large mud puddle with the sound of a squeaking bird of surprise that you could only assume was yourself. 

The only thing that kept you from going face first was a split second decision to ruin just the lower half of your outfit. 

The impact with the mud was squishy and came with the weirdest sound effects that reminded you of pushing your hand into a container of slim. God, was it squishy. An immediate, “Ewww,” dragging out from your lips as your hands lifted up from where they’d been buried. Your eyes taking in the full extent of your lower half now resembles the Swamp Thing. 

Jungkook’s laughter brought you back to reality and flinging what was left of the mud on your hands in his direction. It only earned you another bark of laughter. 

“What in the hell was that for?!”

“Now whose pouting?” He teased.

You wanted to hit him but you knew you couldn’t reach. So you settled for flinging another round of mud. 

“Are you kidding me? You pulled me in here cause I said you were pouting!”

“Yup.”

“Unbelievable. You’re a child.”

“I thought you said brat?”

“That too! Ugh! Jungkook! You’re such a pain in the ass. I’m not helping you anymore.”

You moved to try and pull up one leg and found it way more difficult than you’d imagined. Seriously, was this shit superglue? No matter how many times you struggled to pull up either leg it wouldn’t budge; producing an agitated groan to seep from your body. 

You wanted to murder him. 

When you glanced up at him at least Jungkook had the decency to appear worried.

“Do you need help? I didn’t think it’d be so hard for you to pull yourself up.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about me not being able to pull myself up, but not about me covered in mud.”

The shrug Jungkook gave as an answer made you want to throttle him. You wanted to tell him to shove his help up his ass. Realistically, however, you knew there was no way you were getting unstuck without getting dirtier from crawling around. For a second time, his hand appeared, like magic, in front of you. 

Your eyes trailed up his hand to that devilish grin of his and found your earlier agitation disintegrate. What you hated the most, was how his eyes lit up to match his smile. This warm version of Jungkook wasn’t someone you were used to. You’d seen the cocky jock who knew he was good at everything. Experienced the real asshole Jungkook that made you want to rip out chunks of hair. But this side of him...was worth a heartache or two. 

Without another thought you reached out and took his hand and allowed him to start lifting you up. It wasn’t until you were half way you came up with your own plan. A devilish grin of your own spreading your lips wide as the idea grew into something worth doing . 

Jungkook had a moment to be confused before your free hand shot out and took fierce hold of his forearm. You made sure it was locked in place before your body went completely limp, and sent his body into an unbalanced mess. 

“The fu-!”

Jungkook’s descent, at first, made you feel like you’d accomplished a victory. One you didn’t get to relish in for long. Jungkook may not have been able to finish his earlier sentence, but you easily made up for it. A softened, “Fuck!” came pressed from your chest as he landed sideways on top of you. The angle reminded you of an awkward pair of scissors: if one part of the scissors was ridiculously muscled for a student. 

You’d had little time to move your hands up to brace yourself against his weight. The air from your lungs whooshing out in laughter with your body struggling to recover from underneath him. And no, no you weren’t painfully aware that your hands could feel every well lined muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt. And no, you were not blushing. Not even a little. 

You were sure when Jungkook lifted his head up to look in your direction, he’d see the sinful glee you took in your awkward positioning. Instead, your lungs erupted into laughter. One side of his face perfectly smeared with mud making one eye remain closed and his right doing most of the work. He looked ridiculous...and cute. 

“You think this is funny?”

“I think-I think it’s the best thing I’m going to see all day.”

It took a few tries to speak through your laughter, but when you finally got the words out you couldn’t have been more proud. Jungkook on the other hand, seemed to struggle to keep the annoyance on his face. The first sign of a smile cracking into the mud that began to dry on his face. 

Jungkook moved to prop himself up - the action giving you the room you needed to wiggle out from underneath him. You were about to call it a success, a retort to an unspoken comment he’d yet to make. All of it came crashing down, however, when Jungkook’s mud covered hand rose from the depths and placed a long streak down your nose with his thumb giving an artistic sweep across your cheek. 

The marks he gave reminded you of those old western movies you’d seen. Warpaint covered faces of men getting ready to square off to defend their home from invaders. The thought seemed to match perfectly with the beat of your heart thundering like a drum inside your chest.

It wasn’t just because Jungkook touched you - on purpose - in a playful way. It had nothing to do with the fact his muddy hand was currently resting against your cheek. Or from the denial that it brought out a spark of mischievous happiness to ignite inside you as your mouth fell open to expose the sound of laughter. No, your heart pounded against your chest purely for the look that passed behind chocolate eyes and the soft smile that followed close behind. 

So, sure. In that instance it could’ve just been a plan old look. You weren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t more than just a look though, either. There was that one boy in first grade, however, who did give you an aggressive teeth-clacking peck on the lips during recess, but this was completely different. 

And because you were so uncertain of what it all meant, your only reaction was to lift your hand up from beside you and slam it palm first against his face. 

Jungkook’s face lit up in shock and you couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from your lips. It was an immediate rush of joy at seeing his handsome face marked by your small muddy handprint that streaked itself across the plains of his face. Normally, you’d be mortified: waiting patiently to be scolded and made to feel small. Instead, the shock wore off his face in an instant. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as a giddy, “Oh yeah?” rushed between his lips. 

You didn’t have a chance to wonder what he meant before he reached into the mud and brought up a snowball version of the earth. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” 

Your eyes went wide and frantic giggles exploded free as your body struggled in vain to get out from under him. The previous joy of being pinned by his weight dissipating when that large mud ball found its new home smeared on top of your head. 

“Jungkook-ah!”

His own laughter rose up around you as your body began to move in earnest to get out from under him. When you finally realized it was pointless, another bright idea overtook you. If Jungkook noticed the renewed mischievous glint in your eye, he didn’t show it. 

He continued to smile obliviously down at you until the two fist fulls of mud you’d taken in both hands came crashing down on top of his head. It didn’t matter that your face caught some of the aftermath: the face he made was priceless. 

You didn’t get a chance to enjoy your tiny victory before the two of you were a mess of arms and limbs rolling feverishly around; the two of you playfully wrestling for dominance. The mixture of your laughter rising up until you weren’t sure where Jungkook’s ended and yours began. By the end of it, you were both resembling the pigs you’d seen earlier on the farm. Bodies fully covered in wet earth and lounging beside each other in exhaustion. Every few moments random fits of giggles overtaking the two of you until you realized you both needed to get back. 

This time, instead of the two of you refusing help from the other, you eagerly took it. The both of you worked together to reach the edge of the mud pit and, without further incident, pulled each other out. 

The walk back to the main barn was done in silence. In other circumstances, you would’ve been consumed with a need to fill it. The impending weight of anxiety would’ve flared across your skin until you would’ve blurted out anything. Small talk was never one of your strong suits, but a comfortable banter had somehow formed between the two of you. You knew if you started talking, Jungkook would respond. It was still a fifty-fifty on whether or not it would be a smart ass response or a real one, but a response nonetheless. 

You didn’t try to start a conversation. You chose to enjoy the reassurance that he was beside you. Your mind running through what exactly just happened and how you both ended up looking like bad impression art. You’d spent so much time stealing glances in his direction that you could’ve sworn you caught him doing the same. But who were you kidding. No one had stolen glances at you since middle school, and that was only to steal the answers off tests. 

There was no way Jeon Jungkook would be the one to break that trend. No matter how flattering the thought. So when you felt that knowable itch of being watched you found yourself surprised that Jungkook was indeed staring at you. 

“Are you cold?”

Jungkook’s question jolted you from your train of thought and sent you reeling into another. He was closer to you now. Close like you’d been while sitting on the bus with your shoulders brushing with every movement. Every bump helplessly sending you lightly banging into the other. 

On the bus you could easily play it off as something out of your control. But now? Now there was no good explanation that you could find to why Jungkook decided to walk so closely beside you. There was no way to explain away the way his gaze drew across your face like he’d save it to memory. 

“Well I am covered in freezing mud water.” 

You’d tried for sarcasm but your voice barely carried over a whisper. It made Jungkook’s head subconsciously dip lower just to hear you. The devilish smirk he was infamous for spread like wildfire across his lips. 

“I would offer you my jacket, since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but you see some crazy person pushed me into the mud.”

A scoff escaped you as your hand playfully whipped out to slap his shoulder. 

“Ya, Jungkook! You? A gentleman? That’s funny. What is also funny is the fact you got yourself stuck in the mud first. I just came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” He asked with an eyebrow coyly cocked. 

“I’m like your knight in shining armor.”

A throaty laugh came from between his lips; sending his head back exposing his face to the sun. You were mesmerized watching him as the sun kissed down across his face and weren’t at all ashamed at being caught watching as he brought his attention back to you. A smile of your own growing to match the one he wore along with your mind fluttering in wonder of how he was even real. 

“If you’re my knight, Y/N I’m in a lot of trouble.”

You feigned hurt but couldn’t hide the grin happily splayed on your face and, crazy thing was, you didn’t want to. It felt impossible that the two of you were so giddy with each other. A strange familiarity brewed heavily between you to the point it felt like the two of you joked like this for years. 

Jungkook’s own smile enough to warm the chill that began to creep up your arms to expose goosebumps on your skin. The two of you fell into a shroud of companionable silence and continued to make your way back to the main entrance of the farm. Your heart skipping a helpless beat every time you feel Jungkook’s fingers graze across yours. Your mind hopelessly wanting to believe maybe, just maybe, he was tempted to reach out and hold it. 

You came back to the main farm and found your teacher and classmates impatiently waiting. The immediate shock your teacher showed at your appearance seemed to grow more intense until he came storming over: hysterical at your current condition. 

“What on earth have the two of you been doing?!” 

“They’ve been rolling around with pigs.”

You knew that tart voice anywhere and wasn’t surprised it was Amber that spoke. What did surprise you was how much you didn’t care with Jungkook standing like an equally filthy calm current by your side. 

“We’re sorry, seonsaegnim,” Jungkook began coolly with a bow. When he realized you were still standing a hand shot out to the back of your head to bring it down. You quickly slapped it away but kept yourself in a bow. “We got lost from the group and found ourselves stuck in a giant mud pit.” 

“It seems to me like you were playing in it,” the farmer chuckled. “I could hose them off before they get back on the bus.” 

His offer left heat rising to your cheeks. The sound of a sea of giggles making your stomach ache in embarrassment. You used the curtain of your hair to hide and hoped they’d come up with a different suggestion, but with a small shrug of his shoulder, Jungkook brought your heated attention back to him. A soft smile cracking the now dry handprint you’d left across his cheek. 

It was ridiculous. You both looked ridiculous, and yet, he was still handsome. You probably looked like a troll. 

“Hey Knight in shining armor,” he whispered. “It seems we get to take a bath together.” 

The sun couldn’t be anywhere near as hot as your face felt. The heat spread from red cheeks and down your neck until the butterflies in your stomach were out of control. Jungkook knew what he had done. He could see it plainly on your face and he loved it. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to hit him. 

And just like divine intervention your teacher did it for you. His curled up pamphlet struck down on top of Jungkook’s head, but it only made his smile grow impossibly larger.

“Ya! I don’t think so! We’ll have you go one at a time to clean up. I’ll look for something for you both to change into.”

Jungkook went first to be hosed down. The farmer actually allowed him to have his privacy so he could get into his more...private areas in peace. The clothes that were found for both of you to wear were old gym clothes thrown in a box in the storage bay at the bottom of the bus. You imagined they must have been thrown there for a reason. The colors were sad and faded down to a color that resembled the mud you’d fallen in. An even sadder rim of yellow wrapped around the sleeves the only hope of color in the terrible outfit you were now forced to wear. At least it was warm with the added bonus Jungkook somehow ended up with the shortest shorts in the box. 

After the two of you dried off and changed you were shepherded onto the bus. The place that held Amber and her minions now vacant due to the teacher demanding you sit exactly in the far back in their spot. He must have imagined it would be like putting two naughty kids in time out. The only effect it really had was giving you the chance to breathe and enjoy the solitude. 

Jungkook dug around for your earbuds inside your bag. Finally finding the small container and lifting it open. His fingers pulling out the left and surprising you by placing it gently in your ear. Your face must have shown this but Jungkook paid you no mind. He was busy placing the other bud into his ear; flipping the case shut and throwing it back inside to forever be lost until you practically tipped out your bag to locate it again. Oh well. A problem for another time. 

“Put on something for the ride home, Y/N. I trust you to be dj again.”

You wanted to tease him. To joke about putting on the YMCA or Macarena . The only thing that stopped you was the relaxed features of Jungkook’s face. The lazy way his neck rested back against the seat and his head languidly gazing in your direction. You tried to squish back all the butterflies that look gave you and a hushed, “Alright. Lady Marmalade it is,” embarrassingly came from between your lips. 

Your eyes were too focused on your music list. You didn’t allow them to look as he chuckled beside you. The sound light and rough all at once - demanding you give it attention. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he joked. 

You kept scrolling until you found Deans’ “D (Half Moon)”. The soft piano and tone of his voice quickly filled the ear buds and by the soft hum of the voice beside you, you knew you’d pick a good one. 

You allowed yourself to relax beside him. Your right hand placing the playlist down between the two of you. Your body was so relaxed you didn’t think about moving your hand anywhere else. Your eyes falling comfortably closed as you continue to listen to the acoustics of the song and the even softer, and equally pleasurable, song of Jungkook singing along. 

When his left hand found its way down beside yours, you didn’t question his reasoning. The music held between the two of you and maybe he wanted to change the playlist. You let your mind continue to think that even after his finger gingerly grazed yours and found a home beside them. Both of your hands stayed this way the entire ride back to campus. Neither of you moved to change positions; lost to the sounds of the melodies of the playlist.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter nine rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

You were quiet in the cab ride home. Peter was talking a mile a minute and all you gave him were small smiles and fake laughs every now and then so he wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong. He was too happy about how well the evening had gone to notice.

“Do you want to come back to my apartment? You can sleep over if you want.” Peter asked with a shy smile when you got to your floor. You didn’t want to lie in bed all night with Peter when you were literally lying to Peter, so you faked a yawn and stretched a little.

“Not tonight, babe. I’m a little tired.” You lied. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay Pete?”

Peter looked a little disappointed but you knew he understood.

“Okay, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He went to kiss your lips but you turned so he only got your cheek. You pretended not to see the confusion and hurt in Peters eyes at your actions. You went into your apartment and went out the window immediately, needing to blow off some steam as Venom.

It didn’t take long to find crime, or for crime to find you. You soon heard the shrill cries of a panicked woman.

“Someone help me! He’s got my son!” She screamed. You immediately morphed into Venom and followed the sound of her voice. You climbed to the top of a tall building and scanned the city. Your eyes landed on a man running away with a small child struggling in his grasp. You jumped from the building and ran after the man at full speed. You caught up to him easily and blocked his path. You shot a web at the child and yanked him out of the mans grasp. At that moment, Spider-Man jumped down from the sky and landed between you and the man.

“Hold this.” You demanded and handed the child to Spider-Man. Spider-Man took the child and looked at you, the eyes on his mask squinting in confusion.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked as he bounced the child on his hip.

“Eat.” Venom said simply before bolting after the kidnapper who had took off running.

“Find the mom and get him to safety.” Venom called back to Spider-Man.

When you tracked the man down, you snatched the man up and suspended him in the air. Venom quickly swallowed him whole and fled the scene.

You found the mother just in time to see Spider-Man reuniting her with her child.

“Here you go ma’am.” He said kindly. The mother took her child and smiled at him gratefully.

“Thank you Spider-Man. I don’t know how you do it. You’re a hero.” The mom praised. Spider-Man laughed softly.

“I do my best. Stay safe.” Spider-Man waved kindly. The mother thanked him again and left with her son. Spider-Man turned to walk away as well but you stopped him.

“What the hell was that?” You roared. “You just took all the credit for saving that kid. You didn’t even do anything. We saved the kid, we killed the man, you were just the delivery boy. Why didn’t you tell the mom that we helped?” Spider-Man looked as taken aback as a man in a mask could look. Granted, your Y/n was showing. You were speaking in your Venom voice but it was really you talking, and Spider-Man seemed to notice the difference.

“Oh. I’m-I’m sorry. It’s just, you’re kinda scary and the kid was already super freaked out. I didn’t want to make it worse by him seeing you.” Spider-Man answered. He didn’t mean to offend you but his words hurt.

“We’re not scary. We saved that boy.” You said in defense.

“Yeah but, you’re honestly terrifying man.” Spider man laughed awkwardly. “Even I’m scared. A little kid wouldn’t want to see a hideous monster right after nearly being kidnapped. No offense.”

It almost seemed like he was trying to compliment you. Venom was much more hurt by his words than you were. At the end of the day, you could look like a regular person while Venom was stuck looking like a “hideous monster.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” You shouted in your own voice. Spider-Man looked around for who the new voice came from. 

“Did that come from you?” He asked.

“It came from us.” You said, back to the low Venom growl.

“See it’s things like that that make you terrifying.” Spiderman continued. “That kid would’ve wet his pants if he saw you. I’m a nice, friendly face that people can trust. Really, no offense dude, but no one wants to see your face.”

You took a menacing step towards him and roared. He backed up instantly and held up his arms in defense.

“Woah woah woah please don’t put your eggs in me!” He shrieked. “I’m just stating the facts. You will never be a hero, if that what’s you’re going for. New York isn’t going to feel safe with a monster like you on the streets. If I told that mom that you were the one to save her kid, she would’ve ran straight to the cops. It might be better if you just went back to the planet you came from.”

He was trying something new. He knew he couldn’t physically beat Venom in a fight, so he tried using his words instead. His girlfriend was so good with words and he wanted to make her proud. All he knew was, he needed Venom out of the city.

“You’re wrong. We’re not a monster.” Venom growled. You just stayed silent.

“Fine. Monster. Alien. Whatever you want to be called, it doesn’t matter.” Spiderman waved his hand. “Because all anyone will call you is dangerous, scary, and a threat. You’re better off leaving earth and never coming back.”

“We’re not leaving.” Venom snarled.

“What’s with the we? Who else is in there?” Spider-Man asked. He reached out to touch you and you threw him against a building.

“Don’t touch us. Our host is in here.” Venom growled. Spider-Man tilted his head.

“Host? So you’re like a parasite?” He asked innocently. Innocent or not, it was the wrong question to ask. Venom picked Spider-Man up by his neck again and dangled him in the air. Spider-Man kicked his legs and tried to break free but couldn’t.

“First, you take credit for our work, then you insult us, and now you call us a parasite? We are not a parasite. We are Venom. And you are dead.” Venom sneered. Venom was too angry to listen to what Mr. Stark said about not eating Spider-Man. He had pushed you too far.

Venom ripped Spider-Mans mask off, wanting to see his identity before you killed him. To your devastating surprise, your terrified boyfriends face stared back at you. He had a bloody nose from being thrown against the wall and his face was red from lack of oxygen. He whispered pleas for mercy as his eyes begged you to let him go. You gasped and immediately dropped Peter onto the ground, looking around frantically for what to do next. He coughed and sputtered for a while while he rubbed his aching neck.

When he looked up, Venom was handing him his mask back with an apologetic look on your big white eyes. Peter shakily took the mask and nodded in thanks. You nodded back and ran as fast as you could back to your apartment. You climbed into your window, transformed back into yourself, and went to throw up in the bathroom.

Peter was Spider-Man. Peter was Spider-Man. And you were Venom. How could it be? How could fate be so cruel? And yet, it made perfect sense. He fit the description. College student from New York who traveled to Washington D.C. at the time of the elevator incident. It explained everything, from the first aid kit on Peters desk, to the constant phone calls, to Ned asking if you knew about Peter, and of course, Mr. Stark. The Stark Internship was being Spider-Man. You should’ve known. The signs were all there. But a part of you just wanted something good for once. Something that the rest of the world couldn’t touch. That something had been Peter. And now, you had to give him up.

You ignored Peters calls and texts for the next six days. You gave him a lame excuse about needed to stay focused on your Cletus Kasady article and so you couldn’t be on your phone. You had a week to tell him you were Venom, according to Mr. Stark. That week was almost up and you had spent it successfully avoiding Peter. You stayed in your apartment as often as you could and only left out the window when you had to go somewhere. Peters texts increasingly got harder and harder to ignore. You didn’t want to ignore his sweet good morning and goodnight texts or science puns, but you couldn’t face him. You just wanted to shake him and ask him why he kept something so big a secret from you. But alas, you said nothing.

On the sixth day of avoiding Peter, you knew you had to go out. You didn’t want to use the front door but you desperately needed to check your mail and it was pouring rain outside. You peered out your peephole and saw no signs of Peter. You quickly opened your door and didn’t even make it two steps before you heard the sound of Peters door opening. Running would be a bad option, right? You slowly turned around and gave Peter and awkward smile. He didn’t smile back.

“You’re avoiding me.” He stated. His voice wasn’t it’s usually happy tone. He sounded hurt and confused. You knew he had every reason to be, but you were hurt and confused too.

“I’m not. I told you I had to write my article.” You lied through your teeth. He didn’t buy it.

