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tl-notes · 3 years

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Kobayashi’s Maid Dragon S2 Episode 3 Notes

Sparrows! Specifically the Eurasian tree sparrow, known in Japan as the suzume. You can just about see them all over Japan, all year long—but that doesn’t mean they aren’t a season word!

Depending on their depiction, they can be used as a season word for most times of the year, but a major one is “late spring,” as that’s when they’re out and about finding food for their baby birds. You can also see in the art they look a little floofy, indicative of the winter coat they haven’t fully shed yet; suzume in summer have a more sleek look. Here’s a shot of them from late summer last season:

And from closer to winter here↓. Quite fluffy.

As a quick refresher, 季語 kigo, or season words, are words/phrases/concepts used to give a sense of season to a haiku (or other poem/work of art), which is what part of what differentiates them from a senryuu. They were used pretty frequently in a lot of episodes last season, but a bit less so this time so far.

Where Lucoa and Ilulu are talking about a “right” here, the Japanese word is 資格 shikaku. While this usage is similar to “right” in English, the connotation is a little different as the word actually means more “qualification.”

Whereas a “right” is generally something you have innately in some sense (e.g. if you make art you automatically have copyright over it, you have human rights just for being human, etc.), a shikaku is something you earn (e.g. if you study and take a test for certification program and pass, you’re rewarded with a shikaku.)

Ilulu’s response to the question here is

そういうのは違う。小林がくれたあの言葉はなかったことにはできないから。

One way in which this differs from the English is that she’s not saying it would be right or wrong, but rather not the solution she’s looking for—because it would also mean undoing the words Kobayashi gave her, and that is something she doesn’t want to do, no matter what.

In contrast the English feels more like she thinks it would be wrong to do that, and even if she did it wouldn’t let her escape what Kobayashi said to her. (That would make more sense if Kobayashi had called her out on being evil, but that’s not really what went down.) An alternative wording might be something like:

“That wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, I don’t want to erase what Kobayashi gave me.”

This line is: 小林さんのようにはいかないなー

This is perhaps just my interpretation, but the English here sounds like Lucoa once convinced/helped Kobayashi in some fashion previously, is trying it again with Ilulu, but failing this time. (I don’t that’s ever happened though.)

In contrast, I think the Japanese is saying that Lucoa is trying to be like Kobayashi (e.g. when helping alleviate/solve Tohru’s various worries), and it’s not really working for her. I.e. “It’s not working like when Miss Kobayashi does it.”

Ilulu’s line about “I don’t want to ask Kobayashi about it because she’d probably solve it too easily" seems to support that reading; the dragons know Kobayashi as worries-solver.

The English here has Lucoa saying she’ll go talk to Kanna/Saikawa, and casually telling Ilulu to wait in the bathroom. But Lucoa doesn’t actually talk to the kids, and even if she was planning to, why would Ilulu waiting in the toilet do anything?

The answer is that Lucoa is actually telling Ilulu to talk (to an unspecified subject, assumed to be Saikawa, since she’s a human and thus someone Ilulu feels guilty about interacting with; Kanna she’s more fine with, as a dragon). And instead of “Go ahead and wait in the bathroom,” it’s more of a “Go wait in the bathroom and see what happens,” with the implication Lucoa is going to set something up.

And she does!

“I won’t lie about X, but Y is a different story.” This seems to imply she will still lie about Y? That seems a bit odd to me, especially when she just lied about X (those feelings) to Kanna/Saikawa minutes ago.

The Japanese says something a bit different though.

The core of the middle line here is 気持ちに嘘をつかない kimochi ni uso wo tsukanai. Because the に, the particle indicating “direction,” is attached unadorned to "feelings,” it is saying not “lying about X” but “lying to X.” This construction, to say one is lying to a feeling, is fairly common in Japanese media. It’s basically equivalent in English to lying to yourself about those feelings.

(for “lying about X” you’d change the に into a について or similar)

So basically she’s saying she won’t pretend, to herself at least, that she doesn’t want to play. But that’s a separate issue to whether she has, as she said before, the “right” to play after what she did.

You could maybe put it sort of like this:

“I won’t lie to myself about my feelings anymore. But that doesn’t mean I can act on them after what I did.”

I feel extremely silly even pointing this out, but the beam here is 尿意 nyoui, which is the urge to pee, not necessarily actually needing to pee. Hence why she seems to stop needing to as soon as she gets to the bathroom and walks straight back to the living room with Ilulu after they talk.

“Be deceived” here is not 騙される damasareru, lit. “be deceived,” but 騙し討ちにあう damashi-uchi ni au, which is like being hit by a sneak attack, being stabbed in the back, etc. In a fairly literal sense in this case too, as they’re talking about actual combat.

I mostly bring it up because it feels like there is not much difference between “being deceived” and “being tricked,” despite those being portrayed as polar opposites (deceived by hostile dragons, tricked by kind Kobayashi), so it might have been wise to differentiate them more in the translation.

E.g. perhaps “She had to change to avoid a knife in the back.” (though dragons don’t use knives, so maybe a claw?)

Another pretty minor point, but the “doesn’t know right from wrong” is 分別のない funbetsu no nai, where funbetsu means not so much “knowing right from wrong,” but a more encompassing sense of discretion and maturity.

I mostly bring this one up because it struck as me awkward to say Ilulu explicitly shouldn’t know right from wrong, since that would be going backward to her be okay destroying the city again. Instead it’s more that she shouldn’t need to feel weighed down by what’s “correct” or what she “should” do. One possible alt example:

“So go back to being a kid, and worry more about what you want to do than ought to do.”

(Lucoa also changes from a narrative tone to a more conversational tone at the end, in conjunction with the visual shift away from the flashback, so swapping the “she” to “you” might be appropriate.)

Note how Kanna shuffles the cards here. Depending on where you’re from, this may seem like an odd way of doing it (unless you watched Yugioh maybe). A lot of places with majority English speakers tend to use the overhand shuffle or riffle shuffle, but in Japan (and many other Asian countries) the most common shuffle is the one on display here, known as the Hindu shuffle.

~The More You Know~

The act of handing over a piece of candy like this has been used as imagery in other places in the show as well, though I’ll leave thinking about what it represents to you.

“Blanket” is futon, which is used to refer to both the “mattress” part and “blanket” part of a full futon, the traditional Japanese bedding (not the same thing as the sofa/couch mattress you might hear called a futon in some places).

I mostly mention because just “a blanket” kind of sounds like they’re going to leave them on the floor, but they’re actually going to get the equivalent of a guest mattress (+blanket) to put them to sleep in, as it’s late enough for this to turn into a sleepover.

Just as a bit of trivia, the word she uses for “onlooker” here is the same term as the “spectator faction.” In the manga Tohru interjects with “Aww, come on, why not Chaos faction instead?”

Also as a side note to this whole bit about Kobayashi wearing a maid outfit; recall this scene from early in season one, where Tohru found an outfit Kobayashi had bought and stuffed deep in a closet:

Relevant! Anyway, back to the actual episode now:

If you felt like this exchange felt a little disjointed, especially given Tohru’s tone of voice: the idea is that Lucoa is saying Tohru really goes to extremes when it comes to matters relating to Kobayashi, which is implying that it seems excessive to call so many people over for a relatively mild issue (not that she necessarily minds though). Tohru’s response is a slightly defensive “yeah I know, but thanks for coming over anyway.”

(They’re saying it in ways such that you have to read between the lines a bit though, so it may not come across as easily in a translation.)

The word for “cold” here is 水くさい mizu-kusai, basically meaning “watered down” (like beer etc.), and used frequently to refer to a person/actions/words that the speaker considers too reserved for the relationship they have with the other person.

So it’s similar to cold, but cold in the context of already warm relationship. If talking about a stranger or someone you don’t get along with normally, you shouldn’t use 水くさい; you can just say 冷たい tsumetai (lit. “cold”) or similar.

In this context you could probably have her say “No need to apologize, Kobayashi-san.”

Also I like how they swap around the honorifics (Miss, Lady, -san, -sama, etc.) based on the speaker (I think differentiating between dragons and native-Japanese-speaking humans?). I would say it works given the setting, but that’s just me.

The text there says “Money Street.” It’s probably obvious, but it’s based primarily on Monopoly, which is semi-popular in Japan (though not to the extent as say in the US).

Just some trivia, but the “sales pitch” for the game in the Japanese market is more that it’s an educational game that teaches investing and negotiation skills. (The origin of the game in general being an educational tool about exploitation of tenants by landlords, so not quite the same thing.)

Japan also has Momotarou Dentetsu (”Momotetsu”), which is a video game series that’s been around since the NES and is broadly similar to Monopoly rules-wise.

I just want to point out, amid all the riches, the bag of potato chips and other junk food in the back there.

Mini-trivia: the cardboard boxes in the background there seem to be a mix of the Amazon logo and the Seino Transportation logo, a Japanese shipping company with a kangaroo logo.

You probably noticed it without me pointing it out, but I enjoyed the fact Elma got corn starch* all around her mouth from the daifuku and then immediately got told to go play with the kids while the adults are talking.

*It may seem like powdered sugar if you’re used to donut holes, but daifuku, like most Japanese sweets (wagashi) generally, is not heavily sugared and not even particularly sweet by the standard of most “sweets” (which is part of the appeal for many). The skin of the daifuku is powdered with corn starch or similar simply to make it less sticky.

Kobayashi’s “do that” here is やろー yarou, which can mean “let’s do X” (which is a construction often used to tell/suggest someone to do something, without really including yourself in the “us”).

However in this case—especially given Kobayashi’s pronunciation and tone of voice—I think it’s actually a homophone of that, a form of 野郎 yarou, a word for “guy” with often negative connotations, like saying “son of a” or “asshole” etc.

The idea, I think, being that his immediate agreement of “Oooh, right I didn’t think about you wearing it,” comes with a heavy implication of “yeah you’re right, you couldn’t pull off something cute like that,” so she’s replying with a (mostly good-natured) “oh you fucker.”

This giant 完 kan means “the end,” used like “fin” at the end of a story or game etc. It’s also frequently used in “fake end” jokes. E.g. a show about a sentient zombie might start with the main character getting hit by a truck and dying immediately. The end! ...Except not, and they wake up as a zombie.

So here, the original goal was “make a maid outfit for Kobayashi to wear.” Then Georgie convinces Kobayashi that anything is a maid outfit as long as you are a maid at heart, so really, she’s already wearing one! The end! ...Except not.

Here’s some extra, probably needless, context on this “annoying”: it uses the word 面倒くさい mendokusai, which is basically used to describe something as annoying, a pain, etc. When used to describe a person like this, one of the ways it can be taken is specifically that the person is really fussy about details that others wouldn’t really care about—which describes Kobayashi about maids pretty well.

So just for clarity, it’s not necessarily “I became an annoying person who is a maid otaku,” and can be more of a “within the context of my maid otaku-ness I became annoying.” Just to kind of shed some light on the extent of her self-deprecation here.

The word Kobayashi uses for “helping with the housework” is 家事手伝い kaji-tetsudai, which is a noun* that means “a housework helper”... here, basically a more bland way for a native Japanese speaker to say maid.

Hence why Tohru reacts with “Oh, don’t call me that, call me a maid!”; Kobayashi went as far as to acknowledge her clothes as a maid outfit, but not quite as far as calling her maid outright. That’s our “annoying maid otaku” doing her thing.

*It can also be verbed.

These neighborhood notices, 回覧板 kairan-ban, ~lit. circular notice, are a method used by local governing organizations to distribute information or forms etc. For example, about an upcoming neighborhood event to pick up litter.

The general idea is that one person gets the notice, reads it, signs it, then goes and passes it to the next household in line. It saves paper versus sending everyone a thing in the mail, encourages interaction between neighbors, and is more likely to be read than a flyer/email, though some people consider them a pain and they generally feel a little dated.

The phrase for “piercing noise” is 劈く金切り音, tsunzaku kanakiri-on, ~lit. “ear-piercing sound of tearing metal.”*

“Was it that loud?” in the Japanese is a little different, そんな音してた?, meaning “was it making a sound like that?”

I’m mostly just bringing it up to say that the “Sasakibe’s cooking isn’t just loud, the sounds don’t even make sense” gag is alive and well this season.

*The “sound of tearing metal” phrase can also used idiomatically for some types of high pitched sounds, but I imagine it was chosen very deliberately here.

It’s probably obvious, but this is a reference to the music video of the OP for season one. You can see it on the official channel for the band, fhána, here.

The season two music video is here, and it seems to have decent English subtitles for the lyrics if you’re curious what they are.

The adjective here is ニヒル nihiru, an abbreviation of nihilistic. It can be used as actually “nihilistic” like in English, but it can also be used more colloquially to describe a person with dark vibes. It can almost be a compliment!

“Sleeping” here is 惰眠をむさぼる damin wo musaboru. Damin is not just sleep, but “worthless” sleep—not like a nap because you’re tired. Musaboru is a verb for ~gorging upon on something (often metaphorically, not just food).

The two words are somewhat frequently used together for, basically, lying around the house doing nothing all day. And not in a particularly flattering way, so it’s pretty funny for her to just be like “yeah I do that as a hobby I guess.”

It doesn’t mean the same thing, but it’d be like saying your hobby is loitering. Maybe could have translated as like “Hobbies? Vegetating.” or “Procrastinating?” or something, though I don’t know if those would have the right impact...

Kanna’s word for “idol” here is アイドル aidoru, i.e. idol in the pop culture sense.

Tohru’s word is 偶像 guuzou, or idol in the religious sense.

(Tohru swaps to the pop culture “idol” when she starts talking about Kobayashi though.)

Kanna’s “lost it” it here is 大変 taihen, a pretty common, almost generic word used as an intensifier (greatly, immensely, seriously, terribly, really, etc.) in both positive and negative ways. E.g. “thanks, you really saved me!” or “that was extremely rude.”

When used alone, like here, it usually implies something bad has happened, like something has befallen Tohru and/or she’s in some sort of trouble. Hence why Kobayashi immediately rushes home worried and bursts through the door like this—and loses her tension when she sees Tohru is fine, just... extreme(ly annoying to Kanna and Ilulu).

You could maybe say e.g. “Something’s wrong with Tohru!” to keep that double meaning open.

(”Lost it!” also makes sense for Kobayashi to be worried about, but the type of worry is somewhat different in that case; “oh god what is she going to do” vs. “oh god what happened to her.”)

The “lick” here is べろ bero, an onomatopoeia for licking that’s also used as slang for "tongue” (noun).

A bero chuu, as in the chorus here, is slang for a French kiss/deep kiss/tongue kiss.

~The More You Know~

The text here says “If your total assets are above one billion, proceed towards goal.”

Only billionaires can win...

Here is 私のものはカンナのもの, lit. “What’s mine is Kanna’s!”

This line is a reference to a catchphrase of the bully/antagonist in Doraemon, Gian: “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.”

His line, and character, is so well known it’s spawned the term “Gianism” to represent that sort of self-centered philosophy: everything is rightfully mine to take, even if you think you lay some claim over it.

It’s interesting that the inversion of Gianism, i.e. “what’s mine is yours,” is the only way Kanna and Saikawa are able to overcome the rules, beat the billionaire, and win the game.

Solidarity forever.

#maidragon #Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid #kobayashi-san chi no maid dragon #translation notes #anime

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hellishhin · 3 years

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A Clean Elf is an Unhappy One

Against all better judgement, Sadie could not stop telling the story of how she died. Within a week, everyone who frequented the Stag knew the story. Who believed it, was a significantly different number. Most chalked it up to exaggeration and assumed she was only severely hurt. Magical healing could remove scars, they believed, hence her looking unscathed. It was an enjoyable tale though, for those who were not superstitious of such talk. Each time she told it, it became just a little more embellished and very quickly the leeches were left out. Now she had perished trying to rescue Donar from the blaze and unfortunately he did not make it either. He had left town so quickly after getting his pay that it was believable enough.

As the next week dragged on, Kireen could be found muttering under her breath more often, refusing to repeat what she was saying and waving off any attempt to placate her. Sadie and K’lai’a’la would discuss her unusual behavior when Sadie made her daily walk out to the park where K’lai’a’la had made her bed in one of the trees. No amount of convincing could make the young elf stay indoors. She was safe enough in the park that Sadie quickly gave up and just made efforts to share meals with her. Kireen came at first but the later in the week it got, she stopped showing up.

They could see Ser Calentavar’s manor from their spot in the grass, its fence backed right up to the park. Both she and K’lai’a’la agreed that the debt to Ser Calentavar was probably the reason for her nervousness. Almost on cue, Kireen came stomping through the park waving a roughly opened letter.

“He invited us to a ball!” she cried, probably loud enough for Taerand himself to hear just across the way.

“A ball?!” both Sadie and K’lai’a’la said at the exact same time; Sadie with excitement and K’lai’a’la with confusion.

“A fucking ball. Like we want to dance and socialize with him!” Kireen spat and aggressively tossed the letter in Sadie’s direction. She raised the letter and K’lai’a’la leaned in to look as though she was able to read it. It was nothing special, just a formal invitation for Kireen to attend a ball the following night at Ser Calentavar’s manor.

Sadie looked up at Kireen to say something and she interjected. “Yours are back at the Stag,” which answered Sadie’s unspoken question.

“We need dresses! Kireen do you have a dress? K’lai’a’la do- never mind of course you don’t,” Sadie leapt to her feet, “we are going shopping.”

Sadie planned to wear one of her own dresses and Kireen had a noble’s taste so she wasn’t worried about her. The tricky one would be K’lai’a’la. The girl basically wore more dirt than clothing and now it was Sadie’s job to make her presentable for a ball. The first thing they did was attend the seamstress’ shop. Already K’lai’a’la was nervous being inside but Sadie reassured her, “this will be fun I promise. You can wear a dress that looks like plants.” “I can wear plants?”

Sadie just patted the back of her hand as the seamstress approached.

“Good afternoon, I need a dress for my friend here and we need it before tomorrow night. I know you won’t be able to make anything from scratch so whatever you have that you can modify will work.”

The seamstress nodded, smiling kindly “would you like a specific color, dear?” she asked K’lai’a’la, whose eyes widened at being addressed directly. Sadie gave her hand another squeeze.

“Like the trees,” K’lai’a’la whispered and the seamstress nodded once more. She shuffled through her rows of fabrics and partially sewn dresses then came back with an armful of different shades. K’lai’a’la picked a green dark like shaded grass. When the seamstress went to hold the unfinished dress up to K’lai’a’la to gauge its size, K’lai’a’la stepped back defensively.

“K’lai’a’la please just let her measure you. She won’t hurt you I promise,” Sadie reached up and placed the small of her hand on K’lai’a’la’s back and urged her forward. The seamstress looked at Sadie with the hint of a grimace “how will she do with the pins…”

The whole experience was something K’lai’a’la wishes will never happen to her again. Not only that but once the dress was on and fitted she hated it. It was tight in all the wrong places, and it smelled of dye. Any prey she hunted would be able to smell her from miles away. Her distaste was written plain as day across her delicate features and Sadie just gently encouraged her along the way.

