#but my advisor was like u can take a dance class if u want instead! theres a jazz class this semester!

[realnielsbohr]

guess who's taking a jazz class now

[bakugohoex]

could u maybe like do a royal au where we're on a ball and akaashi is the prince of his kingdom while we're the princess of our kingdom? your writing is really great, I'm sure you'll do great <3

“can i have this dance?”

paring: keiji akaashi x female reader 

cw: au, fluff, kissing

word count: 3000+

a/n: hey my lovely, thank you so much and i really enjoyed this request, i hope you liked this, also i’m going to start posting for my 1k event from today yay

summary:  in which akaashi is a prince of his kingdom hosts a ball for possible suitors and you, the princess of your own kingdom get an invite to attend and possibly marry the heir to the throne

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

Akaashi knew what he was doing when he invited the whole of his kingdom to the ball, he knew what he was doing when he stamped the seal for the invites to those of other kingdoms. He knew exactly what he was doing when he wore the tailcoat across the two-piece suit that adorned his body. Akaashi was a man of little expression, choosing his words careful but being analytical in situations that needed it.

It’s why his father had been so happy that he was his first born, relieved almost that the kingdom was going into good hands. The only thing his father had wished for was a suitor for his son to have, someone with foreign links and stability. There was a long list of girls his father had dismissed but had still invited to the ball, with a more minute list for the girls his father would settle for. 

And then there was you, with your father still king and brother heir to the throne, the only thing left for you was to marry. Of course, your mother had told you it was a duty, herself having been a princess and in your exact position. But what was marrying some future king when there was something more to life. Even after your mother’s death, your promise to marry, you still craved the excitement of something more.

“Kuroo.” You whined, collapsing onto your bed, the silk sheets felt warm against your bare skin as Kuroo hastily walked in. 

As soon as he spoke, he stopped, “Yes, Ma’am…” His eyes moved away from your bare skin, the way you only wore your underclothes, he felt flustered at the sight, “Princess Y/n, put on some clothes before someone else walks in.”

“You’re no fun, Kuroo.” You came right back up, seeing the black-haired boy, still refusing to meet your gaze. “You sure you don’t want a peak; I know it’s been a while for you.” Casual sex was a common occurrence with advisors of the king, even with Kuroo the future advisor and best friend to your brother, he still remained involved in brothels. 

You remember the first time you walked past one, almost a year ago, intrigued at the sight of women selling their bodies, you understood. Understood the need for money, to get by on little to nothing, you didn't dare step inside, instead listening in through the window. 

Until you saw her, a mere child crouching on the ground. A nimble piece of bread between their fingers, you had gone to help the kitchens, your own lady in waiting having stood to get some stuff. “Here, do you want some?” You gestured for the loaf of bread you had had in your basket. 

The small child looked at you, dirty fingers and covered in what looked like mud. You hadn't realised just how bad the kingdom had become and you knew that once your brother took over, you’d make him help the poor. Make sure that no poor starving child had to look so nimble and dull. “That was nice of you.” A black-haired boy spoke, his messy locks and piercing bluey green eyes stared back at you. 

“Oh, I couldn’t let them die.” He clearly had no idea who you were as you had given him no formalities and by the looks of it neither did you.

“It was still kind of you, many other people would have let them starve.” He had been watching you help the child, watched as you offered the bread and softly touched their face even with the soot that rimmed their face. You looked like an upper class, someone who shouldn't even be in this area but even then, you helped. “I’m Keiji Akaashi.”

He spoke without the formalities and titles, wanting a real conversation with someone who didn't know him. “Y/n Y/l/n,” both unaware of each other's position, Akaashi had asked to drop you off to where you needed to go. 

He carried the basket with the other foods, smiling and talking to you just as he used to with his friends when he was younger. “This is where I leave you.” You softly spoke, he had been admiring you throughout the whole walk, he was outside the palaces, assuming you to be some noble daughter visiting. 

“I guess this is, till we meet again Y/n.” He softly kissed the back of your hand, a heavy fluster encasing your face at the feeling of his soft lips across your hand before leaving with a smile. 

You never saw him after that, a year flowing by since that event had occurred. Who could say, what happened to him? Maybe he went off to war, to a battle and died, maybe he wasn't even from your kingdom? You didn’t know but even then, that half an hour walk together had made you think of the mysterious Keiji Akaashi. 

“Get out of your thoughts Y/n.” Kuroo muttered after you had put your clothes on, the long dress across your figure as you stared at the gown again. “This is your opportunity to fulfil your mother’s wish.”

You nodded, looking down at your fingers, the invitation had come a while back, the seal from the kingdom next to your own. You were never involved in foreign policy or allying with them, but from what your brother had told you, it seemed like the kingdom was friendly enough and now with the prince’s father on the brink of death. The need for a marriage alliance to strengthen and consolidate the power of the new prince. Having not even been able to even read the invite properly, it was taken by your own father who refused to even accept a lie for you to not go.

Here you were waiting for your lady in waiting to come and help you change to take you to meet a future suitor. “What if I don’t like him?” You muttered standing up and going to the balcony, you could see the whole kingdom from it. Just the sight of it made your heart swell up, home, and if you did succeed tonight. This place would be a far distant memory.

“Princess, you haven’t even met the Prince yet, have faith.” Kuroo touched your shoulder reassuringly before the sound of shoes clicked against the marble. Kuroo took that as his cue to leave, giving a bow as he left you to get taken away by the ladies.

Akaashi stood firm against the mirror, watching at how the suit fit him perfectly, the long tailcoat swishing every time he turned to face the mirror. “Sire, why are you worrying so much?” Bokuto put his hands on Akaashi’s shoulders trying to relieve him of some stress.

“What if she’s not here Bokuto?” He had only asked to invite commoners and nobles daughters to this event as a way to find you. You may have been a distant memory but how could he ever forget the girl who helped the poor prostitute's child. Those kind eyes and soft touch you had even in your hands were soft when he had kissed them goodbye. He regretted not asking more about you, only the basics occurring, but here he was ready to marry. But all he ever thought about was you. 

“She will be, have faith.” Bokuto spoke trying to comfort the future king, but even then, the normal emotionless boy had changed since the meeting with you. Ever since he came back to meet his fathers and advisors, he seemed happy, content even with what was occurring. He knew the king had a daughter, but she was nowhere to be seen and instead had met her father and brother instead. 

They all seemed nice enough and a meeting had only occurred for a treaty to be agreed against a neighbouring kingdom. He hadn't cared that much at the type, thoughts still filled with you but now here he was, stressing about how he looked on the off chance that you were at the ball.

The sound of horns blowing throughout the kingdom, your father had made Kuroo take you to the ball as a means to appease you. Knowing how you hated having agreed to your mothers last wish in the heat of the moment, as the carriage ride there was fast paced. You heard the murmurs of others arriving, you knew how close the king was to your father now, having even grown up together and you hoped that it would continue on through your brother. Kuroo took your hand helping you out of the carriage with the blue ball gown around your body, the thin straps holding your chest up and a diamond tiara situated itself in your loose hair. 

“You like fine, don’t worry princess.” Kuroo whispered passing the invitation as you both got bows. 

“Thanks.” It was hesitant and even Kuroo knew your mind was somewhere else, unable to grasp the concept of marrying a man. 

You both stepped into the large castle, the sound of others smiling and happily speaking ready to dance with the Prince. Still unaware of who he was, glares from girls came across to you, you knew Kuroo was attractive but to garner as much attention as he did was always a shock to you. 

You both walked into the main hall, a long set of two stairs on either side met in the middle to cascade down. Looking around, the list of princesses and commoners from all over the lands had come, how did your father ever expect you to compete, was beyond you. But at the sight of Kuroo pushing you forward, you both walked down the steps finally seeing the man of the hour.

Akaashi and Bokuto had stayed at the end of the stairs, watching as every woman and her consort came down the steps. Akaashi was waiting, watching to see if you’d turn up, he hoped you would, almost begging the gods to allow for him to be blessed to see you again. 

At the sound of the next girl coming down, time stopped from him, your blue ball gown that flowed outwards looked remarkable on you. The diamonds encrusted on the ends made you look ever so beautiful. The same face that he had seen a dirty child touch to bring comfort was right in front of him as he fell in love just at the sight of you. 

“Sire.” Bokuto tried to gain Akaashi’s attention to introduce him to the girl in front of you but all he could see was you. “Sire.”

“S...sorry.” Akaashi mumbled quickly dismissing the girl who looked annoyed at being pushed aside. Akaashi started once more before you finally met his eyes. 

You stopped just as you reached the bottom steps, Akaashi’s ocean eyes meeting your own, he had a smile on his face. “We meet again Y/n.”

“Yo...you’re the Prince.” You whispered hesitantly, putting your hand out for him to bow and kiss. 

“This is Princess Y/n, from the next Kingdom over, both of your fathers have had business together.” Akaashi finally knew who you were, the missing princess he hadn't met a year ago, you were right in front of him, you were real. He didn't care for any of the other girls, eyes fixated on you, the girl he had spent countless nights dreaming and wishing to meet again. 

“Sire, we can’t keep the other girls waiting.” Bokuto spoke already knowing who you were from Akaashi’s actions. 

“One moment.” Akaashi shunned his friend before turning to you, “I...I can’t believe it’s actually you.”

His hands had met your own, taking both of them as he gave the brightest smile possible. A smile his father hadn't seen since he had been told he was dying, his father looked on from the balcony. Always knowing with your father that you two would somehow be together, he watched lazily, how his son smiled as if he had just won a thousand stars. It was the same look he had had when he had met Akaashi’s mother all those years ago, the same type of love.

“You better greet the rest of your guests, Si…”

He interrupted, “Akaashi.”

“You better greet the rest of your guests, Akaashi.” You stressed his name as you and Kuroo left to mingle with others.

“He's the one, the king is going to be so happy.” Kuroo laughed, grabbing two glasses for the two of you. 

You were still in shock at the coincidence of it all, realising that he had come with his father to meet your own for allyship. It had been weird to say the least and maybe you and Akaashi could bring the unity your families wanted and be in love. 

The sound of a horn sounding startled Kuroo as you gave a soft chuckle at the idiot boy, before hearing the man who sounded the horn speak. “The Prince will now have his first dance with the suitors.”

Akaashi had been staring at you throughout the formalities with other suitors, watching at how you spoke to Kuroo and especially how even with the side glances to you from those who had seen the scene between you and the Prince. You still remained calm and collected, still have the same face of kindness and joy that you had had when they first met. 

At the voice announcing his first dance, he swiftly turned away from the other girls, making a beeline directly to you. You had a smile on your face, as he came right up to your hands out for you to talk. 

“Can I have this dance?” His breath fanned your neck as you nodded smiling at the boy. The sound of music cascaded through the hall, the musicians doing a pretty good job to set the scene. Both your hands stayed firmly together as his other went behind your back and your other to the side, the music felt intimate almost as you both danced past the guests. 

The way he’d let you go in a twirl and bring you right back up to him, made him fall more and more in love with you. He loved the look you gave as he brought you right across his chest, the way your breath fanned his own. Oh how he just wanted to kiss you all over, make love to you and show you what it truly meant to be his. 

With the end of the song nearing and a final turn, you found yourself bent downwards, Akaashi looking at your figure bent over before bringing your right back up to his face. The way you both were only a mere inch away from one another, he wanted to close the gap but the realisation that there were others around you. Had made you move your head further away in a cower. 

“Akaashi.” You spoke breathlessly, his arms still around your waist at the sound of the next song ready to start. You both stayed firm in each other's arms as others began joining in the celebration before the feeling of being watched was felt. 

“Father.” Akaashi muttered bowing as you quickly turned around to curtsey yourself. “This, this is the girl I told you about.”

His father may have been on the verge of death, but he carried himself well, “Your majesty.” You looked down not meeting his gaze.

“No need for formalities, my dear, your father used to bring you here all the time when you were a toddler, even my Akaashi could never keep up with you.” His father spoke reminiscing. 

“We knew each other?” You questioned the man.

His father nodded before continuing, “your father would bring you when you were a child, he stopped after your schooling started, we both assumed you both forgot each other, but here you two are.” 

He saw how your hands were still encased, nodding at the young love, “son, why don’t you show the princess the display.”

Akaashi nodded, almost dragging you outside in a rush. He knew the display that his father was talking about and wanted to give you the best view. “Woah, Akaashi slow down.”

He loved hearing the sound of your chuckle even though he ignored it completely, continuing to drag you along before you felt the cold air hit your skin. “Here.” He undid his tailcoat, putting it around you to keep you warm as he took much slower steps. There was a long line of steps but from the top you could see the display of the kingdom. “Come on.” He started running up the steps in a laugh.

“No fair, you had a head start.” You gleamed out chasing after him until you both reached the top, Akaashi grabbing your waist to make you sit on the step. Your body stayed close to him until he put his hands around your eyes.

“No peeking.” You brought your hands to his own across your face laughing at the childish nature of this all. “Okay, you can open them.”

As soon as he let go of your face you saw the fireworks display start, the way celebrations were in order and the music was still playing inside. It was magical, beautiful even, a home you could possibly have. Even with you staring at the fireworks, Akaashi’s gaze never left yours as he watched how fascinated you were with the fireworks.

He brought your arms up, his hands encased in your own making you turn to face him, “be with me Y/n, be my Queen and live the happiness and life you deserve, with me.”

It was a confession, a confession for a partnership not just built on security but built on love, “I’d love too.” 

You whispered as he brought his face closer to your own, you closed the gap as further fireworks fled through the sky. It was a sight for sore eyes but all you could feel was Akaashi’s lips on your own, the way his tongue gilded throughout your mouth and the comfort he brought with his hands in your own. You might have fulfilled your mothers wish but you had done it from love rather than a commitment and you knew wherever she was, she was watching you have the happiness you deserve.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

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[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Lygia Clark, "Óculos" ("Goggles"), 1968

* * * *

Joohn Choe

Did you know that half of U.S. adults can’t read a book written at the 8th-grade level?

It's a constraint on victory outcomes in counter-disinformation work; it's a problem when you declare war on things like QAnon or the Republican industrial lie complex.

It arises when you use a technique from military planners called "thinking backwards".

This doesn't mean "be old-school and nostalgic" (I mean, you'd think), it means "start from the outcome and work backwards".

Illiteracy turns out to be a problem when you consider the basic problem of active measures defense as an exercise in thinking backwards. You get new solutions and new problems; illiteracy, and being literate but not reading, or alliteracy (irritatingly not a word in spell-check), are some of those problems.

First, let's talk about the outcome.

The fundamental problem with disinformation studies is that you can't define what disinformation is unless you take a stance on what information is, and how it's used in society.

It's meaningless to point your finger and say "liar!" as we are wont to do in this field if you're not even clear on what role that should play in society, or how things are supposed to work normally. You can't diagnose a dysfunction in how society produces and consumes information if you don't even have a view on how it functions.