“Bullshit.” He scoffed. “I know you haven’t had your final interview with him. It’s in two days, right? How could you be finishing your article when you’re not even done with the interviews?”

You gulped. He saw right through your lies.

“Are you mad at me?” His tone changed as his voice weakened. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your heart broke. You wanted to hug him and tell him he didn’t do anything wrong, but you couldn’t. He’d been lying to you as long as you knew him. You couldn’t just forgive him and pretend you didn’t know he was Spider-Man.

“No.” You said quietly, suddenly taking extreme interest in your shoes. “No, Petey, I’m not mad.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” His voice cracked and your heart cracked with it. You looked down and shook your head, wishing you had an answer to give him. You looked around before stepping forward and pulling him into a tearful kiss. You let in longer in case it was the last kiss you ever shared with him He kissed you back but you felt his hesitation. His guard was up and you knew why.

“I’m sorry.” You breathed once you pulled away. “I can’t explain. I have to go, Peter. I’m sorry.”

You hated yourself for saying it, he deserved so much better. Peter looked like he was about to cry, confusion clouding his brown eyes. You turned away from him, unable to watch his heart breaking in front of you.

“Is this it?” His voice was quiet. “Are we over?”

“I think we are.” You said without turning around.

“Why the hell did you say that?” You thought. It’s not what you meant. You looked at Peter over your shoulder in time to see a tear run down his cheek. You went to turn back around but Peter grabbed your hand suddenly and pulled you towards the stairs. You didn’t resist and let him tug you, feeling like you owed him as much. You find it slightly ironic know that you knew why he was so strong.

Peter pulled you all the way to the roof, back to the very spot you once referred to as “ours.” He let go of your hand and pointed to the ledge, looking at you with weary eyes.

“Tell me it was all fake. Tell me it was all in my head and we weren’t happy together on that ledge. Tell me I made it all up and you were never as into me as I was into you. Tell me our first kiss, our first time, our first conversation meant nothing to you. Tell me you hate me and feel nothing for me.” He shouted before quieting down. “Because unless you tell me that, I won’t let you end this without giving me a reason. I won’t let you just walk away. Please, don’t end what we have just because you’re scared. You don’t have to be afraid. Not of me.”

“I know.” You whispered. “But you should be afraid of me. In fact, you already are.”

“What?” Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “Afraid—what?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Peter. Or of this. Of us. That’s not it.” You told him truthfully. “I’m afraid of what will happen when you find out I’m not who you think I am. I’m far worse.”

“What are you talking about? I do know you.” He insisted.

“You don’t.” You shook your head as tears fell from your eyes. “You do but you don’t.”

“Then who are you?”

“I’m a monster. We-“ you were cut off by the sounds of people screaming from the street below. Peter looked at you before running to the edge to peer down.

“Something’s attacking the city.” He called back to you. “It looks like a red version of Venom.”

“A red symbiote?” ,you thought, “how can that be?”

Peter turned and looked at you, not wanting to pull out his Spider-Man suit in front of you. Of course, he didn’t know that you were already well aware of his secret.

With the city under attack, your fight with Peter was going to wait. You wiped the tears from your face and walked past Peter, your shoulders brushing as you moved past him. You stared over the edge at the commotion, knowing you were the only one who could give the symbiote a fair fight. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked over your shoulder at Peter, giving him a silent apology.

“I love you, Peter.” You said suddenly, never breaking eye contact. “I love you.”

With that, you jumped off the roof and turned into Venom in mid air. You landed on the ground below and roared at the red symbiote. You knew you had to focus on the fight, but your mind was goign a million miles an hour.

It was the first time you’d ever said those words to Peter, despite feeling them from the moment you met. He was the second boy you ever said those words to, but the first boy where you actually meant it.

You shook your head to free yourself from your thoughts and let out another roar.

“Venom!” The red symbiote smiled. “So glad you could make it! Where’s your friend huh? Is she too scared to come out and say hello to Carnage?”

“Carnage?” You wondered. Since when was there another symbiote on earth and more importantly, how did it know who you were?

You wasted no time in launching yourself at Carnage and attacking. You two wrestled for dominance for a while until Carnage ultimately won. He began to pull Venom off your body and you felt your face became uncovered. Carnage raised his razor sharp fingernails and prepared to slit your throat with his long nails.

“Heads up!” Spider-Man came swinging down and kicked Carnage off of you before he could harm you. You quickly bonded back with Venom and stood up, just in time to see Carnage throwing Peter across the street. You ran to him and helped him up.

“Shoot your web at the same time we do, okay?” You said and held out your wrist. Peter did the same and you both shot a web at the fast approaching Carnage. The combination of your webs was enough to capture Carnage and send him crashing to the floor. He soon broke out of his webbing and began running towards you again.

“Karen! Web grenade!” Peter yelled. He threw a web ball at Carnage and it blew up in the red symbiotes face. While he was distracted, you pulled the symbiote from its host by the ankles. Enough skin of the host was showing for you to take a bite. Carnage yelled in pain and turned to his closest attacker, which happened to be Peter. He picked Peter up and repeatedly slammed him into the pavement. To stop this, you tackled Carnage and spit acid spit in his eyes. Carnage howled and began to run away.

“I’ll be back, Venom.” He snarled. “And when I return, there’s gonna be Carnage.”

You ignored his threat and quickly ran to your unconscious boyfriend, kneeling down beside him. After checking to see that no one was around, you took off his mask and accessed his injuries. His face was beaten pretty badly and his pulse was weak. You transformed back into yourself and took off your hoodie and shirt, leaving you in a sports bra and leggings. You ran your hands over Peters body until you found a way to take the suit off, it was by pressing the spider on the chest. You tore up your shirt and pressed it to the large wound on Peters chest to stop the bleeding. You suddenly got an idea and pressed a hand to his chest, letting Venom go inside him and move around. Venoms healing abilities made the cuts on Peters chest disappear, but he was still knocked out. You pulled your hand away and slipped the hoodie around his body before picking him up with ease. He was adorably light. You quickly ran into the apartment building and went to his room before anyone could see you.

Peter came to about a half hour later just as you were finishing up healing his cuts. You had managed to bathe him and get him into a fresh pair of comfy clothes while his body healed.

Peter slowly woke up and noticed you were straddling his lap. After nearly a week of no contact with you, it felt nice. He missed the way your skin felt on his. He almost jumped out of his seat when he saw his Spider-Man suit hanging up in the closet where you could easily see it.

“Relax. I already know you’re Spider-Man.” You cooed as you put some Neosporin on his busted eyebrow. Peter relaxed under you for a moment as he took in his situation.

“And you’re not mad?” He asked quietly. You were surprisingly calm considering the circumstances.

“I’m not mad.” You smiled softly at him. “Venom is a little offended that you called her ugly though.”

“You’re Venom.” Peter said as he remembered seeing you jump off the building and transforming into the alien before his eyes. It made sense. The “We” was in reference to you. And you had saved his life the first night you met when Venom wanted to eat him. He just couldn’t believe his girlfriend was his arch nemesis this whole time.

“I am. Well, we are. Venom, say hi.” You turned to your left and watched as Venom shyly came out in her snake-like form to greet

“Hi.” Venom hissed.

“Hey.” Peter said back with a tiny bit a fear. He looked at you for reassurance and you nodded.

“You’re no panty dropper yourself, by the way.” Venom grumbled.

“Hey! Be nice or go back inside.” You scolded. Venom chose the later and went back inside.

“Are you mad?” You asked timidly, making him think about it.

“Not mad. Just confused.” He decided. “Is this why you were avoiding me? Because you saw my identity the night we ate dinner with Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah.” You admitted with guilt. “He told me I had a week to tell you. Today’s only day six so he’s gonna be thrilled.”

“He knows?” Peters eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes.” You confessed. “But he knew I was Venom before he knew I was your girlfriend.”

“That’s great news. Then I don’t have to explain anything to him.” Peter looked on the bright side. “Plus, he loves you. Speaking of love…”

Peter put his hand on the back of your neck and pulled you into a passionate, tear filled kiss. You wrapped your hand around his wrist and kissed him deeply, one last time. You slowly pulled apart and you bit your quivering lip.

“We have to break up.” You whispered before pulling your hands away from him.

“What? Why?” Peter asked in shock.

“Look at us Peter. Look what’s become of us.” Your voice wavered. “How can we ever be together when you’re Spider-Man and I’m Venom? We didn’t tell each other these huge things about our lives and we hurt each other because of it. Tell me, do you honestly think I’d ever lay a hand on you?”

“No.” Peter answered. He knew you didn’t have a malicious bone in your body.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t. And yet, I beat you to the point where you couldn’t even stand.” You began to cry from shame. “I should be protecting you, not hurting you.”

“But you didn’t know it was me.” Peter pointed out.

“Exactly Peter! I didn’t know it was you because you didn’t tell me!” You exclaimed. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. But in my defense, I’ve never told anyone I was Spider-Man. May, Ned, Mr. Stark, they all found out on their own. You were the first person I was actually going to tell willingly. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” He sighed, and you believed him. “And what about you? You didn’t tell me you were Venom.” .

“It’s different, Peter.” You shook your head. “Venom isn’t a friendly neighborhood superhero. People see you and the run to you for help. But Peter, I’m what they’re running from. You said it yourself. I’m a hideous monster. I had a reason to hide who I was.”

Peter looked hurt at his own words. He cringed at the memory of insulting you so many times. He couldn’t imagine how it felt to hear that from your own boyfriend.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I said that about Venom, not you. I never would’ve said it if I had known.” Peter said softly, while reaching up to stroke your cheek. You wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and forget the whole thing.

“That’s the point.” You moved his hand away. “We both would’ve done things differently if we had known. But we didn’t. And that’s why we need to breakup. Before we hurt each other any more.”

“Y/n, please.” Peter’s lips began to tremble. You couldn’t even look at him, not when you knew how much you were hurting him. You knew you’d take one took at his tear filled eyes and run right back into his arms. You had to be strong. You got up off his lap and headed towards the door before you lost your nerve.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” You said with your back to him. “We’re just on different paths. I’m so sorry.”

“Well what if I give up being Spider-Man?” Peter bartered. You looked at him over your shoulder in bewilderment.

“You’d give that up for me?”

“Anything for you.” He said confidently.

“I can’t ask you to do that. And what about Mr. Stark? You’re just gonna give up your mentor to be with me?” You asked him, hoping to knock some sense into him.

“Nothing means anything if I don’t have you.” Peter shot back. He was making it so difficult. You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes at him for how he was acting.

“You’re not throwing your life away for me.” You shook your head sternly. “I won’t allow it.”

“Well what if you give up Venom?” He suggested.

Venom jumped out and growled at Peter. He stumbled back and you held Venom back like a dog on a leash.

“She would never choose you over us, Spider-Man.” Venom snarled. “We’ve been with Y/n much longer than you have. We’ve dried her tears. We’ve kept her safe. What have you done? Y/n and I are inseparable by choice. I’m inside her. She’s mine.”

“Yea, well, I’ve been inside her too.” Peter shot back with faltering confidence. Your eyes widened at the two of them.

“Both of you, stop it.” You commanded. “This argument is over. I’m sorry, Peter. I’ll never be sorry enough. But I have to go.”

“Where are you going?” He panicked as you went for the door again.

“Home.” you answered, avoiding his gaze. 

“This is your home.” He protested. “Here, with me.”

“Not anymore.” You finally looked at him. “I’m going back to San Francisco. I booked the flight while you were knocked out and it leaves in the morning. I can’t be here anymore, Peter. I can’t see you everyday and not want to be with you.”

“Then be with me.” Peter practically yelled.

“We can’t be together. I knew it from the start.” You wiped your face when you remembered your breakdown in your car that one day.

“Y/n, please.” Peter gently took your arm, making you look at him. “Don’t go. I need you. You never even gave me a chance to say it back.”

In the midst of all the chaos and drama, you’d forgotten that you told Peter you loved him. A part of you was glad you finally got to say it, but the bigger part of you ached knowing you’d never hear it back.

“Don’t say it.” You put a half over his mouth for a moment. “Please, just, don’t say it. It’ll be too painful for the both of us. Just let me go. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. You and I not being together will never be okay.” Peter cried, leaving his sweet brown eyes a miserable red.

“Peter…” you breathed, hardly able to take it.

“Please don’t leave me. Everyone else has left me. And you’ve never been like everyone else.” Peter gave one last attempt to make you stay. You looked at him in his entirety. You took him all in. His wavy hair, his doe eyes, his slightly crooked nose and his eyebrow that stood all the way up. All the things you first fell in love with that day you knocked on his door to give him his mail. That seemed that a million years back but it was really only a few months. Your heart broke at the sight of Peter, as beautiful as ever, standing before with a broken heart. And even worse, you were the one that broke it.

“Stay.” His voice was barely above a whisper but he could see you beginning to weaken. He took his opportunity to beg to reconsider. A little gleam of hope bubbled in Peters chest. You stood up straighter, cleared your throat, and tore your eyes away from your ex-boyfriend.

“Peter Parker, I will love you until my lungs are empty. But I cannot stay.” You said firmly. Just like that, his hope was gone. Before he could say anything else, you ran out his bedroom door, through his kitchen, and out the front door. You locked your door behind you and climbed into bed, crying at the loss of your teenage love. You knew Peter could hear every tear that fell with his heightened hearing, so you whispered heartfelt apologies and hoped he’d find a way to forgive you.

[animeyanderelover]

Hi I was wondering if your requests are open? If so then would you be willing to do yandere chrollo and Feitan sharing an s/o? Like a poly relationship kinda thing? If your requests aren’t open or you don’t feel comfortable with it then feel free to just delete this! Have a nice day/night!

Information that I have rewritten this since I’ve made some dumb mistakes in here😓.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, sadism, threatening, killing, controlling Yandere, strict Yandere, manipulation, gaslighting

Chrollo and Feitan sharing a darling

📖☠️I wouldn’t really see Chrollo tolerating sharing his darling with anyone, though someone from the Phantom Troupe he trusts has more rights in regards of his darling. Still though, he’s far too possessive for that so I really can only see this work if Feitan was the one who found and captured the darling first, and that for a while. It’s likely that at one point everyone of the spiders will find out and in that case Feitan will be forced to introduce his darling at the very least, there are some people who want to know who the small sadist has it bad for after all. Chrollo…has some mild interest at first, he really only cares that Feitan can guarantee that you won’t tell anyone about what you know.

📖☠️He trusts Feitan enough though so that he will allow him in the end to keep the darling. Funnily I’d say that Chrollo could already be after the first meeting slightly interested in the darling. Feitan…Feitan had a longer stalker period after he caught his thoughts constantly drifting back to you and after he snapped and got annoyed with his feelings, he abducted his s/o. Chrollo on the other hand needs something which intrigues him, fascinates him with a normal citizen. One meeting still is not enough, it leaves an lasting impression and slight wonders, but Chrollo has yet to fall deeper into his own twisted obsession before the respect that you’re Feitan’s darling will be tested.

📖☠️A second and maybe a third meeting might be needed until it’s almost like Chrollo has been placed under a disease where the only cure seems to be you. Observing how frightened and jumpy his s/o is around everyone, how terrified they look whenever Feitan glare at them with the silent message to behave and how awful and forbidden the scars and bruises on their skin looks. Seeing how Feitan treats such a sweet, endearing thing like you stirs up disagreement, distaste up inside of him. A slight narrow of his eyes as he begins to worry that one day you might shatter under Feitan’s treatment, losing someone as interesting and cute as you. A thought has his heart hurting. What a tragedy that would be.

📖☠️When he talks with that about Feitan some time later, that the spider probably should treat their lover like a treasure and not an enemy of the Troupe is the beginning of this begrudgingly relationship. Feitan…is rendered speechless after hearing such words from his boss, more a demand than a nice suggestion. This could be Chrollo trying to be a gentleman of course, but Feitan knows this man for a little while longer now. It’s not like him since Chrollo only puts on such faces to get what he wants to know. Would he normally really interfere, almost threaten in a slight tone to try to stop this treatment?

📖☠️More frequent requests about how his darling is doing and using excuses from other members who want to meet you once again against Feitan only strengthens his suspicions even more that his boss might have caught a certain liking to you as well. And the short man does not know fully how to deal with this. He respects Chrollo endlessly yet starts feeling the growing threat more and more the more he has to see how his boss starts interacting with you, charming you and showing you care. Wounds that might not have fully healed will be stitched from Machi and he promises them that he’ll convince Feitan to stop this treatment.

📖☠️Feitan, not someone to be insecure, starts growing paranoid and slowly lunatic as well. How couldn’t he? Here is his boss, the one he swore loyalty too, taking a rapid interest in his s/o and sweet talking them. His boss is good in seducing someone, so the doubts that his darling might end up liking him and leaving him start pondering in his head more and more. The fear of losing someone to someone else, Chrollo from all people, is a situation Feitan never imagined himself to be in. Yet here he is, working himself completely up. His possessiveness grows, suddenly he always glues himself to your side whenever he takes you with him to the spiders, watching with a burning gaze. There were a few times where he even ended up asking you what you thought of his boss, though you were probably too frightened to say anything that might anger him.

📖☠️Pakunoda, Nobunaga and Machi were probably the first ones to realize that there was a building tension between Chrollo and Feitan and it’s likely that they had started suspecting that their boss was developing growing feelings for you as well. And it baffled them as well, knowing that this might cause problems and had already affected Feitan greatly. He had been in his worst moods and had lashed out on every member who had asked him about his darling. The three respect Chrollo and Feitan so all of them obviously wanted to find a way to solve this problem, though it was hard to believe that Chrollo wouldn’t do something either. But they wanted to at least discuss something with him.

📖☠️And shortly after Chrollo did indeed, reaching out to Feitan so he could have a talk with him somewhere alone. The leader of the Troupe had came to realize that he had fallen utterly in love with the new addition to the spiders as well and indeed, a possessive and discontent feeling was bestowed upon him whenever he had though and seen his darling spider and Feitan together. A man who had abused his poor lover with whips and chains. And the hostility which Feitan tried to suppress due to his respect for Chrollo had not been fruitless either, it only proved that Feitan held him in high regards yet was scared.

📖☠️It was easy to read Feitan in regards of his darling, the closed hearted man showed his true intentions and feelings. And as Chrollo confessed his feelings for the darling to Feitan, for a short moment his heart really did miss a beat. Eyes looking down as many conflicting emotions were clashing inside of him. Anger, confusion, frustration and fear. Chrollo could technically take his darling away from him, manipulate them and make them fall in love with him. It was all possible and the question was if Feitan would be able to do something against it. He couldn’t possibly fight Chrollo.

📖☠️Yet he was caught off-guard again when Chrollo suggested a very unusual offer, sharing. Admittedly, his greedy side had considered taking you away from Feitan yet there was the fact that he cared still for the members. And even if a thief took what they wanted, Feitan had never once betrayed or disappointed him and had been the first one to find you. He respects him and after a long talk with Pakunoda, Machi and Nobunaga who had all been concerned since sniffing out the signs, he had decided to try to be respectful. Honestly, none of those was exactly happy with that, but it was the best choice without drama. For Feitan probably more because he could still be with his darling.

📖☠️Everyone is not exactly surprised except for those really oblivious ones, otherwise all knew that their boss had feelings for Feitan’s darling. What did come as a surprise was that both of them had begrudgingly agreed to share. Caring for their fellow Troupe member Feitan and highly respecting their boss Chrollo everyone can still probably agree that this was the best outcome, though they’re all anxious how this will work exactly out and how you will end up.

📖☠️Chrollo still holds more control since he is still Feitan’s leader and he starts exactly with his sadistic and vicious outlashes on his darling. Because those are forbidden from now on, seeing all the wounds and scares on you makes this man agitated. You shouldn’t suffer like this. Another advantage Chrollo really has is that he has his charms and starts improving his darling’s life by a lot and since they are still terrified of Feitan (in most cases), they might tend to cling more to him. Something Chrollo uses with nightmarish perfection and something that is a harsh punch in the heart to handle for Feitan. He saw it coming yet it causes him to feel pain he doesn’t want to feel.

📖☠️Whilst I see Chrollo as responsible enough to guarantee that Feitan gets some time with the darling, if they were to refuse because they don’t want to be alone with Feitan, he won’t force them. Chrollo is a man who keeps his word to Feitan though, so if he promised he will still have to leave, even if it does satisfy him to see that his darling prefers him. He’d never show that though. Feitan has a harder time dealing with this all after, he does not have what Chrollo has and has a history of having his sadistic way with them. By now he has most likely softened far enough up to not do so anymore, not to mention that Chrollo is now in the picture.

📖☠️I still feel like that even if Chrollo would take advantage of the situation, he’d probably still give him some tips on what he can do to hopefully get the love of his darling which Chrollo is currently heading for in a rapid tempo. Feitan asks others like Pakunoda and Nobunaga as well after having swallowed his pride as well. And after that, behold yourself, he starts trying to be nice towards his darling. Something Chrollo acknowledges yet also sees as a certain sort of rivalry.