K’lai’a’la was allowed to return to her sleeping tree that night but the following day, Sadie plied K’lai’a’la with a mince pie to return to the Stag. Once K’lai’a’la was in Sadie’s room, Kireen entered and stood in front of the door.

“Ok K’lai’a’la, we have to wash your hair and brush it out. It looks like a bird made a nest there,” Sadie gestured to the warm bath she had Gwen set up in her room. K’lai’a’la glanced between Kireen and Sadie, then at the window contemplatively.

“No. You are getting into the bath,” the edge to Sadie’s tone made K’lai’a’la shrink and comply when Sadie approached and began removing her dirty clothes. She stood naked before the tub and stared down into the water like its depths held monsters untold.

“Come on, get in before it gets cold. Please? For me?” Sadie batted her eyelashes and took K’lai’a’la’s hand who looked down at her with resentment for a moment before she stepped into the tub and promptly stood there as though satisfied she did what was asked of her.

“Ok now sit down,” gently Sadie pulled down on her hand and K’lai’a’la slowly kneeled in the tub. “Good! Let’s get this hair cleaned.” Thinking she had succeeded was Sadie’s first mistake. As soon as the first water from the pitcher hit K’lai’a’la’s head, she burst from the tub, making for the door. Kireen was fast though and had a hold of the elf’s slim shoulders before she could even get a foot out of the tub.

“Get back in there and let her wash your hair,” the dragonborn growled which just made K’lai’a’la panic even more. It took all of Kireen’s knowledge of grappling to keep the wet elf inside the tub and all of Sadie’s experience with tangles of hair to get her washed to anything resembling the societal standard of normalcy.

By the time they were finished, K’lai’a’la’s hair was straight and brushed for the first time in perhaps her entire life. There was not a leaf or twig to be found and she smelled of roses and lavender. The thought was enough to make K’lai’a’la sick but she was tired of fighting. Water covered the floor of Sadie’s room soaking her rug but they did it. K’lai’a’la was cleaned. Luckily for them, she was also exhausted and dressing her was less of a pain than they expected. When they finished, a surprisingly beautiful, delicate wood elf stood before them. Her ash-brown hair framed her light features and high cheekbones. Her kohl-lined, silvery-green eyes looked at them pathetically and her sleek painted lips had a delicate pout to them. Sadie had to admit to herself that her sun-kissed skin and the lines of her collarbones and slight cleavage turned her into quite the attractive specimen.

“You look really pretty K’lai’a’la. Not that you didn’t look pretty before, you just look different now in a good way,” Sadie beamed. Even Kireen nodded her agreement.

“I feel like cow, can’t fight. Can’t run. No knife even.”

They had to take her weapons as she could not attend the ball with them. That was a fight all its own.

“You won’t need a knife. This is a place with dancing and food and music. Music I don’t have to play! So when we get there just be calm and eat some food. We’ll be right there with you,” Sadie looked up at Kireen to get her to chime in but she just nodded. Both of her friends were in a mood which would make it difficult to enjoy herself. She sighed heavily “fine, let’s just go and get this over with.”

Taglist: (always open for adds and no hard feelings for removes, we all have our times we need to take steps back! No explanation needed.) @betwixtofficial @taerandcalentavar @talesfromaurea @faelanvance @definitelyquestionit

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herohotline · 4 years

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can i get some headcanons for todoroki, bakugo, and midoriya’s s/o coming home drunk and being super clingy and affection! please n thank you love u

A/N: alrigth FINE i hate not being able to use the reading link so i hijacked the computer and also ALL MY REQUESTS are nsfw so this is just what had to happen

Drunk!Bakugo

Drunk Bakugo would obviously be very impulsive, but I can see him being unusually giggly as well

If you actually want Bakugo to laugh at your jokes, just get him drunk tbh

Once he’s out with The Boys , you take the time do you your own stuff around the house. Probably just doing whatever you want to pass the time until Bakugo comes home so you can help him get to bed

You definitely know when he’s home because before he’s even at the door you can hear him and his friends shouting/laughing from outside

Opening the door to your apartment, you can see Kirishima carrying Kaminari on his back and Bakugo cheering as Mina is dancing in the middle of the street

Once you quickly rush over and take care of the safety hazard that is dancing in the street, Bakugo quickly wraps an arm around you and pulls you to his chest.

“Hey!! Look, it’s ___!!!”

Yup. It’s me. Great,

Kirishima looks like the only one who’s somewhat sober as he looks at you apologetically with a small wave. He’s got a hand wrapped around Mina to keep her from running back in the street

Once you finally get Bakugo inside (whos still got an arm wrapped around you, hovering behind you and making it hard to walk), you quickly lead him to the bedroom while he’s giggling in your ear

“Okay, Buddy, lets get you changed. You reek, you know,” you take him into the washroom and have to basically shove him off your back since he’s glued to you, having him sit on the toilet

“Trying to get in my pants?” He asks, and it would have been seductive, if he didn’t kneel over giggling right after he said it. You just roll your eyes and take off his shirt

After the long, long process of undressing him, you finally mangle him into bed. You even got him to brush his teeth a little, but his breath still stinks so you have him spoon you so you don’t have to smell it

Bakugo definitely doesn’t care or even realize why you have him spoon you. He’s just humming and holding you close, kissing your neck and back kind of sloppily

“So, did you have fun?” You ask now that you’ve got him in bed and he just groans.

“I guess.” Sighs against your shoulder. “Missed you. Should have come with us.” Arms wrap around you a little tighter.

You reach back and run your hand through his spiky hair. Just like that, he’s out like a light before you can say anything

Drunk Bakugo can definitely be chaotic, but very sweet once you finally get him like this

Drunk!Todoroki

I don’t imagine Todoroki likes getting drunk very often, probably only at special events. And even then, he usually only gets tipsy

He has a lot of control, more than most when he’s drunk, so he’s confident to have a few drinks and not be very affected

But one day he comes home from a very, very long Gala that he was forced to, and his whole body just feels tight and exhausted

He definitely drank a little more just because of how much he Did Not Want To Be At The Gala

When you greet him when he comes home, it’s basically just like that. Just like that he’s on top of you on the couch, basically suffocating you as he lies on you

“T-todoroki- youre- squishing me, you know-!!”

He just huffs and nustles his head in your hair

You have to push him off (as he whines very loudly) in order to breathe, but you’re laughing all the while

“What’s up, honey?”

“Nothing.” He reaches out and grabs your hand next to him, fumbling and playing with your fingers.

And then uses his grip on your hand to pull you back down so he can cuddle you again (but at least he’s not breaking your air supply this time)

“Was the Gala that bad?” You can already tell. He’s made it kind of obvious

“Don’t want to talk about the Gala,” he groans and shuffles around. He’s still in his expensive, probably stuffy suit, so you help him out by unbuttoning his jacket and trying to get him out of it. Honestly he doesn’t even notice

“Well, I missed you,” you give him a kiss on his cheek once you finally have him out of his jacket, tie and button up shirt, and you wrap your hands around his naked skin which is a lot warmer than usual

“Missed you, too.” He sighs

Drunk!Midoriya

Like Todoroki, I don’t think Midoriya gets drunk very often, especially in public

Once he gets older and less wounded up, he probably enjoys getting tipsy at home with you and friends in private somewhat frequently

I can see him getting drunk during Game Night with the dudes or something like that

Alcohol helps Midoriya become more confident, maybe a bit too confident,,?? stupid decisions are something he will always do, drunk or sober

If you’re not out drinking with him or just around in general, which is rare, he’ll have either Iida or Uraraka around

Who are the ones who deliver your dear boyfriend to your doorstep one evening

Literally you open the door and he’s hanging around Uraraka and Iida, a shoulder wrapped around the both of them while he’s trying to focus on standing

“Oh my God,” that’s basically all you can say. like. what

Uraraka winces. “We know-”

“HEY,” Midoriya snaps his head up to look at you, a big grin on his face as he stumbles forward and into your arms. “Guuuuys! ___ is here!”

Kind of embarrassing how he’s nuzzling into your chest with his arms completely wrapped around you, but Iida and Uraraka aren’t even surprised.

“How did he get like this??”

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” Uraraka scratches her cheek nervously. “We went to a bar for their quizzes, and people kept hitting on him? And giving him drinks? And we kept saying he should just send them back but he was too nervous so he just kept drinking them and then the people just kept sending them-”

“Oh I see,” you laugh. You roll your eyes as you have to wrap your arms around your boyfriend because he’s beginning to slip, and you pull him upright against you. “You were a little playboy today, huh? Cock of the walk?”

“No!!!” And then, very quietly, “maybe.”

“We shouldn’t have let him do it, it’s partially our fault,” Iida frowns and puts his glasses on, which you hadn’t noticed he wasn’t wearing. He sighs. “Midoriya kept playing with them so I had to take them off.”

After a lot of talking in the doorway (a lot of laughing, too, once you hear everything that transpired that night), you heave Midoriya into some nightclothes and into bed

“I didn’t know you were such a flirt, Midoriya,” you smile as you change into your own pajamas. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

“Noo,” he whines from the bed. “No, I love you, I sweearrr,”

You laugh. “I know, honey!”

“But I mean it,” Midoriya groans as he forces himself to sit up on the bed, leaning forward to grab you and pull you to him. “I love love you. For real.”

“Wow, I’m so flattered.”

“SAY IT BACK!! you have to say it back!!”

Drunk Midoriya is also a crybaby, but I bet you’re not surprised by that.

532 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Kisaeng (BTS)

[Masterlist]

Beta: @bluewhale52, @janetfraiserdeservedbetter Genre: historical, drama, adventure, comedy, feel good, slice of life (if you lived in the 1654), spy’s (espionage). Rating: Teen and up Summary: Mulan disguised as a soldier, went to war to spare her father and save china. The bangtan boys disguised as concubines, went to an all womens home and saved a small village. Words: 12154 Announcement: This is part of a reverse trope project with castle bangtan. I am happy to have made this and for everyone who helped support along the way.

Winters End 1654 Hanseong,

Today my mentor Bang Si-Hyuk taught me the history of the Qing invasion and the passing over of the Ming to Qing era. We discussed the Qing Calendar and the offerings of princesses made to King Dorgon. Bang-seodang (teacher) told me I was a child for not understanding that there was a place for everyone. Men would fight in the wars and women would stay home and bear children. He is telling me this as news has spread that we are going to war and it is only a matter of time before they call for us. But when I think of my family and my sister, I want to protect them. I don’t want to fight in the war even if it is for my country. Leaving will only put my family at risk.

Kim Namjoon.

Namjoon placed down his brush and wiped his palm of ink that sometimes smudged. With a deep sigh, Namjoon got ready collecting his satchel, and headed to the town. Namjoon arrived at the small well-frequented building. The building held all the information of the residents in town and was also a place for people to send letters. That’s where he spent most of his days reading and writing correspondence for the villagers.

He had received the earliest message about the impending war. There was only so much he could do to protect his family and he feared the coming announcement of deployment. Every available man was to go, leaving the women and children to fend for themselves. The women would have to tend the farm and care for the younglings which would only work if they stuck together.

The problem lay with the men who would be allowed to stay behind due to business, like the butchers and the barmen and anyone who would swindle or pay their way out of deployment. These men were shady and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit and hurt the women left behind unprotected.

Namjoon was in the middle of writing another love letter for one of the many present flower boys (beautiful men) within the town. Today’s letter was to someone Namjoon had written to on many occasions and yet never had the pleasure of meeting in person.

My dearest Kim Seokjin,

There is no one who can compare to your beauty. A man such as yourself would be ever so popular and have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose. That I could be the one to make you smile. The one who can make a long day feel like it was nothing when you come home.

“How does that sound, Miss Ahn?” Namjoon looked up, his expression deadpanned. He never expected his tutor to teach him the importance of reading, writing, history, poetry and Confucius’ philosophy, only to waste it on love letters from pining women addressed to the same two young men every week.

Part of him felt sorry for the two men, but another part of him felt jealous that these two men had the entire pick of women from the town, and he was stuck with his lessons. The constant “Scholars life is one without women” Bang-seodang (teacher) preached whenever he noticed Namjoon’s eyes wander from his books out the window at the young ladies giggling.

Namjoon finished with the letters and handed them over to Hoseok, the delivery man whom he only ever saw in passing; the man was so energetic and gangly. He had an odd tone of voice but it always sounded chipper.

Namjoon had only the briefest of moments with the young man. “Here for the mail,” Hoseok called, and the letters were placed on the counter along with two coins for his hard work and he took the money and letters and headed on his way.

Hoseok took a stack of perfume scented letters from his bag and rolled his eyes. Seokjin was a popular young man, only to be outdone in recent years by Taehyung.

The things Hoseok had to go through to deliver the mail was honestly scary in itself. He found it best never to stand around too long; best to simply hand over the mail and leave.

He had a few regular customers he enjoyed spending a short time conversing with. Today he was delivering mail to the Noble Kim household. He walked in, nodding to the servants, and promptly followed the steward.

“It seems the young master has mail once more,” The steward called and Hoseok was beckoned inside. He bowed low and shuffled quickly and quietly across the room where the Kim family were having breakfast.

Hoseok knelt down and began taking out multiple letters addressed to the second son. “Father I don’t want to go to war,” Seokjin protested adamantly, slamming his rice bowl down onto the table.

“It is the way things are, how they’ve always been.”

“Why don’t they send a few girls, why do they get to sit around at home? It isn’t fair”

Hoseok had heard about the possibility of war from the postal office. Any messages to and from the city passed through himself which left him privy to important and secret information. He did feel a tad nervous for his sister and mother. He wanted to stay home to protect them, but only a few men with jobs important to the community got to stay behind, men who provided essential services like the postman. The problem was that only one could stay behind and unfortunately, it would not be Hoseok to represent the post but the old man who ran the office.

Hoseok wished he could just dress as a woman and stay behind but that was a crazy idea; men who did that were either shunned as cowards or killed. He handed over the stack of letters and moved on his way, bowing again before backing out of the room, leaving Seokjin with his hands full of letters of adoration and sickly sweet perfume.

Letters again; they each began talking about the war wishing he came back safe as if he had already left and had resigned to his fate. Those words dwelled in Seokjin’s head more and more and made him feel ill and bitter. He tried not to crease his forehead. He didn't look good when he was angry.

If only he could be a girl and laze around without a care. He would play and frolic in the gardens and he would have an easy life.

Seokjin read each letter slowly and sighed. Of course, he was handsome, and these women had their way with words. Every day, the letters became more profound and he could feel his ego rising.

Seokjin sighed once more, a growing habit for the day as he got dressed. He looked fit for a Nobleman, his hair tied in a top knot manggeon (mesh headband that stops baby hairs sticking out) preventing any hair from falling in his face. He then wore his gat (hat) with fine jade bead gatkeun (beads that hang from their hat).

He thought he looked quite smart and with his small pouch of coins around his neck, wandered from the estate. His father had ordered swords, readying for the war to come and had sent Seokjin to pick them up from the blacksmith.

Seokjin held his hands together behind his back and casually strolled through the streets, trying to keep his composure. He nodded at a group of giggling girls but his smile fell soon after he passed them. They were so lucky, they weren’t taking up arms to fight for their families. No, the women had it easy.

Amidst his fuming, he accidentally made eye contact with an old drunk man who looked him up and down and smiled crassly. Seokjin shivered in disgust. Part of him wondered if he could pass as a woman; he had a pretty enough face and perfectly plump lips.

He didn’t have much time to think as he arrived at the blacksmiths. He walked into the room and saw a shirtless young man, smithing. Beside him, an older man, presumably the man’s father, was shoveling coal into the fire.

“Jungkook, we have a customer,” the older of the two smiled at Seokjin before resuming his work.

Jungkook dropped his things and grabbed a towel, drying his chest of sweat. He headed to the wooden table by the entrance, draping his Hanbok over his chest and thin waist to appear more decent in front of the handsome nobleman.

“Good morning, Sir, what can I do for you today?” He smiled a particularly wholesome little smile, teeth a little big but endearing.

“I am here to pick up the order of swords my father ordered?” The nobleman smiled.

“Your name sir?” Jungkook sat at the desk and opened the ledger. Though Jungkook wasn’t a nobleman with extensive education, he still knew how to read and write basic words associated with smithing.

“Kim.”

“Kim, Kim, Kim...gardening tools.... no, aha the swords! Yes, sir, that will be 100 mun a piece sir.”

“I should have enough here,” he smiled, placing down a pouch that made a heavy ‘clink’ sound as it hit the wood.

Jungkook emptied the pouch and counted the coins with expertise, then handed back the change and the silk floral pouch it came in. He fetched the swords and carried them over; they were expertly made by him and his father.

“Thank you,” Jungkook smiled and began explaining in detail the care and features they added to the handcrafted metal weapon. “Three foot long single-edged, weighted and balanced”

Guiding the customer out, Jungkook handed over the two swords and held the door open for the handsome young man to crab walk from the smith’s shop. He looked completely out of place holding such dangerous weapons, and he pitied the young man. He was the son of a nobleman and would definitely be expected to set an example.

Jungkook had on many occasions sparred with his father and was able to hold his own in a sword or unarmed fight. He wondered if his father would be okay alone. He would be exempted due to his job and physical condition, but he was getting older, would he be able to work on his own without getting hurt or sick?

Scooping up the bag of tools, Jungkook told his father to take a break and that he would deliver the tools and bring back some fresh fruit from the Kim farm. He poured his father a glass of tea then left.

As Jungkook traveled through the crowd to reach the fields across town, he passed the small bar. Inside, he could hear the raucous of unsavory street merchants discussing how they were going to bribe their way out of deployment. They had plans to pay the royal officials and take over the town when all the men had left. It seemed that all they wanted to do was cause havoc to all the families and businesses, and blackmail them into paying a safety fee.

He pressed on, trying not to think about his father being exploited or worse, given his current state. While musing, he arrived at the small farmhouse on the edge of town and was greeted by a handsome young man.

“Hello, Can you hold this?” The young man smiled, handing over a large rope. Placing down the bag of tools, Jungkook gladly held the rope tightly in his palms.

Taehyung raced to the other end of the rope and secured it in both hands, he looked up with a grin before shouting, “Okay pull!”

The young man who had arrived at the farm was confused but he pulled the rope nonetheless. Taehyung pulled back and the two were suddenly in a heated tug of war.

Taehyung giggled and the young man seemed to give it his all. It was a battle of strength and the farmer’s son wasn’t particularly muscular as he very much neglected most of his farming duties for foolish games so it was only fair that the young delivery man bested him.

“Good game, you are pretty strong for someone so young,” Taehyung patted the Younger man's head before scooping up the rope.

“Isn’t this a child’s game?” Jungkook eyed the rope draped over the older man’s shoulders.

“Sometimes it helps pass the time to act a little childish, and it made you smile so you thought it was fun too right?”

“I enjoyed it, thank you for the game, I am here to deliver tools for your family.” He said now looking more serious.

“Ah yes you must be the blacksmith, you look like a blacksmith. All work, no fun.” Taehyung tapped the younger man’s nose before turning with a flourish, humming as he went, beckoning the smith to follow.