You need to have a defensible, testable theory of how America's information economy operates normally if you are going to put yourself forward as some authority on how it's functioning abnormally. You cannot be a counter-disinformation operator without being a philosopher, and to some extent, a systems theorist and, increasingly, I'd argue, an aestheticist (as in "studies aesthetics", not "aesthetician who does your nails").

This is incredibly basic. I still find it odd that even very professional people and companies in this field don't grapple with this issue. Even the data is meaningless, no matter how impressively objective it is, if you're lacking that kind of context; you end up having anomalies with no baseline, like an endless stream of singleton events.

That's no way to run a railroad, like the old saying goes.

So, back when I had a startup, with advisors, I talked to one of them who actually taught a class at Berkeley on startups about this crazy recording of a Federal crime I'd gotten in Alabama, and I asked for advice for what to do about it in terms of the fight against disinformation.

The answer he gave ended up being a lead-in to thinking about this in a systems-oriented, long-terms sustainable kind of way. I still come back to it as a recurrent point in shaping outcome scenarios.

He suggested, first off, in this sort of infuriatingly wise way that he has (he's an old Asian dude, so) that you have to ask, first: is zero percent really possible?

What kind of victory state are you after, if this is actually a lie that involves disinformation on the scale that you observe it?

He argued that you have to fit disinformation into a place with other aspects of how we talk to each other. On his account, there was potentially value in giving people the ability to create and pass on value in determining what was disinformation and what wasn't, and it verged into a discussion of a crypto-currency based anti-disinformation app that I ended up not really wanting to do.

Credit where credit is due, though: his argument about the achievability of zero percent disinformation made a lot of sense.

The outcome state we're after can't be "zero active measures" and "zero disinformation". Not only is that unrealistic, if you even did manage to achieve that, you'd have North Korea. They have no problem with differing versions of state truth and reality, because everything is state truth that excludes reality.

Diversity in viewpoints is one of our strengths as a country, too; reducing everything down to one version of truth, even as generous as the boundaries might be on that, would inevitably end up flattening society. Like, no one wants "information socialism", that just... sounds bad.

You could argue that disinformation is a flipside of a coin, actually. Disinformation is in a state of mutual entailment with socially accepted official truth; there can't be one without the other, in one way of looking at it. And that's what I think my advisor was getting at.

It's like that old cliché about "tHe sIgN fOr cRiSiS aNd ChAngE ArE tEh sAmE iN cHiNeSe" which is like, you understand, up there with Sun Tzu quotes and "your people are so hard-working!" as far as Things I Ain't 'Bout As An Asian Person, You Feel Me Though (the game show!).

And don't even get me started on people ripping off strategy ideas from theorists of Chinese stick-poking and rock-throwing warfare.

In a normal time, you could say that there's a balance between disinformation and truth, and truth is usually the winning side on that, because normally, the President and the ruling party aren't active sources of disinformation with the veneer of authority on it.

We're getting out of a period of time in which that balance was badly, badly disrupted on the side of disinformation. The kind of abnormalities we see as a society - from the Capitol insurrection to how weird people around us are, compared to what they were like in 2015 - those can all be seen as stemming from that state of imbalance.

The outcome, the advisor argued, was fundamentally about balance. Not about destroying disinformation, or striking it until it wasn't a problem; the paradigm was rebalancing, he argued.

Winning isn't reducing disinformation to zero. It's achieving a new balance between disinformation and truth where the boundary favors truth more.

Almost every victory state for "The War On Disinformation" boils down to that, actually.

If you see it as rebalancing, then new ways of achieving achieving victory by restoring balance open up.

For starters, you could add to the flow of information coming out; you could even make oppositional truth part of it. That's really what "fact-checking" is on social media - Politifact and LeadStories aren't "fact-checkers", because fact-checkers are people at media institutions who run quality control on news, and they are not that. They pick and choose what stories to oppose, at times seemingly arbitrarily, at times politically, and calling them "fact-checkers" hides the essentially subjective nature of that practice.

You could create personal truth, give people new ways to be, new role models to emulate and new social roles to fulfill - "offensive fact-checker", "Nazi-hunter", "deplatformer", and the like. And you could even amplify it and try to drown out the misleadingly framed truth, and the outright mistruths, coming out of the disinformation industry.

You could mobilize the truth to create political crises, and work to reset the boundary on allowable lies. This is the core methodology of an activist, it's creating strategic dilemmas for institutions based on public perception and the pressure to do the right thing.

Outcome-focused political activism, where you're trying to get a specific candidate elected or voted out of office, is one way of specifically mobilizing the truth, instead of just sitting on ass and feeling good about having it (this is common, I'd argue). We can not only reduce disinformation better - interdict it better, ban it better, find it better, track it better - we can also get better at producing alternative presentations and modes of appeal for truth.

The problem with all these solution scenarios, though, and the area that I see where we could really stand to improve, and maybe even something that I'd work on for a minute, is our culture.

I'd argue we just don't have the kind of intellectual culture that supports a lot of these solutions. We can't, not with fundamental adult literacy the way it is; not with the state of the public intellectual the way it is.

There was a point around 2015 when people were declaring a crisis of the French public intellectual tradition; since Henri-Levy, basically, Pierre Bourdieu if you count him, there just haven't been globally notable, famous French philosophers like there used to be. That traces to any number of factors with them, but a lot of them are factors we share, like the ever-wider spread of spectacular culture and its increasing efficacy at exploiting us, drawing us into addiction loops, even, with social media and "binge-watching" TV shows.

I'd argue that the best counter-disinformational solutions we have right now come down to art and aesthetics, actually, because we are so bad as a culture at reading.

Militarized truth, and grassroots truth, and offensive truth, are forms of rebalancing between disinformation and truth, yes, but it's a reactionary, almost frantic kind of truth. The jobs that it gives people, the roles that it puts people into - content moderator, offensive fact-checker - eat people up in the long run because they're in a race against disinformation, and disinformation keeps winning.

And it ends up repeating the basic problem of piling truth upon truth without mobilizing it, positioning it in a way to get through to people.

If it takes a pretty image and a witty notion to introject a critical idea into someone's head; if it takes a song and a dance, even, to get someone to have a bullshit filter... I say, do it.

Call it less "Art of War', more "War of Art".

---

Lygia Clark, "Óculos" ("Goggles"), 1968

https://www.politico.eu/.../decline-of-french.../

https://www.wyliecomm.com/.../whats-the-latest-u-s.../

[jzixuans]

Hey, I've been feeling down recently and was wondering if you had any Logince headcannons. Platonic or romantic work, whichever you feel more comfortable with. Sorry if I'm bothering you.

aw lad don’t worry about bothering me i’m glad to share some headcanons ! i hope you feel better soon!

now, might i interest you in some childhood friends-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers logince? [PREPARE FOR A LONG ASS BULLET FIC I’M SO SORRY (google docs says it’s 4.2k words oh my god)]

they’ve known each other since the first grade because oh my god they were neighbours

they were the kind of childhood friends that were aware of each other’s presence and they hung out a little on the playground and worked on group projects but they didn’t really click

there WERE occasions tho where their parents would sit them down together for play dates bc one or more of said parents were Occupied with Important Adult Stuff

and since this was way back when they were wee lil smols, they were hyperactive lil children

so they played lots of adventure games, lots of role-playing, play fighting, that kind of stuff (twas often the dashing daring prince accompanied by his wise magickal advisor)

okay, so maybe they did click, but only a little (so they say)

they liked most of the same stuff, reading, learning, doing stuff with all that knowledge in those big brains of theirs, and that was pretty much the base of their close-but-not-that-close-friendship

and then they got older, and as all kids do, they started prioritizing different things

logan still loved learning and applying that knowledge, but it was more of a ‘learn and apply what knowledge can make you really successful’ and that was how he found his love of science

for roman, it was more of a ‘take what you’ve learned and use it to create your own path to success’ because he planned to go into music and theatre

as a result of this, both boys were exceptional students, except logan cared maybe a little too much about the academics and roman not enough

as the years went by, logan threw himself into studying, making schedules and routines so that he could make sure he knows what he needs to know and maybe a little bit more on the side, who cares if he lost an hour of two of sleep?

roman just learned to go with the flow, so he took everything in stride, took in what he needed, left the rest, and focused on his art instead, even if he’s started to grow an unhealthy apathy to school

and maybe logan falls just short of perfect on his tests, and he looks over and roman has glowing one hundreds in red ink on his

logan looks back down at his and the teacher has written ‘Think outside the box!’

meanwhile logan answers every question in class with scary accuracy, beaming with pride whenever the teacher praises him, and after school that same day roman gets pulled aside with an ‘I know you’re smart, so why don’t you want to put in the work?’

of course logan’s parents wonder why his grades don’t match his progress work, and roman’s parents wonder how he can spend all his time singing and dancing and still come out with high nineties (“is he cheating?”)

and the two have been drifting apart enough as it was, but now they kind of hate each other because ‘why can’t i just be more like him?’

logan starts hating roman because ‘he doesn’t even CARE, how is he doing better than me?’ (part of him misses the days when roman cared so much about anything and everything)

roman starts hating logan because ‘he’s so stiff and condescending, why can’t he just be happy for me?’ (and part of him misses when logan would so willingly stand by his side as his faithful warlock advisor)

so naturally, competition just kind of,,,, grows between them, until they’re constantly at each other’s throats and everyone else watching the shitshow go down has absolutely no idea where the hell all this animosity came from

at this point logan has a new friend in virgil fray and roman has befriended patton hart (virgil and patton know not to bring up the boys’ ‘rivalry’)

of course, being neighbours, they can’t exactly escape each other, and their rooms are adjacent to each other’s (they used to just lean out their windows and talk side by side, but they haven’t in yEARS)

so it’s nearing summer, and it’s hot out so roman’s working on his homework with the window open when he hears this cry of frustration, the angry pushing back of a chair, and the throwing open of the door

his first thought is one of smug satisfaction knowing that logan is dealing with school worse than he is, but then a flash of black catches his eye underneath his window

he makes it to the window just in time to see logan hop the fence in his backyard, and that only means one thing: he’s going to the old park behind their houses

neither of them have touched that park in ages

roman is Intrigued™, so he caps his pen, turns off his lamp and tells his parents he’s going for a walk before dashing out the back door

when he gets to the park, logan’s somehow managed to climb on top of the roof of the play structure

and roman ain’t slick so he just stands at the bottom and yells up to him

and logan is Lost In Thought so he nearly falls off (lbr roman thought it was funny)

“what are you doing here?”

“well excuse me, suck-rates, i happened to notice that you weren’t doing too hot and wanted to see if you were okay.”

“like you’ve ever cared.”

“woah there, is blink 180-ew rubbing off on you?” 

“lay off of him.”

“alright, alright, fine. forgive me for checking in on you.”

“you have a horrible way of showing people that you care, then.”

“well you have a horrible way of being a good friend.”

it just kind of,,,, slipped out, and now both boys are Oh Shit

but both boys are also not the type to back down from their feelings so they kind of have the Silent Stare-Off of Stubborness

roman decides to be the bigger person (bc any chance to one-up logan) and cave first 

“so uh, what’s been bothering you?” (psh you thought he was gonna apologize first? not yet fam)

logan rolls his eyes bc this asshole amirite, but he wants to vent and this is probably his best opportunity to tell roman what’s really been bugging him

“i don’t know how you manage to do it.” 

“do what?”

“do so well in school! you don’t even try!” and damn dude that one stings because he sounds exactly like his parents and every other teacher

“so you’re angry because you’re jealous that i’m better than you at everything.”

“that’s not what i meant and you know it.”

“i’ll have you know that i do try.”

“but you don’t care.”

“about school.”

“what?”

“i mean yeah, sure, i don’t care about school that much because i don’t really need it to go into music or theatre, but i still do my work.”

“but―”

“don’t you dare say anything about my grades because you know damn well that you’re smarter than me.”

“am not―”

“besides, weren’t you the one that told me in the fifth grade that ‘grades don’t mean shit’? my my, what a foul mouth for ten-year-old logan crane.”

“shut up.”

“nah.”

and by now logan’s decided that roman’s probably not going to rip his head off so he climbs down to stand beside him

and maybe the sun is setting bc i’m a classy romantic

and they’re having a Soft Quiet Moment

“…please don’t tell me that school was the only reason why u hated me.”

“… why did you hate me?” smh lo you’ve got to stop deflecting

“…”

“are you kidding me.”

“YOU STARTED IT”

“what no you did shut up”

and wOw now it’s awkward so 

“oh would you look at that, it’s getting late, my parents are gonna think that i’m slacking again, better go. good talk let’s do this again sometime okay byee” and whoop roman just zooms off

and logan realizes that maybe roman’s life isn’t as perfect as he makes it out to be

but too late roman’s gone and he doesn’t want to look like he’s following him so he waits a good half hour before trekking back home

logan doesn’t finish his homework that night because he’s too busy rethinking the past many many years

the next day, he’s frantically trying to cram his work in during his lunch period

virgil takes one look at him and he says “dude, are you okay?”

“no”

“cool, let me know if i can do anything to help.” and maybe it’s a cold answer but logan and virgil are cold edgy people so that’s just how they do

after like twenty minutes virgil takes out his earbuds like “you haven’t complained or sent one angry glare in roman’s direction what the fuck is up kyle”

“i’m just…. stressed.”

virgil, externally: “yeah of course i feel u dude.”

virgil, internally: “i’ve seen you start a project at 3am the morning it was due without breaking a sweat but go off i guess.”

skip to later that night, logan finished his shit (he needed a distraction from the Roman Crisis) so he leans out his window for some Fresh Summer Night Air

and oho would you look at that roman had that sa m e  i d ea

but it’s one of those clear nights where you can actually see the stars and logan just got roman off his mind so he’s a lil distracted

but of course roman notices and now that they’ve gotten some of their ‘rivalry’ out of the way, he remembers how much logan loved to drag him out to the park as late as they were allowed to stay up to watch the stars, and logan looks so at peace here (he’s only really seen logan’s angry face recently)

roman wants to say something, because part of him really wants to make up with logan

but before he can work up the courage he’s interrupted by his mom calling him

“roman! are you done all your work?”

“yeah, mom! almost!”

“you better be going to sleep early tonight!”

and roman is about to duck back inside before he gets yelled at even more but oh no too late logan’s already noticed and now he’s staring at him

“uh, hey.”

“hi.”

“are you, uh, are you feeling better?”

“for the most part, yes.”

“that’s good. look, uh, i gotta go, but i’ll see you at school?”

“oh, right, yes. good night, roman.”