📖☠️There is always some sort of tension between those two, more subtle in peaceful times and sharp as a knife whenever one catches you being affectionate with the other one. No doubt that those two kind of rip the darling back and forth since both are extraordinarily possessive over their darling, the only things bonding them together is their mutual respect for each other and the darling. But seriously, do not hurt their darling. At this rate the whole damn Troupe has gotten attached to you so everyone daring to harm you will drown in the depths of hell.

[the-beskar-alchemist]

Bucky x reader imagines that live rent-free in my head (I'm not a writer, but I really needed to get these off my chest)

I'm typically Mandalorian-centric, so if you prefer to avoid this little tangent of mine I have added a cut for your convenience.

My ADHD has me daydreaming CONSTANTLY, so if you're reading this than you don't mind tumbling down the rabbit hole with me...

1) Chubby!Baker!Bucky x Coyote Ugly!Reader - Reader has a meet-cute with Bucky at his bakery right after it opens one morning. A case of PMS leads reader to the only bakery with a dessert that will help her feel better. Reader is a bartender at the infamous Coyote Ugly in New York, fluffy romance ensues, reader stops by every morning at the bakery to visit Bucky before the bakery opens, and sometimes he'll even wake up in time to drive/walk her home after her shift.

2) Fullmetal Alchemist - Bucky is insecure about his arm, so he tries to avoid letting reader see it. Reader is an anime fan and LOVES the series Fullmetal Alchemist, so they decide the best way to show Bucky how cool his arm is would be to introduce him to their favorite cyborg character: Edward Elric. Fluff ensues, Bucky jokingly refers to reader as his "Winry".

3) Supernatural/FaTWS - During one of his therapy sessions, Bucky can't help but notice that Dr. Raynor has a new piece of artwork hanging on the wall across from the couch. It's a strange symbol that seems a little cultish, but Raynor brushes it off as something she found to "add variety" to the room. Later another super soldier is spotted wreaking havoc on New York.....a soldier with long dark hair....black clothes...and a silver arm. Some dark themes. (The symbol in question is a tulpa, when Bucky concentrates on his past life as the WS, while staring the painting, he inevitably brings the "character" to life).

4) Bones/FaTWS - Reader is sick of how Dr. Raynor speaks to Bucky, and asks if it's possible for him to get a different therapist, one with better experience in handling a veteran. They enlist the help of former colleague Special Agent Seeley Booth to help convince his former therapist, Dr. Gordon Wyatt, to accept the position. Booth also provides some wisdom on how to live with  red ledger as a former sniper, as well as having connections with the assassination of a president. Definitely some angst.

5) Law and Order SVU/FaTWS - Similar to the Bones crossover, except reader's former colleague is Dr. George Huang, a forensic psychiatrist and criminal profiler for SVU. Can Olivia Benson and Dr. Huang help heal Bucky in the way that he truly needs as a special victim himself?

6) The Mortal Instruments/Post-Endgame/Pre-FaTWS - Steve isn't actually dead, but fakes it in order to go into hiding so that he can finally "retire" in peace, but still stay in his regular timeline. The only people that know of this are reader and the people of Idris, Shadowhunters, who have agreed to give the great Captain solace in exchange for his services in helping to protect the sacred country. Because of Idris' supernatural protection, both divine and otherwise, Idris is undetectable by even Wakanda-standards, making it the perfect place to hide. Until Bucky finds out the truth, and demands reader take him there. Can he forgive Steve? And why was the Captain so desperate to run away from his best friend? AAAAAANGST.

7) Doctor Sleep/FaTWS - Reader is gifted with the "shining", and tries so hard to avoid accidentally side-stepping into other people's heads, but sometimes their efforts are futile. Reader accidentally side-steps into Bucky's head, and he hates the idea of yet another person messing around in there. He avoids reader as much as possible, but they're neighbors so they still encounter each other in the apartment building. One night Bucky has a nightmare, and reader can't help but sense it with the "shining", immediately racing to help. Angst for sure.

8) The Matrix/(whichever movie you choose honestly, they could all work)....-  Instead of Agent Smith spreading like a virus, it was Hydra that attempted to overthrow the virtual world of the Matrix, and overpower the Machines. Steve is the "One" the free-minded have been searching for, he is freed from the alternate reality, but Bucky remains behind. Bucky's "infected" by Hydra, his programming is rewritten to become the Winter Soldier. Can Steve help free Bucky's mind from Hydra's control? Or will Hydra take over and destroy Zion for good?

9) Gilmore Girls/Chubby!Baker!Bucky x Reader - Reader moved to New York from Stars Hollow a few years back, but will occasionally go back for a visit to see their favorite Inn owners Lorelei and Sookie. Reader gushes about Sookies cooking and baked goods.......and a slightly jealous Bucky is a little miffed that his Cupcake/Peaches (you pick) enjoys someone else's baking besides his own.

10) Treasure Planet with Pirate!Bucky - Captain Steve Rogers is a respectable sailor who becomes an unfortunate pawn in a scheme to steal a spherical map that leads to the legendary Treasure Planet......and Pirate!Bucky will do anything to get his hands on some of the riches.

11) Conventions with FaTWS!Bucky - Reader convinces her grumpy boyfriend to let loose and enjoy a comic book/anime convention. Bucky thinks it's silly at first, but he can't help his fanboy side when he sees some people cosplaying as his favorite characters. There's also the dealer's rooms where he discovers the feeling of buying things he likes just because, realizing how much he missed choosing things for himself. Bonus points if Reader cosplays as one of his favorite characters.

That's all I have for now.....I may fuck around and add more later lol

[thephantomofthe-internet]

A Fool for Love| Steve Harrington x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: 7,354 OOF

Warnings: swearing, Shakespearean English, general fluff

Author’s Note: So I got inspired by @jxnehxpper‘s headcanon on Steve being a secret theatre lover and set to giving us what we deserve-Steve being a little theatre kid. And then I told her about it. And then I reread it. And now I’m doubtful of what this even is and how long it is. Good luck I guess

Tag List: @marvelslut16 @shinydixon @jxnehxpper 

The laces were too tight. You couldn’t breathe. You were going to faint once you got up there. And your sleeves were too tight. You were already sweating through the long sleeves. Damn your overconfidence and crappy old patterns. And damn the seventies for making their bodices too tight and tan suede lacing so pretty over rouge coloured linen. And your shoes were too loose; they were going to fall off the second you took a step. Stupid Tammy Thompson and her stupid wide feet. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Mrs. Blackburn loved to plan out a big spring show without thinking about how many students would be there on auditions. She chose these bombastic plays without thinking about who was actually going to be there. The drama club was made up of about ten members, who’d all be there on audition day, and that was usually it. And Mrs. Blackburn would throw a fit about it to you, her trusted right hand man with a plan. Then she’d spend her classes kissing ass to get students to come out for promised roles after stroking their egos enough to get them to bother with extracurricular theatre. Most kids took the class for an easy A, a quick passing grade that would boost their GPAs without making them want to claw their eyes out. Only a certain type of student would go through with this sort of embarrassment.

So when Mrs. Blackburn announced the spring show to be an abridged version of Twelfth Night, a choice you thought was decent enough. Cutting down the b-plot with Malvolio and the servants made the story run smoother and cut a metric crap ton of roles. Unfortunately, Mrs. Blackburn didn’t have the heart to cut the fool, which meant that she needed another guy to be in the show. And your little crew of nerds only had two boys. If only cross dressing was something she deigned to allow, alas Mrs. Blackburn believed firmly in women playing women and men playing men, which made it even harder to cast anything. It was ironic, knowing the actual plot of the play she’d chosen. Still, now she had a little challenge to hum and ha over for a month before casting the thing.

It was during this casting point that you heard quite possibly the worst idea you’d ever heard.

You often ate lunch in Mrs. Blackburn’s classroom. The entire drama club did. It was a nice, quiet place where no screaming teens or bullies could attack a boy for trotting around in a kilt from costume cupboard and kick a girl for her looks if they didn’t conform to what was considered pretty by the rest of the school. A hodgepodge of personalities grew in there like bacteria. Usually, there shining saviour would eat in the teacher’s lounge with the rest of the staff, but as shows got closer, she’d make sporadic appearances.

“Y/N!” the door slammed open, Mrs. Blackburn standing in the doorway, her wild red curls bouncing wildly around her tiny face, her thin pointed glasses slipping off her nose. “I’ve done it!”

“You’ve done what?” you looked up from your sack lunch. Mrs. Blackburn looked a mess. Her olive green paisley skirt was stained with coffee and her raggedy cream blouse was flashing her bra to the world. She looked as if she’d gotten dressed in her donation bag. You had a sort of love-hate relationship with the woman. She was like a second mother to you, which meant that you loved her unconditionally but hated her in the moment.

“I’ve found us a diamond in the rough,” she marched over to the desk. As always, you’d taken over the teacher’s desk. You were the only person she trusted to sit there with her unmarked tests and unopened lipsticks gifted to her by Lisa Gardner’s Avon selling mother. Her hands slapped the fake wood “I’ve found our Duke Orsino.”

You watched from behind her as both Gordon Fisher and Dale Michaels deflated behind you. The only boys in the club would kill for a leading role. They shouldn’t have to kill, there were only two of them; there shouldn’t be a fight at all. But Mrs. Blackburn liked to do a bit of stunt casting within the Hawkins High School student body.

“No one has been chosen yet!” you turned you attention directly to them. Of course, that was a blatant lie. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn already had pretty much the entire show cast before auditions had even been announced. Dale would play the jester, who Mrs. Blackburn had flagrantly rewritten as a sort of narrator, believing herself capable of rewriting Shakespeare, and Gordon would play Sebastian. He was fundamentally much more attractive than Dale, and much less mockable. Dale was the kid hiding in the classroom in a kilt from Tommy H, which he was wearing because he ripped his pants and didn’t want to walk around with his stained tighty whities.

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Blackburn, a small excited smile spreading across your face. “Who is it?” you asked.

“Oh he’s simply marvellous! He’s in our afternoon class, a Mr. Harrington!” Mrs. Blackburn had a dreamy grin spread across her face, her hands linked together in front of her chest.

Your smile dropped “Steve? Really?” This had to be a joke. Steve was in your drama class so to speak, he was never there. He skipped every class and only showed up for tests and to do graded performances. And his performances were shit. He was never off script and even with the script in front of his face he couldn’t keep the lines straight. He was useless!

“Oh yes yes! We had a very interesting conversation just a few moments ago and he’s very intrigued by our production and I think that he’ll make an interesting, dynamic choice for the role!” Mrs. Blackburn mused, her arms floating around as she spoke as if she was performing Swan Lake instead of properly explaining her decision.

“So, he’s coming into audition?” you asked slowly, leaning on your elbows. Mrs. Blackburn nodded. That was a surprise. The great king of Hawkins high bothering to join the unwashed, artistic masses? That was a shock. You expected him to just demand the role to be his. Not that you thought he’d read the play. You doubted he’d even skimmed the Cliff’s Notes.

“Yes, I’ve already signed him up. By the looks of it, if all the auditions go well we’ll have a full cast without call backs.” She turned her attention to the cowering masses behind her, all staring up in awe. Well, all except Robin Buckley. She wasn’t really a part of the collective though; she was just there for Tammy Thompson.

“Alright, then I can’t wait to see what he does…” you replied with a small smirk. Everyone else in the room was thinking the same thing: Steve Harrington was going to choke. The second Mrs. Blackburn left the room, everyone began their muttering and musing. The only person who seemed to sympathize with the kid was Tammy, who kept whining about poor, poor Steve and how he was going to make a fool of himself. Everyone had seen Steve’s failings with performance, most of the room either spent their free period in your drama class or had taken drama with him in freshman year. His misgivings were known throughout the little crew, even Robin seemed to understand that the kid just wasn’t talented.

And when auditions rolled around, you except the worst. As always, you were playing stage manager slash costumer for the production, your chosen role, and you sat at the back of the classroom with a clipboard and red pen in hand. You had the audition list copied on a few sheets of paper with the role presumed to fit them best. You’d seen most of the room audition a million times before. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn had a clear idea of what was going to happen. And, for the most part, it all fell into place. Tammy, despite her pleas to be Viola, was much more suited to the prissy and rich Olivia; Dale actually wanted to be the fool, which made your life easier, now you wouldn’t have to crush him dreams; Heather Holloway would happily play Viola, which you were more than happy to give her; and sweet little Nicole Chandler would play the nursemaid Maria.

Then, there was Steve Harrington and Gordon Fisher. Gordon had come in and bashed all of your notions of him being fabulously brash and boisterous Sebastian by auditioning instead for the powerful and yet underwhelming awkward Duke Orsino. And he was great! He was better than great!

And then there was Steve. He was terrible. Just plain awful. He didn’t look up once from the crumpled photocopied pages he held in his fist and he didn’t seem to know what he was saying. No, scratch that he had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t so much playing a character but instead just trying to pronounce the words on the page and string them together in complete sentences. It was painful. But, to Mrs. Blackburn, it was perfect. She clapped when he finished, smiling far too wide as she egged him on. She kicked you under the table to follow suit and you added in a few slow claps. With a hefty dose of praise hefted on him like whipped cream, she sent Steve off and turned her attention to you.

“He’s perfect,” she said. You almost expected her to let out a dreamy sigh, like a love struck teenager instead of a married middle aged woman. She just looked so happy about the whole thing. You took a bit of secret joy in popping her bubble.

“Gordon was much better for the part.” You slipped your pen behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest. Mrs. Blackburn’s thin mouth dropped open into a tiny ‘o’, only really defined by her cherry red lipstick.

“What?” she cried before composing herself “No, no Gordon was fine, he’ll make a fabulous Sebastian, but Steve is what I want for the Duke.”

“Are you sure I mean-” You couldn’t help but try to argue the point. You knew in your heart that the little shows you helped put on weren’t award worthy by any means but you still took great care in making them as good as possible, if only as a self-serving move to make them watchable from the booth.

Mrs. Blackburn shook her head, her tiny mouth pulling into a stern frown. “The decision is made. You cannot change my mind, Y/N.” she said flippantly, turning away from her to collect her papers. “We’ll have the list up by Monday, yes?”

You swallowed and nodded once. Mrs. Blackburn swept out of the room, her silver bracelets clattering together as she left. Once the door shut, you let out a heavy sigh and put away your clipboard. You’d type up the temporary list and deal with your temperamental director. First, you had to find Steve.

You found him hunched over at his locker. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say that he was ashamed. But he was too much of a cocky shit to ever feel ashamed of his own showboating. And what you just saw was showboating. There was no other way to explain it. He didn’t care about the show, or the play, he only cared about himself and showing off.

You tapped him hard on the shoulder. Steve turned his head. He wasn’t certain of your name but he recognized you from only a few minutes prior. He wanted to disappear. He’d just made a complete fool of himself and now had to atone to his butchering of words he didn’t quite get.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you’re just signing onto this thing to fuck around and make fun of people, I suggest you back the fuck down. Fisher and Michaels might stand down to your asshole buddies but I won’t.” you sneered, planting your hands on your hips and straightening your back to reach your fullest height. You had never been in a fight before, at least not one that wasn’t staged and within a classroom setting, but you’d stand up for those kids. Anyone who volunteered themselves for theatrical productions were doing something vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t something that could be taught or captured in a bottle, it was something given that should be protected. And you vowed to protect them from someone with ill will, if only to make your show better.

“Look,” Steve swallowed hard, looking away from you. Your gaze was searing into him and he was already embarrassed as is. He didn’t think he could blush any harder. “I’m not bullshitting. Mrs. Blackburn offered and I said yes, that’s all. No buddy’s gonna find out about this.”

You watched him squirm like a worm on a hook. He looked genuine. His eyes spoke more volumes than his words. You nodded, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. “Alright…” you turned on your heel and walked off without a goodbye to the thoroughly embarrassed boy.

Once the work started, it was a wash of a production. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Tammy was over the moon that Steve Harrington was joining them to play pretend and thrilled to explain to him that his character was in love with hers. He seemed horrified by the idea but dutifully played along. Gordon was beyond pissed, having to watch Steve stumble through lines and direction given by Mrs. Blackburn while he waited for his shot to do any acting at all. Robin was pissed too. Mrs. Blackburn had roped her into the production to do a few flute solos in pivotal scenes, which meant her having to watch the scenes she’d be playing in and you’d have to make her a little costume to wear. You’d been given your budget and some ancient patterns from Mrs. Blackburn’s collection, a 1970s renaissance faire dress pattern that didn’t fit in at all with the period. You bit back complaints about how little money you had to make anything nice.

You silently thanked god for Heather Holloway and her rich parents. They would pay to have her costumes done separately from your handiwork and all you’d have to do was make some decent things for the rest of the cast. You’d be sewing until your fingers bled. You were just thankful that you had made patterns for men’s pants in the same style of the dresses. You wouldn’t have to draft different sizes off a thin parchment pattern for them. Nicole, Tammy, and Heather were all around the same size so you’d only need to two different sizes of pattern. The project would be fairly simple.

Which meant that Mrs. Blackburn had to throw a wrench in everything.

She asked you to speak with her after your afternoon class one month into rehearsals. You stood awkwardly in front of her desk, your trapper keeper clutched tight to your chest, a few fingers bandaged from pricks and pokes from rouge pins and needles. You’d spent the night before alternating between putting blocking notes into your script and hemming the skirt of Tammy Thompson’s pale yellow dress. You’d bought a very pretty pale yellow brocade fabric with thin gold laurel patterns over the material and it was heavier than expected but it looked rightfully rich enough for a duchess to wear.

“Now, I might have overestimated Mr. Harrington’s acting abilities,” she said quietly, looking between you and the door. Steve was the first out of the room when the bell rang, he wasn’t lurking by the door waiting to hear you shit talk him. “He’s not performing well.”

“Well yes, I tried to tell you that when we auditioned him.” You replied, trying to hold back an eye roll.

“There’s no need to be bitter, he’s salvageable.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to erasing the board. She had a freshman year drama class after this and the smelly youths would burst through the door at any moment. “What we’ll do is simply give him some extra help, less time working with the others and have him focus on really working on his lines. He’s not off book anyway.”

You nodded “So, what do you need me to do here?” Mrs. Blackburn reached into her desk and pulled out her pads of excused late slips, pulling out a pen and scribbling out your student information.

“Well, I can’t very well stop blocking the performance and we need to start heading over to the theatre soon. So you’ll handle helping Mr. Harrington from here on out.” She said nonchalantly. Her hoard her stinky children burst into the room, taking over the class with sound and fury, signifying nothing but an assault on your eardrums.

“So, and just for clarification here, you want me to make all the costume, stage manage the production, and teach Steve his lines?” you asked, taking the green slip she dangled out in front of you.

“Well yes of course that’s what you signed on to do and we always come through on what we choose to do.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to her classroom, clapping twice to grab their attention. You knew that this was your cue to leave and you slinked away with your tail betwixt your legs, put back in your place by the older woman. You could’ve screamed. Teaching lines was not what you signed up for. Working with Steve was not what you signed up for. You signed on for making costumes and stage managing. Steve was not a part of the equation. He wasn’t even associated with the equation. He was a whole separate equation that you weren’t supposed to be tasked with solving.

And yet when Mrs. Blackburn announced that the rest of the cast would be heading to the theatre and you’d be staying behind with Steve to run lines, you didn’t complain. Steve did, he wanted to see the theatre, but you stayed silent, waving them goodbye as they left the cramped classroom. You and Steve stared at each other for a moment, silent and awkward, before you reached down and picked up the paper grocery bag you’d brought along with you and pulled out the pretty rouge pink linen you’d bought to make Nicole’s dress. You lay it flat on the desks and unfolded your newspaper patterns.

“Alright, sit.” You pointed to the desk in front of you and opened your patterning kit, pulling out your white tailor’s chalk and sewing scissors. Steve obeyed, tucking himself into the desk. You looked up with a forced smile “Alright, this is how we’re doing to do this. You are going to perform the lines without your script. When you need a line, say line and I’ll give it to you. Repeat it and then start again from the top. We’ll do that until you can say the whole thing without stuttering or calling line. Got it?”

Steve swallowed hard “Got it.”

“Alright, we’ll start from the first scene.” You pulled out your copy of the abridged play. Steve looked at you for a moment, confused and you summoned him to begin.

He took a heaving breath and you began pinning your pattern pieces to the material. “If music be the food of love, play on, give me…” Steve began, already stuttering. He went silent before shamefully asking “Line?”

You looked up with a raised eyebrow. You were hoping for at least a few lines to be known before he needed help. Mrs. Blackburn underestimated how little he knew. “Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die…that strain again!” you read out, monotone before turning your attention to Steve “Start again.”

He spouted out the dialogue, just a nervous as before and stuttering all the while. You managed to get through pinning the skirt piece down before he called line again. He only got through a line of dialogue past your last prompting. Steve looked utterly defeated and small in his seat. “I can’t think like this…” he muttered.

“The stand up. Or pace. Whatever you need to do. Just get through the speech here,” you said with a sigh “Do you need the line?” Steve nodded sadly and you read out the next line and Steve started again.

“If music be the food of love; play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die…that strain again! It had a dying fall: o’ it came o’er my ear like the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of violets; stealing odour…enough, no more!” he took a heaving breath. He was halfway across the room now and staring at the wall. You had turned your attention to him and were watching almost in awe. He knew the lines. He knew the whole speech. When he finished, he looked to you as if for the next line. You didn’t give it, instead you stepped out from the desk.