“I have to work to take care of my father,” He pouted, Taehyung enjoyed the boy's childish nature, the two could definitely get up to some mischief.

“My name is Taehyung,” He smiled, gesturing to the large box in the shed and removing a small pouch of coins from his satchel.

“Jungkook,” He sighed, placing the tools down and gratefully accepting the money.

“What are you going to spend it on, sweets?”

“Uh, it's for my father's medicine,” Jungkook laughed, making Taehyung feel a little sorry for the kid, he was so young and yet working so hard already.

Taehyung with his unwavering curiosity decided to tail the boy once they parted, not trying to be discreet, just walking a few paces behind and whenever the boy turned, Taehyung gave him a smile and wave. Lost in thought for a moment, Taehyung didn’t take notice of the boy in front of him until they were colliding, fumbling with the empty porcelain soju bottles.

As Jimin fell, he pulled each bottle to his chest and held them; though the impact was quite jarring, the bottles were safe. Jimin lived with his grandparents and they ran a business selling rice wine which was popular but didn’t make them a lot of money. They couldn’t afford to replace any new bottles.

It was his job to deliver the full bottles to the bar and bring back the empty ones. If any bottles were broken, the bar would pay for replacements. That was the rule, but if they were broken during delivery, the money came out of his family’s pocket.

“I am sorry,” the man who had run into him was polite and gentle, helping Jimin to his feet and dusting him off, “Let me help you carry some of those, I promise I will look where I am going.”

“Thank you for the offer, you can carry this half” He offloaded a few from his arms.

“I am Taehyung by the way, who are you?”

“Oh, I am Jimin,” he smiled, thankful for the help. The two journeyed through the vendors until they arrived at Jimin’s family business, “Gran, I have a friend who helped me,” Jimin called.

“Oh let me see him! Oh he is quite the looker, Jimin, if only you were a girl, what is the use of you being so pretty if you can’t lure in handsome young men,” she joked playfully, this was their running joke that Jimin was so pretty.

“I can lure in handsome men just fine, see if I was a girl I would have too many suitors. I wouldn’t be able to pick,” Jimin laughed.

“If you were a girl then you wouldn’t have to go to war.” Jimin’s heart sank knowing his grandmother really didn’t want to see him leave.

“That would be one way to get out of the army,” Taehyung laughed and Jimin’s grandmother handed him a plate of rice cakes. The two boys wolfed them down happily, bonding over their love of sweets and games.

Taehyung left and Jimin was getting ready to close up shop; he lifted a large porcelain vase of Soju and carried it over to the butchers. The butchers were not the nicest of people; they were affiliated with the outlaws, the ones Jimin heard talking about taking over the city when the men left for war.

“Yah!” Yoongi called, seeing the graceful form of Jimin from the top floor of the liquor store. “Jiminie.”

“Hey Yoongi, I am here to trade.” Jimin smiled up at him and he nodded, coming down.

“Alright, dad’s got your meat pack ready, it's all freshly cut.” Yoongi handed over the basket.

“Have you been preparing for deployment?” Jimin asked him, it seemed the secret war was not so secret as it was all everyone was talking about. The boy always meant well, this innocent question asked by anyone else would not have ended so well.

“I am not going, Jimin, my dad has bribed the officials trying to get as many men as possible to stay behind so that they can take over the town. there isn’t much resistance when the only people left are the elderly, the women, and the children.”

“You should think about staying too, maybe I can convince my father not to threaten your family and their shop.”

“I can’t; it’s punishable by death if you try to avoid your duty.” Jimin sighed, “Gran thinks I should just dress up as a lady and stay behind and protect my family.”

“You could definitely get by as a lady, you would just have to work on a few things,” Yoongi hummed looking him up and down. He eyed Jimin up and down wondering if Jimin could really do it, lie to the officials, and say he was a girl.

He would have to stay in the Kisaeng house; he couldn’t stay with his grandparents, because if he was found out they would all be killed. Perhaps Yoongi was thinking too far into this, but he really did like Jimin. He was the only person who knew who he was and yet still wanted to be his friend.

“Maybe that might be an option, I don’t know how my grandparents will do on their own being so old; the shop barely makes enough money for food as it is.”

“Look, if you can’t stay, I could try my best but it’s alcohol, and you know these men love to drink,” Yoongi said honestly, “they will probably go through all the supplies in a week and everyone else will struggle.”

Yoongi sighed, watching the boy leave looking rather forlorn; perhaps he shouldn’t have told him.

Spring 1654 Hanseong,

Today, I, Kim Namjoon, have done something stupid. I dressed as a girl but it seems like I wasn’t the only one. Five other idiotic bamboo shoots have no clue what they are doing. Stepping foot into the kisaeng house was taboo, only women and eunuchs were allowed entrance. But the officials have been bought out by the corrupt street merchants, the kind who plan to take whatever women and land they see fit. We are all honestly praying for a miracle, that no one will find out we are men, some are better at hiding it than others. We will see.

Kim Namjoon

Namjoon was rudely awoken by the call of war. He guessed today was the day. He dressed slowly, in no hurry to give his life away. Departing his room with little thoughts of breakfast, Namjoon heard the soft sniffles from his sister who was mournfully packing. There was not enough room for all the beautiful dresses so she had left many behind.

He wanted nothing more than to stay, if only to protect his sister in their own home and let her keep her luxuries of dresses and books.

Namjoon knew women were not allowed to read or write but he made time every day teaching his younger sister or letting her sit in on lessons when father was away working in the palace.

Namjoon hugged his sister, trying to comfort her as well as to calm his nerves. “Do you need me to walk you home, I can carry your bag?” He said trying so hard to prolong the moment.

“No brother it is okay,” she paused. “You are going to come back, you're smarter than any of the men out there. You’ll return, I know it.”

She scooped up her bag and left the house, waving from the front gate. Namjoon was sure he wouldn’t get away with his plan. But he packed a few of his sister’s bigger dresses, hoping they would cover him entirely. He grabbed a subtle pink chima (skirt) and sky blue jeogori (jacket), looking at the two items, they honestly looked complicated but he knew logically which items went where.

Namjoon did his best stripping from his masculine clothes and getting to work. He wrapped his chest and followed the order he believed for the under skirts and silks. Once fitted, he was exhausted; wrestling fabric wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to be late or leave room for doubt, so he settled for a simple braid.

He followed behind his younger sister, by a few yards, trying to mimic her walk and mannerisms, hoping that he could pass as a girl. He ducked past some officials keeping his head low until he saw the beautiful residence. A collection of young girls were already lining up with their belongings.

As fathers and brothers were going to war, some children were left without parents. This meant the children were rehomed into other families. The young women old enough were left in the kisaeng house (home for courtesan), where girls were taught how to be wives before they were sent to the matchmakers.

Hoseok had secretly been stealing his sister's clothes, trying to perfect her style of makeup. The two had such similar feminine features, the only difference was Hoseok’s athletic body. It wasn’t hard for him to slowly get the hang of her makeup and hair routines. Honestly, Hoseok thought he had a real knack for braiding hair.

He tried to round out his lean build with some makeshift breasts, but he couldn’t get them the same size; that and they had a tendency to slip. He had his chest wrap on but it was too loose around his chest and the fact he didn’t have boobs made the whole thing shift and the rice pouches he had slipped right out.

He deemed himself ready, heading out towards the kisaeng house with his coin purse on his hip. Lining up, he couldn’t help but blanch at the poor excuse of a woman standing in front of him.

Her hair was not at all perfect like his, but he seemed similarly dressed. Hoseok looked down at his own green jeogori and red chima, for a brief moment he wondered what the young girl was going through. Her family must be torn apart by the war; without a second thought, he tapped the tall woman on the shoulder, only to be greeted by Namjoon, who he recognized from their brief encounters at the postal office.

Almost revealing their identity, Hoseok covered his mouth. As the officials passed by, the two disguised men bowed politely behind their fans. The stuffing in Hoseok’s chest wrap slipped to his waist making his chest obviously lopsided. Namjoon’s face contorted in an attempt to keep his composure.

Hoseok’s laugh came out uncharacteristically deep but he remembered why he was laughing, he was trying to appear feminine. Turning his body away, he faced Namjoon, “Let me fix your hair, sweetie, you must have been upset having to see your brother leave.”

“Ah thank you,” Namjoon said with a sweet soft voice. The two turned away from the officials so that Hoseok could fix his breast dilemma and also tame Namjoon’s hair before the two of them were found out as fakes. After doing a beautiful updo where Hoseok added one of his spare combs for decoration, he turned Namjoon to face him in order to add a little makeup from his floral coin purse.

Seokjin felt betrayed by his family; his father lied about the three of them going to war. It seemed as a Nobleman he was exempt, and as his older brother was the firstborn he was also exempt in order to carry on the family name.

Seokjin however was the spare son. This meant he was expendable. He was begrudgingly on his way to the front gate of town ready to hand over his ID and his life to some stupid war when he heard the uncharacteristic masculine giggles from the line of young women waiting to spend their days pouring tea and strolling through town while he trekked the countryside and fought for his life and theirs.

He followed the sound, eyes catching on two rather tall figures, and it didn’t take long to recognize Hoseok’s face. He couldn’t forget the face of his mailman and he had to admit it was a bit of a feat that he and the rather tall looking young man were both trying to pass as young women. Seokjin looked down at the sword on his waist and contemplated seriously about joining the two.

He caught sight of a beautiful silk chima in a brilliant dusty rose color, he leaned over the counter, “Excuse me, ma’am, I would like to buy this beautiful set for my sister before I leave.” He exchanged some of his coins making sure he had enough for what he had planned. He threw in a veil as well, not to cover his beautiful face but to offer to the taller man he saw with Hoseok, whose jawline was just a little too masculine.

Seokjin got dressed behind the postal office; he stepped out once more making sure to cut in line in front of Hoseok. Seokjin offered the tall man ahead of him the pretty lace veil which matched his outfit. “For your jawline, it is too prominent you must appear more dainty,” Seokjin muttered with a swish of his skirt. He was thankful he hadn’t fallen on his face with how much fabric encircled him.

The tall man took the offered fabric wrapping it around his face only to have Seokjin swat his hands away, “You are hopeless.”

“Ah Namjoon, this is Seokjin,” Hoseok gestured between the two.

The boys spent a few moments brainstorming new names and identities, in order to really get into character.

It didn’t take long for the three to reach the front of the line; they had taken to preening each other, trying to help one another appear more feminine. Seokjin almost anticipated Namsoon’s refusal but when he wasn’t pushed out, it was Seokjin’s turn. Stepping inside, he was met by a woman dressed in a brilliant dark grey chima and orange Jeogori. Her eyes had a sharp glint. The smirk on her face was prominent as she brushed her small fingers across her chin. “What brings you to my home, young lady?”

Jungkook was camping a few paces into the tree line behind the blacksmiths. He hoped he could look after his father and not get caught for staying home. He saw the officials handing out exemption passes and he knew he couldn’t leave. Not when the enemy had such large numbers behind them.

Jungkook went hunting, he didn’t want to bother his father by being an extra burden on their small supply of food. Catching something significant for dinner, Jungkook did his best to prepare the meat and then cooked it over a small fire.

The shadows crawled across the ground as the sun bowed behind the hills. Jungkook wondered if life could be this easy without wars and evil, if there could be harmony and peace one day.

Jungkook heard a commotion in town and frowned, going to the edge of the forest to listen. “The King has heard people have paid their way out of deployment, anyone caught will be sentenced to death. Come forward now and you will be spared and sent off with your fellow men.” The man read from the scroll, looking about the village. “We will now commence inspecting every household”

A few men stepped forward, walking to the front gate and signing their deployment. A few retreated and were cut down by the bite of the swords from the royal guards. There was running coming from his left and a small figure spoke quickly; “Run, the guards are coming”

Jungkook followed after the thin figure and the two stopped at the nearest window and climbed in. They were caught by a young woman dressed regally in orange, grey, and gold, “Good evening, can I help you?”

“Uh… we um?” Jungkook was embarrassed.

“I will happily help two young ladies such as yourself, but, you will have to dress quickly if you wish to make dinner”

Ladies? Dress for dinner? Jungkook was confused, the sound of the royal guard growing louder as they searched for any men hiding from their duties. He looked up at the woman catching her eye, she smirked knowingly.

“You wouldn’t want the guards catching you underdressed now would you?” He realized then that she was offering them refuge.

The two nodded, taking the clothes thrown in their direction, rushing to dress. The woman helped tie their jeogori before leading them out to the Sigdang (dining hall). She led them to a table filled with some other strange looking ladies, some of which Jungkook could have sworn were in disguise as well. Was that Taehyung?

Taehyung smiled seeing the two new additions to their group. He recognized the blacksmith anywhere and smiled trying to get the young man’s attention. Giggling when he did just that, Taehyung hadn’t spoken with Jungkook for long the day they met but he knew those wide curious eyes. They looked just as confused when Taehyung handed him a rope that afternoon by his family's farmhouse.

The woman was in on it, when Jimin and Taehyung came up with the idea, they didn’t expect Jimin’s Gran to not only hear their plan but also support it. She went out of her way to speak with the woman known as Hojang (head of house).

The bargain was to take in the two gentlemen who would protect the women and to provide free wine for the building next door. Kisaeng was a place where women could stay and learn all the things a woman should know before marriage.

Next door, however, was the tea house, at least during the day. At night it was filled with men, mostly guards and officials who would drink and dabble with opioids in the company of fine young women.

These women were not forced to be there, but those who chose to be would leave with their coin purses filled. Some of the money was used to fund the house, and the rest was pocket money they could spend on new silks and anything else they desired.

Taehyung learned quite a lot about this during the days leading up to the deployment. The Hojang held such a big presence; she moved with grace and did business with the best.

Jimin’s Gran had painstakingly obtained the silk and hand made clothes tailored to her grandson’s and Taehyung’s bodies. She also taught them how to sit, stand, walk and dress like a lady. The two were doing rather well but the hojang scrutinized every little detail that they should work on in her home.

Taehyung could see she expected nothing less than perfection from her girls and she wouldn’t make an exception for them. She would make proper ladies out of them if it took everything she had, and perhaps a little more.

Gran had always taught Jimin things that she loved herself. Jimin remembered dancing with his gran every afternoon, when he was young, the two would hold beautiful fans and perform. Jimin would do anything to make his gran happy.

The Hojang picked up on this early, pleased with his form but it didn’t last long when he opened his mouth. Though his voice was sweet, the words and drawl were masculine and crass.

Jimin was surprised when Taehyung and himself were joined by more young men in dresses. He didn’t think anyone else would have the guts or the stupidity to join the house. He tried to fight the smirk that stretched across his face when he saw the three young men sitting across the table.

The Hojang had laid out the rules that they had to obey while living in her house: they were not to touch any of the women, they were to share a room by themselves, they were to only refer to themselves as their female alter egos, and they were to act like graceful ladies at all times.

Jimin greeted the newcomers. “My name is Park Jimin” He smiled sweetly. He was glad his name was widely used by both girls and boys or he would have to remember something else.

“Namsoon,” the tallest smiled, holding out a large hand to shake but immediately retracted it with a small shy smile. ‘Definitely a boy.’ Jimin thought.

“Seojin,” the broad shoulders were giving Jimin mixed thoughts. However, no matter if they were a female or male, Jimin knew this person was beautiful.

“Hye-Seong,” a cute voice said, surprising Jimin. The voice was a little nasally but it belonged to a man none-the-less. The group turned to the two newcomers dressed in beautiful silks and ribbons, their hair braided down their backs.

“Yoonji” A familiar deep drawl spoke, making Jimin drop his chopsticks looking over at him shocked. Jimin looked Yoongi over, seeing that the young man actually made a rather beautiful woman, he almost felt himself blush.

“My name is uh… Jeong-suk” Jimin found it almost laughable.‘Jeongsuk’s build was almost unbearably muscular in the outfit, it wasn’t fitted to him at all. He looked like he was an overloaded dumpling the way the fabric worked over-time to conceal him.

“Hi, My name is Taeyeon, it is nice to meet everyone” Jimin laughed at how deep Taehyung’s voice sounded before he lifted the pitch.

Yoongi couldn’t believe his father talked him into staying only to have it backfire. Yoongi thought finally he would be able to get away from his father and the immoral activities he orchestrated.

Now he was pretending to be a woman, this was probably the biggest disrespect he could have ever felt. He almost wanted to walk out onto the streets and hand himself in. He would take death over the humiliation.

“Alright ladies everyone at your table will be sleeping in your quarters, the token on your table is the room color you will be staying in,” Hojang clapped her hands. Yoongi looked at the token on the table and Jimin lifted it for all the occupants to see the Yellow wooden piece “I would like you all to bathe and get to bed as quickly as you can, as we have lessons tomorrow. And I will not have any giggling or you will be eating bean soup for the whole week.”

The girls obeyed the Hojang’s instruction and started filling out. Yoongi watched in amusement at the kid he had met in the forest leaning away practically in fear of the women passing by.

“I would like the yellow table to please stay behind.” The Hojang announced.

Yoongi sighed, wondering what this woman had to say to him and his new friends. Once the room was empty, the Hojang addressed them.

“I am happy to house you all, but you will follow my rules and I will teach you what you need to know. I will have you getting men to empty their pockets and you won’t have to do anything more than throwing them a coy smile.” Humming, the Hojang looked at them all over, eyes settling on Yoongi’s making him feel vulnerable.

“I can see who has good intentions, and I can see who thinks that women have it easy. I will show you what it means to be a woman, the struggles you will face.” She gestured the group to stand. Yoongi struggled, trying to get up as he was stepping on his skirt. He really tried to correct himself, but it was too late the fabric under his foot tore. The Hojang sent a disappointed and disapproving glare.

“Miss Namsoon, your sister is here, I have warned her to not refer to you as her brother nor Namjoon. I have told her if anyone finds out you are men, you will be killed. Your room is secluded across the courtyard and has its own private hot spring. So please bathe there and nowhere else. If I find out you are perving on my girls, I will turn you into eunuchs.”

Yoongi swallowed audibly. He felt respect for this woman. But he was also scared of her.

Summer 1654 Hanseong,

The past three moon cycles have been particularly painful. I have seen so much and started to really appreciate what women have to go through, if only from the first lesson that left us all so exhausted. The list of expectations of a woman before she could even be considered for marriage is frightful. The Hojang confiscated my books and ceased my ability to speak freely. My mentor explained Confucius’ teachings on how important it is to speak your mind and be true to yourself. But the first lesson from Hojang was not the same. I am proud to say I have grown, I now truly see how important words are.

Kim Namjoon

The day began with cleaning their sleeping quarters and heading to the sigdang, where they were to cook their own meals as was expected of wives (unless of course, they were wives of noblemen who had servants). Namjoon looked at the ingredients rather unsurely, he had no idea what one was supposed to do with them.

He was a smart guy, he knew what everything was and how it ended up together, but the process in between wasn’t something he was familiar with. He saw Jimin take the rice and begin washing it without instruction. Jimin explained his family worked with rice for their business, making rice wine and that his gran was particularly fond of rice cakes.