“night, lo.”

roman falls back into his room with a crash because ‘oh my god why was that more nerve-wracking than any performance i’ve ever done?”

logan sinks back against his wall with a sigh because ‘is roman avoiding me now?’

the next day at school the two actually say hi to each other in the hallway and it’s like the entire world stops moving. students are staring and whispering, virgil and patton exchange looks, and logan and roman only just now realize how big their rivalry had gotten

the two lock eyes and burst into laughter because something as simple as a passing greeting in the hallway has turned the school on its head

and the rest of the school has absolutely no idea what just happened when the two part ways, virgil and patton trailing behind them, dumbfounded

they catch each other on the way home, though they walk in silence

that night, they’re back at their windows, side by side once more, and they exchange small talk

a couple weeks later, exams are coming up around the corner and both boys are stressed out of their minds

logan’s still working well past midnight when he hears the old creak of roman’s window opening

“i see your lamp. are you still up?” he hears roman whisper, and maybe it’s the late hour, but his voice is hoarse and wobbly, and logan is most certainly not used to hearing that

“that’s a ridiculous question, of course i’m still up,” logan replies, still not looking up from his computer because his history final project is due in two days

except roman doesn’t reply, and all he can hear from his direction is shaky laughter, and then a wet sniff

“of course i’m ridiculous. it’s not like i’m smart or anything.”

“what?”

“if i were smart i wouldn’t’ve procrastinated this english paper and i could probably be getting some sleep right now,” roman continues like he forgot that logan was there

“roman―“

“and sure, i can do other stuff, but it’s not like it matters or anything, not to my mom, or mr. schmitt, or you―”

“roman!”

roman’s babbling stops and logan worries that he’s scared him off until he looks up and sees roman leaning halfway out his window and now logan’s worried that roman’s going to fall out and break his neck on his patio

roman’s eyes are red and his nose is rubbed raw from crying. his usually-perfectly-coiffed hair is messy and greasy from running his hands through it, his clothes are rumpled, and his grip on the windowsill is trembling

yet he’s still half out the window, eyes comically wide, and logan can’t help but shake his head at how big a dork he is

“i’m sorry.”

roman’s so startled that his elbows buckle and he barely manages to land back in his room so he doesn’t fall (didn’t expect logan to apologize first, didya?)

he’s barely back out the window when logan starts talking again

“i shouldn’t have dismissed you so quickly. you are intelligent and you are capable and you absolutely didn’t deserve any of my anger or bitterness or hatred. for that, i’m sorry.”

roman is, SHOCKED, to say the least. when they were kids, usually it was roman who apologized first, if at all, logan only after being prompted to by parents or teachers (which might’ve contributed to their drifting apart)

“i’m― thank you.” 

there’s a pause because it’s late and logan is really really bad at this

“i’m sorry, too. i only really hated you because everyone kept comparing us. that wasn’t really fair of me.”

“i guess not.”

“so i guess we both agree that we’re both assholes.”

“essentially.”

“cool.”

“what were you going to talk to me about?” and roman has an ‘oh yeah’ because he completely forgot what he came out here for

“i guess i just missed doing this.”

“i did too.”

and they’re not completely in the clear, because they have years of hurt to clean up, but in that moment, they just sit and talk, and maybe missing one assignment amongst a whole year of perfect grades won’t hurt

they’re butts tired in the morning but neither of them regret it, regardless of virgil and patton’s comments of ‘how much sleep did you get last night? you look like you’re about to pass out.’

that weekend, their finals are all handed in, exams don’t start until the next week, and they’re both sick and tired of studying so logan invites roman over and they lounge in his star-speckled room, talking about everything and nothing

roman’s busy going through logan’s stuff (“what? i haven’t been in here since the summer before the seventh grade”) so logan has a free minute to just,, watch him, and he just now realizes how much he missed having this ball of energy in his life (in a positive way)

after that day, the tension between them is almost gone and conversations are so much easier (virgil and patton get to sigh in relief because ‘thank god, i love them, but they needed to get their shit together’)

but alas, exams approach and roman calls logan late one night, in tears and stressed beyond relief, begging him to meet him at the park (he would’ve called patton, but patton’s never really been under forced academic pressure, and logan’s just a smidge more familiar for him)

logan’s out of the house without another thought, and he sees roman sitting up on the monkey bars with his knees tucked up to his chest (‘oh my god roman don’t you dare fucking fall’)

“i’m sorry, you were probably sleeping, but i just needed to get out of the house and―”

“please don’t apologize for reaching out. what― what’s wrong?”

“i just can’t! my mom’s been threatening to pull me out of music if i don’t do well on this exam because ‘math is more important than music’ but i don’t know anything! i’ve been scraping by pretty well on tests but i can’t fucking study and none of the information is sticking and―”

“roman, you’re hyperventilating. you need to breathe―”

“don’t tell me what to do!” roman regrets this Immediately because logan recoils his hand like he’s been burned. great, just another thing to feel Bad about. “i-i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

if this was a month or two ago, logan would’ve had a scathing remark about roman’s inability to control himself but now he just places his hand back on roman’s shoulder and taps gently with his finger

“you remember that school assembly from grade nine? the one about mental health?”

“yeah?”

“can you do that breathing exercise?”

“probably”

ten minutes later, roman’s cried himself out and he’s stopped hyperventilating but he can’t seem to stop his hands from shaking

logan has absolutely no idea what to do but he’s seen patton do it before with some of the younger kids so he holds his arms out (v awkwardly) and goes, “would you― would it be― would a hug help?”

this gets a lil laugh out of roman because he’s trying and that’s adorable so now he’s cry-laughing into logan’s shoulder

“your mother sounds an awful lot like your horrendous dragon witch. i suppose we must simply team up to defeat her.”

roman draws away so fast he bumps into logan’s chin

“OH MY GOD YOU REMEMBER THAT”

“like i could forget it”

“oh my god”

“i mean, i wanted to, but those were… fun times.”

“hell yeah they were.”

“when’s your exam? i can help you study, if you want.”

“in about seven hours.”

“…change of plans, you’re coming back with me, you’re going to sleep for six, wake up, get a cup of tea, and we’re going to do a brief review before school.”

“…okay.”

so they walk back to logan’s house (roman makes sure to tack a note to his bedroom door for his parents, he’ll face the consequences later), and they just, collapse into a pile of leggy boi on logan’s bed (they were too tired to argue about formalities)

logan wakes up with roman clinging to his chest and he very sorely misses that warm cuddly heat but Nope he is Determined™ to help roman get that bread

so he wakes roman up, plops his notes down in front of him and tells him to flip through it while he goes to make breakfast

roman is a jittery Mess all the way up to the exam, but logan promises that he’d be waiting in the cafeteria for him (it was his lunch period’s exam day so he a Free Boi) and he leaves roman with a “you are more capable than you know. you already have everything you need to succeed. and no matter what, you are valid.”

two hours later, roman comes out and he has Zero Confidence in his results, but logan greets him with a clap on the shoulder and the reassurance that “at least you’re done with this.”

they meet up with virgil and patton and go for lunch, and oho, perhaps this is the beginning of a New Squad

at the end of the week, on exam review day logan’s waiting out in the hallway to go to his next class to see his results when he sees roman sprinting down the hall with the biggest grin on his face

“i got an 84!!! thank you, you beautiful blessed nerd!!” because honestly? roman expected nothing more than a 52 so this was a very pleasant surprise, and now roman’s hugging logan so tight that logan swears he heard his elbow pop

the other students of the school are still processing because it was literally only been a little over a month since they started talking to each other again, and anyone out of the loop just got hella whiplash

(and if this burst of happiness and gratitude left a weird, bubbly feeling in logan’s stomach, well, he’ll just keep that to himself)

the next few summer days are spent hanging out, in their rooms, at their windows, at the park, and sometimes, virgil and patton join them

sometimes they’re in roman’s room, roman typing away on his computer with a dozen open notebooks scattered around him while logan lays on his bed, and the two bounce ideas back and forth for the next adventures of the daring prince c and his faithful advisor logos

and then they’re two weeks into the summer break, virgil’s off visiting family in china for the next few weeks and patton’s in the caribbean, so they’re just aimlessly tossing a ball back and forth in roman’s room while they talk about their futures and stuff because “oh my god they’re gonna be high school  s e n i o r s  in the fall“ ((‘gee, blink, don’t u think that’s a lot of drama for 16 y/os?’ yes absolutely, shut up))

roman chucks the ball at logan, who catches it in one hand and he’s smirking and roman has to take a moment to catch his breath because ‘why was that so hot omg’

over the next couple weeks the two are basically joined at the hip, and when they’re not hanging out, they’re texting or calling each other and it finally feels like they’re really making up for lost time

at the same time, they may or may not be falling for each other and they have no idea what to do with these Feelings™ 

logan doesn’t know how to what to do because virgil is v aro and the only other person he can talk to is roman, whOM HE HAS A CRUSH ON

meanwhile roman is v frantically texting patton like bro pls call me as soon as u get back there’s a cute boy hELP

it’s nearing the beginning of august when the two go into town to get food and ice cream and they’re laughing and joking and waving melted strawberry ice cream in each other’s faces and they’re sitting on a bench when they lean in real close mid laugh and ‘oh no his face is rIGHT THERE’

they draw away real quick but both of them realize that ‘that wasn’t horrible?’ and they slowly look back at each other and ‘oh.’

“is this―”

“um―”

“is this― i mean if you want it to be ―  is this a date?” and roman holds his breath because ‘dear god, please say yes’

“i’d like it to be, yes.” logan is terrified because he does  n o t  want to fuck this up

except now roman has the biggest grin and he absolutely does not care that he’s got ice cream dripping onto his leg

roman tackles logan into a hug because ‘he’s on a date with logan fucking crane’

logan is thrilled because now he gets to keep this excitable ball of energy who’s made him smile and laugh more in the past couple months than he has in years

(no diss against virgil and patton, but they can’t relate to logan and roman as well as, well, logan and roman)

they both have ice cream on themselves but neither can be bothered to care at this moment because they’re so damn happy

even after they go home that night, they stay up real late at their windows, side by side, just appreciating the company

it’s the next day, and they’re at the park, the sun is setting ((listen,,,, it’s an aesthetic)) and they’re sitting on the swings, holding hands ((they’re in love, babey!!))

“are we… does this make us boyfriends now?” logan is a v technical, official terminology person, of course he’d be the one to ask

“if you want to be boyfriends.”

“i don’t think i’d be asking if i didn’t.”

“then yeah, yeah we’re boyfriends.”

logan walks back into his house with a giant smile, and he plays that event over and over and over again in his mind as he lies awake in bed that night

roman calls patton immediately

and they may or may not scream about it together

logan sends virgil a short text that goes along the lines of ‘roman and i are dating now’ but in real life he’s so giddy that his fingers shake as he types it out

they have their first kiss in roman’s bedroom a couple days later

when school rolls back around in the fall, they walk through the doors hand in hand

and now their rivalry is nothing but a legend that the seniors tell the freshmen whenever someone complains about ‘that one couple that keeps making out in the math wing stairwell, excuse me, i just want to get to class’

[illusionfm-blog]

*    𝖘𝖚𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌  ,  chapter  ii  :  the  second  part  ft  .  emerson  hemmingway  ,  ya  favorite  fake  ass  !  intelligent  n  powerful  ,  no  nonsense  ,  problem  child  but  aint  nobody  gotta  b  knowin  that  bc  she  won’t  make  it  known  .  she’s  playing  some  dangerous  games  but  that  big  head  of  hers  is  convinced  she’s  not  abt  to  get  caught  and  lowkey  ?  if  anyone  can  pull  it  off  ,  it’d  be  her  !  

⋆    ╰    another     year     at     hollingsworth     ,  another     year     of     the  big     six rivalry     .     i     hear     that  EMERSON    HEMMINGWAY     is     ensuring  CHI    MU    OMEGA     gets     a     solid     pledge     class     and     stays     at     the     top     of     the     ranks     .  oh     ,     you’re     not     familiar     with  HER  ?  EM     is     the  TAYLOR    HILL     look     alike     from  CHICAGO    ,    ILLINOIS     .     a    part     of     PC  ‘16     ,  she  is     majoring     in  PRE-MEDICAL    BIOCHEMISTRY        and     has     plans     to  PURSUE    MEDICAL    SCHOOL    AND    HER    LIFELONG    AMBITION    OF    BECOMING    A    SURGEON     after     undergrad     .     it     makes     sense     they     pledged     their     house     ,     their  FERVID     &  ERUDITE     attributes     make     them     perfect     matches     .     however     ,     their  MENDACIOUS     &  UNRELENTING     attributes     keep     their     name     alive     on  greek     rank     .     if     you     don’t     catch     them     dancing     to  RHIANNON    -    FLEETWOOD    MAC     at     a     fraternity     band     party     this     year     ,     you’ll     be     sure     to     catch     them     nursing     their     morning     hangover     at  THE    CHI    O    HOUSE    .  cheers     to     another     wild     semester    !

tw  :  mentions  of  drug  use  ,  mental  illness

⋆  ╰    𝑺  𝑻  𝑨  𝑻  𝑰  𝑺  𝑻  𝑰  𝑪  𝑺   .

𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍    𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 :     emerson  elaine  hemmingway  (  formerly  katsopoulous  ) 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬     :    em  ,  emmy  ,  ems 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆    /    𝒂𝒈𝒆 :    august  12    ,    twenty  -  one 𝒛𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒄     :    leo 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓    𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒚    /    𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔     :     cisfemale    identifying    with    she  /  her    /    hers  pronouns 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏     :     openly    bisexual    and    biromantic  ,  no  preference 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏    :    pre-medical  biochemistry  major    at    hu  ,  forward  for  the  hu  women’s  ice  hockey  team  ,  academic  success  center  advisor  &  personal  tutor  ,  personal  trainer  ,  aspiring  surgeon 𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔    𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆    :    slytherin 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏    𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅    𝒃𝒚     :     fiona  &  lip  gallagher    from  shameless  ,  debbie  ocean  from  oceans  8  ,  spencer  hastings  from  pll  ,  princess  bubblegum  &  marceline  from  adventure  time  ,  natasha  romanoff    &  carol  danvers  from  the  mcu  ,    meredith  grey  &  alex  karev  from  grey’s  anatomy 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔    :         -    distant  ,  mendacious  ,  unrelenting  ,  severe  ,  obsessive  ,  easily  goaded  ,  defensive  ,  pessimistic  .

+        fevrent  ,  erudite  ,  observant  ,  level-headed  ,  astute  ,  perceptive  ,  polished  ,  ambitious  ,  capable  .