“You know the lines…” you breathed. It wasn’t a good performance, but he was off book. He was putting in work. You were impressed. Surprised, but impressed.

“When I’m walking around the room I do…” Steve chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a small smile.

“But you have no idea what you’re saying…” you breathed, watching as Steve deflated, giving a small nod.

“Why can’t he just write what he means, I get it’s supposed to be like poetry or whatever, but it makes no sense.” He pushed himself up onto the desk, crossing his legs under him.

“It helps to think about the character as a whole. What do you know about the duke?” you asked, taking a step back to approach the scene with script in hand.

“I mean…he’s a duke, which is an important person with a lot of people who work under him, and he’s in love with Olivia, who’s a rich duchess,” he counted them off with his fingers, chewing on his lower lip as he thought.

“Exactly!” you stopped him mid-sentence, pointing excitedly “He’s in love with Olivia and Olivia doesn’t love him back, right?”

“Right?” he had a right to be confused; Mrs. Blackburn had given Tammy the note to stop playing Olivia so moony eyed over Orsino for weeks now. She hadn’t stopped, despite swearing up and down that she wasn’t trying.

“She doesn’t, and so when he’s talking about love and music, do you think he’s happy to hear the music or not?” you asked.

“I mean…I guess yes and no?” you raised an eyebrow at him. That wasn’t the exact answer you expected. He continued “Cause he’s love sick, and being love sick is fun and terrible at the same time. He talks about being sick in the speech.”

You nodded “Yes! And when he says that he wants to surfeit, that means to like overdose. He wants to die from all the love. He’s overwhelmed by it all.” Steve’s smile grew. For the first time, he felt like he was getting it now. When you explained it, the scene made sense.

You reached for your scissors and picked up the material, taking a deep breath before making the first cut in the fabric. “Alright, now I want you to take all that stuff I told you and try to put it on the words.” You said, gesturing with your finger for him to start again.

And he did. He did the scene over and over again, pacing the room while trying to feel different things. It was easy to be overwhelmed-he was overwhelmed. Everything he was doing overwhelmed him. It didn’t help that you were watching him. He didn’t like being watched. And you kept smiling at some parts and frowning at others. He wanted you to smile all the way through it. That meant that it was good, that he was doing good. And he liked your smile. This was the first time he’d seen it directed at him.

“Alright,” you stopped him mid sentence, holding out a flat palm out “Enough pacing. The blocking has you seat in like this big chair.” You stepped out from behind the desks and pulled out a chair, placing it in the centre of the room. “Sit down, we’re going to put it altogether.”

Steve gingerly sat in the chair, positioning himself the way Mrs. Blackburn had instructed with his legs splayed wide and his right elbow propped on his knee, holding his head up. With a heavy breath he started again “If music be the food of love, play on…fuck!” you looked up from your work curiously “I forgot the line already! I keep thinking about the words and the meaning and the emotions and the meter-I can’t do it all.”

You nodded, pulling the pins out of the pattern and marking the pieces numerically. “Tap your foot to the beat of the words, one less thing to think about.” You said, capping the pin box. “Do it one more time and then we’re done. They’re finishing up at the theatre now, we have to vacate ASAP.”

Steve tried your trick. It worked. He was shocked. You knew so much about this stuff. He didn’t know anything about any of this. He felt like a doofus. But you helped him through. He thought it was a onetime thing, but every rehearsal you’d take him aside and work on the words. Mrs. Blackburn had cut the thing down to about two acts, still longer than most parents wanted to sit through, but better than five acts and two intermissions. He didn’t know how he was going to do this at all. Still, he felt safe with you watching. He could perform to you instead of the audience.

For your part, you liked working with Steve. You didn’t think that you would, but he was pretty self sufficient with the piece after you gave him your Cliff’s Notes version of the text to help him understand the scenes he had to do and the context of the play as a whole. And he was funny. You didn’t know that he was funny. And he hated Tammy. Anyone who hated Tammy was a friend of yours. She was brutally annoying in rehearsals and at this point was refusing to kiss Gordon. And poor Gordon was more than over having Steve there, he swore that the guy was doing something to distract Tammy. Of course he was, he was existing in her world for the first time, but you were quick to defend him, because he was trying. It wasn’t his fault that Tammy couldn’t keep it in her pants or that Heather was more focused on her costumes than her performance. Still, nobody understood why he was there.

Sat with Steve at the back of the Hawkins Community Playhouse, you decided to ask him. “Hey,” you asked quietly. Gordon and Tammy were doing their little love scene on the stage below and Mrs. Blackburn would kill you if she could hear you talking. “Can I ask you something?” Steve nodded, looking up from his script.

“Why are you doing this show?” Steve frowned and you backtracked quickly “I mean, this isn’t your bag I just was curious…”

“Honestly?” Steve asked. You gave a half nod, trying not to appear too curious. “Mrs. Blackburn promised me that if I did this, she’d pass me for the year and that I can skip out on the final.” Your eyes blew wide. You were pissed. Not because he was only doing the show for a decent grade, but because you still had to prepare a monologue performance to perform for your final on top of all this work.

“That bitch…” you murmured “I wanna skip out on the final!”

Steve laughed “Ask! She was only gonna pass me, I haggled for the final.”

“She’d never. She wants to work me to death, I swear.” You chuckled darkly. You flipped up the tan suede Bodice you built, the lace dangling loosely from the eyelets. It looked good. It would look better on Nicole, for now it would have to look good on the floor.

Steve was called up to the stage and you returned to Mrs. Blackburn’s side, watching the ending go down, as Viola’s true nature is revealed and Sebastian is reunited with his sister. It was a messy scene, with the Malvolio plotline cut there wasn’t a scheme to reveal or a villain to unmask, so the scene became instead a bit of a wedding. You still wished you’d done A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, you would’ve actually auditioned for that show. Still, Twelfth Night was turning into a half decent show. You hadn’t expected Steve to bring anything, but he played the duke like a sort of well meaning dunce, a loveable yet hopeless fool. He just seemed to have fun, especially when Nicole and Dale were acting silly behind him. He just seemed to have fun with them, unlike Tammy and Heather who had no interest in playing and seemed to be fighting for who could look the most bored. It had been a long day, it was nearly eight o’clock at night and Mrs. Blackburn had sent her husband to go pick up pizza for the cast an hour ago. Everyone was exhausted, but you were supposed to do a full fitting for the cast after they were done.

Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn ended the torture. “Alright,” she clapped once, calling an end to the scene “Let’s call it quits there. Y/N has brought all the costumes for the show with her today, let’s have a try on and then we’ll take our pizza to go. Sound good?” the whole room let out an exhausted half cheer and you picked up the massive duffel bag you’d brought from home.

“I hope everyone remembered their shoes,” you said, pulling out the first hanger, holding the intense yellow brocade with the golden Bodice for Tammy to take. “Heather, your stuff is here, right?” Heather scoffed, taking the three off the stage and picking up her own bag. You handed Nicole her dress and passed out the brown faux burlap pants and white puffy shirts. You’d made separate vests for each character-Steve’s a rich navy blue, Dale’s a jaunty royal purple with a matching jester cap from the prop closet, and Gordon a dull olive green. Their colours would have to do to differentiate them to the audience. Everyone left to do their try on and when they returned you were transported to the ren faire.

You stepped off the stage, joining Mrs. Blackburn in the fifth row. You smiled; the brocade looked lovely under the lights, as did the silver buttons you’d put on Steve’s vest. It was a bit wide. “Alright, Tammy you’re good to change, Steve stay put.” You jumped back onto the stage, stepping behind him. Up close, it was hard to look at him. He was too attractive. You were stunned that any man could look sexy in a stupid puffy shirt, but there Steve was, ruining your work relationship with him.

“Stay still, I’m putting pins in your vest, I don’t want to poke you.” You whispered, pulling a couple pins from your cushion. You felt Steve suck in a deep breath as your fingers grazed his lower back, tingles running up his spine. You pulled the material in a bit, pinning it flat. You noted that you’d have to add a couple darts to each side to make it fit better. It only took a few moments, but when you came back around to look over Steve he looked as if he might faint. “Steve,” he looked to you with blown out eyes “Breathe.” He nodded twice and you stepped off the stage. It was only a week until performances. He must have been scared shitless.

Steve was scared shitless. Of you. He didn’t know how to act when you were watching him. Well, he knew how to act, you’d trained him to play Orsino, but he didn’t know how Steve fit into your relationship. All he knew was that when he had to kiss Heather at the end of the show, he only had you on his mind. He couldn’t even look at you when it was over, he felt like he’d cheated on you. Which was insane, but the feeling stuck in his gut.

When the day of performances came around, Steve was shaken. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t told any of his friends about what he was doing and yet word had gone around the school. All of his friends were coming opening night, he swore with pitchforks and rotten fruit to throw. When he got the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, however, the whole cast was in a tizzy.

Heather was an hour late. And, according to Nicole, she wasn’t coming. “Her father’s hosting a benefit at the Carmel Country Club tonight, there’s no way that she’s showing.” She moaned. Mrs. Blackburn was already in the phone book, looking up the number of the club. She left to make a call, promising that Heather would never do such a thing.

Tammy was crying off her makeup in the corner, with Robin consoling her while trying to not get blackened tears on her white shirt. “She’s going to ruin my show! She’s ruining it!” she sobbed.

You were stood in the corner, unsure where to place yourself. Luckily, Mrs. Blackburn returned quickly. “I’ve just spoken to Heather,” she announced. The room fell into a hush.

“And?” you asked, looking up from the hot rollers you were putting in Nicole’s hair.

“And she’s not coming. She told me about this and I said it was okay. I guess I forgot.” Mrs. Blackburn replied. You knew that was bullshit, but you held your tongue.

“What’re we going to do???” Tammy cried out. That sent the room into an uproar, everyone talking over one another. Steve stayed silent. In truth, he was a bit glad to be rid of Heather. Maybe they wouldn’t have to perform.

“Now, now as we know in the theatre the show must go on!” Mrs. Blackburn cried. “Y/N, as stage manager, has been learning the blocking and pacing for the show. She will go on as Viola and I will make a speech before we go on! It’s all we can do!”

Everyone turned to look at you. You turned your attention to Mrs. Blackburn, walking over to her and whispering in her ear. “If I do this, I don’t have to do the final. You grade on this.” She looked you over and then turned once. You turned to the cast and sighed softly, nodding “The show will go on.” You shrugged, heaving up your trapper keeper.

“She doesn’t look right. She doesn’t have a costume.” Tammy whined.

“I will go to the school and get what we have left. I’m sure we have a pair of trousers and a puffed shirt for her to wear.” Mrs. Blackburn grabbed her purse off the makeup counter “Girls, work your magic on her.”

You put the last roller in Nicole’s hair and she grabbed your arm, pulling her into the chair next to her. “Grab that green skirt from last year!” Nicole called after her teacher “You’re gonna wear this dress for the opening. I’ll wear the skirt and whatever else she brings back, now let’s make you Viola.”

You were poked and prodded and burned until you were as close to looking like Heather as you were going to get. Then, you were stuffed into Nicole’s dress. Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn had found two leftover puffy white shirts and a bodice, and the decision was made that you’d wear the rouge dress and she’d wear the green skirt from last year. It was a nice enough gesture, as was Tammy being forced to give up her extra pair of character shoes, which she did begrudgingly at the behest of Robin.

And then, you were stood offstage. And you were terrified. You’d never done this before. In your four years of stage managing, no one had ever called out of a performance, you’d never had to take over a role last minute. Your mind kept focusing on the discomfort of the costume. Nicole had tied your bodice too tight. Tammy’s shoes were too big. The skirt was too long. You were too wrong for this. You wanted to run. And then, the lights came up on Steve. Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke the opening lines so well and Robin began her first flute solo. Steve was doing wonderfully. With his left foot tapping lightly on the wooden stage floor, he knew what he was saying, even with distraction surrounding him. Internally, he felt as close to someone else as he’d ever felt in his life. Steve didn’t like that you weren’t in the audience to watch him, but he couldn’t see anyone with the lights on anyway. The audience clapped as he finished his scene and left with Dale, the lights going out fully as Robin cleared her chair and music stand and Gordon carried off the throne. Steve reached out and squeeze your shoulder with a kind smile.

“You have this,” he said softly. You heaved out a breath and stepped on the stage. You went right to the centre and right up to the edge, sitting down so your legs dangled off. You had no idea how Heather did this. You were too close to the audience. As the lights came up, you looked down at the lines in front of you. Dale stepped onto the stage in a sailor’s cap. He really had to play everyone in this stupid show. He nodded to you with a smile.

“What…” you voice came out in a whisper. No one could hear you. You took a breath, closing your eyes before trying again. “What country, friends, is this?” you asked loudly.

Dale’s smile grew. The scene was actually happening. “This is Illyria, lady.” He said, doing his best to sound like an old man.

The first scene was bumpy. Dale wanted to show off a bit and make the audience laugh, even though the scene was an info dump, which meant that you could just read the lines back to him and follow the blocking. You were more comfortable moving than you were speaking. But it got easier. Once you were dressed as Ceserio and working with Steve, things went smoother. You knew those scenes very well, the lines were almost memorized on your part from playing scene partner to him. Steve was fun to work with, he constantly made you smile.

It wasn’t hard for you to pretend to be in love with Steve. You felt like you were. Well, maybe not love. But like. Like a whole lot. And you were sure that he liked you to. Or maybe he was just that good of an actor.

The show went so fast. It was refreshing. Sat in the booth, it was a slog to get through, but onstage it went quick. You were nervous over the ending. You knew Heather’s last scene was a kiss with Steve. It wasn’t the passionate, intense kiss that Tammy and Gordon would do a scene before, but it was still a kiss. No matter how he felt about you, this was going to change your friendship forever.

You joined the cast last on stage, the who’s who of the plot being broken down, Steve was supposed to be mad when you came onstage, but he smiled like he’d seen what heaven looked like. You smiled up at Steve as the changed scene began, cutting the duel that leads the group into their explanations of the mix ups. Mrs. Blackwell hadn’t had the heart to cut a bit of Viola’s dialogue, so it lead the group into the explanations instead.

“After him I love, more than I love these eyes, more than my life, more by all the mores than e’er I shall love my wife.” You had no direction for what to do with the line. Heather had said it dramatically towards the audience. You turned your attention to Steve, caressing his face with your thumb. It was greedy, you were using the scene to get a bit of affection from the boy. You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. Steve seemed bewildered but happy, he fit the moment perfectly.

The scene continued as planned, with all the reveals shown to the characters and couples happily coupled off. Sebastian and Olivia were revealed to be married and that all was okay between Viola and Olivia once her gender was revealed.

Steve turned to you, smiling ear to ear “Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman like me.” He took your hands in his squeezing them tight.

“And all those sayings will I over-swear, and all those swearing keep me as true in soul as doth orbed continent the fire that severs day from night.” You replied, matching his giddy grin. The kiss was coming soon, he had one more line and then he’d plant one on you.

“Give me thy hand,” you both looked down at your still clasped together hands. The audience chuckled. Steve pressed on “And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.” You and Nicole rushed offstage and quickly changed you into the dress again. You were all butterflies and pins and needles, shaking in your loose heels. Nicole brushed out your skirt and smiled, escorting you back onstage.

The audience clapped politely on your return, you tried your best to smile although was hard to breath with Steve looking at you like that. He scooped you up in his arms and kissed you quickly before you had a moment to react. You swore that he had a line before this happened but you didn’t care. Your script was out of your hands anyway, he’d knocked it out of your hands when he lifted you off the ground. You swore you were flying.

And then you were on the ground. Steve cleared his throat. He was blushing madly. He remembered his line. He turned to Tammy, who was holding back a laugh before turning back to you.

“Cesario, come! For so you shall be, while you are a man; but, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.” He announced, grabbing your hand and sweeping you off the stage, Gordon and Tammy in close pursuit. Dale and Nicole still had a scene, which Mrs. Blackburn had changed for them to share. You weren’t paying attention to them though.

“Nice work,” Steve breathed, squeezing your hand in his.

“You surprised the hell outta me,” you chuckled “Made me lose my script.”

“You look really pretty like this,” Steve said. You looked at him carefully. He was sweaty and shy, his eye barely met yours.

You smiled “Thank you, you look good in cheap period costumes.” You knocked your hip into his, making him stumble just a bit. He grabbed your hip, pulling them parallel to his.

“Yeah?” he asked, bring his left hand to grab your chin.

You smiled “Oh yeah, definitely,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again as Tammy and Gordon ran to grab you for curtain call. You didn’t care. Looking into Steve’s eyes, you knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the way he looked at you. And you swore the world went silent in that moment, nothing standing between you and the swirling stars and hearts in his eyes.

[carewyncromwell]

Next Cinderella AU part ahoy!

Conical hats were actually considered very fashionable during the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. What’s fascinating, however, is how they evolved into two very distinct and oddly opposing styles of hat: the stereotypical “Pilgrim” hat and the pointed hat that witches are generally depicted wearing! Around the turn of the 17th century, the most stylish variation of black conical hat was called the capotain, which is a cone, but with a rounded top -- the hat McGonagall wears in that top sketch is one of these types of hats (her dress is based on this design, which also features a shorter version of the capotain). The hats were originally fashionable among both men and women, but over time, one group of women that was most associated with wearing them were Quakers, a branch of Christianity that broke away from the Church of England and advocated quite liberated views for the era, such as the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, and a refusal to involve themselves in war. They also passionately believed that one didn’t have to attend church in order to be close to God and that one could practice one’s faith out in the world by living and dressing modestly and being active in charity work. (To learn more about the history of how the conical hat evolved into our modern image of “the witch hat,” check out this awesome fashion history video on the subject.) As one can expect, Quakers and Quaker women in particular were not well-taken-to by a lot of European society, especially by the religious movement on the opposite site of the political scale in Britain, the uber-conservative, Bible-purist Puritans. Many of these same Puritan-types got very involved in hunting witches both in Europe and in the Americas (the Salem Witch Trials are a perfect example). But yes...if one looks up pictures of historical clothing for Puritan men and/or “the Pilgrims” (A.K.A. the group of Americans that colonized Plymouth, who were Puritans), they very often wore a variation of the capotain! Although it’s been theorized by historians that the capotains worn by Quaker women ended up being associated with sin and therefore witchcraft, similar hats were also worn by the men who persecuted them. The hats were worn by both sides -- victim and accuser -- and yet most of us today look at the capotain and immediately think “witch” exclusively. Talk about irony.

Greensleeves is often ascribed as being commissioned by King Henry VIII for his second wife, Anne Boleyn (even Six the Musical references this)...but it actually was written in the later half of the 16th century, when Anne’s daughter Elizabeth I was Queen. So yeah, that’s sadly just an old wives tale. But it is a lovely song! The melody for Greensleeves has been remarkably long-lasting, even being rewritten as multiple Christmas songs over the centuries, including the still popular What Child is This?, which was written in 1865.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn very quickly threw on her mother’s green-sleeved yellow dress and as many warm wool petticoats as she could before fetching her white horse from the palace stable. She rode up through the gate in exactly twenty-five minutes, to find Orion on his black mare waiting for her. Carewyn was ready to ask Orion if everything was all right, but almost as soon as they’d left the perimeter of the gate, Orion urged his horse into a fast gallop.

“Come, my lady,” he cried over his shoulder, “let us chase that horizon!”

Carewyn had to send her horse charging forward in its own gallop to catch up with him. They rode right through the market and then out of the capitol altogether -- they avoided the road that led toward the Cromwell estate, dashing eastward. They weaved in and out of the rolling snow-capped hills, riding beside and around each other. The freedom of riding alone was enough to bring some life back into Orion’s cheeks, and Carewyn despite herself soon found herself smiling.

When they came to a stop at the top of a hill close to the northern border, Orion looked out over the edge with a handsome, endless gleam in his eye, like that of a sailor looking out to sea. Carewyn once again prepared to ask Orion if he was all right...but once again, Orion dodged the question.

“Do you see that eagle, overhead?” asked Orion.

Carewyn looked up. She did -- it was a truly handsome golden eagle, gliding in a circle through the air over their heads.

“I’ve seen eagles just like that nearly every day, up and down the border,” said Orion. “Shall we see if we can ride fast enough to overtake it in flight? Could we take flight as birds do, without ever spreading wings?”

“Orion...”

Carewyn brought a hand gently down on his arm.

“I know there’s something wrong,” she whispered.

Orion looked at her, his expression losing most of its levity and becoming much blanker and more inscrutable again.

“I understand if you can’t tell me,” she insisted softly. Her blue eyes rested on her own hand on his arm rather than his face -- with the intense concern she felt, she didn’t dare expose them further by looking straight into his eyes. “And I truly don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Your secrets are your own, and I know you have a reason for them.”

Just as I have mine.

“I only...I can tell you’re running from something...maybe even the thing you’ve being running from, every time you’ve come to see me, all these weeks...and I don’t know what to do, to protect you from what you’re so afraid of. Please...tell me what I can do.”