“Why do you wash the rice?” Seo-jin curiously asked, Namjoon turned and watched the younger man work confidently with the ingredients.

“To make it fluffy,” he smiled, “you have to wash the rice to get the frothy stuff off the top of the water.”

The Hojang had invited a wholesome old woman for the cooking class; her small plump figure held such a firecracker personality. She spoke so lively and made the whole lesson amusing.

“Now chop them into half-moons,” the woman smiled. “Be careful of your fingers, curl your hand into almost a fist and hold the knife against the back of your knuckles to prevent slipping and losing a finger.” Namjoon was trying to follow the instruction, but he heard an exasperated sigh from Yoonji.

“Stop, let me.” It was impressive how Yoonji’s hands moved so quickly and precisely while cutting the vegetables.

Namjoon knew at this moment cooking wasn’t for him but judging by the wonder in Seojin’s eyes, it resonated more with him. Taking his notebook out, Namjoon thought it best to write down the instructions the woman was giving on cooking so that he might be able to learn and practice.

The Hojang had other plans, taking the book from his hands and leaning down. “Ladies shouldn’t burden themselves with reading and writing,” her words were bitter through the clenched teeth of a forced smile. She clearly didn’t believe what she was saying as she herself could read and write.

Namjoon realized that this was a privilege only for the king, the nobleman, the officials, and scholars. Namjoon realized that he had yet to meet a female scholar.

The house had been given some free time from the grueling lessons. Honestly, if Hoseok had to pour tea again and have the Hojang smack his elbows with the thin bamboo stick whenever they stuck out too far, he would rip his hair out. On top of that, it was frustrating not to be able to speak out and stand up for himself without getting another sharp tap across his hand.

The boys had all sat in the room that night discussing how the Hojang was abusing them for her own pleasure. “It has to be to get back at us for being male and suppressing her.”

The chance to be free was something important to Hoseok. He was a mailman for a reason, and that reason was to move when and where he wanted to, never be tied down and confined to one place.

Being held up in the kisaeng house was making Hoseok restless, so during this free time, there was nothing that could stop him from racing out from the cage he was supposed to call home. Taking to the streets, it was market day and vendors and merchants were in the town square selling anything and everything he could think of and more. With his coin purse on his hip, he began walking with a practiced giggle.

He almost resented the persona he was to live with, enforced by the hojang. Perhaps it was just because he was thinking of the woman, but Hoseok could swear he felt her gaze. Looking over his shoulder there she was standing on the front porch, parasol in hand, staring directly at him, as if to mentally remind him of the damned curfew.

Could that woman relax at all? Could she just learn to chill and have some fun for once? Hoseok huffed; some fun would probably make her less cranky, but he couldn’t see her acting nicer, that in itself was a scary thought.

Hoseok went past his home and saw both his sister and mother outside playing with the children they took in after he had left. He smiled; they looked happy and healthy and that was reassuring. ‘Perhaps I was worried for nothing.’

As he was heading back, he started wondering if he should have gone to war and defended his country. He shook his head; it was too late now, he had to accept his fate no matter how grueling it got.

Scuffing his feet on the way back to the town square, a sly smile creeping across his face at the thought of the scolding he would receive for doing something unladylike, like walking ungracefully.

“I have to get back, the Hojang will be expecting me.” A small feminine voice spoke, so timid and laced with fear. Hoseok looked down the small lane to see some of the young ladies from the kisaeng house cornered by a much larger group of royal guards.

Hoseok paused, looking on wondering if they were trying what he thought they would do. He didn’t have to wait long to confirm that yes, in fact, they were. He stepped closer. “Ladies, we all have to head home now. We can’t keep the Hojang waiting,” Hoseok said a little cutely.

“We are just talking, come join us,” one of the guards said. “The more the merrier.”

Hoseok was guided over, he would have smacked away the guard’s hand on his lower back but it would reveal his identity.

He tried to squirm from the older man’s grasp. He smelt like alcohol. Amongst the women was Seojin, standing there looking concerned as he was eyed by the plethora of strong men.

Seokjin looked at Hye-Seong, he didn’t know why but he was tense. On a regular day, he was always unbothered, he was taught that as a nobleman there should be nothing he feared, not even death.

Why did he feel so vulnerable? This was so unlike him. It was like he couldn’t say or do anything as one of the men pointed out how ‘cute’ he was while sliding his hand down Seokjin’s back.

He felt a sense of dread, he honestly had never felt so scared in his life. Scared of what these men might do to him, what they might do when they found out. He was spared from any horrors he could think of when he heard a familiar voice, one that he usually cowered under.

There she was, the hojang. She slowly closed her parasol and fastened it shut with a ribbon, before looking at the girls. “Head back home and you can start the dinner preparations early,” she smiled reassuringly.

Hye-Seong gestured for the girls to go and Seokjin took a moment trying to muster the courage to leave. “Seojin, head back.” A soft hand landed on his broad shoulder, the Hojang was smaller than him and Seokjin had no idea how strong she was but she looked at him and he knew nothing could hurt him.

Walking away he looked back and felt a swell of admiration for the woman who didn’t bow in front of the palace officials. They stepped forward and he felt scared once more, she did in fact look smaller in front of them despite never faltering.

Seokjin and Hoseok waited behind the Hojang, the two floundering on whether to go for help or to stand in her place. Suddenly, three figures barged past Seokjin with determination. Jimin, Yoonji, and Jeong-suk were all shoulders and fists stepping in front of the Hojang.

“Ya, you have a problem?” Jimin’s voice was sweet and yet laced heavy with warning. It took the men by surprise as Jimin moved like he was dancing but ended up driving one of the men’s faces into the ground. Still, with his sweet expression, he said with a sense of finality, “We will be going home now.”

It took a long time for Jungkook to get used to having people around his age constantly in his presence. He never had any big brother figures, it was just him and his father and they mostly worked in the shop. Of course, Jungkook’s father taught him many important life lessons, and he was thankful for them.

There was just something that grew in Jungkook like he had been locked up in his mind when he was working in the blacksmiths. It took a long time but eventually, Jungkook felt his shell break, and all his thoughts and feelings could be let out and expressed.

Nurtured by the open and honest environment in the kisaeng, he found himself no longer hiding away from the women, but instead connecting with them. Jungkook always took laundry duty for his sleeping quarter; he loved the smell of the clean fabrics and he also enjoyed the time with the women by the stream.

One would start singing to pass the time and the others would join in, they each made songs and they would sing it a few times until it felt right. Of course, Jungkook had his favorites and he would sing them as he strolled around the enclosed gardens.

Just one day, if I can be with you, Just one day, if I can hold your hands, Just one day, if I can be with you Just one day, just one day If only we can be together

For some, it was easy to adjust to the new way of life, for Taehyung it was not, with an abundance of energy he tried his best to expel it all. At first, he found a ball, and he and Jimin went outside to kick it around but were scolded by the Hojang who said “Women shouldn’t be seen doing anything masculine,” and apparently that included running around, playing sports, or just anything Taehyung deemed fun.

It wasn’t for lack of trying; Taehyung would find a new activity and a new area in the house or in the inner courtyard. He would barely set up or have a few moments of fun before he heard the voice that haunted him even in his dreams.

“Taeyeon, follow me,” Taehyung sighed, dropping the small ball he had been kicking between him and some of the young girls, perhaps he was a bit of a bad influence. He walked slowly after the Hojang. Mentally cursing her and stepping quickly in an effort to step on the back of her skirt so she would trip but she was too quick.

She led him into a small room he hadn’t seen before and he got nervous; was he being punished for disobeying the rules? He eyed the bamboo cane in her hand while she moved about the room and made up two desks. She placed a sweet flower arrangement on one and a stiff parchment pinned to a board on the other.

“Sit and watch, and then I will let you have a go. I promise you will have fun.” She explained how to grind the dyes and how to mix them perfectly before she began painting the flowers within the vase.

Taehyung was fascinated by the way the picture came to life, although there was a moment of confusion and doubt before it all came together. She spoke slowly, describing her technique. “You will develop your own technique that will feel right to you. Feel free to come here often and practice, let out your energy.”

“I can?” He seemed excited.

“A lady can do dainty activities, ones that are seen as beautiful and feminine.” She said softly.

“Why do you have so many rules?” He blurted out and winced, ready for a scolding but only felt a soft pat on his head.

“They aren’t my rules, no man will marry these ladies if they don’t meet these basic standards. Ask any man who they want to marry; they want someone who cooks and cleans, who doesn’t speak too much and is beautiful and feminine.” She sighed, “I would teach them how to read and write, but they are not expected to. I would teach them to fight and protect themselves but then they will not be seen as desirable young flowers, they would have too many thorns.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, and following the Hojang’s directions, began setting up his paints and parchment. He was allowed to paint whatever he wished. When he was done he frowned. “It doesn’t look nice.”

“What do you mean? Look at the depth you created here, you have such a good style, Taeyeon. Keep drawing until you grow comfortable and like what you have painted, but I will keep this one. Your first painting is precious.” She began to leave, “Don’t stay up too long, you have more lessons tomorrow.”

“Miss Hojang, I have a question?” Taehyung's voice was soft and curious as he turned away from the canvas. “If you could do anything that you ever wanted, what would it be?”

“Goodnight Taehyung,” she gave a small chuckle, smiling for the first time since Taehyung met her, and his opinion changed at that moment. She wasn’t as evil as he first thought.

It wasn’t long until Taehyung had told the whole group about the hojang; how she was actually a really considerate woman, who had nothing but good intentions for the girls she was protecting.

The boys talked about how the expectations were so unfair, that the girls should learn how to protect themselves and they should be educated. “I wish I could just teach them how to defend themselves,” Jimin hummed. “I learned from a young age how to fight, I could definitely show them some things.”

“I could teach them how to read and write, you could teach them how to fight,” The idea sparked inside Namsoon, they headed off to the hojang to present the idea, who agreed to their proposal.

Jimin led the class through the stretches thanking the girls for their cooperation, he had been teaching for two months and the girls were getting rather good. They really loved these new classes, they were so unlike what they were used to. It was hard for Jimin to teach his class in a dress but he made it work. Jimin had never felt prouder when he heard of stories of the ladies in the tea house defending themselves and others against rowdy patrons.

He also helped Hye-Seong with his dance practice, it seemed he really liked the class. Hyeseong mentioned to Jimin after their first dance class how he had never felt freer in his life, and after a few more, Hyeseong was moving his body freely to the music.

Jimin loved the idea that his friends enjoyed things that could be considered feminine, just like the things he liked. Maybe he wasn’t odd for liking dancing if his friends enjoyed art and simple house chores and cooking.

Yoongi had snuck out to speak with his father not because he particularly cared for the man, but he just knew his father would be angry if he didn’t report to him. He was climbing over the fence when he heard a cough behind him. “Yoonji where are you going?” Jeongsuk asked in a tiny voice.

“I have to see my father,” he spoke softly, trying not to wake anyone else up, “You should go back to bed.”

“I will come with you,” Jeongsuk smiled, climbing over the fence with Yoongi who sighed. The two walked along the dirt road until they arrived at the butchers.

“Wait here, Jeongsuk,” Yoongi spoke seriously, and quietly gestured to the spot just outside the lights of the street lamps. “I will be back.”

“My name is Jungkook,” He grabbed the sleeve of Yoongi’s jeogori before he pulled it off and helped him change into his masculine clothes and tied his hair up. “I know we aren’t supposed to tell each other our names but I need to say it, I need to feel like me for a little bit.”

“Yoongi,” he patted the younger boy's head, “Stay here Jungkook.”

He walked inside, nervous to see his father, and to hear what he would say. Meeting his father’s gaze across the room of laughing drunk men, his father stood up looking as harsh as always. “Where did you run off to?”

“The officials came, they were killing everyone, I just went off for a bit until they lost me.”

“Where have you been, you look awfully clean.” A slur drew Yoongi’s eyes from his father. Yoongi knew he would have to answer truthfully or he would be found out and beaten.

“I was hiding at the Kisaeng house,” he sighed.

“At the kisaeng house?” his father said. “What, are you pretending to be a girl?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, ears a little pink, and perhaps he should have just taken the beating.

“No son of mine is dressing as a woman!” His father shooed Yoongi, his hand pointing to the door. “Get out, I didn’t raise you to become a whore.”

“I only used it as a place to hide, I am back now.” Yoongi sighed nonchalantly, trying to get his father to calm down.

“If you don’t get out, I will kick your ass,” his father said, taking long strides until he was towering over his son. “I didn’t raise you for twenty-six years only to have you acting like some delicate flower. You always looked too much like your mother.” He raised his hand to hit Yoongi. Without flinching or shying away Yoongi waited for impact but it never came. A hand had clasped around his father's wrist.

“Hey, let’s just go back,” Jungkook said, letting go of the butcher’s hand then towing a struggling Yoongi behind him.

“Let me go,” Yoongi hissed as they were walking back to the house. “He was right, I am a disgrace, why am I prancing around in dresses when I am a man?”

“NO!” Jungkook grabbed the older man, thankful that he was stronger. “If there is one thing I have learned about my stay here, it is that women aren’t weak, they aren’t to be looked down on.”

“Good for you, I don’t need this disrespect.”

“Why do you care so much about what your father and those bad men think, you know they are scum. You aren’t, Yoongi. You left and you are a good person,” Jungkook protested.

“Did you not see what was on the tables?” Jungkook said. “Land deeds, they are strong-arming women and children from their homes, taking ownership of land that isn’t theirs. We must use what we have to our advantage.”

“What do we have, dancing and the ability to pour drinks for men.”

“I don’t know but if we don’t do something, your father and those men will only make things worse, you have nowhere else to go.”

How Jungkook got Yoongi to come back with him he would never know but he was thankful he did. As the two climbed over the wall to the kisaeng house, they were unaware of a pair of eyes watching them.

Summers End 1654 Hanseong,

Things have gotten worse. The officials have suspected someone in the kisaeng house is a man, it won’t be long before they send someone to investigate. We are trying to figure out how we can hide them and their extra appendages, but the situation doesn’t seem very hopeful. If things keep going the way they are, the town will become slaves to the merchants and no woman or child will be safe from their wrath.

Yeong-hui (Hojang of the Kisaeng house)

There was an abrupt knock at the door, startling the Hojang. She sat up and began dressing, as a woman should never be seen underdressed, then she opened the door. The steward bowed low before relaying a message. “There are officials at the front gate, asking to enter the premise.”

Yeong-hui didn’t waste any time. Tying her hair as she walked, looking regal as always, she stopped at the front gate and signaled for the doors to be opened.

“Miss Yeong-hui, we have heard multiple rumors that the Kisaeng house is harboring a fugitive from war—” one of the officials started.

“I will stop you right there,” Yeong-hui interrupted. “You have the right to search the property only when my girls have woken and dressed appropriately. It is perverse for you to even insinuate that I would allow you to enter while they are sleeping. You shall be allowed entry in when the sunlight reaches the Jing (gong) in the town center.”

Yeong-hui gestured behind them to the Jing and the man went to argue.

“No exceptions. Cooperate, or when you find there is no fugitive within these walls that you have barged into for nothing more than a story,” she eyed their Baji (lower part of a man’s hanbok), “well then I guess I could use a few more eunuch’s to help with chores now, don’t I?”

The men squirmed and the man leading the search party faltered.

“I would also like to see the confirmation letter from the king as I want proof you are allowed to step foot into my home,” Yeong-Hui added.

“Fine, we will get permission from the King. We will return at the specified time and nothing will stop us searching the premise and the ‘girls’ within the walls,” the leader of the search squad huffed before steering his men away from the front gate.

Yeong-hui headed inside, waking the young women early. She raced to the secluded sleeping quarters where the boys were staying. She saw them all sleeping haphazardly and smiled fondly.

She saw Taehyung wrapped around Namjoon, he was upside down on the older boy's futon hugging his calves, his face pressed between the scholar's ankles. Jungkook had his torso draped over Hoseok’s legs and his foot dangerously close to Seokjin’s face. Jimin’s head was on the eldest’s wide shoulders and even though Yoongi was the first away his pale thin arm stretched across the futon and was sweetly held in Jimin’s grasp.

They had all grown so much and had learned important life lessons that she was happy to be a part of their growth.

Without a moment longer, she woke the boys with a clap and a call. “Ladies, it is time to get up, the officials are sending a search party to find any man hidden within the kisaeng house.” She said, and what happened next was like a flash of lightning before the deep rumble of thunder. The boys jolted out of their beds, then a barrage of young girls burst through the doors, clutching bags of makeup, hair accessories, and armsful of fabric.

“You have to get up and get ready, the officials are coming!” Some of the ladies shouted, helping the men get dressed without batting an eyelash, ignoring the fact that they were all practically shirtless. Yeong-hui smiled softly, it seemed she had underestimated the ladies, how they had found out about the boys, and even took care of them.

It was pleasant to see them all coming together. If only they could change the way men and women interacted, if only they could show women were more intelligent and stronger than they were perceived to be.

The Kisaeng house started breakfast early. Yeong-hui explained that she would have the girls present themselves to the officials one by one and each of the boys would be placed randomly in between the girls. It would draw too much attention if the odd-looking ladies were to meet the officials one after another.

The officials came and started their interrogation. After the first group of girls was individually interviewed and scrutinized, Seokjin headed inside. If anyone could pass, it would be him. The Hojang smiled, sitting on a magnificent seat at the head of the table while the officials were off to the side, on less elaborate cushions.

“This is the beautiful Seojin, she has become the best cook in the house,” Yeong-hui smiled, and the officials blushed when Seojin blew them a kiss after taking a seat gracefully.

“Alright, next” the official stuttered after receiving a wink. Seokjin had passed.

After the next group of girls, Jimin walked into the room. As his long elegant legs strode in, there was a presence around him that made all the officials tense. He moved with allure and as he sat in perfect posture, the sleeve of his Jeogori slipped revealing a dainty shoulder and sensual clavicle.

The officials were sweating profusely, shifting in their seats. “This is Jimin, she is a dancer would you like to see?” The Hojang gestured for Jimin to begin, and Jimin started moving slowly with a delicate wave of the fan.

The officials were quick to decide and Jimin raced off smiling coyly. Another group passed and this time Hoseok came in, acting cute and charming the men. Yoongi’s turn then came, and his small frame and soft features helped him pass. When it came to Taehyung, he gave the officials his powerful gaze and devilishly said, “I can show you that I am a woman, if you want,” while playing with the hem of his skirt.

Yeong-hui was almost in stitches; something about the way these boys shamelessly flirted for their freedom had her choking back her laughter. Namjoon stepped in wearing a soft veil. “Miss Namsoon is quite a shy girl but she loves when some of the visitors to the tea house read to her.”

“Men such as yourselves would be ever so popular and have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose.” Namjoon giggled slightly making the men nervous with such forward words “That I could be the one to make you smile. The one who can make a long day feel like it was nothing when you come home.”

Last was Jungkook who sang a song he had made to the group of men and talked about making friends whilst doing the laundry. Jungkook was allowed to leave and the men finished their search of the property before leaving, albeit a little flustered and a little sheepish for their antics earlier that morning.