⋆  ╰      𝑨  𝑵  𝑻  𝑬  𝑪  𝑬  𝑫  𝑬  𝑵  𝑻 .

more  bullet  points  ,  for  the  𝖜𝖎𝖓

emerson  elaine  katsopoulous  comes  into  the  world  on  an  uncharacteristically  warm  chicago  night  ,  testing  positive  for  opioids  ,  a  father  who’s  already  forgotten  her  mother’s  name  as  he  rots  in  a  prison  cell  ,  and  no  reason  for  anyone  to  believe  she’d  ever  amount  to  anything  .

custody  is  awarded  to  her  grandpa  ,  christos  ,  and  pretty  much  the  only  family  she’s  ever  known  becomes  the  ratty  neighborhood  she  grows  up  spending  her  evenings  in  .  christos  surviving  on  disability  and  doing  odd  construction  jobs  here  and  there  under  the  table  for  some  spare  spending  money  ,  emerson  spends  most  of  her  days  under  the  supervision  of  the  dysfunctional  families  in  her  neighborhood  ,  all  fucked  up  in  their  own  ways  but  doing  their  absolute  best  .  she’s  reading  the  label  of  the  cigarette  boxes  she  plays  with  as  toy  cars  by  the  age  of  3  ,  chatty  and  curious  ,  always  inquiring  why  the  man  in  the  street  is  laying  there  with  a  spoon  in  his  hand  or  why  the  ladies  on  the  corner  at  night  are  “  dressed  like  its  warm  when  it’s  really  really  cold  outside  ”

christos  enforces  a  strict  no-visitation  policy  for  emerson’s  mom  and  ensures  the  whole  neighborhood  keeps  it  up  ,  although  there’s  very  little  he  can  do  when  the  vagabond  woman  seeks  emerson  out  on  the  playground  at  school  with  playground  attendants  who  clearly  don’t  care  enough  about  their  jobs  to  pay  attention  

one  of  emerson’s  earliest  formative  memories  is  her  mother  “  picking  her  up  ”  from  school  and  telling  her  they  were  off  to  go  on  an  adventure  ,  causing  an  amber  alert  to  be  put  out  for  the  then  seven-year  old  emmy  .  watching  her  mother  abandoning  her  on  the  sidewalk  to  bolt  away  at  the  sound  of  the  sirens  approaching  is  something  emerson  recognizes  as  the  beginning  of  her  trust  issues

the  older  she  gets  ,  the  more  she  acts  out  ,  landing  her  eventually  in  a  behavioral  school  in  downtown  chicago  where  she  spends  her  days  learning  just  about  nothing  in  class  and  acts  out  even  more  severely  .  christos  is  at  his  wit’s  end  with  the  visitations  from  police  and  her  behavioral  officer  ,  even  a  brief  stint  in  juvie  not  being  enough  to  curb  the  girl’s  enthusiasm  for  trouble  .  

aggression  towards  authority  figures  was  a  major  complaint  ,  but  the  most  severe  issue  became  emerson’s  quick  tongue  and  sharp  observation  .  after  having  learned  a  few  tricks  of  the  trade  from  other  students  at  the  behavioral  school  ,  she  finds  herself  increasingly  talented  at  conning  the  absolute  living  shit  out  of  other  people  .  at  first  it’s  small  things  ,  trading  academic  favors  for  weed  and  somehow  selling  that  for  twice  its  worth  to  the  gullible  students  ,  finding  ways  to  forge  signatures  on  things  she  needs  signed  by  a  guardian  ,  to  the  more  elaborate  and  high  scale  ,  such  as  taking  the  SATs  for  private  school  students  in  the  next  county  over  and  making  BANK  ,  conning  boys  into  trading  off  their  rolexes  which  she  later  pawns  .  

christos  puts  her  in  ice  hockey  at  the  recommendation  of  her  juvenile  probation  officer  at  the  age  of  13  ,  which  proves  to  be  one  of  her  saving  graces  .  her  coach  becomes  a  notable  figure  in  her  life  ,  smacking  the  sense  into  the  chaotic  child’s  mind  that  she  can  accomplish  so  much  more  than  she  gives  herself  credit  for  .  her  behavior  interventionist  recommends  an  adhd  screening  for  which  she  finally  gets  a  diagnosis  ,  and  a  prescription  for  adderall  ,  which  marks  the  beginning  of  her  transformation  .

just  before  entering  high  school  ,  christos  and  emerson  are  contacted  by  a  woman  who  identifies  herself  as  her  long  lost  aunt  .  as  it  turns  out  ,  her  hockey  coach  had  done  some  digging  and  found  that  her  father  ,  a  man  em  had  never  once  spoken  to  ,  had  an  estranged  family  located  in  ohio  ,  moguls  of  a  local  architecture  chain  with  political  ties  and  very  well  off  .  wanting  to  branch  out  into  more  metropolitan  areas  ,  they  mention  their  interest  in  moving  to  chicago  ,  and  concoct  a  plan  that  changes  emerson’s  life  

thanks  to  some  insider  ties  ,  her  politician  aunt  daphne  has  completely  erased  her  felon  brother  from  any  connection  to  her  ,  and  has  forged  a  life  for  herself  with  her  architect  husband  .  feeling  a  duty  to  her  estranged  niece  (  and  preferring  to  get  ahead  of  any  potential   surprises  that  could  come  from  having  secret  family  derailing  her  political  career  )  daphne  and  christos  come  to  the  agreement  that  emerson  can  be  “  adopted  ”  by  her  aunt  ,  living  as  her  daughter  and  trading  the  slums  she  grew  up  in  for  a  life  of  luxury  and  illusion  .  emerson  learns  to  tell  the  lie  with  ease  ,  “  i  lived  with  my  grandpa  instead  of  my  mom  and  dad  due  to  some  health  complications  that  were  best  treated  at  the  university  of  chicago  medical  center  ,  but  they  spent  as  much  time  as  possible  here  ”

in  order  for  the  lie  to  work  ,  and  possibly  one  of  the  most  difficult  moments  of  emerson’s  life  ,  daphne  regretfully  has  her  cut  off  contact  with  everyone  from  her  “  old  life  .  ”  letting  go  of  a  felon  father  and  schizophrenic  drug  addicted  mother  was  easy  due  to  never  having  attached  herself  in  the  first  place  ,  but  abandoning  the  families  that  raised  her  and  the  hockey  coach  who  changed  her  life  was  among  the  most  painful  thing  she’s  ever  done

she  changes  her  last  name  ,  moves  to  the  upper  class  suburb  of  chicacgo’s  finest  ,  her  con  artist  tendency  making  her  transition  seamless  and  the  illusion  of  fitting  in  so  much  more  than  an  illusion  .  learning  from  those  around  her  ,  emerson  learns  the  exact  things  to  say  ,  the  precise  ways  to  move  ,  and  with  a  newly  funded  bank  account  thanks  to  her  “  parents  ,  ”  she  pulls  off  the  act  with  ease  .  she  moves  up  into  a  premier  hockey  league  ,  achieves  grades  that  catch  the  attention  of  countless  schools  ,  and  transforms  into  a  driven  and  determined  steam  train  ,  with  a  one  way  ticket  into  a  legacy  she’s  built  from  the  ground  up

hollingsworth  u  became  her  most  appealing  option  after  touring  the  premises  and  finding  the  competitiveness  of  an  ivy  league  without  the  social  ineptitude  — equal  parts  ritzy  glam  and  fierce  ambition  ,  hu  seemed  to  embody  everything  emerson  was  seeking  without  the  pretentiousness  of  the  other  schools  groveling  at  her  feet  to  have  her

her  first  few  years  are  a  breeze  ,  her  family  connections  meaning  she’s  set  up  in  countless  places  to  achieve  whatever  she  wants  .  she  gets  an  internship  at  the  medical  center  doing  research  by  her  sophomore  year  ,  is  a  starter  on  their  women’s  hockey  team  ,  and  is  enjoying  the  social  aspect  of  her  sorority  time

shit  TRULY  hits  the  fan  the  summer  before  her  senior  year  ,  when  daphne’s  campaign  for  mayor  of  chicago  is  rattled  by  an  investigation  that  exposes  her  senior  assistant  for  having  embezzled  from  the  city  .  though  daphne  herself  is  innocent  ,  the  political  climate  pushes  for  a  closer  eye  on  the  hemmingways  and  their  dealings  .  a  crisis  manager  (  literally  olivia  pope  lmao  )  does  her  own  research  and  before  emerson  knows  it  ,  she’s  suddenly  thrust  into  her  senior  year  with  absolutely  no  financial  support  from  her  family  .  as  it  turns  out  ,  due  to  the  corners  cut  by  not  formally  nor  legally  adopting  emerson  (  as  it  would  have  left  a  paper  trail  )  ,  the  financial  aid  daphne  provided  would  route  in  a  way  that  would  not  line  up  with  the  birth  certificate  that  showed  emerson’s  birth  parents  as  people  other  than  her  fake  parents  .  not  wanting  to  risk  a  scandal  that  would  make  national  headlines  without  doubt  ,  daphne  and  emerson  devise  an  alternative  where  em  uses  her  academic  and  athletic  prowess  to  earn  scholarships  to  cover  her  schooling  ,  which  can’t  be  traced  and  leave  no  red  flags  for  anyone  trying  to  dig  up  dirt  .  

emerson  knows  she  can’t  let  anyone  think  she’s  struggling  ,  both  for  her  own  ego  and  for  the  sake  of  her  aunt’s  campaign  ,  which  is  why  she’s  pushing  herself  to  the  edge  to  keep  up  both  her  academics  and  her  athletics  to  maintain  these  scholarships  .  while  these  cover  the  basic  costs  ,  keeping  up  the  lifestyle  she’s  had  requires  a  bit  more  effort  ,  which  is  where  it  seems  this  tiger  won’t  change  her  stripes  no  matter  how  well  she  had  hidden  them  for  so  long  .  what  started  as  simple  tutoring  turned  into  a  teleportation  back  to  her  behavioral  school  in  chicago  but  on  a  wider  scale  —  she  sells  her  adderall  prescription  to  make  quick  cash  and  offers  her  services  for  fake  test  taking  or  last-minute  essay  writing  .  it’s  high  risk  ,  but  also  high  reward  ,  and  emerson  has  always  thrived  in  high  pressure  situations

⋆  ╰      𝑨  𝑵  𝑨  𝑳  𝒀  𝑺  𝑰  𝑺  .

personality  wise  ,  em  is  known  for  being  the  cool  calm  and  collected  type  ,  who’s  a  bit  of  a  mystery  to  most  .  she’s  an  illusion  and  lives  the  lie  she’s  been  telling  as  if  its  her  second  skin  ,  sometimes  losing  what  she  believes  in  at  her  core  .

she’s  deeply  ambitious  and  wants  to  be  a  surgeon  ,  her  dream  since  she  was  a  child  as  medicine  was  the  most  stimulating  thing  possible  to  her  .  she  did  so  much  research  on  her  “  fake  illness ”   to  sell  her  story  that  she  ended  up  falling  in  love  with  it  ,  and  has  been  set  on  medicine  ever  since

this  aggressive  ambition  can  also  show  as  fixation  or  obsession  ,  and  emerson  has  a  severe  problem  with  not  knowing  where  to  let  go  .  while  she  seems  cool  and  detatched  ,  she’s  obsessed  with  never  feeling  like  she  could  have  done  more  and  will  always  be  the  girl  who  can  be  goaded  into  taking  things  too  far  ,  often  putting  her  in  dangerous  situations  that  she  has  to  figure  her  own  way  out  of

she  tends  to  take  everything  kinda  seriously  and  despite  being  p  relaxed  ,  her  perfectionist  type  a  side  makes  itself  very  apparent  in  the  day-to-day  of  her  life  .  she  knows  how  to  play  hard  and  enjoys  herself  a  good  party  ,  but  even  in  the  way  she  plays  beer  pong  she  hates  to  fail

has  a  sexy  deep  voice  n  an  even  SEXIER  deadpan  sarcastic  wit  .  ..  .  def  the  friend  to  call  out  bs  without  batting  an  eye  ,  usually  wearing  an  oversized  hoodie  n  gucci  slides  ,  em  is  the  literal  intersection  of  boujie  and  casual   PHEW

having  such  an  unstable  upbringing  and  so  many  shitty  experiences  at  such  a  young  age  have  hardened  her  and  made  her  deeply  unwilling  to  trust  others  .  she  tends  to  keep  the  world  at  a  distance  ,  and  even  her  closest  friends  always  admit  it  feels  like  they’re  still  an  arms  length  from  her  deepest  layer  .  emerson  is  pretty  sure  the  only  person  to  ever  see  her  cry  is  her  grandpa  ,  and  intends  to  likely  keep  it  that  way

instead  of  freaking  out  ,  em  shuts  down  !  v  unemotional  !  she  just  detatches  and  tries  to  be  calculated  which  tends  to  make  people  think  she’s  some  shitty  robot  who  doesnt  give  a  fuck  about  anyone  but  herself  bc  of  her  “  rich  girl  upbringing ”  which  is  true  to  an  extent  ,  but  nobody  will  ever  know  the  true  backstory  that  explains  her  emotional  detachment  and  secrecy

in  a  way  ,  even  though  she  has  the  world  convinced  she’s  this  composed  individual  ,  she  still  always  thinks  of  herself  as  a  chaotic  problem  child  which  only  fuels  her  determination  even  more  ,  often  to  the  extent  that  she  fucking  burns  herself  out  .  she’s  incredibly  cynical  and  has  a  p  negative  self  perception  because  she’s  just  that  fucking  hard  on  herself

has  never  really  been  in  love  !  she’s  never  let  anyone  close  enough  to  her  that  she  risks  getting  attached  enough  to  get  hurt  ,  which  means  relationships  are  usually  rather  shallow  and  end  when  she  gets  bored  or  when  they  get  tired  of  waiting  for  her  to  open  up

stressed  as  SHIT  trying  to  keep  up  her  illusion  for  her  own  ego’s  sake  and  that  of  her  family  !  she’s  ashamed  of  her  upbringing  and  her  aunt  has  always  been  pretty  good  to  her  ,  and  em  recognizes  that  if  daphne  wouldn’t  have  appeared  ,  emerson  would  probably  have  ended  up  like  either  one  of  her  parents  .  people  have  noticed  that  emerson  seems  a  lil  more  anal  than  usual  ,  but  the  con  in  her  makes  it  easy  to  convince  everyone  she’s  just  stressed  with  the  prospect  of  graduation  and  medical  school  

[mugglelissa]

Kylux red string of fate modern au

Thanks for the prompt! I’ve never written/read this theme before so I hope I did it justice:

Strings of Fate

I.

Blurry masses of trees whizzed passed, a green smudge against the pale blue sky. Ben pressed his forehead against the window and felt the smooth glass cool his warmed skin. There was an odd stirring in his stomach, not quite car sickness, but something else--something rooted far deeper. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy visiting his Uncle Luke or that he wasn’t looking forward to meeting his new baby cousin, but there was a fierce clenching in his gut that warned him away. No, that wasn’t it--not away. Rather, he felt as if his insides were all twisted up, as if a thin but taut string was holding him together and pulling him along.

“Ben,” his mother announced as she put the car into park. “We’re here.”

He clicked off his seatbelt and stepped outside. Even the ground felt unsteady under his feet. Maybe he was getting sick; maybe it was entirely something else.