Orion’s black eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, rippling with many tiny flickers of emotion that were hard to properly identify -- pain? Affection? Anxiety? Evasiveness? Shame? Longing? Who knew?

At last the Prince of Florence brought a hand out to gingerly rest on top of Carewyn’s on his arm.

“Chase that eagle with me,” he said softly.

Carewyn looked up at Orion and then at the eagle overhead as it soared off toward the nearby woods. Then she gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.

“...All right.”

Dislodging herself from Orion, Carewyn steadied her grip on her horse’s reins and flicked them to make it gallop toward the woods.

“Well, come on, then!” she called over her shoulder with the strongest smile she could. “T’would be a shame if I out-rode you in a challenge you set yourself!”

Orion’s face broke out into a brighter, fond smile and he pursued her.

The two rode their horses down the hill and into the trees. Racing side by side, overtaking each other in their strides and then catching up again -- all while Orion smiled so fully and handsomely, and looked at her with such blazing midnight-black eyes -- was a joy that Carewyn had trouble putting into proper words. His expression was full of such silent, and yet unbridled joy -- free, in every sense of the word.

“You should be allowed to feel like that more often,” Orion’s words returned to her. “Free.”

You should be allowed to feel like that too, Orion, thought Carewyn. You deserve to feel this free all the time.

The two rode with speed until they’d finally lost sight of the beautiful golden eagle. Slowing their horses into a calmer trot, they then journeyed through the trees, enjoying the peaceful serenity of the chirping birds and the pools of sunlight scattered across the muddy, snow-dusted ground.

“I’ve never been out this far before,” Carewyn confessed, her almond-shaped blue eyes trailing over the interlaced branches overhead.

Orion looked at her out the side of his eye. “...This close to the border, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Carewyn caught a strange scent in the distance -- something vaguely like the fires she’d tend to back at the castle and the Cromwell estate.

“...Something’s burning...”

Orion nodded solemnly. “Bonfires. The Royaumanian and Florentine camps aren’t far from here.”

Carewyn looked at Orion, slightly startled. His gaze had wandered northward, but it was clear his mind was far from the trees his eyes were idly resting on.

“We’re near the war front?” asked Carewyn softly.

“Yes...” Orion glanced her out the side of his eye. “...Are you frightened?”

“No,” said Carewyn.

She looked through the trees in the direction Orion had been facing.

Jacob could be over there right now, she thought to herself. The idea of seeing her brother for the first time in nine years -- of hugging him again and seeing his relieved smile -- it made her feel like her heart was being squeezed.

Orion’s black eyes scanned her longing, but fearless face, before shifting back in the direction of the trees that obscured the path toward the war front.

“The scales are going to shift again, soon,” he whispered. He could feel Carewyn’s eyes on him again. “The two sides have constantly fought for dominance...lashing out ruthlessly and then retaliating, back and forth, until they’re forced to come to a stalemate, just to catch their breath. Then one lashes out again, and the precarious balance is thrown to the winds once more...”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with concern. “Orion...is something bad about to happen, out there?”

Orion closed his eyes. His father claimed he needed him, in order to lead the Florentine army in the two-pronged attack on Royaume...but it wasn’t unlikely that the King might make do and find someone else to fill that role...

“Hopefully not,” he said softly.

Carewyn reached out a hand and took hold of Orion’s wrist. Orion looked down at her hand and then up at her face -- she had trouble looking at him, but he could tell her eyes were rippling with concern. His heart felt like it was suddenly being harshly compressed, just to fit inside of his chest.

You wish to protect me from what I fear...but what I fear, I should wish to protect you from.

The King’s words returned to his mind.

“When you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

But how could he hope to protect Carewyn from the War and the cost it would demand? How could he hope to stop it, when his own father unknowingly would be sabotaging his efforts for peace? How could he live with himself, if he had to chain himself to the War the way the King had -- to fight against the Royaumanians he’d met and broken bread with as equals?

Orion took several deep breaths before speaking again.

“...My father wishes me to join him, at the front,” he admitted lowly.

Carewyn looked up, startled. “...Your father’s in the army?”

“Yes,” said Orion. “He’s...a high-ranking officer. He expects that I will follow his example and lead our ranks into battle.”

Carewyn considered Orion for a moment. “...You don’t want to.”

Orion’s eyes darkened significantly. “...I don’t want to.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, he pressed on.

“My father believes that the War can only be ended through force -- that justice can be only brought about by utterly destroying our enemy. But...I cannot believe that. I grew up on the border between Florence and Royaume. The town I’m from is so close that one could hop easily from one to the other. It caused some tensions, yes...but it also made it so that at first meeting, or even third or fourth, you never knew what side of the divide a person was on. And so I found myself constantly thinking...what is it that truly separates us? Is it morality? Is it values? Humanity? And yet I don’t think either side can boast having any of those things exclusively. It instead all comes back to a mistake made fifty years ago -- a land dispute that ended more violently than it should have. So many people have died, all because of that...and because neither King has decided to be the better man and choose forgiveness over vengeance.”

Orion bowed his head, his eyes closing solemnly.

“...My father asked me to help him lead the army, in an upcoming attack on the enemy forces -- one that he believes could end the War once and for all. But...”

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“...I couldn’t accept that burden...so I left.”

Carewyn didn’t respond. Orion scanned her face, trying to read her reaction, but it was proving difficult when she wouldn’t look at him.

Does she...disapprove? he couldn’t help but think. She did think he was Royaumanian -- she didn’t understand that he wanted to protect her brother, not prevent him from returning home...but how could he explain that to her, without...?

“I know that the War could end, if my father’s strategy succeeds,” Orion explained, trying to keep his voice level despite the anxiety he felt, “but this is only one strategy of hundreds, all of which have failed. And even if our side was victorious...however many lives I could potentially save by fighting, I would be snuffing out far more. I realize that this is my responsibility alone, and sometimes one must be willing to do what others will not, to reach their goal...but flowers bloom under sunlight and water, not blood. If we could avoid burning a forest to the ground, wouldn’t it then be easier to bring it back to life?”

“Yes...but if someone wants to set a forest ablaze, you have to act if you want to stop them.”

Carewyn’s response was very soft and solemn, but there was no anger or disapproval -- instead, to Orion’s immense relief, it sounded almost encouraging.

“If you believe that Royaume could make peace with Florence, then you need to speak out for it,” she said firmly. “If you see it and believe in it, that’s great...but you need to make others see and believe in it too, if it’s going to really come about. Talk to your father, make him see things as you do -- and if he isn’t able to, then...well, I’ll talk to Andre, and you and he can discuss it together.”

Her lips spread into a gentle smile and she gave his wrist a light squeeze.

“My own family may have profited because of the War, but the people of Royaume, the common man, would celebrate, if peace could come about without further loss. If Florence would also, then that’s a step in the right direction. There’s more than one way to fight for something...all it requires is enough courage to place one’s goal over whatever risks stand in their way.”

Orion stared at Carewyn for a long moment. As he did, the black of his eyes seemed to melt, gaining a warmer, softer light that resembled candlelight rippling in endless, dark water.

“...Carewyn...”

Before he could say anything more, however, there was a loud explosion in the distance. Carewyn’s horse reared back in terror, which in turn spooked Orion’s, and both Carewyn and Orion had to quickly calm their steeds.

“Whoa, whoa,” Carewyn whispered in her horse’s ear, “easy, boy...it’s all right...”

Orion stroked his horse’s mane with a slightly trembling hand, breathing in and out as he tried to steady his heart rate. He then looked at Carewyn with a more serious eye.

“...Perhaps we should make our way back to the valley. It’s not safe here.”

Carewyn looked northward through the trees again. “Do you think your father’s started the attack?”

“No. Coordinated attacks require both strategy and assignments, as well as the element of surprise. I’d say this is a skirmish between younger, less experienced soldiers -- and if so, it’s likely to run farther afield and cause damage outside the designated battlefield.”

Orion could see Carewyn still hesitating. Although there was no fear in her face, she seemed reluctant to leave -- likely thinking of her brother, more than the risk to her own safety...

After a brief flicker of uncertainty, Orion reached out a hand and took hold of Carewyn’s arm not unlike how she’d taken his earlier.

“From everything I’ve heard from you about your brother, I truly cannot see him not doing everything he possibly can, to look out for your well-being...including looking after himself.”

A second smaller explosion in the distance made Orion stiffen slightly, his fingers tightening that bit around Carewyn’s arm.

“...We should move out of harm’s way,” he said as levelly as he could.

Seeing the paleness of Orion’s face, Carewyn relented at once.

“Yes.”

Bringing a hand up onto Orion’s horse’s reins, she directed both of them around so they could start riding back out the way they came.

As they came around a cluster of trees, however, their attention was caught by the sound of the cry of an eagle and many snapping branches. Carewyn’s horse reared back again, just barely dodging a large clump of golden-brown feathers that collided sharply with the ground.

Carewyn once again rushed to soothe her horse. Orion quickly climbed off his horse and bent down to get a better look at what had fallen.

It was a golden eagle, just as brilliant as the one they’d chased into the wood -- perhaps even the same one. It was conscious, but clearly in pain when it tried to return to the air -- its left wing crumpled up against its side and covered in blood and what looked like grayish ash.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed.

“Gunpowder,” he said. “The poor creature’s wing must have been struck by a stray bullet.”

Once she’d successfully soothed her white horse, Carewyn likewise jumped off its back. She dashed over to Orion, hitching up the skirt of her mother’s gown as she went.

“Can you hold him?” she asked.

The eagle gave an angry-sounding cry, baring its sharp talons at both of them, and it tried to hobble away back into the air with its one good wing.

“I don’t think he wants our help,” said Orion.

Undaunted, Carewyn ripped off some fabric from her outer-most petticoat. “Well, he needs it, whether he wants it or not. Can you hold him, please?”

Orion looked at the eagle. Rather than try to grab it, he met the eagle’s eyes and tried not to blink. The eagle looked back at him with a piercing gaze. When Orion extended a hand, the eagle lashed out its talons again -- Orion withdrew, but didn’t flinch.

“Steady,” he said gently.

He waited a moment, keeping eye contact with the bird, and then tried again. This time he was able to move close enough to touch before the eagle lashed out with its claws again.

“Peace,” said Orion patiently. “We mean you no harm, feathered friend.”

Another loud explosion in the distance made both the eagle and Orion flinch.

“That one sounded closer,” said Carewyn, her voice faintly tense but as gentle as she could. “We need to be quick.”

The flames of his childhood home were returning to Orion’s mind despite his best efforts, and he shut them out as best he could, closing his eyes and breathing in and out several times. Once he’d reestablished his focus, Orion opened his eyes again.

The eagle looked from Orion to Carewyn almost critically. Finally, after Orion reached in for a third time, it let the Prince run a gentle hand over its back. Once the bird was calm, Orion then carefully extended its wing so that Carewyn could reach it.

“This will likely hurt him a little,” Carewyn told Orion. “Please hold him still, so he won’t fly away.”

Orion brought a hand around the eagle, which fidgeted and cried out indignantly, but did not claw or snap at them. With Orion holding out its wing, Carewyn was able to reach into its blood-soaked feathers and dislodge the bullet. The eagle gave an angry, pained cry, and Carewyn very quickly set about wrapping up the wound with the white fabric she’d ripped out of her petticoat.

“There,” breathed Carewyn, her red lips spreading into a smile. “That should help...”

The bird looked down at its wing, gingerly folding up against its side as it surveyed her with a very beady eye. With a soft click of her tongue against her teeth, she slowly extended an arm out, holding it very still like a branch.

“Climb on,” she cooed. “That’s it...”

The eagle peered Carewyn over, but after a long moment, it gradually scooted over and leapt up onto her arm. Its talons dug into the sleeve of her dress with strength, and it was heavier than Carewyn expected, but she with some difficulty just barely managed to hoist it up.

“Your talent with animals shines through again,” said Orion with a wry smile, clasping his hands lightly in front of him.

“You weren’t half bad yourself,” Carewyn said amusedly. She brought a hand gently along the eagle’s comb. “You’re a very handsome bird, aren’t you? You poor thing...”

“You there!”

Both Orion and Carewyn looked up in great surprise.

Striding through the woods toward them was a very tall middle-aged woman. She wore a black capotain hat and an old-fashioned black dress with a white ruff around the collar, and her graying brown hair was tied up in an austere looking bun under her hat. Despite her apparent age, her step was strong and her posture as straight as a general’s. 

“What are you doing here?” said the woman very sternly.

Carewyn stood a bit uneasily, thanks to the weight of the eagle on her arm, but she nonetheless straightened up, resting a hand on the eagle’s back almost protectively.

“We’re merely out riding, madam,” she said, not impolitely, but still confidently.

The woman peered down at both Orion and Carewyn with an eye almost as critical as the eagle’s had been as she crossed her arms. Her height made it so she towered over both of them with relative ease.

“Well, through your riding, you have trespassed on my land,” she said stiffly. “And it seems you’ve claimed something of mine.”

Her eyes flickered over to the eagle on Carewyn’s arm, taking in the makeshift bandage on its wing. The golden eagle gave a loud shriek -- the woman extended her arm, and it leapt the distance, landing on her arm instead. The older woman did not struggle to hold it up the way Carewyn had.

Carewyn blinked in surprise. “Then...he’s yours?”

“Do you have others, like him?” Orion asked curiously.

The woman peered down at the bird on her arm with a look that was rather like a scolding, but still affectionate mother’s. “No -- he’s one of a kind. All the more reason why I’m pleased to see him safe, after coming so close to the enemy camp.”

The eagle bowed its head, its gaze flickering back over toward Carewyn and Orion. When another cluster of explosions rang out through the air, however, both the bird and Orion straightened up abruptly.

The woman looked northward, and then beckoned Carewyn and Orion after her with her hand.

“Come with me -- with the armies positioned just north of us and a band of Florentine bandits just south, the safest place at present to wait out this skirmish is my home.”

The woman introduced herself as the Baroness Minerva McGonagall. Carewyn felt like the surname was familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it in her memory. Regardless, McGonagall led Carewyn and Orion out through the trees. Only once they crossed the perimeter of the trees and McGonagall gestured toward the valley below did Carewyn and Orion see her country estate. It was odd that they didn’t spot it sooner, for although the valley seemed to cradle the small chateau, it was a rather beautiful and open estate framed by a wrought iron gate. The property itself was made of aged brick and stone with stained glass windows and overgrown with ice-trimmed ivy.

After holding out her arm so that the eagle perched there could jump down on the railing beside the stone stairs that led up to the front door, the Baroness invited Orion and Carewyn inside. As stern as she’d first appeared, she actually was a very kind host -- after Orion and Carewyn’s horses were settled in her stable, she escorted the two into the dining hall, where she served them some rose water and ginger biscuits. Once inside the house, none of them could hear the explosions from the battlefield -- it was as though the walls cancelled out all sounds from outside even though they must’ve been so close.

Seeing that the Baroness had no servants to help her, Carewyn insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen and washing them, so as to thank the older woman for her hospitality. Despite being reluctant to accept the help at first, McGonagall eventually accepted it, her lips upturned in a rather dewy smile as Carewyn left the dining hall.

“Your riding companion has a very kind heart, Your Highness,” she said, once Carewyn was out of earshot.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“...You know me.”

"Naturally,” said McGonagall. “You do very much resemble your grandfather -- and your father as well, I expect.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“We met once, a very long time ago,” said McGonagall rather curtly. “Your name would also be Cosimo, correct?”

“I am called Orion,” said the Prince, his level voice dusted with the slightest edge. “By both my lady, and otherwise.”

McGonagall’s eyes grew a little smaller. “She comes from the Cromwell family, doesn’t she?”

Orion’s eyes narrowed that little bit more, but he did not reply.

“I suspected it due to her eyes,” said McGonagall, “but with how gentle they were, I wasn’t sure.”

Her eyebrows rose over her narrowed eyes as she leaned forward slightly and rested her elbows on the table.

“You have quite a predicament before you, Orion,” she said dryly, interlacing her fingers beside her chin.

Orion clasped his hands on the table in front of him, considering the Baroness carefully.

“Yet you decided not to approach me about it until Carewyn left the room,” he said levelly. “Is it because you suspected I knew your true identity, and why your house has been so miraculously shielded from the War raging on your doorstep?”

McGonagall peered at Orion over her hands with something like wry amusement. “Florentines are generally more favorable toward magic than Royaumanians. And considering your grandfather shielded my family after my mother accidentally killed the King and we fled across the border...well, it would be in-character for you, especially.”

“And yet you returned to the land that the King of Royaume had died trying to claim?” asked Orion. “Why?”

McGonagall gave a dismissive shrug. “It was our home. Even if we had to cast and recast illusions every day to prevent anyone else from finding it again, that was a cost we were willing to pay. And one I’m still willing to pay today, to protect those who live here.”

McGonagall’s eyes were drawn to the hallway -- a young man with tanned skin and a sharp nose had just paused in the door frame of the dining hall. His arm was in a makeshift sling and wrapped with what looked like bandages made out of petticoat fabric. When Orion turned around, the young man stared him down with just as beady of a look as the golden eagle from before had.

“The skirmish has ended, Baroness,” the man said brusquely.

“I hope you haven’t determined that by casting any more transfiguration spells, my young apprentice,” said McGonagall with a slightly reproachful look.

The apprentice’s nose wrinkled sourly. “No. The explosions have just stopped -- they probably decided it wasn’t worth trying to fire their cannons blindly in the dark.”

“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Orion, you and Carewyn may leave when you wish. Though I would recommend you steer clear of the border. The bandits in these woods are Florentines, so I doubt they will harm you...but I cannot be sure how they would respond to a Royaumanian, especially one related to one of their wealthiest noblemen.”

Orion nodded. “I understand.”

“Make sure you bring her back to the palace safely,” said the apprentice, his eagle-like eyes still rather critical upon Orion. “It’s the least you can do, considering she doesn’t know the extent of the risk she’s taking, interacting with you.”

He swept down the hallway and out of sight, still holding his arm. Orion was a bit surprised that the Baroness’s apprentice knew where Carewyn worked -- but then, he recalled, he’d seen an eagle flying over his and Carewyn’s heads once, while they were walking through the market together, hadn’t he? Might it have been this man then, as well -- as it likely had, every time he’d seen an eagle while crossing the border?

McGonagall looked back at Orion, her expression a bit more solemn. “I understand your rationale behind not telling her of your identity, Orion...but remember -- deception is just like any magical spell. Even the most powerful ones in the world don’t last long.”

Orion bowed his head. “...I know.”

He knew none of this could last. He knew that once Carewyn knew who he was, everything between them would change, whether he wanted it to or not. He did think that Carewyn would understand -- he desperately hoped so -- but even so, it was sad to him, knowing that his happy times with Carewyn were doomed to be so fleeting...

“I just...want to enjoy my time with her as long as I can,” said Orion softly. “However fleeting it might be...even when it is over...at least then I can cherish the memory of those moments forever.”

McGonagall’s face grew a bit gentler, almost sympathetic. "I see...”

Carewyn returned at that moment, wiping her bangs out of her eyes with her arm.

“Orion,” she said, “it looks like the stars have come out.”

Orion looked out the window. The sky was dark with night and shining with stars.

“So they have,” he said with a soft smile. He turned to McGonagall. “Forgive me, Baroness...but might we sit in the valley outside your home for a short while, before we leave?”

McGonagall smiled. “Of course.”

Orion and Carewyn found a grassy spot in the crest of the valley where they could sit and look up at the stars. Upon learning that Carewyn hadn’t ever gone stargazing before, Orion lay back against the grass and pointed out each constellation above them to Carewyn in turn -- the hero Perseus, his enemy the Cetus, and his future wife Andromeda -- -- the divine twins, Castor and Pollux, otherwise known as a pair as Gemini -- and the queen Cassiopeia, which made Carewyn laugh, thinking of her friend, KC. Carewyn loved listening to Orion’s stories: the way he would vividly embellish every detail and go off on philosophical tangents in the middle was oddly endearing. After he told his first tale about Perseus, Carewyn was reminded of the Song of Roland, an epic about a similarly grand hero, and soon Orion would ask her to sing something in response to every story he told, however weak the connection was. When they reached Cassiopeia’s tale, Carewyn sang one of her favorite songs, Greensleeves.

“I have been ready at your hand To grant whatever thou would’st crave; I have waged both life and land, Your love and goodwill for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy; Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves...”

As before, Orion found himself closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Carewyn’s voice washing over him. At the end of this song in particular, however, when he opened his eyes, he found himself chuckling softly.

Carewyn raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Orion’s black eyes were sparkling like two miniature night skies as they ran over Carewyn sitting just below him. “It’s a lovely song, as always...but I have not ever seen my ‘star twin,’ so to speak, wearing green -- only ever black and blue. You, however...”

He took her hand so that he could extend her arm out like they were dancing, showing off the olive green sleeves of her dress.

“So it seems you are ‘my lady Greensleeves,’” said Orion with a wry smile.

“Oh, stop it,” Carewyn huffed, her cheeks burning as she withdrew her hand.