The house was lively for the young women who had sensed the weight of the interviews and therefore felt the celebratory relief. Yeong-hui allowed the boys to run around and play freely; they and a few young women began kicking a ball around the inner courtyard.

As the group dwindled, Yoongi was left sitting on the porch, his head tilted back, eyes shut enjoying the breeze. Yeong-hui grabbed a bottle of the Park family's best soju and two ceramic glasses, then moved across the hand-polished wooden floor before sitting down, legs dangling over the edge beside Yoongi.

“You care for a drink?” Yeong-hui smiled softly waving the bottle in her hand. Yoongi nodded, moving to take the bottle as he was younger, but she began pouring for him. She poured elegantly and effortlessly, making no mistake as if she was demonstrating in front of the class.

Yoongi thanked her politely and the two began drinking in silence. It didn’t take long for Yoongi to spill all his troubles, expressing his struggles from the beginning.

“I can’t touch him, I will have to leave the town, my father won’t allow me to stay. He has a pile of land deeds so even if I found a place somewhere, he likely owns it.” Yoongi downed the next glass. “I could show him how good women are, that they aren’t delicate flowers, that they can plot and scheme and m I could probably steal the land deeds right from under his nose.”

“Well, why don’t we do just that?” Yeong-hui smiled, and the two began plotting an elaborate coup to retrieve the land deeds. Yeong-hui walked slowly, leading Yoongi back to his quarters but when they got close, they could hear Seokjin’s voice shouting.

“I knew it! I knew those words sounded familiar! You have been reading my letters?” Seokjin said “...have gardens of beautiful flowers for you to pick. But there is a part of me who wishes that I may be the sweet flower that you might choose.”

Hoseok was cackling and pointed out, “he didn’t read them, he is the one who wrote them!”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked, his voice almost dying down.

“The women in town would pay me to write love letters addressed to you,” Namjoon said cautiously, and the group laughed.

Autumn Chuseok (Harvest festival) 1654 Hanseong,

It took a lot of planning and preparation but everyone was willing and ready to do their job. Tonight was the Chuseok festival; the tea house was open and the ladies of the kisaeng walked the streets dressed elaborately, inviting men inside to drink at a fee.

Usually, each young woman would bring in men who looked like they were of noble status. They were advised to stay clear of any man wearing the bandit emblem. Tonight, however, it was encouraged. The unsavory men were led inside and shown all the respects of a nobleman if not more. The women were working undercover and they weren’t going to let the operation down.

Within the tea house were Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook. While working, Yoongi was explaining who was who, and soon they had their targets. The boys split up, getting to work trying to impress the merchants, and having them each pay more and more money for some alcohol.

Yoongi as Yoonji was making quick work of his targets, whispering filthy things in their ears and having them drink until they were inebriated. Then he took their coin pouches and moved on to the next unsuspecting victim, who was also a member of his father’s gang.

Across town, Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, accompanied by a handful of the kisaeng, headed to Yoongi’s father's home. Jimin was quick to move up the side of the building, slipping upstairs while the men were drinking boisterously downstairs. Jimin was light-footed and found the small box hidden just as Yoongi had described.

He took the box, it was heavy with deeds, gold, and more, and as he moved to escape, he bumped his foot on the side of the table.

“Did you hear that?”

Jimin froze.

“Good evening would you men be interested in going to the kisaeng tea house? We have many delicious festival snacks for you to try?” Taehyung said playfully and the men blushed to see a group of women poking their heads into the butcher’s home.

The men looked flustered and eventually refused to say they had to stay and take care of the place. Jimin was able to escape and the group graciously began heading back to the kisaeng house.

They were almost back safe within the kisaeng walls when they heard a shout.

“Hey!” The group froze, Jimin hiding with the box in the middle of the group. “You dropped this” The man smiled, blushing profusely having to talk to a stunning Taehyung.

Taehyung took his handkerchief and smiled, “thank you.” The group continued on their way, hurrying inside the house where they met Namjoon, working hard over a desk.

In the days leading to the coup, Namjoon and Yeong-hui had taken a census of families within the village. They found that the gang had been procuring land for many years before the war.

Namjoon, with the newly acquired land deeds from Yoongi’s father’s house, was now dividing land and profits, ensuring each family would have a home and land to live on.

The next morning, the members of the gang were regretful of their night and were in foul moods. Yoongi’s father marched to the kisaeng house and began pounding his fists on the doors, demanding to enter the premises.

Yeong-hui signaled the doors to be opened, and the man entered, alone. He stepped forward, looking at the group of women dressed in baji and holding weapons. The man spotted Yoongi standing on the far end of the inner courtyard.

Yeong-hui walked through the group of women until she stood in front of Yoongi who was dressed as a woman and was not at all ashamed. “You stole from me, you little rat?” Yoongi nodded. His father’s face was bright red, “I will kill you!”

The women moved with a loud cry and the man faltered, releasing a mocking laugh. “You think you can hurt me?”

“Yes, I believe we can,” Jimin smiled, standing in front of the women, just in case the man was an unexpected fighter. He was a street merchant after all and they weren’t known for fighting fair. However, it seemed the women were holding their own, as they started knocking the man to the ground.

Spring 1655 Hanseong,

With the power restored, the people are thriving, the women are stronger than ever. The land is now divided, ensuring there are better harvests and more trade among the vendors. I have been working to teach the girls in the kisaeng how to read and write, training them to be scholars. Seokjin and I are planning to present the young women in front of the king, as well-educated scholars.

Seokjin has been around a lot. Having perfected his cooking skills, he happily teaches the women his favorite dishes. Something about being free and independent and able to make his food makes the man happy. He likes how free he feels, admitting he originally thought it was the women who were free to do whatever they wanted but he was wrong.

Yoongi has found he has a real talent for playing some of the instruments, and he and Jungkook spend their days making songs. Hoseok and Jimin enjoy dancing and are some of the best dancers, and Jimin also spends his time teaching the young ladies how to defend themselves. Jungkook has made light-weight weapons for the women who find themselves in the ways of fighting.

Taehyung teaches Art and keeps things in the kisaeng house light with sports and games. It wasn’t long before a new age began, the age of female growth.

Let’s just say when the fathers, brothers, and husbands return home from war they will be in for quite a shock, as every family now owns the land and the land deeds are under the women’s names. The women are all stronger, smarter, and happier.

Every day the Hojang fights to liberate her girls more and more, we help however we can even if we have to dress up as women to do it. As for the Hojang, Miss Yeong-hui, whose name means eternal play, she has changed her name to Jester. She is now working on a project to use some of the young women trained to fight for future espionage.

Kim Namjoon

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cdelphiki · 5 years

Text

There Are Worse Ways to Spend Christmas

Honestly, holiday travel was the worst, in Tim’s opinion. The absolute worst thing on the face of the planet, and an all around terrible way to spend time right around Christmas.

Between crowded airports, snobby entitled irate passengers, and frequent weather cancellations, traveling during December was probably the worst thing ever.

And yes, that was very much exaggerating, because Tim’s mind immediately supplied several things that had happened that year that beat flying near Christmas in the ‘terrible’ category, but he just wasn’t in a good mood, so he was going to be dramatic about it.

Bruce wanted the lot of them to meet up at the cabin in Colorado to have a nice, quiet Christmas with just the family. Which, on paper, sounded nice. Christmas with all the kids plus Alfred and Bruce, far away from Gotham and the social engagements they’d be expected to attend otherwise sounded incredibly relaxing.

But that was before Tim processed that he’d have to fly with Damian, commercial, to Colorado to meet up with everyone else.

Why?

Because his family hated him, obviously.

The private plane was currently in Japan, where Bruce and Alfred were finishing up a series of meetings at the Tokyo office, and since it would be bringing them to Colorado that day, it was unavailable to bring Damian and Tim, the only two left in Gotham so close to Christmas, to Colorado. Stupid school lasting until the Friday right before Christmas Eve, which was on a Monday that year, meant they couldn’t have just left early to allow the jet to bring them all.

No.

Tim Drake and Damian Wayne had to fly commercial. On Christmas Eve eve.

First class, of course, but on small little regional jets, first class was a paltry comparison to the comfort to which they were accustomed. And the whole “unaccompanied minor” thing was really grating at Tim’s nerves. Because Damian wasn’t unaccompanied. Tim was right there. He was 16, and according to the airline’s policy, that made Damian accompanied. But that didn’t stop the stupid flight attendants from being extra attentive.

At least they were being left relatively alone during their layover in Chicago.

Which was how Tim found himself curled up into one of the kind-of comfortable waiting chairs near their gate, playing a game on his iPad, completely ignoring his little brother. It was the most peace he’d had all day. He could still see Damian over his knees. Kind of. Saw his spiky hair in the next seat over, at least, so he wasn’t being entirely neglectful.

But Damian wasn’t bothering him. Wasn’t trying to pick a fight or release his frustrations on Tim, so Tim was going to enjoy every single second of it.

Then, of course, the gate agent had to ruin the entire night.

“Attention passengers, Flight 1029 to Aspen has been delayed,” she announced over the speaker, and Tim couldn’t make out the rest of her announcement over the loud chorus of groans from everyone around them. Because the flight was supposed to begin boarding in about 10 minutes.

His phone buzzed with a notification from the American Airlines app, which informed him that it was delayed by three hours.

“This is ridiculous,” Damian pouted, hitting Tim’s legs with his coat as he slung it off himself to stand, “the third weather delay today. You would think airlines would be used to flying in the snow. It’s not like it doesn’t happen every year.”

“It’s one of those dumb named storms,” Tim said, scrolling through the weather report in Aspen to see if in three hours it would be any better, “it’s basically a blizzard.”

“That does not change my opinion,” Damian drawled, rolling his eyes as he stared out the window directly behind Tim.

“So because hurricanes happen every year, pilots should know how to fly through those? Get real, Damian.”

“Tt. It’s just snow.”

“Snow and wind and zero visibility,” Tim said, flipping to the Hilton app to reserve a room at the airport’s hotel. The weather report wasn’t looking good, and he had a feeling that the flight would be outright cancelled. If that happened, he wanted a room in the airport. He’d rather not deal with crowded shuttles to an off-site hotel once the airport finally cancelled all the flights to the areas being assaulted by Winter-storm Fisher.

Seriously, why the hell did they name snowstorms now?

Tim reserved the room under Bruce’s name, because it would be impossible otherwise to get a room for a 10 and 16 year old. The hotel really didn’t need to know that Bruce wasn’t even in the country and wouldn’t be staying with them.

“Damian?” one of the gate agents said, as she approached the two of them in the waiting area, “So the flight has been delayed by-”

“Yes, three hours. We are aware,” Damian snapped, “As I keep telling you people, I do not require your hovering. My father did not request the unaccompanied minor service, so I do not see why you are providing it anyway.”

“We are just ensuring that-”

“I don’t care,” Damian said, waving a hand at the woman as he turned to gaze out the window again.

Tim just shrugged at the slightly flustered woman and offered a simple, “Sorry. We’re tracking though, thanks.”

“Tt. I am never flying commercial again.”

“Bold declaration for 10,” Tim said, just before he sighed and sat up. It was nearing 6pm. They should probably go grab dinner while they had the time, on the off chance that the flight actually did happen.

“I am a Wayne, if I want to fly exclusively by private jet, there is literally nothing stopping me.”

“Except Bruce hogging it,” Tim said, shoving his iPad and headphones into his carry-on. For the first time, he was so glad Alfred had convinced them to pack into carry-ons instead of with checked luggage. He enjoyed the freedom and ease of traveling with just a simple messenger bag to carry around, but knowing that they had their clothes and toothbrushes with them was a relief. They wouldn’t be buying ridiculous Chicago themed clothing tonight in one of the overpriced gift shops.

“What are you doing?” Damian asked, eyeing Tim as he slipped his boots back on and tied them.

Instead of answering, Tim asked, “Chili’s or the Macaroni Grill?” as he stood to his feet, attaching his coat to the top of his luggage.

Damian straightened up a bit, to Tim’s amusement, at the prospect of food and shuffled to gather up his items as well. “The Macaroni Grill,” he finally said, making a face at the suggestion of Chili’s.

Dinner went a lot smoother than Tim was expecting. In fact, the entire day until that point had gone smoother than he expected. Even with leaving for the airport at 5am and spending nearly every moment since together, the two of them really hadn’t fought much. Every once in a while Damian would make a scathing remark, but would then be quiet for at least half an hour after he did so.

It was nice.

“Why’re you being so good,” Tim asked over their pasta. They still had a little over two hours until boarding. Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking this gift horse in the mouth, but he was genuinely curious.

“I know how to behave in public, Drake,” Damian drawled, pushing around the last bits of his dinner on his plate before taking a sip of his soda.

Aside from the fact that Damian did not know how to behave in public, that really didn’t answer anything.

“Besides,” Damian continued, “our every move is being watched here, and Father told me if we get arrested by security for any reason he’s holding me personally responsible.”

“He did not,” Tim said, grinning wide.

Damian scowled at Tim and snapped, “That was not a challenge, Drake. I will inform Father if you sabotage our travel for the express purpose of getting me grounded.”

Tim just laughed and said, “Unlike you, I’m not a demon, I wouldn’t do that,” just as his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

When he pulled it out, he saw Bruce’s face staring at him. “Speak of the devil,” Tim muttered as he slid to accept the call, “Hey Bruce.”

“I see your flight has been delayed again. How are you two holding up?”

“Let me talk to him,” Damian said, reaching out for the phone.

Tim swatted Damian’s hand away and said, “We’re fine. Annoyed, but we went ahead and got dinner. I know we were supposed to eat together there, but you know.”

“We had to land in Seattle and won’t attempt again until morning, anyway. Dick and Jason got in just before it started to snow, and Steph and Cass are still in the air, but I don’t think the flight will make it to Aspen. So most of us won’t get there until tomorrow, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m expecting American Airlines to just cancel to try again tomorrow,” Tim said, taking one last bite of his food, “so I booked us a hotel tonight just in case.”

“Let me know if you have trouble checking in. The storm is moving across the country toward you, I would not be surprised if O’Hare cancels flights tomorrow as the storm passes over you there.”

“Great,” Tim said dramatically, leaning back in his chair. Damian was just glaring at him expectantly, “Damian wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. Stay safe and just be patient. Delays and cancellations are better than plane crashes.”

“Yeah, thanks for that thought,” Tim said just as he handed the phone off to Damian.

“Father, I refuse to fly commercial ever again, this method of travel is-” Damian started, then paused and listened with a pinched face, “Yes, but- No. No.”

Tim tried his best not to look too amused as Damian went from smug and entitled to adequately chagrined as he listened silently to Bruce for a full minute. Bruce must have lectured him pretty hard.

“Fine. But I will not fly commercial at Christmas. This holiday is ridiculous and the number of people in this airport is unacceptable. Yes, Father. I will. Goodbye.”

“Sounds like you will be flying commercial again,” Tim said in amusement as he took his phone back and pulled a $100 out of his wallet to give to the waitress to cover their meal and her tip.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian mumbled as he dragged his suitcase behind him in the most pout-filled way Tim had ever seen.

And that’s how the rest of the evening went. Silently as Damian pouted. As their departure time came and went without so much as a boarding call, Damian began getting antsy.

“This is the fourth time they’ve delayed us by 15 minutes,” he exclaimed after yet another announcement over the PA system, “this is unacceptable.”

“You know they’re going to cancel the flight, right?” Tim said, turning the page in a book he’d picked up in the airport bookstore, “We’ll probably sit here another 30 minutes while they continue deluding themselves about not cancelling a flight on Christmas Eve eve.”

Damian let out an angry growl, which just sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, and flung himself down on the chair next to Tim. “I hate this.”

“Take a nap,” Tim said as he pulled his coat out from the chair under him to let Damian use it as a pillow, “I’ll wake you when they decide what they’re doing.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian pouted, “I’m not tired, just frustrated.”

“You’ve been awake since 4am, you’re tired.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said patiently, “but I took a nap after lunch, so.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian repeated, aggressively grabbing Tim’s coat to lay against.

“That’s fine,” Tim hummed, trying not to smile as he continued reading.

“And Christmas Eve eve is not a thing,” Damian mumbled, burrowing himself down into Tim’s coat with his own wrapped around him, “stop being ridiculous.”

“Of course it’s a thing,” Tim said, lifting his feet up onto his suitcase so he could get settled back a little more comfortably, “It’s what today is.”

“Hmph.”

It took another 45 minutes, but finally the flight was outright cancelled. By that point, everyone was too exhausted to put up too much of a fuss, and the groans heard around the gate were more out of obligation than actual anger. Tim had heard several people all around him make arrangements for the night already, so this was clearly no surprise to anyone.

Tim took his time using the hotel’s app to “check in” before he began gathering up his things. He put his boots on and shoved his book and tablet back in his bag before he finally nudged Damian.

“Okay, Demon, nap’s over.”

“I was not napping,” Damian mumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up.

Tim grinned and liberated his coat out from under Damian. “No you’re right you were just resting your eyes.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

Checking in was remarkably easy. When Tim told the person at the desk that ‘his dad had checked in on the app,’ he was easily handed a couple keys to the room without a single question.

Tim took his time in the shower as Damian lay on one of the two beds in their room, watching the news report. When Tim finally emerged from the bathroom, Damian said, “Much of Colorado is without power right now, and the storm is expected to hit the midwest just as hard.”

“Well isn’t that just dandy,” Tim said as he dried off his hair, “you packed a toothbrush and stuff, right?”

“Yes, Drake, I am not incompetent.”

“Right, whatever. Take a shower if you’re going to, I’m going to sleep. The flight is scheduled for 8 so we need to get out of here absolutely no later than 7, preferably earlier. We’ll have to pass through security again.”

“I hate everything you just said.”

Sighing, Tim set his phone to wake him at 5:45 while he listened to Damian slam the bathroom door.

Being responsible for little children was just so fun.

Next thing Tim knew, his alarm was going off. He sat up to find Damian already awake and watching the Weather Channel on mute. It took blinking for a minute before he could make out the numerous notifications on his phone, but the one he had wanted to find the least was another delay notification.

Now the flight wasn’t going to attempt until 10.

“The storm hit early,” Damian said, glaring at the television as if it were responsible for everything going wrong in their travel.

“Well do you want to sleep in longer or get breakfast?” Tim asked, rubbing at his face. He’d enjoy sleeping more, but he had slept for a good 6 hours. It was certainly more than he was used to.

“Breakfast,” Damian said simply, “I was waiting for you to wake up so we could order room service.”

“We could go get something. There’s time now.”

“Look outside. I’d rather stay here where it’s warm and dry.”

“Right,” Tim said, picking up the room service menu. After he called in their order, he looked at the weather report for the day and went ahead and extended their stay one night. If this storm cancelled all flights leaving Chicago, it would be much more difficult to get a room. Bruce honestly wouldn’t care about spending the money unnecessarily if their flight really did take off at 10.

But of course, it didn’t. At just past 8, they received the notice that the flight was cancelled.

Bruce called again, within minutes of Tim getting the text, to check up on them and assure them that the family wouldn’t do Christmas until Tim and Damian made it to Aspen.