An hour later, Ben was getting restless. Uncle Luke and his mother were busy oohing and aahing at the pink wrinkled bundle called Rey and Ben still didn’t feel any better.

“Can I go to the park?” he asked, tugging on his mother’s sleeve.

She turned around and raised an eyebrow, taking in his flushed face. “Alright, but only to the one right out front. Don’t wander off from there.”

Ben nodded his agreement and rushed out the door. The burst of cool spring air was a balm to his heated skin. The relentless tug from before returned, stronger this time, and Ben nearly ran as he made his way towards the brand new playground in front of his uncle’s complex. He was halfway towards his favorite swing set when he stopped abruptly in his march.

Bright and vibrant, shining like a brand new penny, Ben’s eyes were drawn to the head of a reddish-blonde boy leaning against the slide. The sunlight reflecting off the metallic surface didn’t hold a candle to the dazzling shade of rusted-gold illuminated in the other boy’s strands of hair.

Ben’s feet moved of their own accord, like a moth to a flame, only coming to a halt when he was a nearly in front of the other boy. He must have looked quite a sight, eyes wide open and mouth slightly ajar. The fair-haired boy did not seem impressed.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked, mouth twisting into a scowl.

Ben dumbly shook his head but his lips parted all the same. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” the boy snapped, hands defensively smoothing the glowing locks.

Ben shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks. He toed nervously at a mound of loose pebbles. “It’s beautiful.”

The boy’s brow furrowed in confusion, but the look in his eyes softened ever so slightly. “I don’t appreciate being made fun of,” he replied stiffly.

“I’m not!” Ben protested earnestly. He took a timid step forward. “I--”

“Armie,” a woman’s voice rang across the playground. “Where did you go? Your father’s here to pick you up.”

“Armie?” Ben snorted, against his will. “Is that really your name?”

The blood drained from the other boy’s face. “Yes,” he hissed, anger filling his voice. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Ben chuckled, unable to control the laughter bubbling in his chest. “It’s just different, that’s all.”

The boy marched over, grabbing Ben’s shirt and yanking him closer. “I told you not to make fun of me,” he growled, fury glinting in his pale eyes.

“I wasn’t,” Ben insisted, a trickle of fear rising up his spine.

“Liar,” the boy spat, hastily letting go of Ben as he pushed him away.

Ben wobbled off balance and began to fall, his ankle smacking against the foot of the slide. He cried out in pain as he slammed into the ground, his knee landing right onto a jagged pile of gravel. Blood began to well up on his skin, slowly dripping down his leg. The other boy’s eyes widened, a flash of remorse forming on his face.

“Armie!” the woman’s voice returned. “Hurry up, your father hates to be left waiting!”

The boy’s head whipped around and, without a second glance back, he quickly rushed across the street and away from Ben.

True pain began to bloom in his injured knee. Ben’s vision swam as he watched the boy run away through a haze of unshed tears. He vowed to himself from that moment on to stay away from boys with shining copper hair. He hoped with all his heart to never meet that ill-tempered boy again.

II.

“And over here you can see First Order U’s library. Impressive, isn’t it?”

Ben rolled his eyes as the tour guide droned on about the first edition books the university's library held. Even his class advisor seemed a bit bored, stifling a yawn as he checked his watch every few minutes. Ben only signed up for this tour at his mother’s insistence. He had already picked out and applied to the art school of his dreams but his mother was adamant he should keep his options open. First Order University seemed a fine enough school, but it wasn’t really Ben’s style.

“Here is one of our open quads, perfect for studying out in nature,” the guide continued, arm waving enthusiastically at the open grassy field.

It seemed to Ben more students were laying out on blankets or playing frisbee than doing any actual studying. That was, except for one student.

Ben’s attention was quickly snatched away from the monotone tour guide and instead focused intently on a young man sitting on a bench beneath a tree. An intimidatingly large book was propped open over his lap and he chewed delicately at the tip of his pen as he studied it. What really caught Ben's eye, however, was the young man’s stunning hair. Gleaming in the sunlight, more copper than gold, the shining rays lit his vibrant strands to ethereal glowing. The shade was unique, alluring and oddly familiar. Ben felt a sharp twinge, a phantom pain of sorts shoot through his knee. He swiftly pushed the sensation aside.

A quick glance towards his advisor, tour guide and other students showed their attention was now fixed on the campus cafe in the other direction. Ben casually walked away, his pace increasing as he drew closer and closer to the young man.

“Mind if I join you?” Ben asked cheerily, gesturing to the empty spot on the bench beside the young man. He raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement, returning his attention back to his book. Ben peered over the young man’s shoulder, eye catching on the header of his notebook.

Armitage Hux

“Armitage?” Ben muttered under his breath. Why did that sound familiar?

“Excuse me?” the young man icily asked.

Ben raised his hand in apology. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to be nosy. Is that your name?”

“No one calls me that,” the young man huffed in annoyance. “My name is Hux.”

“Hux,” Ben said with a smile, liking the way the word rolled off his tongue. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ben.”

Hux sighed and placed his pen inside the book, partially closing the pages. He gave Ben an accessing look. “What are you, fifteen? Are you a professor’s kid or something?”

“No,” Ben bristled. “I’m a senior.” Hux raised a suspicious brow. “In high school,” Ben admitted, frowning at Hux’s answering smirk. “But I’m not some kid,” he muttered. “I’m eighteen.”

“Really?” Hux asked, a glint of interest entering his eyes. Ben’s pulse sped at the sight. “Eighteen you say?” He slowly looked Ben up and down, a considering expression across his face.

Ben swallowed roughly. “Yes, and I--”

“Ben!” Jordan, his classmate, rushed towards him and grabbed his arm. “You better come quick, Mr. Daniels isn't happy that you wandered off.”

“You best be going, Ben,” Hux chuckled with amusement. “You wouldn’t want to get detention, now would you?”

Ben scowled at him, not sure if he was angrier at Jordan, his advisor, or the gorgeous student--Hux--who had now returned his attention back to his book. Either way, it was a lost cause and he allowed himself to be pulled away and back towards the group, disappointment sinking into the pit of his stomach.

III.

The beer was cheap, and mostly flat, but Ben finished the last dregs of it before placing the empty glass back on the bar. He didn’t come here for the drinks anyway, and he doubted anyone else did either for that matter. Tonight, he was going to let loose and celebrate.

It had only taken several after-hour study groups but he finally passed his art history course. Now he only needed a few more credits and he would be ready to graduate for good. The music swelled and Ben let the beat course through his veins. The drinks might be weak and overpriced, but the music was always good and the crowd better. He made his way onto the dance floor, pushing past a sea of sweaty, writhing bodies.

Lights flashed from the ceiling, a collection of red, blues and pinks casting colorful shadows on the people below. He scanned the crowd, looking for a suitable partner to dance with, when he spotted a familiar sight. That particular shade of copper, the one he often dreamed about, now looking more of a rose-gold under the flickering lights, was right there, center of the room, body moving gracefully to the beat.

Ben’s feet moved quicker than his mind could process it, and he found himself right against the other man. Could it really be? Could this gorgeous stranger be the university student he chatted with those few years ago?

Ben’s hands went to the man’s hips, swaying in time with the music. The man’s piercing gaze settled on Ben, his eyes squinting as he took him in.

“Do I know you?” He asked, his voice faint over the pounding music. He didn’t seem perturbed by the stranger suddenly dancing against him, hips sliding together as his arms lightly draped over Ben’s shoulders. Then again, the patrons of his bar hardly ever cared about that sort of thing.

“Maybe,” Ben answered, leaning in to speak directly into the man’s ear. He felt the man shiver in return.

The song changed, the beat dropping lower and deeper. Ben moved with it, pressing closer and slotting a thigh between the other man’s legs. The pulsing music thudded in time with Ben’s hammering heart, his blood ran hot as the man moved with him. The man was slightly smaller than Ben, slender but with lithe muscles. Ben could just imagine how his body might feel beneath his own. He felt this thumbs press harder into the man’s hip bones, pulling him closer. Heat built between them, muggy air brushing against their sweat-slick skin.

Arousal pooled in Ben’s stomach and he leaned in again. “Come home with me,” he murmured, allowing his lips to brush against the man’s ear.

His studio apartment wasn’t far, just a few blocks away. It would take no time to get there, wouldn’t be long before he could undress the beautiful man before him, have him tangled in his sheets, panting his name, arching into his body.

The man’s pupils were blown wide, desire swimming in the pale green depths of his irises. Still, he reluctantly shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Ben’s lower lip jutted out, and he found his lips pouting of their own volition. “Why?”

A broad arm wrapped around the man’s chest, pulling him away and off of Ben. “Here you go, darling,” the intruder said, handing the red-haired prince of Ben’s dreams a drink. “Hope you weren’t waiting too long.” He gave Ben a smarmy smile. “Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company while I got us some drinks. I can take over from here though.”

Ben’s beautiful stranger shrugged apologetically and allowed his boyfriend--Ben’s stomach turned at the word--to bring him closer as they began to dance and grind together. Ben backed away, knowing when to admit defeat when it stared him in the face. He half-heartedly searched for an other dance partner but soon gave up the chase. He could hardly see anyone else when the lights kept shining on that head of copper, and those elegant, pale limbs.

The man continued to dance with his boyfriend, their bodies entangled on the dance floor, but his gaze remained fixed on Ben. That bluish-green stare, the color of the ocean, drew Ben’s attention to him again and again like the sea at high tide.

It was only with great will and a heavy heart that Ben finally broke their connection and, utterly dejected, left the bar to go home.

IV.

Ben pulled nervously at his sleeve, hating the restrictive feeling of the crimson button up Rey insisted he wore tonight.

“Stop fidgeting,” she reprimanded, swatting his hand away from his wrist. “You look great.”

“I don’t see why I had to dress up,” Ben complained.

Rey sighed and gently knocked her shoulder against Ben’s arm. “A button up and a pair of clean jeans is hardly dressing up,” she chastised. “Oh!” She pointed excitedly towards the door. “Look, Poe and Rose are here. I’ll go bring them over.”

Ben watched her bound away with a small smile. Despite his complaints, he was glad his cousin was here to help calm his jittery nerves. This was the first art showing he’d ever had at a real gallery and he was grateful to have his family and friends here for support.

Patrons had been filtering in and out for the last hour and, while a few did stop to glance his at section of works, so far none had seemed interested in buying. He adjusted his collar one last time, ready to approach an older couple who was perusing his collection of prints, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Art’s not really my thing, Phas.”

“Oh come on,” a women replied. “You need more culture in your life.”

Ben quickly spun around to follow the voices. An alarmingly tall woman with platinum blonde hair stood next to…him.

It could hardly be anyone else; Ben knew that exact shade of golden-red hair by know, could paint the color in his sleep. He looked divine--stunning hair swept back, revealing his gorgeous eyes and pretty face. The collar of his crisp white button up peeking forth from the rich, blue sweater he wore over it. His charcoal slacks were perfectly tailored, showcasing the enticing lines of his thighs and curves of his calves.

Ben’s mouth went dry at the sight. The man’s tall friend wandered off, leaving him alone as he moved slowly from installation to installation. Ben could only stare as the man stopped in front of his biggest piece, an oil painting he’d named ‘Strings of Fate.’

Collecting his courage, Ben approached him.

“Do you like what you see?”

The man turned slowly, eyeing Ben carefully from head to toe. “Not too shabby,” he replied with a small smirk. Ben’s face flushed at the implication. The man smiled again and returned his attention to the painting. “It’s beautiful,” he admitted softly. “I’m not well versed in art but the use of color, the red, golds, and copper it looks like…”

“Sunlight?” Ben offered, his pulse racing.

The man nodded his head. “Yes, it’s hard to explain, but it feels, it feels familiar.” He turned his head to study Ben once more. “Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?”

Ben nodded, stepping closer, heart lodged painfully in his throat. “I think so.”

The man’s cheeks stained pink but he held his ground, face full of curiosity. His gaze flicked briefly down towards Ben’s lips before returning quickly to his eyes. Ben leaned forward, the incessant tugging in his chest stronger than ever.

“Ben!” Poe tacked him from the side, slinging a friendly arm over his shoulder. “Look at the turnout, it’s amazing. I always knew you had it in you.”

The man cleared his throat and stepped back. “Oh, are you the artist?” he asked Ben, his voice oddly strained.

“You bet,” Poe answered, arm still heavy over Ben’s shoulder. Ben tried to brush it off but Poe, as always, was a bit stronger. “Our Ben here is super talented.”

“Your Ben?” The man said slowly, a look of disappointment flashing across his face. “I need to find my friend, excuse me.” He gave a small, sad smile to them both before turning on his heel and rushing away.

“Poe!” Ben hissed, finally pushing his friend away. “What the hell!”

Poe’s face wrinkled in confusion. “What? Did I embarrass you?”

Ben shook his head and sighed. “No, but I think you chased that guy away, acting like you were my boyfriend or something.” Ben craned his neck but couldn’t seem to find the tell-tale flash of copper amongst the crowd.

“I was just being friendly”, Poe replied apologetically. “Sorry about that. I’ll go find him for you and explain.”

“Forget it,” Ben muttered, patting Poe on the shoulder in a reluctant act of forgiveness. He took a steadying breath and did his best to shrug off the feeling of bitter disappointment. “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”

V.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

Rey paused mid-stir, teaspoon caught between her fingers as she arched a curious brow at Ben. “Soulmates?”

“Yeah.” Ben nodded, lifting his own steaming mug and peering into the swirling coffee. “Fate and all that, you know?”

“I suppose so,” she answered thoughtfully, resuming in adding a copious amount of sugar to her tea. “It’s sort of a romantic ideal but actually I do think people are placed in our paths for a purpose. Why do you ask?”

Ben took a sip from his cup, hissing in dismay as the hot liquid burned his tongue. He glared at the offending coffee and set it down. “You know that guy I’ve been looking for?”

“The mysterious red-headed stranger?” Rey relied with a sly grin. “Of course I know, you never shut up about him.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Ben muttered without any real heat. “It’s been months now and nothing. I can’t seem to find any info on him, not from locals at the bar, not from what I thought was his old university. I haven’t seen him again and...well I just think if fate really existed it would all be a bit easier.”

Rey frowned thoughtfully and played with a stray sugar packet. “I don’t know,” she began slowly. “I’m not sure you can dismiss the workings of the universe so easily. Why should it be easy? Nothing epic in life ever is.”

As if to answer her musings the sky opened up outside with a thundering roar and rain began to pour onto the pavement.

Ben parted ways with Rey, waving her off as she jumped onto the cross-town bus back towards her apartment. Luckily Ben’s own studio was only a block away from their usual cafe and he quickly ran down the street, jacket overhead as a makeshift umbrella. He was fumbling for his keys, ready to push past the gate when a loud crack of lightning startled him. The slick metal fell from his fingers, splashing into a puddle before skidding down the sidewalk.