Orion laughed fully. It was the first time Carewyn had ever heard him laugh so openly before -- it was a soft sound in the back of his throat, like a chuckle, and yet so much brighter and warmer. Despite herself, Carewyn couldn’t fight back a full smile of her own. Her shoulder brushed up against Orion’s as she reclined back onto the grass, her body tilting slightly toward him as she looked up at the sky.

“...There’s a constellation called Orion, isn’t there?”

Orion smiled and traced the stars of the constellation with his finger. “Just there. Do you see his chest? And there’s his bow.”

“I see it!” said Carewyn excitedly. “His arm is arched back, right?”

“Yes -- he’s holding a club in his other hand. He was a great hunter, you see -- the greatest hunter, they say, aside from Artemis, Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt. Some say that he hunted alongside her. Others say she was his one and only love...and that she, likewise, never loved any other man, in all her days.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, Orion looked down at her. She was considering the constellation very carefully, looking oddly deep in thought.

Orion tilted his head to look better at her face. “Your eyes resemble a dark pool.”

Carewyn looked up, startled.

“They’re so deep and mysterious, I hardly know what is within them,” said Orion. “Yet I would dearly like to know, if you were willing to share their contents.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted back up to the sky uncomfortably.

“It’s just...I’m realizing that I don’t even know if Orion is your real name,” she murmured. “You said I could call you it...you did not say it was your name.”

Orion’s face became grimmer. His hands clasped over his chest and he too looked back up at the sky.

“...It’s not the name I was born with,” he admitted. “I chose the name myself, when I was young.”

The memory of the older boys at the workhouse shoving him, piling extra work on him, and mockingly bowing whenever he walked by rippled over his mind.

“Clear the floor for the Prince!”

“Why thank you, Prince Cosimo -- you’re too kind!”

“Does the mud add flavor, your Royal Highness?”

“When I was at the workhouse, my name...antagonized the other boys. So, to try to preempt the reactions, I started avoiding telling anyone my name. I would dread anyone ever asking.”

“Like when I asked you?” whispered Carewyn. Even though her eyes were averted, she was clearly very ashamed and upset.

Orion leaned against her slightly, offering her a gentle, reassuring expression. “No, Carewyn. I dreaded it when I had no answer I could give at all. It made me anxious...made me feel like I didn’t know who I was supposed to be...made it difficult for me to interact with much of anyone at all.”

He closed his eyes.

“But...after hearing the tale of the great hunter whose skill put him on the same level as a goddess...I decided that was who I’d be. I’d chase my dreams with just as much single-minded focus -- be just as free and strong of a man, by fighting the monster inside of myself.”

Carewyn looked up at Orion, her eyes rippling with sadness. “The monster inside of yourself?”

“Mm,” said Orion. “Mine is a frenetic beast. It makes it hard for me to think, act, or even breathe, when it’s particularly intense. It makes me question absolutely everything, including myself. It shouts so many things in my ears so loudly that I can’t move or react properly, and I have to break away from everything and everyone, just to silence it. Sometimes it even brings back bad memories that make the experience even worse.”

Carewyn was once again avoiding his eye, but it was largely because she was having trouble keeping her face stoic.

“...It’s terrible, when you feel like you can’t do anything,” she said lowly.

Orion didn’t speak. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to continue -- after a silence, she finally pressed on.

“When Jacob first went off to War...I felt so helpless. So...alone. And worse...I felt like that’s how I should be. Like I should be alone, and empty, and cold, and in pain, when Jacob was off at War suffering, while I’m stuck here.”

Her eyes darkened.

“There are times when...I think I still should be. Sometimes...well, it’s all the time.”

She closed her eyes, exhaled heavily through her nose, and then looked up at Orion with a firmer expression.

“...But I know I can’t afford to sit around and feel sorry for myself -- not when I need to be strong, for Jacob’s sake. So I don’t.”

Orion’s black eyes softened visibly, rippling with empathy. “No...you certainly don’t.”

He paused. His eyes ran over Carewyn’s face, trailing through her hair hesitantly.

“Carewyn...” he said at last, very softly, “may I...?”

He swallowed.

“...May I rest my head, on top of yours?”

Carewyn’s face broke into a very sweet, tender smile.

“Of course,” she murmured.

Orion shifted over and, very tentatively, leaned back against the grass so that Carewyn’s head rested in the crook of his neck and his cheek rested against the top of her head. He closed his eyes -- she felt so warm...

“I...realize that the beasts inside of us are ours alone to face,” said Orion softly, “but...should you need a hunter to help you beat yours back...I will be here.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with emotion as she stared up at Orion’s face. Her red lips slowly turned up in a smile that was full of pain, and yet also fuller still of love.

“And I will always help you fight yours,” she whispered. “If you need me...I will fight for you.”

Orion’s expression cleared, losing all tension as a smile pricked at the corners of his lips. He breathed deeply, his heart slowing to a wonderful peaceful beat as he took in the smell of her hair. Carewyn watched his serene, handsome face, and she found herself moving into him that bit more, just to get a better view. For that moment, it felt like the whole world outside wasn’t there -- that the War and the palace and the Cromwell clan and everything she was and wasn’t didn’t even exist...and in that moment, Carewyn realized...

If she was ever truly free, she would want to love the man called Orion with all of her heart.

[whimsimmortal]

Plot Bunny

Wow, I’m alive! And posting fanfiction on tumblr, as if I have any idea what I’m doing!! Please check it out on AO3, where I am actually capable of navigating the website: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441853

Plink. Another small, innocuous sound scarcely registered past Danny’s homework-induced stupor. It could have been a stray raindrop or a kamikaze bug. He had more important things demanding his attention; namely, the book report due tomorrow. This was at least the fifth time he’d rewritten the same paragraph. Words had lost all meaning to him by this point, but he was so close to finishing.

Tip-tap. Clonk, the noise emitting from the bedroom window insisted. He glared suspiciously towards the disturbance, envisioning ethereal arrows or blob ghosts intent on breaking in. He hadn’t sensed anything ghostly nearby, but given his luck, the paranoia was usually warranted. Emitting a groan from the depths of his soul, he rose from his desk to inspect the noise. He spared a second to stretch and shake the pins and needles out of his fingers, trying to wake up. Just in case it was something serious, y'know. Tink. “Alright, jeez, I’m coming,” he muttered, pulling back his curtain.

There weren’t any ghosts, of course. That was somewhat of a relief, even if going down swinging  was preferable to succumbing to a failing high school education. The early sunset gleamed amber off the windows across the street, and the sky was clear, except for— chink— the pebbles bouncing off his window. A lone kid was standing on the sidewalk below, no older than eight or nine. He looked vaguely familiar. He was pulling his arm back to throw more stones and bawling his eyes out.

Danny yanked open the window, sliding up the screen to fully stick his head out. His core vibrated, unsettled. There wasn’t any obvious danger, and the kid didn’t look hurt. Where were his parents? Why was he here? “Hey! What’s wrong, buddy? Are you okay?”

“You, you, you,” the kid tried to start, but great hiccupping sobs interrupted him. He scrubbed his face with his fists, obviously trying to regain his composure. “You’ve gotta send the ghost hero out!”

Danny jerked back, unintentionally smacking the back of his skull on the underside of the window. Well, now he was awake. What? “Uh, a ghost? Here? No, there isn’t—I can’t—what are you talking about?”

The boy was right up against the side of the house now, sniffling loudly and staring straight up at Danny with wide, sad eyes. “Please?” He whined, winding his hands up in the fabric of his sweater nervously.

Well, now he was stuck. Some random kid was going to out his whole identity, but the urge to help was almost overwhelming. “I can’t—there can’t be any ghosts here, but give me a second and I can just come down?” He offered. “Do you want me to find your parents?”

“Noooo!” The kid wailed and stomped his foot, banging on the wall with his tiny fists. “Don’t lie to me! I’ve seen the superman ghost go in there! Let him out! I need him!!”

Oh, crap, someone was going to hear. This kid’s parents were going to freak out, or his own parents were going to notice, and what if they took that kind of claim seriously? Shoot. Literally. He chuckled nervously. “Hey, hey, shhh, okay! You win! I’ll, uh, summon him, or something! But you have to be quiet, or you’ll, y’know, scare him off.” The child nodded solemnly, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve and stifling his sobs.

Danny ducked back behind the curtain, gracelessly crumpling to sit with his back against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair. He’d been seen? When? He’d tried so hard to be careful, and use invisibility whenever he was close to the house. Maybe he’d gotten lazy. Maybe, sometimes, he let the promise of sleep take priority over precautions. Stupid.  He smacked the palm of his hand into his forehead, frustrated. How long had this kid known? Who else had he told? He couldn’t just scare him into silence, he was too little. That was just messed up, he’d give him nightmares or something.

He wasn’t going to figure anything out by sitting here moping. He triggered the transformation, the familiar prickling electric feeling swiftly replaced by the soothing cold. He turned to peek over the edge of the window, checking for anyone else around. It was still just the same kid, kicking at a pebble on the concrete while he waited.

He floated down slowly, not wanting to startle his impromptu visitor, who turned and saw him as he touched down. The little guy gasped, forgotten tears slipping away from unblinking eyes.

“Hi there,” Danny prompted gently. “Were you looking for me?”

The kid kept ogling, mesmerized, and a few seconds passed by before he could shake himself out of it. “Wow, you’re the real superhero guy,” he whispered reverently.

Oh. That was pretty cute, actually. He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, that’s me. You can call me Phantom,” he offered.

“I’m Wyatt,” the kid mumbled, covering his damp cheeks with his hands shyly. He tipped his head down, still staring through his eyelashes.

A neighbor’s front door opened down the street, and Danny swiftly disappeared. Wyatt startled, blindly swinging his hands back and forth through the seemingly-empty space. “Wait! Come back!” He recoiled with a yelp when his blundering reach made contact with the specter.

“It's okay, I’m right here,” he reassured the kid. “But we can’t let people know I’m here, okay? They’ll—um. I’ll get in trouble.”

Wyatt squinted, reaching forward again. Danny offered his hand, and the little fingers gripped his glove tightly. He looked like he was offering the empty air a fist bump. “Right,” the kid agreed earnestly.

“Seriously,” Danny pressed. “You can’t tell anyone that I li-” he bit his tongue. Don’t say ‘live’. That’s so dumb. “Uh. Hang out here sometimes. Not even your friends, okay? Promise?”

Wyatt’s little dark eyebrows drew together, and despite his trembling chin and small stature, he looked profoundly serious. He shook the hand. “I promise.”

Well, that would have to do for now. “Thanks. Uh, what did you need me for?”

The kid’s eyes immediately started to well up again, but he squeezed Danny’s fingers and pressed his lips to put on a brave face. “C’mon, Phantom, you’ve gotta-” he sniffed. “You gotta save Fuzzy,” he warbled, turning and pulling. The ghost floated behind like a balloon on a string as the pair stepped down from the curb, heading across the street.

Oh, man, if this was about a dead pet, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. That was closer to Jazz’s expertise. He swallowed his mounting dread. “Who’s Fuzzy?”

Wyatt’s face scrunched up. “He’s my bunny,” he explained, looking away. “I was just tryin’ to show ‘im to Audrey, and—and then,” he sobbed. “He went under the house! And he’s gonna get lost and stuck, and I’m-, never-, gonna see him ever again!” He let go, burying his face in his hands and howling.

Danny rested a hand lightly on Wyatt’s little shoulder, throat tight. He’d never had a pet like that, but he could understand the fear of losing loved ones a little too well, and empathy always felt more forceful when he was in ghost form. Probably something related to ectoplasm being shaped by residual emotional energy, blah blah ecto-science theory. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

The unusual duo walked two more houses down the block and cut through a side yard to a modest backyard, strewn with outdoor toys and an overturned wire fence—likey an outdoor pen for Fuzzy. An even younger girl sat on the paved patio, chewing on the end of her braid. She leaped up as they drew close. “Wyatt! I told my dad about Fuzzbutt, and he’ll call the—um, animal people. But they’re not here yet. Did you find him?”

Wyatt glanced a little to Danny’s left with a guilty expression. Well, crap, so much for his secret. He bit his lip, trying to keep his cool. First things first. A cursory scan of the area didn’t show anyone else in the immediate vicinity, so he faded back into visibility. The little girl—‘Audrey’, he guessed—gave a muffled shriek. “Ghost man!”

“Hush,” Wyatt scolded, voice quavering. “He’s a secret.”

“Oh,” Audrey whispered back. “Hello, mister normal guy man. I think you’re cool.” She beamed up at him.

“Hello, small ordinary human,” Danny quipped, and Audrey giggled delightedly. Wyatt dropped to his hands and knees, crawling up to the house, where a gap between the foundation and dirt was evident. The other two peeked over his shoulder, but there wasn’t any bunny visible past the darkness.

“Fuzzy,” Wyatt choked out. “Hang in there, we’re gonna rescue you!”

Danny turned intangible, letting his molecules seep down through the dirt past the level of his nose. He drifted close to the base of the house, juicing up the glow from his eyes. “Just wait here, okay?” Two grim, round little faces nodded back, and with that minor assurance, he delved beneath the house.

The weight of the floor above loomed. It was claustrophobic, like being buried… well, half-alive. The musty, dank mildew smell was gross, even though he wasn’t breathing. He could taste it. “Here, bunny, bunny,” he muttered. Please don’t be hurt.

A tiny pair of eyes reflected green through the gloom. The little ball of fluff was backed into a corner, and it snorted like a tiny angry bull, stomping its feet. Danny hadn’t even known rabbits could make that sound. It probably didn’t like his creeping, unnatural aura, like most rational animals. “Shhh,” he cooed, reaching for the tiny, grubby ball of fluff and dimming his glow. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

Fuzzbutt wasn’t convinced. In a courageous move, it darted through Danny’s forehead, wedging itself under a crooked board and squealing. Danny reached easily through the plank and wrapped his hands around the unhappy creature, sharing his intangibility. It writhed and fussed, trying to bite through his gloves. “Stop that!” He clutched it close to his chest; if he dropped it here, the stubborn thing really would be stuck. He swooped back out into the backyard, startling the anxiously waiting kids.

Audrey shrieked and tipped over. Wyatt recovered first, leaping to his Velcro-sneakered feet expectantly. “Is he okay?”

Danny recovered a more solid form, holding up the wiggling rabbit. Wyatt gasped, fresh tears glittering on his eyelashes. He reached out for the beloved pet, unable to contain his joy at the reunion. “Fuzzy! You’re okay! I love you, Fuzzy!”

“Let’s go inside first, so he doesn’t get away again?” Danny suggested. The last thing anyone needed was an instant replay. Audrey darted to open the back door, and Wyatt led the way inside. He sat on the wooden floor with open arms, and as soon as the door was firmly shut again, Danny deposited the squirming animal into his lap. Fuzzy looked marginally more content to receive numerous sloppy kisses from his adoring owner. He was actually a pretty cute little guy, black and white like a panda.

Even footsteps padded around the corner. “Wyatt, baby? Did you find-” the woman’s question cut off abruptly as she noticed the glowing stranger in her living room.

Crud. At this rate, the whole block was going to find him out before the week was up. He edged back a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I was just, um,” darn it, wrong persona. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Doing my heroic duty, ma’am,” he finished in a falsely deep voice.

Audrey giggled (he didn’t sound that bad!), and the woman smiled nervously. Wyatt hopped to his feet, still cradling his bunny. “Mama! Look, he saved Fuzzy! I’m gonna rename him Fuzzy Phantom,” he declared.

Mama Wyatt dutifully stroked the bunny’s dusty ears. “Fuzzy Phantom needs a bath,” she commented, before looking back up to meet Danny’s eyes. She held out her clean hand, and it took him a second to recognize the offered handshake. He started to reach back, thought twice about his messy glove, and hastily peeled it off to shake her hand. Her fingers were delicate, but they didn’t falter at the chill. “You look taller on the TV,” she joked lightly. “It’s nice to meet you. Phantom, right?”

He nodded. “Uh, it was nice to meet you, too, Ms.-?”

“Sylvie Rosales,” she supplemented. Audrey snuck around her to flounce deeper into the house, taking the adult’s distraction as an invitation, and Wyatt started to follow her, but hesitated. He snuck a hand out around Fuzzy to tug on Danny’s arm, so he leaned down accommodatingly.

Wyatt stood on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Can I come see you sometimes?”

Oh, heck, no. That would be truly asking for disaster. “No,” he quickly replied, but before Wyatt’s pout could evolve into a true objection, he added, “but if you really don’t tell anyone how to find me, I could drop by sometimes.” He looked towards Ms. Rosales. “If that’s okay?”

Wyatt looked over to his mom pleadingly, stars in his eyes. What have I gotten myself into, Danny wondered, but he couldn’t help feeling charmed. Ms. Rosales looked like she was thinking along the same lines, with her thin-lipped smile and folded arms. “As long as you don’t cause any trouble,” she hedged.

“Thank you!!” Wyatt hugged Danny spontaneously, smushing his face into his shoulder. Fuzzy grunted his objection.

Danny ruffled the kid’s mop of hair. “I should get going. Take care of Fuzzy,” he grinned, pulling away. “And stay safe,” he added in his false baritone with a mock salute.

“You, too,” he heard Ms. Rosales call after him as he phased through the wall. He looped above the street once cheerfully before disappearing to sneak back home. He’d left his window open; rose-tinted light and a handful of moths had spilled onto his bedroom floor. This time, he didn’t reappear or turn back until he’d stealthily drawn the window and curtains closed.

He still had an hour or so to plug into his homework. He hummed as he started back in on the paragraph he’d been stuck on. It didn’t seem as daunting now, even with the lost time and near reveal. He’d have to keep an eye on his nosy little neighbor, but in the end, maybe it was the moments like today that made the whole gig worth it.

[shinygoku]

Notable eps of CSatM

I’ve been working on a Top Ten episodes list for Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons, and at first I was going to group the subjects here into that post as a sort of Honourable Mentions category. However, as I’m not massively fond of the eps in question, I don’t want them on my Favourites list which is already going to be very long, so here’s something to cover these Notable installations and give a preview of the sort of thing y’all can see when the main post is finished!

Notable does not mean Good nor Bad. They may be Important, or Experimental, or the like. At least one’a these is kind of a Fandom Darling, but for reasons that irk me, but it’s not the episode itself at fault.

SPOILERS for everything featured below the Cut!

THE MYSTERONS

Our series begins with quite the bang! Many bangs, in fact!

A man’s fatal mistake on Mars springboards a full out War of Nerves declared by the unseen but all powerful aliens, only ever shown with twin rings of light, a deep, booming voice, and their explosive actions. Their first act is to declare their intent to assassinate The World President, and part of the means to this end result in the death of the original Captain Scarlet, before he’s replaced by an identical, indestructible copy. He later is broken from the alien programming to become the main asset in the fight against them...

This episode has the unenviable task of having to balance exposition with an exciting story, to keep the audience interested and not completely lost in the concept. It’s a partial success, unfortunately bogged down with scenes that feel much slower or outright pointless (most notable to me is The President being shown... how he escaped from an assassination attempt. HE WAS THERE, DOING IT!) and with not enough time for the mystery of Retrometabolism, which ends up getting awkwardly shoved into the closing couple of minutes.

On the whole it does what it needed to, but I feel it should have been rewritten another time or two, and/or have been as long as a Thunderbirds episode instead of the brisker 25 minutes of this series.

ATTACK ON CLOUDBASE

IT WAS ONLY A DREAM! IT WAS ONLY A DREAM! IT WAS ONLY A DREAM, BABES!!

Because main man Gerry Anderson wanted to have a Comedy episode that he admits became a Black Comedy, and that dude loves Dream Episodes.

This episode, other than being a Dream, also has a swanky new Barry Gray score that Gerry paid for out of pocket. Also I do, in fact, find it a very funny episode. Unfortunately, there’s a dark cloud hanging over this, especially in Fandom spaces.

Too many people take it too seriously.

I’ve seen a guy who does work for the official Gerry Anderson youtube channel, and another dude who has a detailed blog with episode recaps of all the Thunderbirds eps and 5 Scarlet eps, among other things. But both of them have the bad take that it would have worked better as an actual thing that happened, maybe as the series finale. While this would have been a huge Downer, I can at least see where this train of thought comes from, as this is the darkest series yet and it would really shake up the status quo. And if it were written well, I may’ve appreciated a sad or bittersweet ending... BUT

This Episode was never intended to be a finale, and it shows! Because of it’s nature as a dream from Miss “I’ll abandon my comms and the meagre shelter I landed with to wander away aimlessly in the desert” Symphony Angel, it’s a very Odd experience. Again, it’s funny, but the characters are Out Of, at the mildest with one trait exaggerated and at the most extreme they become utter morons.

Symphony’s delirious, heat stroke’d mind also has some curious biases, like Blue randomly declaring his love for her although there’s next to no actual indication of this in the other episodes, and seemingly as a subconscious admittance that Blue and Scarlet are indeed very close, she to pairs Scarlet with White to keep him out of the way. I really can’t overstate how weird the White and Scarlet interactions are in this.

But there’s more! The Mysterons themselves are also wildly different to every other time they do anything. Completely breaking from their insidious, subversive nature of corrupting machinery remotely or having human pawns do the dirty work, they swarm Cloudbase in stereotypical UFOs. How gauche! How very Non-Mysteron!!