“I’ll come pick you up myself,” Bruce said over speaker, “The weather should be fine tomorrow, I’ll head to the airport and get you boys, okay?”

“Tt,” Damian pouted from where he lay on his bed, arms crossed and glaring at the ceiling, “If you ever suggest I travel alone with Drake again, I will return to Mother.”

“Ouch,” Tim said, “he’d rather live in a ninja death cult than travel with me.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed, “I’m sorry, but we’ll extend our vacation out until after the New Year, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

“He’s pretending to ignore you,” Tim said, grinning at the scathing look Damian shot his way for the comment, “he’ll get over it.”

“The pilot wants me to turn my phone off, so I’ll text you when we land. How about we all FaceTime tonight, okay?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be good. Dick wanted us to watch The Polar Express tonight, we can always just do it while facetiming. I’m sure I can find a copy somewhere around here.

“Okay, Merry Christmas, boys. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve and I’m stuck in a snowstorm with you,” Damian said once Bruce had hung up, still glaring up at the ceiling.

Shrugging, Tim said, “There’s worse company.”

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t worry. Santa will still deliver your presents to the cabin tonight.”

That finally made Damian sit up, but only to throw a pillow at Tim. “Santa’s not real, Drake.”

“Now you’re ruining my Christmas,” Tim said, laughing, as he caught the pillow, “You’re probably on the naughty list, anyway.”

“Tt.”

“You’re not exactly good,” Tim continued, having fun now at Damian’s expense.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, throwing another pillow at Tim.

“Or nice.”

“Shut up!”

“Actually, yeah,” Tim said, laying back on the bed, “there’s no way you’re not on the naughty list, now that I think about it.”

At that, Damian got up from his bed and stormed over to the bathroom, slamming the door as he went. Tim jumped at the loudness of it, then frowned.

He hadn’t meant to push the brat that far. He’d just been teasing. Having fun. Sometimes, Tim forgot for as much as Damian could dish it out, he couldn’t take teasing. At all.

It was easy to forget. Especially when they went a few days without fighting.

‘Help,’ Tim texted Dick, ‘made D mad. Probably crying in bathroom. What do?’

The response was almost instant. ‘You made Damian cry?! Tim, why??’

Tim sighed and responded with, ’I mean, maybe? I haven’t tried to listen in on him or anything. He might just be pouting.’

‘Did you try talking to him?’

‘Why would I do that?’ Tim asked, smiling at himself because he already knew what Dick’s response to that would be.

‘You want to fix it but you don’t want to talk to him.’ And Tim could just see the flat stare Dick would have while delivering that sentence. Hear the deadpan in his voice.

Tim snorted. ‘Precisely. Glad you understand.’

‘Tim.’

‘Yeah, fine. Good big brother, coming up.’

After another minute, Tim finally got up and trudged over to the bathroom door. When he knocked, he could tell something was pressed up against the door, and was willing to bet his entire salary that it was pint sized and 10-years-old.

“Hey D? I was just teasing, you know.”

“Go away, Drake,” Damian hissed from the other side of the door.

So he wasn’t crying, at least. That’s good.

“Uh yep, nope. Can’t,” Tim said, sitting down on the floor outside the door, “The room isn’t big enough.”

Tim could just barely hear Damian’s signature ’tt’ in response.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Tim offered, unsure of where to start. Or how to even do this. He’d been the little brother being talked down, never the older brother doing the talking down.

“Weren’t you?” Damian drawled.

“No, I wasn’t,” Tim said, resting his head back against the door, “I was just teasing you, that’s what brothers do to each other. They tease. You should know, you tease me constantly.”

“I do not tease you.”

Tim rolled his eyes and said, “No, of course not. You just make fun of me in hopes of getting a rise out of me. That’s totally not the definition of tease.”

“Then you admit you were trying to upset me.”

“Fine. I’m sorry, Damian,” Tim said tiredly, and perhaps a little too flippantly in his tone, “I shouldn’t have said that stuff, okay? You’re probably on Santa’s nice list. He’ll bring you presents tonight.”

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, banging something against the door. His elbow, perhaps. “I do not care about that ridiculous tradition.”

“If you aren’t upset about me saying you’re on the naughty list, then why are you upset?”

“I have been very good the past couple days,” Damian nearly shouted, “and the past year. I have worked so hard to behave myself and be what you and everyone in Father’s family would consider good. But at every turn, everyone, especially you, completely ignores all my actions and efforts and writes me off as a ‘bad person.’ I am sick of it.”

Tim blinked and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t… writing you off,” he said lamely, “I was just teasing you about Santa. I know you’ve been good.”

“Then why would you say I’m not?” Damian demanded.

“It was just a joke,” Tim said, a bit more forcefully this time, “it’s just what you do at Christmas with kids. You tease them about Santa and being on the naughty list. Did the league not do Santa?”

Damian huffed out an annoyed breath and said, “The league didn’t do Christmas. So no, we didn’t ‘do Santa.’”

“You… didn’t do Christmas?” Tim said, in almost a whisper. He really wasn’t sure if Damian could even hear him. “So wait,” he added, much louder, “is this your first Christmas then?”

“Yes,” Damian bit out before slamming his head back against the door. At least, Tim as pretty sure that’s what Damian hit the door with.

“Does Bruce know this?”

After a long moment, Damian sighed and said, in a much calmer tone, “Maybe. I do not know what Father knows.”

“You should have told him,” Tim said softly, like he was talking to a victim as Robin, “He would have cancelled his meetings in Japan, I bet.”

“I don’t see how it would have mattered. It was my first Christmas here, regardless of everything, and he still left me with you.”

“Well,” Tim said, “In his defense, we were supposed to see him yesterday, so this isn’t entirely his fault.”

“I guess,” Damian said, softer than Tim had ever heard the child’s voice be.

The two of them sat there for another few minutes while Tim just frowned at the closet door in front of him. The annoying closet door that was actually a full sized mirror. So basically, Tim was staring back at himself, looking right at the terrible person he was. That he’d been over the past couple days.

Thinking back over their travel time, Damian really had been good. He’d been trying really hard to keep it that way, even when Tim teased and poked at him, or just flat out ignored him. And all because he didn’t want Bruce angry with him over his behavior. Which, usually wasn’t an issue for Damian. He never seemed to care when Bruce threatened him with grounding.

And Tim had barely acknowledged the effort.

Was Damian just trying to stay on Bruce’s good side because it was Christmas? Because he wanted a happy Christmas, just like how the holiday was always depicted in media?

Damian was only 10, after all, and all he had to go on was television.

Tim felt the bathroom door open behind him and leaned forward a bit to prevent from falling back. Damian stood in the doorway and glared at Tim using the mirror before saying, half-heartedly, “Move, Drake.”

“So if you’ve never celebrated Christmas before,” Tim said slowly as he got to his feet, “that means you’ve never done a Christmas movie marathon.”

“Thankfully,” the little brat drawled as he pushed past Tim into the bedroom.

“What Christmas movies have you already seen?” Tim asked, completely ignoring Damian’s likely feigned disinterest.

Flopping down dramatically onto his bed, Damian said, “What part of ‘first Christmas’ don’t you understand?”

“So you’ve never seen any Christmas movies?” Tim asked in exaggerated horror.

Damian just shrugged.

“Frosty the Snowman?” Tim asked, and when Damian shook his head, he said, “Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer? How the Grinch Stole Christmas?”

“No, Tim,” Damian exasperated, “none of them.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said, “Okay. That’s what we’re doing today. Starting with The Year Without a Santa.”

“Whatever.”

After a quick trip to one of the shops in the airport to purchase candy canes and a ridiculous amount of candy and cookies, because no Christmas movie marathon would be complete without a coma-inducing amount of sugar, Tim started up a playlist of all his favorite Christmas movies on his laptop.

Four movies into the marathon, Damian said from where he lay beside Tim on the bed, “These are ridiculous, you know?”

“I know, isn’t it great?” Tim said, opening another bag of Oreos for them to devour. Alfred would have a heart-attack if he knew they skipped lunch and were going to skip dinner in favor of cookies. Store bought cookies.

“I suppose,” Damian said as he took a couple cookies from the bag between them, “there are worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.”

Tim didn’t even have to look to know Damian was smiling as the opening scene to Elf began to play.

Yes. There were much worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.

Cross posted from AO3.

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sublime-limeade · 4 years

Text

Jasmine

Title: Jasmine

Author: sublime-limeade

Word Count: 908

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff?

You were sitting on your couch, staring at the wall, when Bucky walked in the room. He didn’t say anything as he walked into his room and shut the door. The loud click snapped you out of zoning out, and you looked towards his door in concern. He usually said hi to you, but you supposed today wasn’t a usual day. You went to his bedroom door and listened for signs of life. After hearing none, you quietly opened the door to find the room empty. Searching for clues as to where he went, you saw the bathroom door open slightly, showing a sliver of Bucky’s face.

“Hi there. Are you okay?” you asked, taking a few steps closer to him.

He shook his head and you frowned. He opened the door a little wider and beckoned to you. Cautiously inching forward, you peeked into the bathroom to see he had drawn himself a bath.

“Can you help me pick out a soap to use?” he said quietly.

“Sure, do you want me to get mine too?”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

You quickly went to grab your basket of good smelling soaps and found Bucky sitting on the lip of the tub with nothing on but a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked oddly fragile, hunched over like he was trying to shield himself from the outside world. You pursed your lips, looking at the assembled bottles of soap. The night blooming jasmine was looking like a good option, so you picked it up and offered it to Bucky. He simply took it and poured some in the tub, not bothering to smell it beforehand. You stood up and took the bottle back, putting it on the counter next to the tub so it would be easily reachable if he wanted to put more in.

“I’m gonna go watch some TV and make myself some tea,” you stated. As an afterthought, you asked, “do you want me to make you some too? I can make chamomile if you like it.”

Bucky looked up at you and nodded, lips twitching towards a smile. You grinned at him and left, making your way to the cabinet with a couple of boxes of tea. You easily found the chamomile, as it was one of your most frequent drinks. You put two cups of water in the microwave to heat up and turned on the TV. You scrolled through Netflix for a while before deciding to watch a documentary about Ted Bundy. Probably not the best choice for the situation, but you would probably switch to a nature show when Bucky came out anyways.

After watching an episode and a half, you heard the bathroom door open. You quickly paused the show to get the cups of hot water from the microwave and put the teabags in, squishing them down with a spoon to get the air bubbles out. A few minutes later, Bucky shuffled into the living room wearing a Green Day shirt you got him after discovering his not so secret liking of the band and a pair of gray sweatpants. He trudged over to the couch and plopped down, picking up the remote.

“Go ahead and pick whatever you wanna watch, I can watch that later,” you said when you noticed him hovering over the Ted Bundy episode.

“No, we can watch this. It looks pretty good anyways.”

“Alright then,” you said, handing him his tea, “I took out the tea bag so it doesn't get too strong for you.”

“Thanks,” he whispered as he hit the play button.

Nearly an hour later, Bucky had finished two cups of tea and was almost done with his third. He was slouched over, basically laying on you as the credits rolled. You had your arm resting on the back of the couch, playing with the ends of his hair. You felt him shift a little closer, inviting you to play with more of it. You smiled a little and complied, feeling him relax a little more throughout the episode until you were pretty sure he was asleep and you were fighting tiredness from sitting too long.

You woke up a while later, finding yourself completely stretched along the couch, Bucky cuddled up next to you like a cat. He was trying to reach for the remote without moving too much, and he was failing miserably. You tried not to laugh out loud when he accidentally jabbed you in the side with his elbow. Feeling you shaking with barely constrained giggles, he turned to look at you with a guilty look on his face.

“I'm sorry I poked you,” he said, pouting.

“Oh no, you’re fine,” you giggled, “just not very good at being subtle.”

He gasped and put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Me? Not subtle? I don't believe you!”

You rolled your eyes and lightly slapped his arm. “Are you okay from earlier?”

“Yeah, I was just having a bad day. Well, it was a lot of little things that all piled up and got to be too much I guess. I feel better now that I actually got some sleep, so thank you.” he said, glancing away.

“Hey, anytime. Just don’t use all of my jasmine soap if you decide to start taking baths more often!” you called as he grinned and went to put your cups away in the dishwasher.

“No promises, sweetheart.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fanfic #fanfic #marvel #reader insert

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 years

Text

Vigilante

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Request: Steve reacts to his girlfriend getting violently mugged.

Word Count: 3,200 - One Shot

Once again, special thanks to @kquel12 and @alexabarnes for letting me pick their brain.

Bucky and Steve walked side-by-side off the quinjet.

The team had just gotten back from a grueling mission and they had a few important meetings in the city this week. So they decided to stay at the old tower instead of returning to the compound upstate.

They mostly used it as their own hotel. There wasn’t much left there since Tony had Happy clean everything out. But there were enough guest rooms for all the Avengers to sleep there comfortably.

“Y/N gonna come by?” Bucky asked his best friend.

He tried not to laugh at how Steve lit up from someone simply saying her name.

“Yeah, she just texted me saying she’d be over here in a bit.”

Bucky nodded, hiding his smirk. “When you two gonna stop playing around and just move in together? This long distance stuff has to be getting annoying.”

Y/N lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Steve was luckily able to visit more frequently than someone who had a normal 9-to-5 job. But Manhattan was still a couple hour drive from the compound. Even less when Steve was able to “borrow” a helicopter or quinjet.

“Kind of a big step,” Steve answered evenly.

Bucky chuckled, “Please, you’re hopelessly in love, punk. You’d go to the courthouse with Y/N tonight and get married if that’s what Y/N wanted.”

Steve finally looked at his friend and his face dropped. “I don’t want to push her too hard, too quickly.”

Bucky shook his head at the ridiculousness. “If you don’t realize that girl loves you just as much, than you’re a bigger idiot than I ever realized.”

Steve had the audacity to blush and look at the ground as he shifted his weight.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower before Y/N gets here,” he finally managed to say before walking away without giving Bucky a chance to say any more.

———

Steve walked into the kitchen, hair still damp from his shower, and found a few members of the team eating whatever food they could in the fridge. They were talking amongst themselves loudly. It was their way of decompressing after missions.

“I ordered a pizza. Fridge hasn’t been filled in awhile,” Tony announced to the group as he too walked in.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupted the fun and familial atmosphere.

Despite being an AI, there was evident worry in her voice. “You’re needed at the lobby elevators immediately. Y/N is on her way up right now.”

Steve tensed and his heart instantly started racing. He quickly went to the elevators that the system spoke of, “FRIDAY, what’s happened?”

He ignored the sound of the team following closely behind him.

“I’m-I’m not sure, Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY admitted, sounding more human than usual.

When the elevators opened, Steve was met with Y/N leaning her weight on the security guard that Steve recognized from the first floor entrance.

Y/N held a tissue to her nose, but Steve could still see that half of it was already stained bright red with blood. There were tried tears soaking her cheek, black smudge was left behind from the mascara and eyeliner they took with them.

Steve rushed forward after barely a second passed of him taking in the sight and gasped, “Jesus Christ! Y/N!”

He took her weakened body out of the grasp of the security guard, but somehow still managed to give him a thankful look.

“I just wanted to make sure she got up here okay,” the security guard said carefully before backing up into the elevator again.

Steve grasped her face, pushing hair out of her face so he could look into her eyes without any obstruction. “Y/N, what happened?”

“Ummm…I got mugged,” Y/N mumbled. She tried to act like it was no big deal. Like it was something that happened all the time.

Hell, she was at the Avengers Tower. This was nothing than what they’d all survived.

Y/N’s entire body was shaking. And Steve had never heard her voice so quiet and meek. It broke his heart.

“FRIDAY, alert the police,” Tony called out behind them. Then he and Natasha slowly walked toward Y/N.

For some reason, Steve felt the need to hold her closer to his body as they approached. He pulled her frame securely to his muscular chest.

“They have your phone?” Nat asked Y/N softly.

She nodded.

“Your debit and credit cards?” She nodded again.

“FRIDAY track the spending of Y/N’s cards. And connect to Y/N’s cellphone.” Tony added to his system.

“They probably already t-turned o-off my phone,” Y/N stuttered quietly.

“As if that’ll save ‘em. Don’t insult my abilities, Y/N,” the AI tried to joke.

Tony smirked.

The group started talking amongst themselves hurriedly, making a plan on how to handle the situation. Everyone was very calm and collected. It gave Steve a moment somewhat alone with his girlfriend.

“You okay?” He whispered.

Steve knew not to baby her. Because when he was the little guy, that’s what he hated the most. She’s just been assaulted, violated. The last thing she wanted was to continue to be treated less than a full-fledged and independent adult.

Her eyes flickered around at their audience.

Steve realized she was trying to keep it together for their sakes. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of his teammates.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he told her softly, starting to guide her to his guest bedroom.

But when they took a step, Y/N limped and hissed, stumbling slightly. “Sorry,” she muttered with shame.

She’d twisted her ankle as she’d tried to run after her assailants.

Steve gave her a look of anguish. But, without hesitating, he scooped her up in his arms and hurried out of the room before anyone else could watch her any longer.

Once he got to his bedroom, he carefully placed Y/N onto the toilet seat. There was an extensive first aid kit under every bathroom sink at the tower. He shuffled around until he found it and pulled it onto the counter.

He grabbed a new tissue and placed it under her nose. “Lean forward and hold that for me. Don’t lean your head back,” he instructed softly.

Y/N did as she was told.

“Can you tell me what happened? Bit by bit?” He asked her gently.

She was quiet for a moment. Whether it was to remember every detail or to give herself the strength to tell it, he didn’t know.

“I-I was taking the subway here. The car was empty. Then these two guys got on. Th-They tried to mug me, grabbed for my purse. B-But I shoved them away. So they hit me. They made a break for it once the doors opened – with my purse. I tried to run after them, but I had rolled my ankle when they’d shoved me.”

Steve was getting worked up as she spoke. But he couldn’t freak out right now. She needed him. This wasn’t about his anger. It was about her being safe and – now – cared for.

He took in a deep breath as he cleaned her split lip, “Y/N, you shouldn’t have picked a fight with them. You should’ve just let them have your purse.”

“That purse basically had my life in it, Steve.”

“Well, your actual life is what I’m worried about,” he snapped back accidentally.

Y/N narrowed her eyes almost playfully. “That’s real rich coming from you, Steven Grant Rogers. As if you’ve ever run away from a fight in your god damn life.”

Steve shook his head, refusing to give in to her teasing. This was serious.

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, Y/N.” His voice was stern. “They couldn’t had knives – or worse, guns.”

Y/N was quiet.

“I can buy you a new cellphone. We can replace all your cards,” he added.

Her head hung low now and she refused to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.”

“They won’t,” Steve said firmly.

Then he noticed that she was still shaking. He went to his closet and grabbed one of his heavy sweatshirts and baggy pair of sweatpants. When he returned to the bathroom, he carefully helped her into both.

Steve pulled the hood up over her face, smirking at how adorable she looked. She had a habit of always doing that when they were lounging around. He was trying to make her feel more like herself.