With a small groan of dismay he bent down to grab them when an other hand reached out, grasping his keys out of reach. Ben felt a jolt as his fingers collided with the pale, slender ones in front of him. That familiar clenching in his gut tightened steadily as he raised his head and saw the man before him.

Shocked green eyes widened, lovely lips parted in surprise. Unruly damp hair, a deeper red when wet, fell carelessly over a most welcome face.

“Hello,” Ben said, heart racing and face breaking into a startled grin.

“It’s you,” the man replied, a similar astonished smile spreading across his lips.

“Ben,” Ben helpfully supplied. He belatedly realized that their hands were still touching. He reluctantly let go.

“Hux,” the man offered. The name buzzed in Ben’s head like the lyrics to a forgotten song suddenly remembered.

Ben toyed with his keys, the cold jagged edges scraping against his nervous hands. “It’s raining,” Ben stated, immediately wanting to smack himself for the stupid observation.

“So it is,” Hux replied, amusement lacing his voice. He titled his head to look up at the sky. Rivulets of water slid down his throat.

Ben watched a single drop glide down towards his collarbone. He swallowed roughly. “You should come inside,” he offered, gesturing towards his apartment.

Hux gave him a bemused look. “I hardly know you.”

Ben boldly took a step forward, heartened that Hux’s response wasn’t precise a no. “But you do,” he said quiet but firm in the space between them. “On campus, years ago. You were reading that ridiculously large book, studying intently until I interrupted you.”

“That was you?” Hux chuckled to himself. “Of course. Of course it was. You were such a gawky kid back then, you’ve certainly grown through the years,” he added appreciatively.

Ben allowed the slight about his teenage self to pass, if only for how Hux was looking at him now.

“And then years later, at that bar. You were gorgeous in the crowd, dancing freely, warm body against mine—“

“Until my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—came and interrupted us,” Hux finished, recognition dawning on his face.

“And then at my art show—“

“I remember your art show.” Hux took a step forward.

“You ran off before I could ask you, before I could tell you…”

Ben leaned forward, letting the gentle movement of his lips complete his sentence. Hux pressed back into the chaste kiss, his mouth trembling against Ben’s.

“Will you come inside?” Ben asked again, brushing against Hux’s soft, willing lips.

“Yes.”

It didn’t take long after Ben recommend they both to remove their wet, rain-soaked clothes before the offered towels were cast aside and they were tumbling onto his bed.

Ben's hands sunk into those much desired golden-red locks, fingers tangled into the soft strands, pulling Hux closer and closer.

He could hardly get enough, even after his slick fingers slid inside Hux’s tight heat, even after he replaced those fingers with his stiff cock, even after he rocked inside, pressing into Hux as deep as he physically could get--still, he wanted more.

He wanted to bury himself inside, live in Hux’s blood, settle into his bones. The aching pull seemed reconciled, finally satisfied to be close to the object of his dreams at last. Ben watched the pleasure spill forth from Hux, his face twisted in ecstasy, and wondered if he, himself, could ever get enough of the perfect beauty beneath him.

The rain settled outside to a light drizzle, the gentle drops falling melodically against his windowsill. Grey light shone through the partially open curtain, casting faint shadows onto their tangled limbs.

Hux’s soft hair tickled Ben’s cheek as he moved closer, setting his head against Ben’s shoulder. His fingers lazily traced the raised scar along Ben’s knee cap.

“How did you get this?” Hux asked, sleepiness pervading his voice.

“It was a long time ago,” Ben replied. It was long ago, and yet Ben had never forgotten. “I was just a kid, visiting my uncle, when I met another child on the playground. I offended him somehow, something about his name, and he pushed me. Anyway, I wound up falling and cutting my knee. It wasn’t deep but pretty wide and it wound up leaving a scar.” Ben looked over and found Hux looking alert now, his eyes tense and brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hux pinched the bridge of his nose as if he warding off a headache. “I mean it can’t be…”

“Tell me,” Ben urged.

“I just have this memory of when I was young, at my mom's new condo. There was this annoying kid who stared at me for ages and then went on to make fun of my name. I—I remember pushing him and he fell. I always felt a bit bad about that,” he admitted sheepishly. “But, there’s no way what was you.”

Ben sat up, eyes glowing with excitement. “Armie?”

“No,” Hux shook his head in stunned astonishment. “I don’t understand, it doesn’t make sense. There’s no way…”

“Why not?” Ben replied, pulse racing with this new discovery. His chest grew tight with emotion. "Don’t you believe in fate?”

“Hardly,” Hux scoffed. “This was all chance, purely strange coincidence.”

“That’s not true. I think there’s a reason we’ve been meeting again and again.” Ben bent down to nuzzle at Hux’s ear. “I think we were meant to be.”

“Ridiculous,” Hux mumbled, but still he leaned into the touch. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I do,” Ben promised. He reached forward to grasp Hux’s hand and intertwined their fingers, pressing kisses like promises unto his knuckles. “I do.”

fin.

[sabraeal]

#51 sounds really cute! :D

#51: things you said as we danced in our socks

Set a few weeks before graduation

Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Horns rattle from the tinny speaker, and thebriefest bass guitar, before abruptly cutting off. Shirayuki frowns as shescoops up her phone, flicking the screen on – that clip is so unsatisfying, she reallyneeds to fix it –

r u done?im doneim dooooooonnnnne

She glances up from the mixer whirring away, catching the bookbagslumped against the wall of the vestibule, abandoned the moment she walkedthrough the door.

I just got backObi still has one more though

ugh ofctell him hes an overachiever and he should b ashamed

(He’s been sitting like that for almost fifteen minute,pointer hovering over Add Class, hisdesignated selection time bleeding out, only fifteen more before the juniorsgets to start picking their classes too –

“I shouldn’t bother,” he says, toneless. “You have to applyfor it.”

She tucks into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. “Sodoes everyone else. You have just as good a chance as anyone.”

“You’re not doing it.”

She blinks, tilting her head up. “I’m not the one interestedin informatics.”

“It’ll be over my credit load,” he tries instead. “I’d need permissionfrom the dean –”

She tweaks his elbow, just hard enough to make him squirm. “Good thinghe’ll be your graduate advisor.”

It takes a bit for him to blush – or at least for her to see it – but there’s pink just under bronze on his ears, and that’s enough. “That’s not – that’sonly if Admissions all goes temporarily batshit and lets me in.”

His chest shakes, breath coming quick, and she slides her hand down,covering his. “You should do it,” she says, studiedly casual. “What’s the worstthat can happen? They say no?”

His breath steadies, but not easily. “Right. Yeah.”

The click is less than a second. “Fuck ‘em, right?”)

i don’t think i’ll tell him that

FINELAMEsuzus been done since yesterday bcuz hes a slackerwhen obi is done we should celebratelike unreal amts of booze celebrate

It’s – it’s not that her heart pounds, it’s just – quiet,now that the mixer is off. Everything is more – noticeable. Now that she – she’s –

She’s thinking about the last time they got drunk at Yuzuri’sbehest, looming over them as she poured more and more shots, tellingthem it���s a celebration, everyone has todrink –

– I don’t think you’dbe so hard to figure out, darlin’. Obi’s drawl is liquid in her memory,pouring over her like honey. Just have toknow where to touch –

uh sureI guess?

u guess?is there some sort of problem?

She thinks of Obi, chest heaving,slack-jawed, eyes wide – if I capsize inyour thighs, high tide – of what he’dlook like with swollen lips, panting down her body, spreading her legs –

Ugh. She shakes her head. Thewhole thing is just – just – a pop-up she can’t shake, an ad that keepsplaying over her day at odd intervals, only instead of it being for somethinglike experimental allergy medication or Cialis, it’s for Obi, like she suddenly needs to be reminded every few minutes thathe’s attractive and also experienced, like maybe she should consider –

no!everything is fine!

It will pass. It always does.

…whatever the ideas r percolating ill let u know what we decide but like def booze

This isn’t – it isn’t a problem. Everything is fine – very fine, the most fine.

All her papers are written, revised, and already sitting in drop-boxes, her only final is a multiple choice test about European History, most of which she learned just from living with Kiki for a year. If anything, she is set, living her best life –

“God.”

Her whole body flushes, toe-tip to hairline, and she’s so busy trying not to think of skin under her lips, of hearing that in an entirely new context, that she nearly misses the slam of the door.

Obi tilts a long-suffering look toward her as he leans against the wall, toeing his shoes into the tray. “I’m glad that’s fucking done.”

There isn’t a problem, because whatever this is, it’s just a phase. Something that will definitely pass.

It just never takes this long.

“Did your test go well?” she asks, clearing her throat, like it might expel the images her mind is supplying as he saunters around the corner, shirt already pulling up taut torso, sun-bronzed abs on display.

“Hope so,” he sighs, balling his T-shirt up in his hand. “Otherwise Lata’s going to give me a few more of these for putting off our action plan.”

It takes her a whole minute to realize what he’s pointing at, to see the thick silver sprawl of scars across his back and not the way his muscles ripple beneath the skin, the way his shoulder blades make his whole back look like an anatomy model.

She frowns. “Professor Forenzo would never –”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand at her as he crosses into his room. “Gimme a minute, I gotta get out of these clothes. It’s killer out there.”

“Right,” she replies, faint, definitely not noticing the way his hands settle on his waistband, definitely not thinking about his skin shining with sweat –

She doesn’t have a problem, it’s just – just that she hasn’t figured out a way to get him back, to close out this prank so she can – can stop thinking about that stupid song, and capsizing on thighs and what it might feel like if he –

plans decidedwe gonna go C L U B B I N G

Shirayuki’s teeth grit down, her hands bracing against the counter. This is fine. They’ve gone before, a nice little place above a bar in downtown Wilant; it’d been all 80s songs and they’d all had a little more than they’d bargain for, and Obi –

– you’re a squeezing hips, neck-kissing girl, aren’t you, darlin’? –

Ah, maybe she…shouldn’t think about that. He didn’t even remember it in the morning.

“You all right, Doc?”

She jolts, watching Obi settle on the couch, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table, arms sprawled out over the back, remote in hand. Her hands tighten on the counter, trying to ground herself, trying not to have her knees go weak as she traces the delicate bones in his feet, the strain of his t-shirt over his biceps –

if obi gives u shit tell him its obligatorythis is the price of fucking friendship okay

“You might not want to get too c-comfortable,” she stammers, stacking cookies, trying to look like she’s doing something in the kitchen, and not just – ogling him. “Yuzuri says we need to go out and celebrate.”

His head turns toward her, just slightly. “Celebrate what?”

“Being done with, you know…school.” It sounds weak, even to her own ears, and the grunt that comes from him tells her he agrees.

“We’re all going to grad school,” he huffs out. “We’re not going to be done with school for the next decade, if Lata has anything to say about it.”

“Well, it’s the end of undergrad,” she presses, feeling flushed. “And the end of our thesis work –”

“And just what is this version of celebrating going to entail?” he asks with a sigh. “I already have my sweat pants on.”

I’ve noticed is not the right thing to say. Neither is dumbly standing there, thinking how good he makes them look. “Yuzuri says we’re going clubbing.”

“Oh, no,” he says, firm. “No. I don’t dance.”

“She wants me to tell you it’s a non-optional social convention.”

“Is that how she’s getting Suzu to go?”

“Probably.” Her shoulders twitch in a shrug. “You know how she feels about this sort of thing.”

His eyebrows lift. “That there’s no better way to celebrated scientific achievement than to get trashed and grind on strangers?”

“Yes.” Not quit how she would have put it. “That.”

His look turns incredulous. “And you went for that?”

“It’s what she wants to do,” Shirayuki insists, because – because it’s not like she cares. It’s not like she’s thinking about the way he was dancing with anyone who showed interest the last time, wondering if he might –“She’s been here longer. Maybe this is the best way to celebrate. When in Rome, you know?”

“That is the exactopposite of an attitude you should have in Florida. Never do what people inFlorida do.” He rolls his head along the back of the couch to give her a flatlook. “It’s like you’ve never seenthe internet.”

She returns itwith a look of equal flatness. “We made it so the Olin maris can be bred in captivity. We’ve saved an entire species.We can spend one night doing what Yuzuri wants to do.”

“Yuzuri wants toget sloppy drunk and see if she can get Suzu to breed in captivity.”

“And we should support that.” She sighs at his incredulous look, padding out to put the plate of cookies in front of him. “Besides, I’ve seen you dance. You seemed – fine.”

That is definitely a word. That she can use. Safely.

“We danced at a gala,” he protests, “I wore a suit. Youstepped on my feet. That is not this. This is – swampy club dancing. It’s acircle of hell, not an activity.”

She refrains from mentioning the other time; she doesn’t think he’d appreciate remembering just how good he dances drunk to Come On Eileen, no matter how impressive it was.

“I think you just need to get excited.” She’s too used to his stare to shrivel under it. “You know, uh – get pumped.”

“Are you evenplanning on drinking?”

She grimaces.“No.”

“That is such awaste, you can’t even drive.”

She frowns. “Ihave my license now.”

He gives her apointed look. “You can’t even drive.”

She stares at himfor what must be a full minute before it hits her, grin breaking out across her face. “I have just thething to get you in the mood.”

“Aw, c’mon,” hemoans as she pulls him upright. “I’ve got so many Cutthroat Kitchens to watch. On this one, theycook spaghetti and meatballs and someone takes some lady’s garlic.”

“Look, you alreadyknow what happens!” She grins at him. “So now you can do my thing instead.”

He grimaces when she pulls out her phone, when he sees her bring up her music library, pleading, “No, don’t –”

“Why do you build me up –”

“I’m honestly concerned,” he mumbles over the tinny piano. “Do you know what kind of music they play in clubs?”

“–Buttercup, baby–”

“This is to pump you up!” she tells him, trying to guide him into a bobbing two-step, one he follows with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows. “Get your blood flowing!”

“Oh my god,” he sighs. “Of course. This is your pump up music. Motown.”

“It’s uplifting.”

“You listen to Angel of the Morning when you get up, don’t you?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “That’s not Motown –”

“That’s not a no.”

“See,” she tries instead, “you’re getting more lively already!”

There’s a flash of teeth behind his lips, but he hides it in his shoulder. “Whatever, the song is ending. How about you put on an actual club song?”

Her finger hovers over her screen.

“This decade.”

“Fine,” she sighs, scrolling past her collection of 80s music. “I can do that.”

“Uh-huh, I’m–”

“Shawty had those Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the fur –”

He stares. “All right, I’m concerned you don’t know what year it is.”

“They still play this!” she insists, starting to bop to the beat. “It’s on plenty of club mixes.”

“All right,” he sighs, taking her hands. “This is physically painful, Doc. No one dances like that at a club.”

“Plenty of people do,” she insists, leaving out that most of her club experience is seeing them on CSI reruns. She’s got a feeling he already knows.

“Come here,” he guides her closer, until their hips are almost touching. “Let me just – show you. End the embarrassment.”