And Scarlet’s nigh inevitable death for this episode is hands down the lamest, being a slightly bumpy landing that leaves no blood, no massive smoking fire or explosion, yet this kills him and leads Blue to declare him perma-dead for reals this time. The dude’s walked off much worse!

But it’s ok, because it ain’t the last episode, was never made to be, and the only ‘canon’ events are Symphony getting shot down, wandering off and then later being found. Everything else, including the Mysteron’s opening titles threats and the bizarre shipping, were part of a fever dream contained in her head.

Damn, that was a lot to cover. Onto the last episode, which actually is the Last Episode!

THE INQUISITION

I don’t have as much to say here - it’s a Clip Show! About 2/3 of it’s runtime are adventures we’ve already seen, though the chosen selection is a little odd.

First is Big Ben Strikes again, which is tense and clever but far from one of my favourites. Then the fantastic Crater 101, which is one of my favourites! Finally, an edit of The Trap which spares us from the overly long dungeon scene lol

What I do like from this ep is the original content, which I would have utterly loved as a dedicated episode of its own. We open on Scarlet and Blue having a romantic date at an Inn, however it’s been infiltrated by Mysterons who Roofie Blue and spirit him away. He wakes up to find he’s in Cloudbase Control, sans White and Green and is being questioned by someone claiming to be from the Intelligence wing of Spectrum and demanding Blue tells him the Cypher codes.

We and Blue both know something’s terribly amiss, and I really got mad on his behalf at the [Mysteron] dude questioning him so rudely. I was also filled with sadistic glee when Blue breaks out and Scarlet arrives to blast the hell out of the Film Studio the Mysterons were using in this extensive scheme.

Again, this could have been fascinating if the other part of the episode was Scarlet focusing his efforts on tracking Blue down. The Scarlet and Blue interactions is something that really appeals to me, a last hurrah with more focus would have been a delight.

With the series only concluded in the comics, it’s hard not to feel a bit cheated that this is where the show ends, but I’ll absolutely take this And The Adventure Continues flavour over something like Attack On Cloudbase :P

This concludes the Notable Episode list! Soon I’ll be back with my Top Ten!

Until then, DON DON DON DODODO DON

[thecrazyworldbuilder]

Knownlands

(this is my first try writing a story in english, don’t judge me much, I still won’t take your criticism.)

Terry Mairondil Notasmith was a human. But, despite being such, he needed a certificate which proved that. Why? Because the bastard was looking like an elf.

Terry was born a human in a family of Jackven and Liana Smith. His father Jackven was a fair person from the family whose profession at general through generations was working with metal. In other words: smithing. What occured next was pretty awkward: with the birth of Terry Jackven and Liana became separated from their families, because of the thing known as “traditions”. Which in reality was nothing but a hassle between Terry’s grandfather and Terry’s father.

...after the argument with his father, Jackven spit him into the face and said he didn’t want to wear his family name anymore, and that he never wanted to be a smith. From then, Jackven Smith became Jackven Not-A-Smith, and after that Jackven Notasmith.

Terry was a human. A little, rarely ill but skinny child that was always in trouble or at least some situation that could be called an adventure. When the skinny child became an even more skinny young man, Terry Notasmith somehow made his way to college.

Well, it wasn’t really a college. It was more like a big ruined library where once teachers of magic, languages and sciences were settling. The place was known as Airaheren, which in rough quenya meant “The Old Order”. Sometimes, among locals, it was called Airahacca, which in the same rough quenya translation meant “The Old Ass”.

This place consisted of an old library with a hole in the roof. Well, that’s what everyone was saying. Actually it was a whole little town of ruins. The reason everyone was mentioning only the library was that it was the only thing seen from a distance. No one ever wanted to come near the town, at least because of the smell. That rich, dense smell of rotting wood and unpleasant fog.

No matter how much the students and the teachers (Although there was no real difference between both fractions: if you were able to teach someone something he can’t do you were automatically granted the rank of a teacher. The idiots who came there hoping they will learn everything about the world and his mysteries in fact learned how to bake perfect pancakes out of almost nothing but flour and water, knot, play goblin stab-eye poker and be a farmer out of sheer hunger.) tried to keep the books safe from moist and other damage, almost half the pages of every single book were rewritten from memory and fixed so many times they were almost incoherent. And knowing the people in the Old Order weren’t well and good in terms of grammar, not talking about foreing languages, the instructions were always unclear.

Airaheren was called this way by the gang of teachers with real education who survived college just because they sat in the far corner and their professors didn’t even suspect they existed. So yeah, they gathered there in the ruined town and said something like “Fuck academics, let’s edu ‘em villagers and pals ‘round ‘ere for “free”!” Basically they soon became the aristocracy of the town, but very fastly after that died from the unintendedly poisoned meals. I mean, they weren’t even cooked right.

“The Old Ass is the worst place to live, lad-” Said someone to Terry Notasmith. “-unless someone’s a bastard idiot like you.”

Jackven Notasmith was a horseman. He had a little farm with horses where he was breeding them and training to be good horses. A good horse is the one that will develop trust in his master. To achieve that, Jackven gave his horses such a treatment they were ready to serve anyone but him.

The birthday gift on Terry’s sixteenth birthday was a horse called Cab, which was short for Cabbage. The criteria Jackven was giving his horses names was simple: the level of their intellect. Cabbage had as many brain cells as an average cabbage had.

With Cabbage Terry left his father’s farm for good, for the reason the slim young man was always hungry and was threatening to make his father bankrupt, because he was paying the cooking lady Gin for every meal she cooked for the family. Meaning he had to pay twice.

Terry’s second name is in quenya, and means “A friend of horse/Horse’s friend”. He chose it because he thought it sounded cool and would fit him well.

Four out of five people in the Old Ass had a second name they made up themselves. Let me give you several examples of what their names meant in general: “Great King Gold”, “Black Bird”, “The Most Beautiful”, “The Most Great and Beautiful”, and the most interesting name out of all was Ainoculomornaingaran, which translated as “Godgolddarkking”.

The Old Ass was a foggy place in a valley filled with woods. The once ruined by unknown cause unknown city was fixed to the point of “...well you can’t say it is deserted now eh?”.

Terry was a human. But he was looking like an elf. Not only looking like an elf, but smelling like an elf, feeling like an elf and, after all, being an elf. The only problem was that it was an accident and nothing more - he never wanted to be an elf. A magical accident on one of the transformation classes and poof - he is an elf.

Shapeshifting, polymorphing and transformation. Oh yeah, there is a difference. Shapeshifting was changing not the shape only but the material. You see, a shapeshifter can turn himself into a female, for example, or to turn into some different species. But the problem would be the essence would stay the same: a creature capable of changing its form. You will look like an elf for example but won’t be one in fact. Polymorping is turning anything into anything by changing everything. Like, to turn a rat into a glass for wine. The deal was the rat’s soul would be still intact. Meaning, the glass will think, and it will think it is a rat. And then comes Transformation: it means you change everything and all and the essence. You could turn a human into an elf, and they will feel like one, they will behave like one as if they were always like that. (Actually the mages weren’t fully understanding the differences between all the types of turning one thing into another. There were many fancy words like transmutation, morphing, photoshopping… And et cetera.)

You can get one and the same result by going different ways. As you can go to the food store by foot, on a horseback, or else more creative ways. You can take different paths and all, and that’s the thing. Same goes with magic. You can turn a man into a frog, says a witch, by turning most of the material in his body into air and the small part into the needed shape (that is the reason some transformations are followed by a slight blow of wind, which strength demands on the difference in size of the shape before the transformation and after.) or you could condense the material and turn it all into one big and heavy frog size of a large yoga ball.

Alright, er, Terry was an elf now. And then his second name came in handy, and it was, counting by elven standards, pretty normal, just unusual. If a normal elven name was Jon, then Mairondil was something like Humpfrey. On the other hand, the names of the students living in the Old Ass would sound the same way as if you called your son Frying Pan, or The Obsolete King. The range, I agree, was wide.

Yoga balls in Knownlands were made out of the strange material called maxas, coming from the realm of Abyss, and the most close thing it was familiar to was wood resin. Though the ripoffs of yoga balls were made from the bladder of very big boars and covered in the mentioned above wood resin.

Terry Mairondil Notasmith was missing sleeping. Yeah, he could close his eyes, but no, his thoughts were always clean and reasonable. Even alcohol didn’t help. The reasonableness of his thoughts were slowly making him ask himself “Why in the name of gods I am in this place?” more and more times a day. Now, he was questioning himself approximately fifteen times a minute.

...it was a misty, like, a really misty morning when everyone in the Old Ass was sleeping as tight as corpses. Cabbage neighed loudly, received a professionally delivered slap on the rear from Terry (who didn’t sleep this night but was forced to lay in his bed because “Dude turn off th’fuckin’ ‘andle, whatcha doing? Readin’? Y’can read? Oh. Then fuck you. Go sleep. And I don’t ‘are you’re an elf now y’sonuva pineapple.”), and when his beloved master sat in the saddle, started making his way as far away as possible from the Old, Stinking Ass (Airaima Horrofanyada-Hacca in rough quenya translation, of course.)

Terry had a great plan, an incredible plan. It was: to get out of the freaking town and catch the spirit of adventures by its tail and hold it, letting it carry him anywhere where he would feel happy.

[amazingdriverfics]

Crowned by the devil - ch. 8

Summary: it’s time to leave the medbay and to see how’s your scar. It is also time to face the next step of the experiment 

Warnings: panic attack

A/N: sorry for not posting it sooner, we’ll have another chapter this week as an apollogy I was just very sad. I’m also sorry for the fact we don’t have smut here, but the next chapter will start with it. 

Hope you like it :) 

My masterlist

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The time to leave the medical bay had finally come and you could’ve not been any happier. Three cycles had past since you had last seen Kylo, in which he didn’t let you reciprocate the ‘help’ he had given you, claiming that your body was still recovering so it wasn’t ready for him. ‘Someone like it rough’ you thought to yourself as the words met your ears. Hopefully, things would change and you would be finally free of your hornyness after you were out of the hospital bed. 

“Ms. y/l/n” doctor Treg’s voice echoed through the small pristine room causing your head to turn his way, acknowledging his presence as you anxiously waited for the words about to leave his mouth. “I’m here to take your bandages off and discharge you.” he started, voice as calm as ever, a contrast to the happiness and impatience coursing through your body. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Even though you wanted to scream ‘yes’, you controlled your impulses and nodded with a calm facade, once again waiting for the doctor’s next movements. 

He started with your ribs bandages, taking them off slowly before examinanting your bones, gently pressing them, looking for any indication that they were still bruised. From the lack of pain and his satisfied hum, you figured there weren’t any. Treg continued to go down as he took the bandages covering your brand new scar off, once again you felt his gloved hand press your skin lightly. “The scar is barely visible, bacta treatment did it well” he clarified. As his hand started to go down, you held your breath, not feeling exactly ready for whatever was about to happen. 

Slowly, you felt the bandage leaving your skin and you could almost feel the burning sensation from years before all over again. Anxiety and panic started to pump in your veins, as your breathing started to become faster just like your heart rate, the beeping sound from the machine monitoring it becoming louder and louder. “Breath, y/n” the doctor’s voice tried to bring you back to reality, but it was too far away for your mind clouded with panic to register. 

Time started to pass faster, your eyes becoming wet and your vision blurred, any other sensation despite the knowing burn unregistered by your brain. 

Relax, I am here 

A deep voice echoed inside your mind. In your panic attacks, the only voices you heard were yours and Kreat’s, but this was somebody else’s. 

It’s me Kylo

‘What are you doing here’ you thought, not able to focus your sight in anything surrounding you and too scared to use your voice, aware that your throat would not comply with the effort anyways. 

I sensed your distress and came to see you. Now I’ll wrap my arms around you. Try to breath in the same rhythm I am breathing please. 

As soon as the words filled your head, you felt his strong arms wrapping around your waist, his chin against your hair, his black locks touching your cheeks gingerly and his chest against your back, moving up and down as he inhaled and exhaled. Focusing on him instead of your scar, you started to mimic his breathing pattern, finally, it seemed like your lungs were filled with oxygen instead of fire as the world started to be visible, tears not falling anymore. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok” he said, voice showing his worry and making you feel guilty. “You don’t have to worry, I’m here because I want to” he stated, arms never leaving your waist. 

“Ca-can you see the scar?” you asked, voice hoarse from the panic attack as the words felt heavy against your tongue. 

“Yes” he answered simply, unlike before, voice concealed from showing any kind of emotion.

“And, how is it looking?” your voice left your mouth, still sounding foreign to you. 

“Way better, I’m sure you can cover it up with any tattoo now” he said and relief flooded your body, all the stress you had been under disappearing, the expectations you had created really becoming true. And if you had any more tears left to cry, they would have fallen down  your face as you turned your too see you lower back, as soon as Kylo stepped aside, seeing that the ‘K’ insignia had faded, ready to have its meaning rewritten.

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“A gala? Are you fucking kidding me, Cardo?” you screamed into the air, disbelief clear in your face as you eyed your friend up and down, praying that the news he had just delivered were a sick joke. 

“Don’t kill the messenger, not that you could do it anyways. I’m only here to tell you what Master Ren told me to and to, just maybe, laugh at the face I knew you would make when I told you what he asked me to” the knight mocked, a pretty smile adorning his features as his hands carried a big black box, a red ribbon on top of it.

“Fuck you, Cardo. Show me what’s inside the box before I puke just thinking of this Gala thing” you demanded as you sat on the couch waiting for him to reveal the content of the box. 

With a smirk on his face, Cardo sat next to you, slowly opening the box, on purpose making you wait longer to see what Ren sent you. Instead of calling him a ton of bad names, you kept quiet, knowing it would only make the asshole go slower.

In the moment the box opened, your chin dropped and his laugh echoed through the room, not bothering you since you were too astonished to even care. “This is for me?” you asked, not believing he would spend that amount of credits on you. 

“Am I in anyone else's room?” he replied, irony dripping from his tone as his eyes glittered with amusement. 

Ignoring Cardo, you took your hand to the soft material of the dress, feeling the change of texture before taking it off the box an bringing it to your lap, watching its long black skirt fall to the ground, as the middle part and the see-through also black material that would cover your arms rested on your lap. 

“Fuck, this is so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it” you muttered, forgetting for a second that you weren’t alone. 

“Master Ren chose it well, you’ll be stunning in it, troublemaker.” Cardo stated, being serious for the first time since he got to your room. “Now don’t forget, people will arrive to help you get ready in two hours. I’ll leave you to whatever you’ll do till then, see you at the gala, troublemaker”. 

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Just like promised by Cardo, two hours later your preparation team got to your room and turned you to a ragdoll - in the name of beauty they said -. At first, they soaked you into the tub - something you would have gladly done on your own -, but, sadly, it ended too soon and it wasn’t long before they sat you on a chair and started to apply dozens of creams to your hair, face and body. 

They kept whispering things to each other, but you were too lazy to pay attention, so you didn’t really understand anything being said in the room, all you focused on was the sensation of having your body comfortably rubbed by a bunch of hands, allowing it to relax the shit out of you. 

Before you even noticed, your makeup and hair were done and it was to time to finally get into the dress Kylo got you. Slowly, you stepped into it, feeling as the different textures hugged you figure, lightly pressing on it as your team helped your body to be comfortably inside.

For the first time since the makeover started, you looked in the mirror, time seemed to stop for a second as you understood that the beautiful woman staring back at you was yourself, that the arms and legs inside the see-through black fabric adorned with black velvet leaves were yours, as well as the breasts eroticly yet fancyly exposed by the black velvet cleavage. As your eyes found your face, you were taken aback as you watched the way the black eyeshadow finished with gold details highlighted your eyes as the crimson lipstick made you seem sexy and dangerous at the same time. 

In that moment, you could understand why Kylo seemed to want you as his Empress, since as you looked at the mirror you were sure that nothing could stop you in that Gala, even though you had never been to that kind of event before.

Even if just for one night, you felt like the most powerful being in the Galaxy.

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With confident strides, you walked into the room filled with First Order’s employees, the dress making your movements seem more elegant. As you continued to make you way to where Kylo and the remaining girls - Aduke and Antje - were, you felt like the whole room was watching your every move, nothing you weren’t accustomed to. 

The only pair of eyes you watched back, however, were Kylo’s, his dark eyes even darker from desire making his pupils bigger. “Supreme Leader” you said, eyes glued to his as he took your hand into his before placing a gentle kiss in the moon tattooed on the back of it. “y/n” he answered as your hand falls back to the sides of your body. 

As soon as the interaction ended, you made your way to stand next to Aduke, you hadn’t seen her ever since the arena and you were dying to thank her for saving your life, not many people had cared enough about you and you would do anything to repay her kindness. 

You stood still, until General Hux - whom you hadn’t missed at all - started the Gala with a boring speech about how much the Galaxy needed a strong, polite, classy Empress to rule the First Order with its Supreme Leader. 

When it started Antje was immediately out of your sight, probably kissing some ass to get any amount of power she possibly could, however, knowing she wasn’t near made you glad, the last thing you wanted was for her to ruin your night. Aduke, on the other hand, stayed close and you took the opportunity to finally thank the woman who saved your life. 

“Aduke hey, you look gorgeous” you started, and it was true, her dark skin was adorned by a simple yet shiny blue dress, who seemed to fit her personality just like your dress did with your. Her hair was braided ellegantly and fell on her shoulders and her makeup went well with the dress, blue and silver painting her eyelids as a nude lipstick colored her full lips. 

“I can say the same to you, you are stunning, y/n” she replied, tone as soft as ever as a sweet smile you didn’t realize you missed cracked on her face. 

“Thank you, you are too good for me. Talking about that, I just wanted to thank you for, you know, saving my life.” you said, hands embracing hers as your eyes looked straight into her dark ones, gratitude coming from every pore of your body. “If you ever need me for anything at all, you can count on me” you finished, meaning every single word that left your mouth. 

“Don’t worry, y/n, I made a vow when I became a doctor, my passion is to save lives and anyway, I liked you too much to watch you die in that arena”. Before you could reply, a tall blonde figure dressed in a suit excused herself asking Aduke to come with her, leaving you alone for the first time since you arrived. 

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Not really sure of what to do you went to the bar, a drink would definitely make things easier. A blue waitress took your order and as you waited for it, a figure you knew too well towered you, his large hand pressing against the black mahogany surface of the bar, making sure you wouldn’t escape him - not that you wanted to -. 

“Supreme Leader” you said once again, tone flirty as your eyes accessed his figure better, seeing how well his simple black suit fitted his body, hugging his muscles perfectly. 

“You are simply stunning, you have no idea of the things going through my mind ever since you walked in” he purred, eyes glued to yours. 

“I can only imagine the nasty things you have been thinking, guess you’ll have to thank the man who gave this dress to me then” you replied feeling brave as the waitress left your drink on the counter, your hand meeting the glass before bringing the sweet yet spicy liquid to your mouth. 

“He is in fact a wise man” he replied, a cocky smile on his face causing you to smirk back at him. 

“Tragic” an annoying voice filled your ears, breaking the palpable tension between you and Ren. “The Supreme Leader of the First Order flirting with a nobody who understands nothing of politics or manners and doesn’t seem to be good enough in the only thing she knows what to do - staying alive” Hux said, face showing his disgust in seeing you. ‘Guess he isn’t happy that I survived’ you thought. 

Kylo’s body language immediately changed, his relaxed posture was gone, his hand traveled to his lightsaber while the other one was closed in a tight fist and his eye was twitching with anger. However, before the two man caused a scene, you intervened, words leaving your mouth confidently as you tried to extinguish the tension. 

“Great to see you again General Hugs, I might be a nobody to you, but I can take you anywhere, any time and seeing that I’m still alive, I guess I’m actually very good at staying alive, you on the other hand seem to have a death wish since you are disrespecting your Supreme Leader like that” you started, watching with happiness as his cocky facade started to fade, the humiliation of being talked back in the middle of an important event by someone he thought so little of showing on his features. “And one more thing Hugs, I might be a nobody to you, but at least I know what happens outside these walls, which is more than we can say about you, since the only thing you do is sit your ass in a chair and boss around, while you pretend someone actually likes you.” 

As you finished your sentence, you took a look around seeing that everyone near was staring as you ended the General with your words, who left you and Kylo behind quickly, stomping in the floor just like an angry child. 

“I have never been more turned on in my entire life” Ren whispered in your ear, the hot air coming from his mouth making you squirm. 

“I guess we’ll have to do something about it”.

[nasod-bird]

So this is something I was thinking of recently. What if Noé Archiviste was born under a blue moon, and is therefore a Blue Moon Vampire?

We know the Archiviste Clan exists. Or rather, existed. But the question is, were they wiped out before or after Noé was adopted?

We know baby Noé was found by his adoptive human grandparents in the human world one day when it was snowing, and he doesn’t seem to have any recollection of anything before this. What if Noé was abandoned and his memories of the Archiviste clan erased because he was born under the Blue Moon?

It would probably be awfully hard for a small vampire like Noé to find his way all the way to the human world all by himself, with no recollection of how he got there. So what if he was left there on purpose?