“You’re okay, doll.” He whispered to her before kissing her forehead.

She nodded, knowing that she’d always be safe when she was with Steve.

There was a knock on his door suddenly.

They both turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway. He had a huge bag of ice and held it up, “Figured you’d need this. The police are here. They gotta get a statement from you, Y/N.”

“She can’t walk around on her ankle. Can you have ‘em come in here?” Steve answered for her.

Bucky nodded and handed Steve the bag of ice before leaving again.

The police came in to question Y/N. It was kind of pointless. Tony, Nat, and FRIDAY had already tracked down the two guys. But they definitely weren’t planning on telling the police that bit of information.

But Steve stayed close to Y/N and made sure the cops kept their distance from her, giving them a hard glare if they got too close.

An hour later, all the chaos had subdued a bit. Y/N was now laying in Steve’s bed, wearing his sweatpants, hood pulled up, and the television playing one of her favorite movies.

Steve had put it on in hopes that it would calm her down. He had felt her high heart rate and her body still was shaking slightly. He’d made her calming tea and tried to get her to drink a few glasses of water. Eventually her shaking and heart rate went down.

“Y/N, I don’t want you taking the subway at night anymore,” Steve spoke into her hair.

“Not very realistic,” she mumbled back numbly.

“If it’s about the money, I’ll put your Uber and Lyft accounts under my credit card. I don’t care.”

Y/N sat up to look into his eyes. “You can’t put me in a glass case, Steve.”

“I’m not. I just want to keep you safe, Y/N.”

She leaned in a pressed a kiss to his lips. “I know, Stevie. I know you can’t help but protect the people you love... But I’m not going to walk through life scared of everything. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah, because you were coming to see me.”

She sighed, “Don’t do that. Don’t manage to manipulate this whole thing to be something that’s your fault.”

He caressed her jawline. “I won’t. I promise. I’m… I’m just sorry this happened to you.”

She nodded slowly, “Me too.”

“Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve got to be exhausted.”

As if his words reminded her body suddenly how tired it was, she let out a long yawn. She nodded and placed her head back on his chest before closing her eyes.

Steve stroked circles on her back as he caged her body against his. He couldn’t see him letting her get very far from him for quite some time. It would probably end up annoying her. But there was worse ways for Y/N to be irritated with him.

—————

It was early in the morning when Steve woke up, Y/N’s body still pressed tightly against his. Even if she had wanted to wiggle out of his grasp, she wouldn’t have been able to fight his hold.

Steve knew waking up to a cup of coffee would cheer her up a bit. He ever so carefully shifted Y/N off of him so he could move out from underneath her.

He looked back down at her and saw a bruise had formed on her right cheek from the hit. Her lip was still cut and swollen too.

It both broke his heart and made him infuriated to see his girlfriend hurt like this.

When Steve reached the kitchen, Sam, Bucky, and Nat were the only ones up. They ceased their talking as soon as they saw him.

“How she doing?” Bucky was the first to break the silence.

Steve took in a deep breath. “She’s doing okay. Still shaken.”

“The girl’s tough. She’ll be alright,” Sam assured him.

Steve nodded in agreement.

They had always considered Y/N family, almost as soon as he introduced them to her. They were just as concerned for her as Steve. They were probably just handling it better than him.

“Hey, we were thinking that we could show Y/N some self-defense – when she’s up for it, of course,” Bucky suggested.

Steve was pouring two mugs of coffee. He turned around to see the three of them watching him carefully. As if the idea would make him lash out or something. But all he did was shrug, “Yeah…that’s probably a good idea.”

“We have a tracker on them,” Nat informed him carefully.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “How’d you manage that?”

“Tony called in a favor with Peter. Kid knows the city than any of us. He went on recon – promised he wouldn’t engage. He managed to put trackers on both of them.”

Then Nat slowly pushed a tablet towards Steve on the counter. It was a map of New York City with two dots blinking on it.

Steve quickly glanced up at her when he realized what he was looking at.

His hands tightened into fists. “Nat, can you and Wanda watch over Y/N for me?” His voice had never sounded both so serious and deadly.

Nat nodded, “Of course.”

Steve left the kitchen with the tablet tightly in his grasp and went to his room to change.

When he came militantly walking to the elevators, he already found Sam and Bucky waiting for him. They’d changed too.

“I don’t need your help,” Steve told them coldly.

“I know you don’t,” Bucky replied. “We’re just coming to make sure you don’t kill both of ‘em.”

Steve paused and glared at his best friend. “That’s not funny.”

The doors to the elevator opened. Sam and Bucky followed him inside.

“It wasn’t meant to be a joke,” Bucky clarified as the doors closed.

“No uniform?” Sam asked.

“It’s not Captain America getting revenge.”

No, it was Steve Rogers. —————

Y/N had been fidgeting her entire way to the police station. She’d never been to one before. It felt weird. She didn’t belong there and that was obvious. Phones were ringing, there was a constant murmur of quiet conversations, the printer never seemed to stop inking paper.

Steve held her hand tighter than usual as they’d made their way there. He hadn’t let go of it since they’d arrived.

“Okay. Ms. Y/L/N, this is a one-way mirror. These men can’t see you. There’s nothing for you to worry about. We just need to know if you see one or both of the men that attacked you that night.”

Steve squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Y/N nodded in understanding and the men walked in.

It wasn’t hard for her to immediately recognize the two men. However, it would’ve been easier if they both weren’t black and blue with bruises.

Y/N instantly pointed them out to the detective.

“You sure?” He asked her carefully.

“Without a doubt,” she quickly responded and narrowed her gaze that gave him a look, daring him to question her again.

“Where’d you find them?” She asked casually.

“We didn’t. Someone threw them on the steps of the station, hands and feet zip tied behind their backs.”

The detective gave a playful side eye to Steve. Any fool knew who brought the two criminals in. But acknowledging that would make things messier. So the NYPD played dumb for the benefit of both Y/N and the Avengers.

Y/N nodded, but stopped herself from glancing at Steve.

“That’s all we need from you, Ms. Y/L/N. We appreciate you coming in. We know this process isn’t easy, especially after what you went through.”

Y/N signed all the paperwork she needed and said her thanks to the police officers and detectives working on the case. They all politely shook Steve’s hand and they were on their way.

Steve decided to take Y/N out for breakfast to try and bring some silver-lining to the early trip.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he finally said after Y/N had stared out the window of the diner for ten minutes without saying a word.

She finally tore her gaze away from it and gave Steve a vigilant look. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Steve tensed slightly. “Do what?”

Y/N glared at his attempt to play dumb. She knew he realized perfectly well what she was talking about, further proving his guilt.

“Defend my honor, seek justice…whatever it was that you thought you were doing.”

Steve sighed and sat back. “They got what they had coming.”

“Did you do for me or did you do it for yourself?” She challenged.

“If I’m being honest? Both. I won’t lie about that.”

“Well, I’m glad you found something to make you feel better about all this bullshit,” Y/N sarcastically spat.

Steve gave her a mournful look. She was hurting. He knew that.

He watched her for a moment, not rushing to say words sloppily. “Look, I know nothing I say or do will take away what happened that night. You were attacked and I know that makes you feel violated and weak and unsafe. I know because I’ve been there…far too many times.”

Steve shook himself out of past memories.

He reached across the table to hold her hand. “But you’re my girl. And we both know how messed up our justice system is. There’s a chance they don’t get locked up. I had to make sure they got their judgment…had to make sure they paid for what they did to you.”

Y/N couldn’t stay mad him when he looked at her with those love-filled eyes and said things like that to her. She just couldn’t.

“So are you some vigilante now?”

Steve smirked at her joke and leaned across the booth until his face was only a centimeter away from her’s.

“Only for you,” he said before kissing her sweetly.

--------

Thanks for sending in this request. It instantly inspired me!

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT 😉

#steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #marvel reader insert #steve rogers reader insert #protective steve rogers #protective!steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers request

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ckret2 · 5 years

Text

Toxic Genes

SPOILERS for Detective Pikachu below!! Even the summary has spoilers, avert thine eyes.

Fandom: Pokémon, Detective Pikachu movie Characters: Harry Goodman, Mewtwo, and Detective Pikachu Words: 5000 Summary: Three weeks after regaining his body, Harry and Pikachu come home to find Mewtwo crouched under a furniture fort in a way that reminds Harry far too much of how Tim used to hide when he was a scared child. Harry crawls in to see what’s wrong. They talk about nature and nurture, about murder, about friendship, about guilt, about hugs—and make the first steps toward processing the nightmare they went through. Notes: Vaguely a sequel to “Medical Research”, which is available on my ao3 linked in my description or on my blog in the #my writing tag, and I’d link it here except if I included a link then tumblr would hide this post from search results. If you don’t want to read "Medical Research”, all you need to know is that pre-movie Harry asked Mewtwo to voluntarily come to PCL, because he’d been told that PCL was doing totally harmless medical research.

"What the...?"

Harry's gaze was first caught by the streetlight coming through his inexplicably broken window blinds; then by the shattered glass beneath the window; and then, as his gaze moved across the floor, by upturned books and papers, smashed mugs, a broken TV, and half his furniture—desk, upturned couch, coffee table, and a bookcase from his bedroom—piled haphazardly in one corner.

"Oh, god." Who? He'd investigated a couple of criminal organizations over the last few years, he'd helped a thug with a Geodude get arrested only a couple of days before he'd been Pikafied— "Tim? Tim!" Pikachu jumped off his shoulder and darted for the pile of furniture while Harry rushed to the door to Tim's room. The bed frame was overturned and dragged halfway to the door, the mattress was missing—

"He is not home."

Mewtwo's appearance always came with what felt like an atmospheric change inside Harry's head, like a low pressure front heralding a coming storm. Its voice was a rumble of thunder: booming, inescapable, everywhere. Harry could clearly feel Mewtwo's pressure on his mind now; had he been too distracted when he came in to notice it sooner? "Mewtwo? Where are..."

Pikachu squeaked to get Harry's attention. He turned back to the living room just in time to see Pikachu's crooked tail disappear under the furniture pile.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.

Harry knelt in front of his desk. (Hoo boy, his old knee injury did not like that; maybe Mewtwo really did change atmospheric pressure wherever it went.) He bent down, peering under the desk, deeper into the furniture pile—

And there, in the dark, was Mewtwo. Sheltered beneath a fort made of upturned furniture, the couch and bookcase propped precariously over its head, sitting in a nest made with Tim's mattress and the couch cushions, huddled with arms and legs crossed in a way disturbingly reminiscent of how Harry had seen it curled up while in containment at PCL.

"Uhh... hi?"

"Hello."

Harry tried to shuffle on all four under the desk. "What's—ow." His back had banged into the bottom of the desk. He dropped down to army crawl in instead. "What's up?" He stopped when his forearms bumped into Tim's mattress and looked up at Mewtwo.

Mewtwo looked down on Harry like an alien surveying an Earthling for the first time, with vast violet eyes that seemingly held all the vast space and potential of a distant star-birthing nebula. It was humbling and terrifying, the profoundly powerful mind that could be glimpsed through those eyes.

And with that unearthly mind shining through its massive eyes, Mewtwo gazed down upon Harry—and with a voice like the thunderous warning of an inexorably advancing storm, it spoke—

"I wanted company," it mumbled.

"Oh," Harry said. "Under—under my furniture?"

Mewtwo adverted its gaze, like any embarrassed human would. "I—wanted a cave," it said. "But not to be alone in one."

"Oh," Harry said again. "Got it."

Pikachu had already climbed into Mewtwo's lap and settled there, nuzzling its crossed arms.

"I apologize for the mess," Mewtwo said. "I did not intend..." It started to trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished; but before it could truly leave the thought behind, it finished, "... to turn your home upside-down." It hadn't needed to finish the thought. Maybe, Harry speculated, a telepathically-transmitted thought came all in a package, and you couldn't just... stop one in the middle? That made sense to Harry, at least.

"Ahhh, this place has looked worse," Harry said, although it wasn't really true. He'd had a hell of a time getting his files reorganized after he got his memories—and his body—back; but he hadn't needed to worry about straightening out pieces of furniture that were precariously propping each other upright. But he'd worry about that later. He wasn't about to scold the most powerful Pokémon on the planet for making a mess.

Especially since, Harry figured, right now, Mewtwo probably needed its "cave" more than Harry needed a neat apartment. Harry wasn't as good at reading Mewtwo's body language as Pokémon he was more familiar with, like Pikachu or Ludicolo. But from what little Mewtwo had said so far, and from what Harry could see in the dark of its eyes, curled shoulders, and drooping tail, Harry got the impression that it was tired. Tired, and more than a little shellshocked.

When Tim had been four or five, he'd gotten a cheap blue toy tent, kept up with plastic white rods, with a big swirly Polywag face on the side. They'd set it up in a corner of the dining room for him. He'd loved to play in the tent. But when he'd started school, or when a babysitter was coming over, the tent gained a new purpose: it was a hiding place, where more mornings than not he'd run to hide when his parents looked for him to get dressed for school, or when the doorbell rang indicating the babysitter's arrival.

The phase hadn't lasted long. He soon got to know the kids and had fun at school. He always remained suspicious and distrustful of his babysitters, but when his grandma had retired and taken over babysitting duties he'd happily latched on to her. He outgrew the tent.

But Harry still remembered when his little boy had used it—how he'd curled up under the tent, crying tears of anger and fear, terrified to be taken to a strange place or left with a strange person.

Mewtwo was calm, quiet, subdued—almost abashed at its own behavior—but Harry was reminded so much of Tim in his Poliwag tent.

So he said what he'd always said when he found Tim hiding: "Do you wanna hang out?"

Mewtwo hesitated. "Yes."

Climbing into Tim's child-sized tent had been hard enough, and that had been when Harry was fifteen years younger. The furniture cave was a little roomier, but the underside of his tilted bookcase was a lot less forgiving than a vinyl tent when he bonked his head on it. Mewtwo hovered a few inches to the side to give him more space, tilting its head under the slope of the upturned couch, and Harry eventually managed to squeeze into the space beside it, turn around, and sit. At this close range, he was uncomfortably aware of Mewtwo's scent, which was something between "urban alley overrun with wild Meowth" and "Machoke that missed a shower after a good work out." He tried to breathe shallow breaths and told himself he would get used to it. He'd gotten used to a Pikachu in the apartment. Granted, Pikachu wasn't nearly seven feet tall and taking up half the space in a poorly-ventilated furniture fort.

Now that he was properly situated, he moved on to the second question he'd asked whenever he'd been permitted to enter Tim's tent: "You wanna talk?"

Tim had usually shaken his head and hid his tearful face in his crossed arms. So he wasn't surprised when Mewtwo replied, "I do not know that there is anything for us to discuss."

It was wrong, of course.

They could talk about Howard Clifford's pending trial, and whether or not Mewtwo was willing to appear as a witness. It was rare for Pokémon to provide testimony in trials, but it did happen, more frequently when the Pokémon was a telepath that could directly speak for itself, or when the Pokémon didn't have a trainer or partner who was involved in the trial and so couldn't be suspected of having been coached in its answers by a human—both of which circumstances applied to Mewtwo. But Mewtwo might not want to go to the trial, where it would be the center of astronomical attention and possibly a target. Having suddenly burst out of the tabloid pages into the streets of Ryme City, already tourists, scientists, and collectors were flocking to the city with hopes of catching a glimpse—or more—of the hitherto-unproven Manmade Miracle, The World's Only Clone Of The Mythical Mew, The Most Powerful Pokémon In The World.

Or they could talk about where Mewtwo was going to go now. Did it want to go back to Kanto, where Harry had found it and persuaded it to come to PCL? If so, did it want to fly all the way back itself, or would it be willing to ride? Harry would be happy to pay for whatever means of transportation Mewtwo was happiest taking—hell, Harry would buy a used car and drive it all the way back to Kanto himself, it sounded like a great road trip anyway—if Mewtwo even suggested that it was nervous about traveling, visible and exposed, all by itself, all the way home. It would be a valid fear, now that it had made international news. Or did it not want to go to Kanto? Did it plan to hang around a while longer? Or maybe go traveling, see some other regions, perhaps find somewhere new to live?

Or they could talk about the phantom pains Harry still had. They'd improved steadily during his first few days back in his own body, but the recovery had hit a plateau, and he felt like he'd been basically the same for the past couple of weeks. Even though Mewtwo had restored his body in perfect health—even reducing a few (but not all) old aches and pains he'd picked up in the course of his detective work—at times he still faintly felt the burns, the injuries, the broken bones, that he'd had when he'd dissolved into Pikachu. Like a second body, ghostly, superimposed over his own, still carrying his fatal wounds. Would these psychic hurts fade over time? Or otherwise heal? Was there something Mewtwo could do about them? Not that Harry wasn't grateful beyond words for everything Mewtwo had already done to save him; but it was exhausting to keep waking up feeling fire on his back and broken glass under his cheek and hands, to realize that the fire was his comforter and the glass was his mattress.

Or they could talk about what plans Mewtwo had now to protect itself. Early on, after Mewtwo had come to PCL but before they scientists had discovered the treasures hiding in its genes and demoted it from "volunteer research participant/consulting geneticist" to "harvestable cache of R," it had mentioned—and downplayed—its concerns about the organized crime syndicate that had pursued it before discovering its new location. Surely that fear had been multiplied tenfold, now that every eye in the world was peeled for a sign of Mewtwo. Anybody who spotted it would know what it was; any information about its location would spread much faster and farther without being dismissed as a hoax or urban legend. Was it going to withdraw from civilization completely again, find another cave or a deep jungle to hide in? Harry had been approached by an agent of the International Police a few days after the whole incident, interviewed, given a card in case he thought of or found any information to share with her, and told he might be contacted again later for more details. He could pass on Anabel's contact info to Mewtwo. She'd said she had experience with incredibly powerful and nearly unknown Pokémon, and that where Mewtwo was concerned, her top priority, above all else, was to ensure that it was safe and not about to end up in another lab. Harry felt like they could trust her; and if Mewtwo really did fear some crime syndicate coming after it, it could find few better allies and defenders than the International Police.

Or they could talk about whatever internal turmoil had driven Mewtwo to break into Harry's apartment, to trash the place in its frantic efforts to make a safe "cave," and to huddle there all alone for however long it took Harry and Pikachu to get home.

But Mewtwo said there was nothing to discuss.

So Harry said, "Okay. We can just sit for a while. How's that?"

"Very well."

And so they sat. Harry doubted the silence would last long. It rarely had with Tim.

Pikachu had been looking back and forth between them as they spoke, but now that things were settled, he returned to nuzzling. In the dark under the furniture, Harry could see tiny sparks where he rubbed his cheeks against Mewtwo's arm; and then faint spectral psychic light rippling through Pikachu's fur. Was Mewtwo petting Pikachu telekinetically? Pikachu started making that faint, high pitched, whispery "piiiii~" he always made when Harry found just the right spot to scratch under his chin, so apparently so. Wow. That was a new one.

Mewtwo held out longer than five-year-old Tim ever had. But eventually, it said, as quietly as a fleeting reminder of a subconscious memory, "My genes are toxic."