“I’m not –” Embarrassing gets swallowed along with her tongue, because his hand hooks over her hips, her own right beneath, guiding her into a slower swing that barely involves feet moving at all. He’s not – not touching her anywhere else, but he’s so close he might as well be, and she’s just – aware. Of all of him.

He smells nice.

“Oh is this – grinding?” she squeaks. “I’ve heard about that before –”

“No.” His voice is entirely too deep. “This would be grinding.”

His hands tug on her, yanking her forward until his knee is between her legs, until every shift on her body brings her right down on his thigh and –

Oh, that is – that’s not –

Okay, maybe this is a problem.

“Oh,” she breathes, jolting away, right back into the wall. That should be it, end of moment, but she – she doesn’t let go of his hands, and then he’s crashing into her, just catching himself on the wall, her hands still twined in his –

“Sorry.” He swallows; she’s so close she can hear it. She can see it too, and the way his eyes are all dark, mostly pupil with a thin rim of gold. His leg is still between hers, and her hands press up by her shoulder, and he’s just – so, so tall –

If he’d just bend down a little, maybe she could –

“Eep!” she yelps, pocket buzzing. “That’s just – I think Yuzuri –”

“Oh,” he breathes, pulling back. “Right. Her clubbing thing.”

r u guys gonna be ready soon?i wanna b drinking already

Obi’s already wandered away, back to the couch, and she –

i think our night is already spoken forobi wants to stay inbut let’s do breakfast tomorrow

boobut i get to pick the place

[ughthatimagineblog]

i’ll see you tomorrow, boyfriend

  draco malfoy x reader | university!au

  requested:  Hey could I get a draco x reader au from his point of view where he meets her in uni and has a crush but tries to hide it? Maybe they become friends (he goes to her dance shows and orchestra performances and such) and he falls more and more until eventually he just blurts out that he's in love?

word count: 3614

  warnings: abuse, draco being edgy, lucius malfoy, maybe ooc narcissa a lil bit (its been 5ever since i wrote anything even mentioning her)

  a/n: this is an au soooo yeah idk how this went. i liked it. i added in extra plot to make it semi spicy. also if ur sensitive to abuse then pls go away no offense but youll be triggered and i dont want ppl to get upset so i warned u

She caught him. And he was trapped.

 It was late winter. He was focused with school and everything was fairly easy. Platinum hairs like feathers ruffled in the cool wind under the hot sun and he took his time walking to his new class of the semester.    He was majoring in Business and Biological Engineering. Nothing would distract him from that. He had a goal. Make his father proud.

 Life had different plans. Of course Draco would fulfill his destiny of graduating in those majors, but not without a small distraction.  Walking into one of the core classes he had this semester he saw her. At first it was a glance. She was beautiful. He lowered his head and took his seat a few rows behind her.

 Class began not much longer and Draco could focus but hardly. He knew he shouldn’t have been distracted by some silly girl but this girl was far more than silly.    He noted she had the class with a couple of her friends and he would hear her laugh often. Sometimes she would get called out by the professor and shyly quiet down, her face turning red. It made his heart beat. He found it strangely poetic to note he had one. For so long he had disregarded emotion and feelings. Now, he had a new start.

 That ‘start’ began a year ago and life at university had grown on him. Nothing was to get in his way. He was a determined student who rarely spoke to people and when he did it was something snarky or completely neutral.  The seas of his life were calm. They were fine. You were the storm on the horizon.

The first day with you

Draco could feel the sun and cool air on his skin as he crossed campus to his English class of the semester. He wanted to sneer. The sun was nothing but a large ball of gas and flame to him today. The sun was not supposed to be out. Just another class to pass and then we move on. He thought to himself, walking into the B Block building. He saw a few kids rush into the building before him and they held the door open for him.

 He nodded a thanks, his mouth continuously in a tight line and continued to his classroom. It was fairly small. Only about twenty four students. He knew all of them from the past semester or the previous year.  Taking a seat about halfway in between the front and back, he opened up his binder and notebook, waiting patiently for class to start. Of course that meant other people were talking in that time. It was the same chatter, Draco knew. About him.

 “That’s Draco Malfoy.”

“I heard he didn’t need scholarships. His dad paid for his tuition.”    “He’s creepy. I heard he never talks.”

“Really? I heard he’s mean.”   “Probably, I mean how can you grow up with people like the Malfoy’s and not be rude.” “Malfoy? He’s a Malfoy?”

It was all the same and he had come to ignore it. It was best to go through school by himself than spend it with loads of friends. It was easier for him. If something were to disrupt that, he would be a goner. His grades would be a goner as well. His father would make him pay.

   Class started not much but five minutes later and the professor began to introduce themself. “Hello, class. I am Professor Eva Beverly and I will be your advanced English Composition and Literature class. This class will be easy if you pay attention. One should always be prepared here and if not-”  The professor was cut off by the door swinging open and a girl stumbling into the classroom. Your back was facing Draco, but he could hear you say ‘Thank you’ to an advisor in the hall. Once you turned around, his heart nearly dropped.  You were stunning and suddenly, his facial expression was one of shock instead of mysterious resentment. “Miss Y/L/N. You are late.” The professor crossed her arms. “I know Professor Beverly, I couldn’t remember which block this class was on so I had to go back to the advisors. I reality I tried to get here five minutes early and-”  “Take a seat.” “Yes, ma’am.” You had rambled. Draco, if it were anyone else, would have found it annoying. But it was you. ‘Miss Y/L/N’ If he could only learn your first name. He was in luck. Empty seats surrounded Draco and for once in his life, he thanked whoever would listen for being the kid not anyone would want to sit by. Of course anyone who had any sense that is. But this girl, Draco could see, did not as you chose the seat to his right, in the row in front of him.  To your right, a blonde girl wearing a simple flannel was laughing and Draco took it that she was this new girls friend. He recognized the blonde from the beginning of the semester. The both of you were freshman.  To his dismay, however, the blonde was also one of the girls whispering about him. He was a goner. No doubt she would tell his beautiful crush all about what a ‘creep’ he was.  As Draco dwelled on this, he couldn’t help but how much less of a creep he would be. . . with you.

Four months spent with you.

Fortunate for Draco, the girl, who’s name he learned to be Morgan, had not spoken of him to you, which gave him the chance to speak with you. It was completely out of character, but he set limits for himself. He would not allow you to distract him. Too much.  He was in for a disappointment.  In a way, Draco was aware of this. In fact, he had been thinking about it on his walk to class that day. His walk, with you. “Do you have any clue the word count Professor Beverly wants to have for our essay this Friday?” You asked Draco. He shrugged slightly. “Shouldn’t be more than two pages or about nine hundred words.” He replied and you grunted, frustrated. “I was hoping it to be more.” He looked at you, a small smirk forming at his lips.  He had learned a lot about you in the past month. Your favorite color, what music you liked. He knew of the latter by looking at your phone from his seat. When you used it in class it was to switch from Spotify to Pandora to the Music app and back and forth. You were quite indecisive with your taste and the connection in the class was spotty.

 “What, like two thousand words?” Draco inquired. He also learned you were a performing arts major and loved literature as well. You actually were quite popular in the sense that you knew a lot of people and did a lot of things. You were in the theatre department, the University orchestra, a scout for the local charity and the choir.  Right now, you had been stressed trying to balance school work with the outside activities. That upcoming weekend, Draco remembered you had both a choir concert and a charity event all in the same day. You also had three core classes out of four periods on four days of the week. He wished he could take some of the load off of your hands and it killed him that he couldn’t.  You and Draco had been spending quite a lot of time together and you only started hearing the rumors about him a month after you were seen as friends. You didn’t believe them though. Draco had an intimidating look, but he was quite kind to you and had a fantastic sense of humor. You also found him extremely attractive.  The past four months had been filled with you working around school and extracurriculars all with Draco’s help. He went home once a month but you would see him again the Monday following the weekend and he always helped you study. Eventually you moved to sit next to him rather than in front of him and you couldn’t help but find yourself staring at him every once in awhile.  You and him did not compute well in your head though. There was something off about him. Something about his family seemed odd. He never spoke of his parents and when he did he used his father's first name but called his mother ‘mom’. You had asked if they were seperated but when he replied negative you left it alone. Unfortunately, this just added onto your worry.

 On the other hand, Draco was also worrying about a similar issue. Over the four months his grades had went down by two points. He still had A’s but if there was something Lucius Malfoy didn’t notice, it would be how big of an arse he is.  Draco couldn’t attend your events this weekend. And oh, how he wanted to more than anything. He had seen pictures of you at said events before. For the orchestra concert you wore a black dress that made you look stunning and at your last charity event, you wore a beautiful gown that made Draco want to kiss you right then and there. He wanted more than anything to see you look so magical in person, but this was his weekend trip home. He couldn’t miss it. Not on his father’s watch.

 “So, can you make it?” You asked, knowing what the answer would most likely be. “No, I have to visit my father. He wants to make sure I’m doing well in school.”  He wants to ask why my grades are still not as good as they used to be. He thought to himself. He subconsciously touched the unseen scars on his back from where his father had punished him many times before.  “Ah, well tell your mother ‘hello’ for me. And be sure to give her this. It’s for Christmas. I am a few months late but it took me awhile to get ahold of it.” You smiled and handed him a small box you had quickly pulled from your bag. He opened the box to reveal a medium sized necklace with emerald gems. “Y/N. . . You really shouldn’t have.” Draco was speechless. It was beautiful. And for you to do that for his mother, it was baffling. He really liked you.  “It’s alright, Draco. Let’s get to class.” You smiled, realizing you reached your classroom. You opened the door for him and you both entered, only for Draco to find it impossible to focus.

 The ride home for Draco was impossible. He lived an hour and a half away and it was not long enough. He was only waiting for the dread of going home.  Parking his car in the drive, he already saw his father in one of the windows. Checking the time, Draco saw it was six in the evening. Your concert had started and would end in thirty minutes and your charity event started at eight. He sighed, knowing he would be enduring a much worse night.  Subconsciously, he clutched your present in his jacket pocket as he approached the front door, his suitcase in his other hand. His mother opened the door and he almost felt relieved, but the feeling quickly left him as he knew his father was still somewhere in the house.   “Draco.” His mother smiled and pulled him in for a hug. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Mom.” He sighed in relief, wrapping his arm around her.  “Come in, come in.” She ushered Draco into the house and he left his suitcase by the door, only to be greeted by his father. “Father.” Draco greeted. “Draco.” Lucius said, much less fond than his wife. “I understand that your grades are still not well. Is it still because of this girl?” Lucius asked coldly and Narcissa put a hand on her son. “Lucius, not now. He just got home.” She sighed and Lucius shot her a glare.  “I will address whatever problems that need to be addressed. Draco?” He replied. “It’s not because of the girl.” He muttered, feeling small. “Is that so? You told your mother you met a girl about four or five months ago. When did your grades drop? Four or five months ago. Before then, nothing was wrong. Now you have some stupid girl around and suddenly your future is compromised.” Lucius spat and Draco felt his hand ball into a fist.  “She’s absolutely not stupid.” Draco said, harshly. His father scoffed. “Oh really? Do you know where she lives? Do you even know if she has both parents? If she even has money?” Lucius scoffed and Draco aggressively stepped closer to his father. “She doesn’t have both parents at home but I’m twice the man you are so even I can look past something as petty as being against that.” Draco spat and was met with a sting on his cheek.

  A sting, a gasp, a raised hand and the turn of a head.

The sting was delivered by his father's raised hand, causing Draco’s head to turn on impact and his mother to gasp and hurry to his side. Draco inhaled deeply, trying not to let the salt in his tears make his eyes go red.  He turned away from his father to his mother. “Mom, Y/N gave this to me to give to you. She said it was for Christmas and it’s a little late and she’s sorry.” Draco calmly handed her the box. He turned to his father. “She also said to apologize for not getting anything for you because she doesn’t know much about you or your interests, but she says she promises to get you a gift for Christmas next time.” Draco said with a sour look. A tear dropped from his eye.  “You don’t deserve anything she will ever give you.” Draco said, shaking with anger. His mother, behind him, had opened the gift from you and covered her mouth in shock. She saw the authenticity in the necklace and based on what Draco had told her about you, she knew that it must had cost you a fortune to afford that present for her. And here her husband was, insulting the girl who her son perfectly deserves, despite her social status.  “Lucius.” She said with a tight lip. “What?” He snapped at her, his chin tilted high.  “It’s not like he’s in love with the thing.” He spat and Draco balled his fists once more. “Actually. . .” Draco paused and looked at his crying mother. “I do.” She smiled. His father looked disgusted. “You what?” He asked.  “I love her.” Draco confirmed and turned to the door. He grabbed his suitcase and pulled his mother close. “I’ll meet you every now and again, but I refuse to meet with him.” He whispered under his breath and pulled her in for a hug. He kissed her forehead before opening the door. “Where are you going?” Lucius asked, angrily.  “A much better place to support the girl I love and I’m not coming back until you fix the way you see her.” He said harshly before slamming the door.

 Draco stopped at a gas station half way back to Uni so he could change into a nice black shirt and some trousers. The argument at home only took thirty minutes so he was making good time. The only problem was traffic.  When he did get to campus, however, he did memorize the building the event would be held in. He found a space to park and rushed in, catching the start just as the lights went down. There were a couple open seats in the back and he thought he spotted you towards the front but it was too dark to tell. He just waited patiently, not speaking to the others at his table.

 A few people went on stage and spoke about helping children with cancer as well as a few other charities said people were helping. It wasn’t until a blonde woman on stage mentioned your charity that Draco really paid attention.  “Now please welcome the founder for the Arts for Acknowledgment program, a program funded by donations here by students to fund educational programs and arts to acknowledge lost or underappreciated cultures, Y/N Y/L/N.”

  And then a girl stood up in the crowd and Draco could no longer believe he had ever known you previous to that moment. You were stunning. He knew it was a black tie event, similar to a gala but you looked like royalty. Your hair was pinned back and your gown was a long and beautiful golden dress that had an off shoulder top but flared out to a large bottom. 

 And the way you walked so graceful onto the stage. The way you smiled to the crowd. He couldn’t help but snicker in contrast to the first day the two of you met. You clumsily falling into the classroom gave him the impression you would do poorly in heels. He was wrong.  “Tonight, i would like to thank the help of my fellow classmates for supporting and donating as well as submitting suggestions and artwork. Thank you. I would like to thank my mother, for pushing me to pursue the goal of helping other people. By using my advantages to help those that had none. Thank you. I would love to thank my counselor who has helped me get through every anxiety attack or depressive episode I have had along the way. Really, without you I wouldn’t be as organized as I am with my life.” You laughed and Draco knew he was in love. He smiled.  “And finally, I would like to thank my best friend, Draco Malfoy, who has been a silent push these past four months ton really put everything together. He has stayed up late countless nights with me to help put together final touches on payment plans, architectural deals or gallery organizations. Really, he should get some of the credit. I love that man for everything he’s done for me. Thank you.” Your words wavered in the last sentence and Draco’s world was paused.  I love that man for everything he’s done for me. The words rang around his head like a pinball machine. Your voice wavered and it only happens when there was something behind your words you weren’t telling.