Noé has always been shown to have a fascination with the Blue Moon, something established right from Chapter 1.

Right here, he says that the Blue Moon seems quite beautiful to him. Even in the present day, he is shown to be fascinated by it, and not show any fear.

While one can argue that was due to his upbringing in the human world, even when he was receiving lessons from Teacher, he still held on to the belief that it wasn’t something scary.

There’s also this, also from Chapter 1.

That looks like one heck of a thick hole. Vanitas is right: normally, they shouldn’t have survived such a long fall with a very thick ceiling at the end. As a vampire specialist that’s dealt with many curse-bearers, and has also been on the receiving end of many murder attempts, he would probably know what would kill him. During this scene, there was a Blue Moon up. We don’t see the Blue Moon’s effects on Amelia, but we are told multiple times that it is said the Blue Moon saps the strength of vampires, leaving them vulnerable. And yet, here, Vanitas says quite clearly that it makes no sense that they survived. If the Blue Moon saps vampires’s strength, both Noé and Vanitas would probably be dead here.

However, in Chapter 41, when Vanitas is calling upon the power of his Mark, he says this:

“Lend me your strength. Luna, Blue Moon.

This is followed up on by a statement in Chapter 42:

It’s imbued with my [Original Vanitas’] power - the power of the blue moon. The more you use it, the more you yourself will be rewritten.

This indicates that the Blue Moon has power of it’s own, despite the legends saying it saps the powers of vampires. Theoretically, anyone that’s part of the Blue Moon Clan, or is a Blue Moon vampire, can draw strength from it instead of it draining their strength.

However, here it’s also stated that the more Vanitas uses it, the more he is rewritten. Maybe that’s what’s happening to the vampires of the Crimson Moon, they are being rewritten by the Blue Moon’s effects. That could manifest as their strength being sapped away, possibly to combat the effects of the Blue Moon attempting to rewrite them.

Going back to Chapter 1, what if the reason Noé and Vanitas survived was because Noé drew upon the power of the Blue Moon in some way? If the Blue Moon has the power to rewrite things and is strong enough a vampire needs to use all of its strength to combat against that effect, the Blue Moon’s power could logically “rewrite” that thick ceiling into something that would be easier for them to break through, and survive.

So what if Noé unconsciously tapped into this power in Chapter 1 in order to select the right formula to ensure they survived? If he did, he probably had no clue. Which would make sense, considering he appears to have no memory of his time before his human grandparents found him, and all his conscious knowledge of formulas comes from Teacher.

Another example of Noé being in awe of the Blue Moon, specifically its power, can be found in Chapter 41, when Vanitas calls upon the power of his Mark. When this happens Noé looks directly at Vanitas, and he appears to be awe.

I’m not quite sure what those fragmented pieces that appear to be coming out of his right eye mean, but the chances of it being irrelevant are very close to 0.

This is fairly notable considering that asdie from Chloé and Vanitas, everyone else is either covering their eyes or looking away from the energy the Mark released. 

This actually reminds me of say, if you looked into the sun. You would look away because it’s too bright and you know that looking into it for too long would harm you. If you look at the composition of the panel, it does appear to be similar to the sun, reinforcing that visual metaphor.

But Noé? He’s in awe of it. He seems like he can’t get enough of it. Like how the others are instinctively afraid of the Blue Moon’s power, Noé appears to be instinctively drawn to it, even comparing it to a scene like the night sky. Like he describes the Blue Moon as “beautiful,” he’s describing this effect of the Mark as beautiful, but not as directly. To Noé, the energy from the Mark doesn’t seem to be bright nor harmful, instead being shown as the calmness of night.

Even when Noé is not in awe of the Blue Moon, he doesn’t seem to react negatively to it at all. When Vanitas reveals his Mark of Possession to all the vampires gathered at the Bal Masque, the reaction he gets is immediate outrage. The gathered partygoers immedately start calling for his head.

In contrast, while Noé is shocked at the sudden reveal, he’s not amongst those demanding Vanitas’ head on a platter. In fact, the revelation that Vanitas says he’s doing all of this for revenge, makes the pieces click into Noé’s mind a bit more. However, it must also be noted that the other vampires Vanitas is acquainted with at this point of time also do not react in fear at his declaration, so this is not a reaction limited solely to Noé.

It’s indicated that Misha and Vanitas, two confirmed members of the Blue Moon Clan, have the same blue eyes. However, Noé does not have these eyes. So, he wouldn’t be part of the Blue Moon Clan, right? Not necessarily.

Both Vanitas and Misha are humans, claimed by the orignal Vanitas of the Blue Moon. At this time, we do not know what color eyes the original Vanitas had(has? is the original Vanitas still alive?). It’s possible that the unusual blue eye color is a side effect of either being adopted into the Blue Moon Clan, or being Marked. It was mentioned that Vanitas’ eyes used to be a different color before his ‘adoption’. Essentially, the fact that Noé does not share an eye color with Vanitas doesn’t automatically discount him from being a Blue Moon Vampire. For all we know, the original Vanitas could share an eye color with Noé instead of her confirmed kin.

Hopefully we see more of the Blue Moon soon. As far as I’m aware, it was only confirmed to happen in the present day in Chapter 1.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter thirteen rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

You woke up when bright lights began to penetrate your eyelids. You raised a hand to shield your eyes from the light and slowly opened them. You saw nothing but pure white walls that seemed to go on forever. You were slowly regaining feeling in your body as your eyes adjusted to the lights.

“My leg!” You gasped and looked down at your previously broken leg. It was fully healed, as were the rest of your injuries. You didn’t feel any pain anymore.

“Where are we?” You asked out loud. For the first time in a year, you got no response.

“Venom?” You asked again. She always answered. You were beginning to worry.

“Venom whats going on?” You asked. Still no answer. You tried to turn into Venom but nothing happened. You felt white hot fear shoot through your body.

“Oh my God. I died?” You whispered. “I died when I gave Venom to Peter.”

You suddenly felt yourself being pulled forward, as if attached to a string, before stopping abruptly. You found yourself in front of a door that was painted white. You pushed it open and walked into your old apartment, the one you shared with Andy. Speak of the devil…

“Hi babe.” Andy chirped. He kissed your lips as he passed you. You immediately touched your fingertips to your lips. You hadn’t kissed him like that in so long. He was once your boyfriend but now he felt more like a stranger.

“Hi.” You said wearily, coming out as more of a question.

“You ready?” He asked as he tossed you your shirt. You caught it clumsily and looked at it. It was a button down that you wore for important events.

“Ready for what?” You wondered as you rubbed your thumbs over the material.

“Don’t you have that interview with that guy today?” He tilted his head. “I thought you were gonna write a puff piece about his rocket.”

“My interview?” You were still very confused as you looked around your old apartment.

“Yep. So are you gonna do it?” Andy took a seat and looked at you expectantly.

“Do what?” You asked.

“Choose me.” He said simply.

“Choose you? Choose you for what? You know what, it doesn’t matter. I would never choose you.” You shook your head. “What’s going on?”

Andy’s face fell and a wall dropped down in front of you, between you and him. You slammed your hands on the wall in frustration and another door appeared. You opened the door and walked into your childhood home. You saw followed the sound of humming into your old bedroom, where you found your mother in a rocking chair.

“There you are.” She smiled sweetly as she rubbed her pregnant belly. “Could you hand me the lotion?”

You looked at her in bewilderment as you handed her a bottle of lotion. You were in a nursery, fit for a baby that hadn’t arrived yet.

“Thank you.” She accepted the bottle. “My little Y/n is almost here.”

“I’m here, mom.” You knelt down beside her with tears in your eyes. “I’m right here.”

“But are you staying?” She asked as she rubbed the lotion into her stomach.

“What?” You whispered in confusion. She finally looked at you. It was the first time you had ever looked in your mothers eyes.

“Are you choosing me, Y/n?” She asked, face void of emotion.

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Oh.” She said disappointedly. She stood up suddenly and walked out the bedroom door. You ran after her but when you went through the door, you found yourself in Peters bedroom. He came in and closed the door behind him.

“Hey beautiful.” He smiled. “Have you seen my-“

“Yes.” You blurted and Peter looked at you quizzically.

“Sorry what?” He asked.

“Wasn’t that your question? If I’m choosing you?”

“It was.” Peter nodded as he suddenly thought of something. “You gave Venom to me. Why?”

“Because you were dying.” You said as if it were obvious.

“So were you.” Peter bargained.

“Your life matters more.” You stated, surprising yourself on how quickly you answered.

“Avengers don’t trade lives.” Peter said firmly.

“I’m no Avenger. What good have I done in the world? I saved San Francisco from one guy with a rocket and I think of myself as some kind of hero? You said it yourself Peter.” You shrugged sadly. “I will never be the hero. I will always be the monster. And the monster always has to die at the end of the story.”

“Who’s writing this story?” Peter asked you.

“Me. I write the stories.” You were definitely annoyed now. “Why is everyone asking me these questions? Where am I?”

“So why did you give Venom to me? Why not write a happier ending?” Peter questioned.

“Because.” You said dumbly. You didn’t even know the answer.

“Because?” He repeated.

“Because! Because I was dying! Venom couldn’t heal me and we both knew it. She’d die if I died. So I gave her to you.” You yelled. “If you were her host then she could heal you and survive at the same time. I took myself out of the equation. I made the decision. That’s how I chose to end my story. Are you happy now?”

You never wanted to raise your voice at Peter but you didn’t like everyone poking around in your head. Something weird was going on and you weren’t even sure if he was real.

“So you chose to die?” Peter raised a judgmental eyebrow. All his questions came out in a way that sounded like he damn well knew the answer.

“I chose save you and Venom.” You answered for what felt like the millionth time.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” You grumbled.

“Yes you do. Why?” He said again.

“I said I don’t know.” You yelled.

“Bullshit!” He yelled. Peter never raised his voice at you either. This definitely wasn’t your Peter.

“Because I’d rather die than lose you! Either of you.” You shouted before lowering your voice. “You and Venom mean more to me than anything else ever has. Nothing compares to you. So I gave myself up so in order for you two to live. That’s why.”

He looked satisfied with your answer, finally.

“I know.” Peter nodded simply.

“You know? Then why did you ask?” You were beyond frustrated at that point.

“Because you didn’t know. You think you chose me.” Peter laughed.

“I did chose you.” You argued.

“No. You didn’t.” Peter stated.

“Then who did I chose?” You said angrily. You knew you chose Peter. You just wanted this trip to be over. Your head was splitting.

“Us.” Venoms voice came into your head. You turned to the mirror and saw Venom looking back at you. The background melted away to a black room with just a mirror.

“You chose us. You sacrificed yourself to save someone else. Do you know what that makes you?” Venom asked you.

“Stupid?” You said sarcastically.

“A hero.” Venom replied. You rolled your eyes.

“I will never be the hero.” You hissed.” Peter nearly died because of me. And he would’ve died if it weren’t for you. I’m the one who put him in danger. Me. I’m a monster.”

“Just because you’re a monster doesn’t mean you have to do monstrous things.” Venom reminded you.

“How am I seeing all of this?” You wondered. “How are you here? Aren’t I dead?”

“No. You’re just in such bad pain that you’re hallucinating. None of this actually happened.”

“What?” You gasped. How could it all be fake? It felt so real.

“I’m kidding.” Venom chuckled. “You’re just unconscious. It’s time to wake up.”

“Wake up?” Your vision began to blur again and the room faded back to black.

“I’ll be watching over you.” Your mother’s voice said was the last thing you heard before you fell back to sleep.

You woke up with a jolt. You were still on the pavement outside of the Oscorp building. You heard the faint sounds of a commotion on the roof. Lots a roars. A few cackles here and there. You let out a huff of breath.

“I’m not gonna die.” You grunted. “Not like this.”

With great agony, you picked yourself up. Your hand was still broken but Venom had healed your leg. You doubled tapped your chest and your suit formed around your body once again. You shot a web at the building and swung on it until you reached the front. The doors were locked being as it was nighttime and no one was around. You looked at your reflection in the window and sighed.

“No fear.” You shouted as you head butted the window. It didn’t break but it did give you a throbbing headache. You groaned and shot a web at a dumpster and threw it through the window. The glass shattered all around you.

“That’ll work too.” You shrugged before climbing through the broken glass and limping over to the elevator. Every step you took brought on more pain but you were high on adrenaline. You got in the elevator and pressed the button for the roof. Cheesy elevator music filled your ears as you rode.

Meanwhile on the roof, Peter was putting up a second fight with Carnage. Venoms powers mixed with his Spider-Man powers gave him an advantage. He was stronger, bigger, and faster than ever before. Carnage was beginning to weaken.

“Y/n has been down there an awfully long time. I wonder what’s become of her.” Carnage tried to distract Peter. Peter panicked instantly. He didn’t know how he bonded with Venom. All he knew is he was barely conscious on the sidewalk one minute and climbing the building as Venom the next. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten all about you.

“Where is she?” Peter demanded.

“I threw her off a while ago. Haven’t seen her since. Didn’t you tell me she and Venom would die if they were separated? I don’t know though. Venom seems fine to me.” Carnage taunted the boy.

“Venom, what happened? Where’s Y/n?” Peter asked the Symbiote desperately.

“You can’t stop fighting now. I’ll tell you about to later.” Venom answered, knowing Peter would drop everything and rush to your side if he knew the truth.

“I thought you only said “we”.” Peter wondered out loud.

“”We” is for me and Y/n only.” Venom said firmly. She missed you dearly. All she could do was hope you were still alive.

“Fair enough.” Peter answered.

He had been so caught up in his conversation with Venom that he didn’t notice Carnage charging at him. Carnage pulled at Venoms skin and successfully yanked her off of Peter. He threw Venom off into the distance and grabbed Peter by the neck.

“Don’t waste your time with the bitch. Who cares about Y/n? Girls are nothing but trouble. You’re better off if she’s dead. Women are good for absolutely nothing. All they do is bite your head off.” Carnage growled at Peter. Peter was wining and he was getting desperate.

Peter was about to jump to your defense and annihilate Carnage with an essays worth of reasons why women were amazing when he heard someone behind him clear their throat.

“He’s right, Peter. Absolutely right.” You said suavely. You strutted over to Carnage and Peter, checking your nails as you walked. Peter looked at you with pride and then at Carnage with a look that said “you’re finished.”

“And well,” you shrugged with open arms, “Ain’t I a woman?”

Before Carnge could speak, Peter kicked him in the groin for the second time that evening. You took no time in grabbing Carnage and pulling him off Cletus. You shoved Cletus towards Peter and held Carnage up. He was defenseless in his goo state. You smiled wickedly as you transformed back into Venom. Then, you did just as you promised.

You bit his head off.

You chewed Carnage and swallowed him before tossing the rest of him in the fire. He burned up and dissolved into the fire with a shrill hiss. You smiled proudly at your work but your smile quickly fell when you looked up and saw Cletus with a knife to Peters throat.

“Wait! Kill me too or I’ll slice his throat. Please! I can’t go back to prison.” Cletus begged.

“No, Cletus. I’m not going to kill you. I would never hurt you.” You said cautiously as you slowly approached Cletus.

“We’re saving your life, idiot.” Peter sassed. Cletus tightened his grip and Peter yelped.

“Don’t! Life in prison isn’t living.” Cletus cried.

“Killing people isn’t living either. You have to stop this Cletus. We want to help you.” Peter interjected.

“Why? I don’t deserve your help. Did you ever see what Shelly looked like? If you weren’t my friend, you would’ve been my target.” Cletus shouted at you.

“You would never hurt me. I believe that. But you can’t hurt Peter either. Peter didn’t do anything to you. He didn’t laugh at you or reject you, right?” You tried to reason with Cletus and talk him down.

“You think you would’ve been spared? You wouldn’t. I’m a cold blooded killer baby. I’ll kill your boyfriend right now to prove it. You’d kill me if I did that, wouldn’t you?” His crazy eyes were wide with excitement. “You’d eat me on the spot. I know you, Y/n. I know how you work. Carnage told me that Symbiotes mate for life. Well how about I kill your mate as you watch? Would you still try to save me? Huh, girl? Would you?”

“I couldn’t have pulled Carnage off of you as easily as I did if you didn’t try to let him go.” You pointed out. “You wanted to be free from him. It’s okay, Cletus. You’re free now. Peter and I freed you. So don’t do anything stupid okay? Put the knife down. The police are on their way.”

“They are? Why?” Peter asked. Of course he was opening dialogue while being threatened with a knife.

“Someone threw a dumpster through the window.” You answered him.

“Oh my God really? Who would do that?” Peter wondered.

“I have no idea.” You deadpanned.

“Please just kill me. I deserve it.” Cletus brought the attention back to himself.

“No one deserves it.” You shouted. Before Cletus could protest, something red and crispy jumped of the fire and latched onto Peters leg. You knew you hadn’t succeeded in killing Carnage, but it was too late. Peter was yanked towards the roaring fire and you weren’t fast enough to get to him. Everything began to move in slow motion. Peters body flew through the air like a rag doll. You began to run to him but you knew you’d never make it it time. Then, out of nowhere, Cletus jumped towards Peter and grabbed Carnage. They both tumbled into the fire. You heard the screams from Cletus and Carnage as they burned to ashes together. You ran to Peter and helped him up, both of your eyes trained on the fire.

“Is he-“ you began.

“He saved me.” Peter gasped.

“Are they dead?” You wondered out loud.

“Karen, extinguisher.” Peter called.

The spider on Peters chest came off and hovered over the fire. A white substance shot out of it and put out the fire. There was nothing but a burnt mark on the ground when it was done. Both Cletus and Carnage were gone.

“Did-did we just win?” You asked.

“I think we did.” Peter said in disbelief.

You ran towards each other and embraced. He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his torso. He held you tightly as you heard police sirens approaching the building.

“I thought I was gonna lose you.” You mumbled in his ear.

“I thought I already lost you. How did you find Venom?” Peter asked as he scanned your body for injuries.

“Right as I walked off the elevator, something hit me in the face that felt like a wet cat. Sure enough, it was Venom.” You laughed. Peter sighed in relief.

“That was lucky.” Peter commented.

“Not really. We always find each other.” You smiled fondly at Venom and she smiled back at you.

“How did I get Venom?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” You lied.

”You’re lying. Your heart rate went up. How did I get Venom?” Peter asked again, with more force this time.

“I…transferred her to you.” You admitted.

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why? I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“We can when we have to. I felt we had to.” You told him.

“Why?”

“You were hurt.” You said simply.

“What about you?” Peter asked, always concerned for your safety.

“What about me?” You laughed. “You and I were both hurt and Venom could only heal one of us. She would’ve died if she stayed with me.”

“Why wouldn’t you let her heal me and then take her back?” Peter asked.

“Because I just wanted to keep you safe.” You yelled from an anger you didn’t know was building. Peter’s eyes softened and he no longer looked confused. “All I was thinking in that moment is that you were hurt and I could help you. I wasn’t thinking about me or Carnage or anything else. Just you and your safety.”

“Woah.” Peter stumbled back. “I think I just realized why Mr. Stark treats me like a kid.”

“Love makes you do crazy things.” You shrugged. “He’s strict with you because he wants to protect you, not because he doesn’t believe in you.”

“I shouldn’t listened the first 15 times he told me that.” Peter laughed but his face suddenly fell flat. “Y/n, I have to tell you something.”

“What is it, Pete?” You put a hand on his cheek.

“Almost dying made me realize that I want to be with someone else.” Peter said apologetically.

“What? Who?” You were crushed, withdrawing your hand immediately. Peter smiled proudly at himself when he saw your reaction.

“Your mom.” He delivered in true Gen Z fashion.

“My mom is dead, dickhead.” You said bluntly.

“Oh my God.” Peter stuttered. “I totally forgot I am so sorry please-“

You cut him off by rushing into his arms and pressing your lips to his.

“I’m only teasing. I always appreciate a good “your mom” joke.” You assured him. “Plus, I saw her like five minutes ago.”

“Wait, what?” Peter jutted his head back in surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved your hand in dismissal. “I think we’ve had enough crazy for one night. Can we just go inside and-“

“Watch The Princess Bride and cuddle?” Peter asked hopefully.

“I was gonna say have sex and make brownies, but your thing works too.” You smiled innocently as you pulled him towards the stairs to get off the roof.

“Yeah.” Peter gulped, realizing he jumped the gun. “Or your thing.”

“Nah.” You teased him. “I haven’t seen The Princess Bride in forever.”

“Me either.” He nodded. “Or we could do your thing.”

“Do you want to go to my place or yours?” You still ignored his pleas.

“Doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugged. “You should pick since you make such good suggestions. Speaking of suggestions, we should do your thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you left the building, carefully stepping over the glass from the window you smashed.

“You know what, Peter?” You said as you looked at him with a smile. “If I have to be people eating alien, I’m glad I can do it with you by my side.”

“Thanks, Y/n.” He laughed a little. “That means a lot.”

You stopped him and put your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you.

“I mean it.” You said softly. “I’m glad to have you as my partner in crime.”

“I’m glad I have you too.” He smiled shyly before leaning in to kiss you.

“Come on.” You took his hand and pulled him in the direction of your apartment. “Let’s go do my thing.”