 Draco felt an impulse and he decided to act upon it. “I am here.” He said as loudly as he could without yelling. Heads turned, yours being one of them. One of the women close to the stage looked appalled. “Young man! I don’t think-”  “It’s alright.” You said, breathless yet a smile was glued to your face. The woman sat down with a huff and Draco made his way to the stage, his heart nearly exploding every step of the way. If he was wrong about this, he was about to embarrass himself in front of about, say, four hundred people or so.

  He reached the mic and away from the mic, you spoke in a hushed tone. “I thought you were with your parents tonight.” He smirked. “You’re much better company.” He smiled and you mirrored his expression. “Ladies and gentlemen, this woman that stands before you is absolutely incredible. Yes, it’s true I stayed up countless nights to help, however, I barely deserve a mention.     This project is hers and hers alone and to take any of the credit would be improper. How hard Y/N has had to work to get all of this done transcends me. But she has done it. For so many people. And she says she loves me for all I’ve done for her?” Draco spoke into the mic.     “No. I love her for her generosity and all she’s done for you.” He stated, giving you a quick glance and noticed you were tearing up. He turned to you, but made sure the mic was able to pick up his words. “For me to let her go and be with someone else would break my heart.” His heartbeat accelerated. Little did he know, so did yours. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? You are incredibly intelligent and ambitious with amazing morals. You are kind, funny, and smart both book and street and I would love to make you mine.” Some noises of adoration were heard from the audience. This only egged Draco on.   He got down on one knee. “I have had to keep these feelings inside for the past four months. But Y/L, I love you. Very much. Be mine?” He asked and you nodded. There were cheers from the crowd. You could barely hear them once Draco stood up and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. Your heart was on fire. Once turned away, his arm did not leave your side. 

You delivered the rest of your speech and the night concluded itself with food, music, and lots of talking. By the end of the night, Draco was walking you back inside your dorm after driving you home. 

   “I never knew.” You both ended up saying. You both laughed. “Neither did I.” You said, reaching your dorm door. “You looked stunning tonight.” Draco commented, cupping your face. “You look handsome yourself.” You replied before he kissed you once more.    “Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow. . . Girlfriend.” Draco whispered after pulling away. You giggled and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boyfriend.” You replied and left Draco’s ears ringing with the word. Boyfriend.

hope you enjoyed!

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Dance With Me (It Won’t Kill Ya) Pairing:  Kacchako Dance/College AU Rating: M Word Count:  2,367 Read on Ao3 Summary: When Bakugou damages university property, he's forced to take dance lessons with the best dance student at the school, Uraraka. There's no way he'll actually enjoy learning to dance though... right?

Absolutely not...

Thanks to @its-love-u-asshole @theweakestthing @youaremynewdream @darksylvir @silverwings104 for reading this ahead of time. I get nervous posting fics like this for new fandoms!

Full fic under the cut!

"PROBATION?!"

The word exploded from his lips, echoing across the room, a decibel way higher than necessary for a tiny office. Didn’t they know who he was? Bakugou Katsuki wasn't going to take this sitting down. Literally. He'd already jumped up and slammed his hand on the desk, his face turning red from how hard he was glaring at his idiotic advisor.

"Yes. Probation," Aizawa repeated, tucking his hands into his pockets casually.

"You realize I'm on a fucking scholarship for rugby right?! I have to play to stay at this damn school!" Bakugou blurted out.

Yawning, Aizawa plopped down in the seat behind his desk, looking completely unperturbed by the outburst. "Maybe you should've thought about that before you failed math and set the sports equipment shed on fire."

"That second one was an accident," Bakugou huffed out, the air puffing out of his nostrils, like a dragon breathing fire. Technically failing math had been an accident as well. He hadn't meant to fail a class, and he had studied...sort of. He was amazing at all of classes, normally he didn’t even have to try to do well. However, a fight with Kirishima and some of the other rugby boys had caused a distraction large enough to keep him awake practically all night. Which led to him sleeping through the main test of the semester—the one which counted for almost all of his grade in the class. "What the FUCK am I supposed to do then?!" He slammed his hand down again, the slap angry enough to make the desk vibrate.

"Sit down, Bakugou-san," he sighed, shaking his head at the angry student. "Normally, you'd be kicked out of the school, no questions asked, since you destroyed school property," Aizawa began, "but your coach argued hard to keep you around. However, you are going to be punished."

"So just make me rebuild the shed, and we'll move on," he growled, shaking his leg up and down quickly as he sat in the large chair. The longer he sat, the more he slid downward, slouching in the large black chair.

Clearing his throat, Aizawa shrugged. "No. We won’t be doing that. Midoriya-san will be tutoring you in math-"

"HAH!?" Bakugou snarled, jerking forward quickly. "That little shit?! Why him!? I’m just as good at math as he is!"

But Aizawa ignored him, letting out a tired sigh. "And we've agreed that you need to do something to try and...calm your temper, so we've set up dance lessons with Uraraka-san, the best student in our dance department. Instead of going to rugby practice you will spend your time with her, working on doing something...calming."

Bakugou snorted. He wasn't quite sure he'd heard Aizawa properly. Dance lessons? There was no way. Absolutely no way. "You've got to be kidding me," he cackled, throwing his head back against the edge of the chair. "Dance? Yeah, right!" He slapped the chair with his hand.

"M'serious." Aizawa's face was deadpan, unchanging. "For the next month, you'll take lessons with Uraraka on Mondays and Wednesdays, and lessons with Midoriya will be on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays and the weekends you will be free to attend practices, but you’re suspended from games for the month."

Bakugou froze, his eyebrow twitching. Aizawa was serious? Dance lessons? What the hell did he mean by that?! And what exactly would he have to do?! A growl escaped his lips, as he shook his head, his blond hair moving quickly. "There's no way I'm going to take dance lessons!" he snapped.

"Then you will be kicked off the rugby team and lose your scholarship."

Snatching his bag up angrily, Bakugou stood up from the chair and stormed towards the door, his blood boiling with anger. If he had still had that damn lighter, he would've burned down Aizawa's office.

"Be at the dance studio once your classes are done for the day," he called after him, and Bakugou slammed the door, a crack being heard when he stormed away.

Dance lessons! What a fucking joke! Bakugou slung his bag over his shoulder, and stormed his way back to his dorm. He fucking hated everything about this. If he hadn't failed stupid math, none of this probably would've been happening. Sure, setting the equipment shed on fire hadn't been the smartest thing he'd done in his life, but it really had been a mistake (mostly Kirishima's fault) and it probably would've been forgiven if he hadn’t failed the damn test.

Rubbing his head angrily, he slammed his fist against the wall in the hallway, making a few other students jump. "Fuck!" he cursed, continuing to trudge down the hall. Each step seemed heavier than the last, his boots stomping against the tiled floor.

How the hell were dance lessons supposed to help him be 'calmer'? He wasn't light on his feet, not at all. He was a rugby player—brutal, tough. Being terrible at dance was going to make him angrier, not calmer. Actually, the more he thought about it the angrier he became, and he walked faster, desperately trying to avoid punching a hole in one of the hallway walls.

It didn't help that fucking idiot Deku was going to be his math tutor either. He didn’t need a math tutor, failing had been a mistake. And of course, it had to be the one person he hated more than anyone else. He'd been mad when Deku had followed him to the same university, as he had assumed Deku would attend a pretentious school for really smart nerds who did nothing but study. Instead, he'd been granted a full academic scholarship, and followed Bakugou, exactly what he hadn't wanted. Thankfully, they weren't in any of the same classes, but that luck had run out, now Deku was going to be his damn tutor.

Bakugou snorted, and swung the door to his dorm room open. He screamed, chucking his backpack against the wall, watching as it tumbled down to his bed.

"Woah..." Kirishima muttered, turning around from his desk. Bakugou knew his outbursts weren't anything unusual to the redhead, not anymore. This was their second year rooming together, so Kirishima generally ignored the anger at this point. "I guess it didn't go so hot?" he asked, turning around in his chair, leaning one arm over the back.

"Fuck no!" Bakugou growled, and flopped down onto his bed, folding his arms behind his head. "Did you think it would?"

"Nope," Kirishima shrugged. "I mean I got a punishment too, but I'm not failing any of my classes."

"SHUT IT!" Bakugou yelled, glaring daggers at his roommate, his red eyes narrow and frustrated. "Failing math was a damn mistake!" he snarled through grit teeth.

"So what do you have to do?" he asked, pushing his chair back, rocking back and forth.

"..." Laying back down, Bakugou turned towards the wall. It was fucking embarrassing. Dance lessons, with some girl he'd never even heard of. It sounded awful saying the words in his head, let alone out loud.

"What is it?" Kirishima asked, flopping his chair back down to the floor.

"Fuck off Kirishima!" Bakugou snapped. "I don't want to talk about it..." he growled.

"C'mon man," he said. "It can't be that bad." Leaning forward, he poked at Bakugou's back.

Rolling over, Bakugou sat up quickly, grabbing Kirishima's wrist. "Shut up," he hissed. "You have no fucking idea."

"You're right," he replied, chuckling nervously. "I don't, because you won't tell me!"

Bakugou let go of Kirishima's wrist, tossing his arm back towards him. "Dance lessons," he said under his breath.

"Eh? What? Did you say...dance...lessons?" Kirishima bit his lower lip, his cheeks puffing out as he snorted, desperately trying not to laugh.

"SHUT UP!" Bakugou growled, lunging forward to grab at Kirishima's shirt collar. "I told you it was fucking dumb!"

Holding up his hands Kirishima let out a few laughs. "C-Calm down, Bakugou-kun," he said. "It...It's just funny to imagine you dancing."

"Whatever," he snapped, laying back down on the bed. "I'm just going to get it fucking over with and move on!"

"Good plan," Kirishima said, turning back to his desk. He let out a few more chuckles, shaking his head back and forth. "Dance lessons!"

It sounded ridiculous no matter how it was said, or who said it. Bakugou stared at the wall, debating whether he wanted to punch it or Kirishima more.

~~

"Uhm...Uraraka-san...are you sure you're going to want to do this?" Midoriya muttered. "I've known Kacchan for a long time and he's...really unpleasant when he's angry. Actually, he's really unpleasant even when he's not angry because he usually seems angry even if he's not..." Midoriya rambled quickly, moving the rice around on his plate nervously.

"Midoriya-kun," Uraraka said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine. It's only for a month, so that's 8 classes. When you look at it that way, it's barely even a week," she giggled. "Stop worrying!"

Pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Iida folded his arms. "This is true, and as much as we’ve all heard the rumors about Bakugou Katsuki, you did promise to assist the school with this matter. You should follow through at this point," he stated bluntly.

"I wasn’t planning on not," she said eyeing Iida while shaking her head. "He's just a guy with a temper, how bad could it possibly go?" She took a sip of her water, and sat back.

Both Iida and Midoriya exchanged a knowing glance, looking nervous. "We just wanted you to be...warned," Midoriya said. "And you know if you want, I-I could come with you and watch to be a buffer. I'll be tutoring him the other days anyway..."

Uraraka shook her head, clapping her hands together in determination. "I can handle myself you guys," she smiled. "Plus there is no way he's a good dancer. We'll be doing basic steps the entire time."

"Why is he taking these classes anyway?" Iida asked. "I understand why Midoriya-kun is tutoring him in math, but why...dance?"

Tilting her head, Uraraka shrugged. "They wanted him to try something more calming than rugby," she explained. "Or that's what Aizawa-sensei said when he asked me to help."

"I don't think Kacchan can do anything calm..." Midoriya said.

"Who knows," she giggled, "maybe he'll be some kind of dance prodigy!"

"Doubtful." Iida placed his chopsticks down.

Puffing out her cheeks, Uraraka pouted and shoved a large bite of rice into her mouth.

"A-Ah! B-But if anyone could teach Kacchan...I'm sure you could, Uraraka-san!" Midoriya said quickly.

Opening her eyes, she smiled. "Well thank you for the support, Midoriya-kun," she replied.

"No one loves dance more than you, so if anyone could get Kacchan to like it, it would be you!" he said, cheering her on. "Though getting him to like dance kind of seems impossible," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, like I said, I'm not nervous," she smiled. "He'll probably want to get it over with."

"I'm surprised he's not trying to get out of it actually," Midoriya said.

"Mmm. Aizawa-sensei told me he had to or he'd have to give up his rugby scholarship and they'd kick him out of school . He told me I was to watch him and make sure he took it seriously," she nodded.

"It’s his duty to take it seriously!" Iida chimed in.

Wide-eyed, Midoriya pursed his lips, curling them up into a smile finally. "Right...well, good luck, Uraraka-san!"

She stood up, pulling her bag out from under the table, her dance shoes tied around one of the handles of her bag. Giving them a thumbs up, she nodded once. "I've got to go you guys," she said. "Class is starting soon."

"See you for dinner!" Midoriya smiled, both him and Iida waving goodbye as she made her way out of the dining building.

Truthfully she was a bit nervous, but not for the reasons Iida and Midoriya had seemed to expect. Of course she had heard the rumors about Bakugou Katsuki, on top of the many things Midoriya had talked about. The two had grown up together, and she knew their relationship was rocky at best. Bakugou apparently was often hostile, but Uraraka had never experienced it herself. But she had heard about the sports shed fiasco, and plenty of other angry outburst rumors which had spread around campus every so often.

There had been a rumor he'd sent someone from a rival university to the hospital for tackling them to the ground so hard during a rugby match. However, that hadn't seemed too out of the ordinary to her, since rugby was usually a more violent sport.

Another popular story was Bakugou breaking down a door in one of the freshman dorms when he'd been angry at his roommate. Needless to say he'd been relocated to a different room, and rumor had it his parents had been forced to pay to fix the damages, something they hadn’t been too happy about.

But no, Uraraka wasn't nervous about Bakugou's violence, or attitude. She assumed he was going to be shitty about this punishment, but would put up with it in order to keep his scholarship. She was more nervous about actually teaching him. She hadn't ever taught someone who had no dance experience. She'd made up her own choreography before, but she had never actually taught a complete beginner. She hoped she didn't move too fast for him, or too slow even.

Pursing her lips, she shook her head and clapped her hands together. It probably didn't matter all that much. Yes, she had to teach him, and she knew the advisors would be checking in, making sure he was actually learning, but mostly it was a low pressure situation for her. Still, Uraraka didn't like doing anything unless she put herself in it completely, 100%. And she wanted to give teaching 110%.

Bakugou Katsuki probably didn't care about these lessons at all, but Uraraka wasn't going to give up on him before it began, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let him run away.