It was so quiet that it took Harry a moment to recognize the absurd statement as a rumble of thunder rather than some strange flicker of his own brain. "What?"

"The R," Mewtwo said. "It was derived from one of my own genes. Did the doctor tell you what she named the gene?"

"The doctor" always meant "Dr. Ann Laurent." Harry found that Mewtwo had difficulty telepathically conveying human names if they weren't also words with definitions. It had called him "Hairy"—which sounded the same as "Harry," but he could feel the difference in the way Mewtwo thought the word—until he'd persuaded it to stick to "Good Man" or "detective" instead. "Ann" or "Laurent" were far beyond its communicative capabilities.

"No, she didn't say."

"The Berserk Gene," Mewtwo said morosely. "It makes Pokémon vastly more powerful, but—confuses them. It makes them lose their minds with fury."

Harry nodded. He knew all that, of course—far too well. He and Pikachu had seen R at work in the streets, and they'd tracked it back to the source. His stomach had filled with lead every time they'd uncovered another clue suggesting the drug came from PCL, where he'd thought he'd left Mewtwo to safely work on developing medicine. But if Mewtwo felt the need to re-explain all that, even though it knew Harry knew—

"And this gene is inside me. This gene, that makes Pokémon powerful, but dangerous. And I, the carrier of the gene, the most powerful Pokémon..." Mewtwo could have trailed off there; but it again went on anyway, shame and regret tinging its thoughts: "I have been very dangerous." During the car wreck, Harry's nose had been clogged and singed by hot ashes, and he'd felt them coat the back of his tongue; carried on Mewtwo's thoughts, he tasted ashes now, but he didn't think Mewtwo was remembering the wreck. "After everything—is that, then, my nature? Is that what is foundational to me? To what I am? Danger, and an inborn incapacity to control my own anger?"

"No!" Harry said immediately. "No, no, that can't be— Look, you saved my life, didn't you? And the whole city. All while not destroying PCL in a fit of fury, or—or snapping Howard's neck." Harry had called him "Howard" the whole time he'd been working for him, back when Howard had been claiming that his work at PCL with Mewtwo would be used to create medicine for Pokémon and humans based on Mew's genes; now, after everything, the name felt wrong coming out of Harry's mouth. It sounded too familiar.

Even now, Harry still wondered if Howard Clifford had been lying, if he'd always planned to use Mewtwo to forcibly fuse people and Pokémon together; or if at one point he really had been planning to make medicine, and only zealously seized upon his new plan when the lab accidentally stumbled upon R and started working out what it and Mewtwo's powers were capable of.

"There's a whole lot of people you have some really good reasons to be furious at—even me, I'm the one who got you into this mess—but you never lashed out. You didn't punish—you saved. That's your nature."

"No, that's my nurture," Mewtwo said. "My nature is—destruction. My first conscious act was a massacre." It flinched, tail twisting and thumping against the wall, and it jerked its head to look away from Harry again, as though it hadn't meant to spill that revelation out. Pikachu hopped back at the suddenness of Mewtwo's motion, landing on the mattress in front of its crossed ankles.

And Harry was suddenly aware, once again, of Mewtwo's scent, of the weight of a thunderstorm pressing down on his mind, of the way the tilting furniture seemed to trap them together, of how thickly Mewtwo's presence filled the air surrounding Harry.

Mewtwo had killed people.

Harry swallowed hard; and asked, with a twitchy crooked smile, like he was trying to make it a joke: "Well—well, did—they deserve it?"

Mewtwo still didn't look at him. That was answer enough. But still Mewtwo replied: "No."

Harry tried to process this. He tried to lean back a little, to get some space to think; his head thunked against the bookcase again. "Ow."

Mewtwo flinched again, then shifted, and the furniture shifted with it. "I shouldn't have intruded."

And once again Mewtwo wasn't a killer but a self-conscious child. "No, no wait, hold on—" Harry automatically reached out and grabbed its arm. Mewtwo went still, and so did the furniture. "Hey, you came here because you needed company, right? What kind of friend would I be if I turned you out just like that?" ... Were they friends?

"Are we friends?" Somehow, when Mewtwo asked the question, it came across like a Pokémon one fifth its height.

Which sealed the deal for Harry. "If we weren't, we are now. How's that sound?"

"Even though I've killed humans?"

"What's a couple of murders between friends?" Harry asked, unconvincingly. "Hey. I'm a detective. I've worked with the police more times than I can count. You're far from the first murderer I've met."

Although it was the most terrifying murderer he'd met. And honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to get over that knowledge.

Mewtwo didn't leave, but it did shrink back from Harry's touch, pulling its arms and legs in closer to its body. Pikachu scooched closer to it, but didn't try to get on its lap again. Harry wondered if Mewtwo could feel his doubts.

"Okay—it's scary," he admitted. "You said you killed a bunch of people who didn't deserve it, that's scary. But you know what's scarier? The killers who say their victims did deserve it. That's—I don't know if it's possible for people or Pokémon to be 'dangerous' in their very nature. I honestly feel like it isn't possible, personally—no matter what genes you happen to have. But, if it is possible to have a dangerous nature—I think the only people with that nature are the ones who'd kill someone else, and then, looking back on it years later, say that they were asking for it. And that's not you. Right?"

Mewtwo lowered its gaze, thinking that over. Pikachu tentatively climbed back into its lap.

"Perhaps," it said grudgingly. Then straightened its back and snarled silently. "This is foolish. I decided years ago that I was not going to let who I was be dictated by how I was created—or what I was created to be. That what I am is determined by what I choose to do, and nothing else."

"Yeah!" Harry nodded encouragingly. "Exactly! That's the exact right attitude."

"But I had hoped that, for once, I could—find something in my nature to be proud of," Mewtwo said. There was an edge of desperation, of grief in its voice. "I wanted to—be something inherently good. The source of medicine. Not merely something inherently bad endlessly striving to try to become good. I thought I could be different. Even after they found the Berserk Gene, I thought—if I stayed long enough, if they kept looking, and found something else... they might find... it."

Mewtwo sounded unsure what "it" was supposed to be. Like it had no idea what, exactly, it had been hoping for.

"I don't know," it said. "I don't know. I wanted something good to come from me. Instead—I—permitted atrocities. Who knows how much R is still out there? Everything that has happened to Rhyme City is my fault."

Harry sat up straighter. (And, for the third time, bumped the sore spot on his head against the bookcase. Ow.) He'd had no idea Mewtwo blamed itself. He'd thought, if anything, Mewtwo would blame him.

(Harry elected not to explain that "Ryme City" didn't have an H, he knew it didn't make a difference to Mewtwo.)

"Hey," he said softly. "You didn't know. How could you have? You were trapped in there, remember? If you'd been able to get out of that tank, you would have."

"But I wasn't contained at the start," it said. "I had a choice. I could have chosen to leave at any time after they discovered what the Berserk Gene did. But I stayed, even while they were experimenting with what would become R, and I saw them losing interest in other avenues of research—because I thought I could make up for it. Until they sealed me up for good." Its tiny nostrils flared. (Harry found itself wondering whether Mewtwo could adequately breathe, seven-ish feet tall with those little holes. Was it getting enough oxygen?) "I'm not naïve around humans. I should have known better. I allowed myself to be deluded by hope." In Mewtwo's venomous mental voice, "hope" came out like a dirty four-letter word.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. It felt cruel to try to tell Mewtwo it shouldn't have worried so much about proving its DNA was "good" when its actions were what mattered, when Mewtwo itself had clearly already learned that lesson and was disgusted with itself for forgetting it; it felt disingenuous to try to reassure Mewtwo that it was indeed a good person regardless of what weird side effects one or two of its genes held when, suddenly, Harry himself wasn't entirely confident he thought Mewtwo was good after learning just a little bit more about its past; and so he said the only other thing left he could think of to say, the only thing that made sense and that he felt was true.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Everything they did to you, everything they made you feel about yourself—it's my fault. You never would have gone to PCL if I hadn't tracked you down and talked up all the great research they were doing. Whatever you blame yourself for—I don't blame you. I've never blamed you. The experiments they did on you, the R, the—the weird Poké-fusions—all of it, every bit, was my fault."

He paused.

"Okay, that's—that's not true, it's Howard Clifford's fault, and I can't wait to see his trial, but—that's not the point! I was the middle-man! I let you fool yourself into thinking that PCL was gonna do great things by playing around with your genetics, because—because I thought they were, too. I fooled myself. I—I really, really wanted to be doing something good."

He'd wanted, so much, to think he was doing something right with his life. He hadn't been able to somehow miraculously save his wife from a slow, declining death. He hadn't been there for his son when he'd needed a dad—not when he was grieving, not when he was struggling through puberty, not when he was trying to figure out how to be an adult. Even as a detective, he felt like half of his jobs were jealous spouses asking him to follow around their partners and see what secrets they were keeping—that wasn't fighting crime or helping people, it was just paid stalking.

And then Howard Clifford had asked him if he wanted to do something revolutionary for both human- and Pokémon-kind.

And Harry had gone and proudly asked Mewtwo the same question.

"You know—murdering aside," Harry said, "from what I've seen, I think, overall, you've been a much better person than me."

Mewtwo tilted its head, considering that.

"If you consider yourself responsible for everything I did because you brought me to PCL," it said, "then you must also consider yourself responsible for everything I did because you rescued me. I could not have saved myself, much less Rhyme City, if not for you."

"Well," he said grudgingly. "When you put it that way." Now he was the one avoiding eye contact. He could feel Mewtwo's gaze on the side of his head.

"You find that difficult to accept."

"Well, I mean—I guess."

"Feeling guilt is easier than feeling anything else. If multiple emotions are in competition, guilt wins." Mewtwo spoke with the authority of someone who had decades of experience and careful study to draw upon. "Is that true for humans, too?"

A lump formed in Harry's throat.

Howard Clifford had said Mewtwo had been made about twenty years ago—it might be younger than Tim, even if only by a few months.

Harry thought again to Tim crying in a tent by himself because he was scared to go to school, and tried to imagine someone younger than that being a murderer.

Surely, Mewtwo hadn't been responsible. How could it have been? It might have been its fault, but that didn't mean it was responsible.

Harry said, "Do you do hugs?"

"What?"

"Is that—is that a thing that Mewtwo do? Or that Mew do? I don't know where that behavioral instinct would come from. You, do you do hugs?"

"I—don't know," Mewtwo said. "Nobody has ever tried to hug me before."

"Oh, that's heartbreaking."

"I have been cuddled," Mewtwo offered. And dropped its gaze demonstratively to Pikachu, who was still snuggled up in its lap.

"Yeah? Cuddles are good, then?"

"I suppose."

"Great, then we're trying out hugs. C'mere. If anyone needs a hug, you do." He scooted over, looked Mewtwo up and down, tried to figure out the least awkward way to manage this—after a pause, Mewtwo helpfully leaned a few inches away from the couch—and at last, he slid one arm around Mewtwo's upper back, and another just below its crossed arms, so he wouldn't pin its arms in place. He'd pet a hairless Delcatty once. The texture wasn't quite the same, but it was close. "There. Good?"

For a moment, Mewtwo tensed; and then after another moment, it started to relax. It didn't uncross its arms, but Harry did feel a very light telepathic pressure around his torso, which he figured was probably about the same as getting hugged back. It was honestly a little disconcerting, but not bad for a first effort. "Thank you."

"Listen," Harry said. "You've had an incredibly rough time lately. And—throughout life in general, from what little I know about your whole mysterious history, but—especially lately. And I get that you're an independent Pokémon, you don't wanna be tied down by a trainer, that's fine, but—just because you're a loner doesn't mean you have to be alone, you know? You've got friends here—me, and Pikachu—"

"Piiika!"

"—and Tim too, I know he's grateful for all you've done to help us. If you ever need something—company, a safe haven, anything—you're always welcome to do just what you did tonight, and come right back here. I'll leave a window unlatched for you, okay?"

"You would let me take refuge here?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Mewtwo looked at Harry, then at Pikachu, then at Harry again; then finally looked away, and repeated, "Thank you." The words hung heavy with a multitude of conflicted emotions. Harry hazarded a guess that this was what Mewtwo being choked up sounded like.

"Any time."

After a moment, Mewtwo said, "I should tell you—because of the Berserk Gene, I am literally toxic."

"Yeah. That's the first thing you mentioned. It's all right. It doesn't define you. And hey, maybe it isn't even active in you? I mean, I've got the genes for my dad's blue eyes, but they don't show up in—"

"No. I mean I am toxic. At the lab they found a pheromone in my perspiration caused by the Berserk Gene. I sweat diluted R."

Harry jerked his arms off Mewtwo. After a moment, he scooped up Pikachu too. Pikachu squealed in surprise. "Thanks for the head's up."

"I should have mentioned it sooner."

"We'll do hugs with blankets next time, okay?" He wagged a finger at Pikachu. "And you're getting a bath." Pikachu whined.

He could see Mewtwo curling in on itself again. "Hey, c'mon. Don't be like that." He figured if he was mildly infected, it wasn't going to get any worse if he put a reassuring hand on Mewtwo's shoulder. "Vaguely poisonous sweat isn't a death sentence. It's—sure, it's a challenge, but—" Everything about Mewtwo's life seemed like a challenge. Who did it torque off in a past life to end up with such a bad hand in this one? "But now you know about it, and you can adjust. Right? And you've still got friends here."

Mewtwo didn't reply, apparently sunken into its own thoughts again. It was a melancholy thing, wasn't it?

Well. It had a lot to process. Harry didn't blame it if it had to spend a lot of time just trying to think things through.

They all had a lot to process. Mewtwo, Harry, Tim, Pikachu—the whole city... They'd hardly even started.

Harry was exhausted.

Mewtwo looked exhausted.

"Stay the night," he said. "You can sleep in here. And you should have something to eat. I have poffins, got any flavor preferences?"

"Grepa and occa berries make me sick."

"I'll check the ingredients." He set Pikachu down to let him exit first, and then awkwardly crawled out after him.

As he walked to the kitchen, he pulled out his phone to text Tim a warning about the state of the apartment. Tim could sleep on Harry's bed. Harry was used to roughing it.

He wondered if there was a place nearby where he could buy a small tent to set up indoors.

Comments/reblogs are welcome! If you want to leave a tip or like the fic on AO3, the links are in my description!

#detective pikachu #mewtwo #harry goodman #pikachu #pokemon #fanfic #my writing #spoilers

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jmeddows2 · 5 years

Text

Purple Thunder (Roger Taylor Series) - Part 4

(present/old) Roger Taylor x Reader

Notes: It’s been a while it’s finally here. Kind of a filler though? I’m sorry for that. I’ll try to update more frequently now :) I hope this makes up for it. Sorry for grammar/ mistakes, English is not my first language but anyways, I gave it a go. Enjoy and feel free to submit requests, feedback etc.

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2.5k+

…. when you arrived at home you found your boyfriend Josh sleeping on a chair in the entrance hall of your flat. He made sure to sit there and wait for you to get home. Josh never intended for you to leave him that night, like you did. He was too good for anyone, always searching for a conversation to talk things out, instead of throwing everything under a bus. He was always trying to find a solution, no matter how severe the situations and problems might seem. He looked so peaceful, legs sprawled out, his hands crossing over his chest as light snores escaped his mouth. His current state made you feel guilty, guilty that you spent the night away from him, while he was sitting at home, worrying about where you could have gone and what could have happened, wandering the streets of London at night all on your own. Guilty, that sudden feelings were creeping into your system, which did not mainly involve him anymore. Lost in your thoughts the door behind you made a loud sound as it shut, which you did not intend, and it made Josh shuffle. His eyes shot open once he realized that you finally arrived at home and he jumped up from the chair, basically jumping into your arms having a feeling of relief rushing through his body, seeing that you made it home safe. -Y/N! Where have you been, babe? I’ve been worried sick! Don’t you ever leave again like that, PLEASE, I beg you! - he nuzzled his face into your neck, having his arms wrapped around you tightly.

~a week later~

This time it wasn’t you the one to leave. It was your boyfriend, Josh. In fact, he went on tour with his band through North America, which meant approximately 3 months without him, though you were supposed to join for the last 2 weeks of their tour. Being without him for 3 months would mean loads of time for being productive, productive in a sense of recording a new album. -where in the world is it??- you mumbled as you were searching for your little notebook in which you kept all your thoughts inside, they then turned into songs. While making a mess in yet another room, searching for the little crème leather notebook you received as a birthday gift from a friend a few years ago, the memory of your first ever songwriting experience flashed before your eyes.

*it was a lazy Sunday afternoon and you were sitting behind the piano, a crumbled-up paper with a few lines scribbled on it in front of you. Those words written on the paper made you feel vulnerable, all your heart and soul expressed through words: broken love, insecurities, everything you’ve been wanting to talk about, but never actually had the courage to say out loud. Placing your fingers on the piano and hitting the first few notes was finally it, releasing everything, telling a story, processing feelings. It was like an addiction. Finally creating something, something that people might be able to relate to and making them feel understood was the goal*

Something you were glad to receive when you were younger and now you were lucky enough finally meet your heroes: Brian, Roger… -FUCK- Roger has it.

You left your notebook in his guest room. Oh no. Pacing around the flat and running your fingers nervously up and down your temples didn’t help the situation very much. You had to call him.

You gathered all your courage to call him, but as the phone kept ringing and ringing you felt more embarrassed by the fact that he didn’t pick up right away.

-Hi love- a hoarse voice finally spoke up. It was him. A feeling of relief rushed through your body.

-Um hi Roger, sorry to disturb you. I think I might have left m..my notebook at your place and I’d need it. We’re going to record today, and I certainly can’t do without it. -uhh yeah. I’ll look for it, text me the address and I’ll drop it off at the studio? - he asked. When in reality he didn’t have to look for it, because once he saw it sit on top of the table in the guest room, he decided to keep it secure in one of his drawers, which only he had access to.

-no need to, I’ll come pick it up myself, don’t want to cause any more trouble – you laughed nervously. - no, love, it’s no trouble at all, remember what I told you. Got to go now, see you later, text me. - with that he hung up the phone, not giving you a chance to disagree with him anymore.

After texting him, a sudden realization hit you as he currently possessed YOUR most precious belonging. You kept everything in it, EVERYTHING! Secrets and thoughts no one was ever going to hear about. You wrote about him. Never actually mentioning his name but Roger was smart, it didn’t take much to realize it was about him. You could only hope that he wasn’t as nosy, as he was caring.

Studio days were long and basically sucking the life right out of your body by the hour. First the writing, arranging everything, then recording, doing dozens of overdubs and the worst part: mixing. Due to the given circumstances you decided to wear a warm white jumper, some plaid black-white pants and a fuzzy coat. (as shown in the picture) with a little make up on. It was all about being and feeling comfortable.

Due to the absence of your notebook, you decided to record some songs written by your other band members first. It was successful until your guitarist Dan and drummer Sid (which happened to be hotheaded) decided to throw a tantrum about the pace of a song written by Dan.

As expected, Roger was right on time and watched the whole thing go down from the other side of the glass wall.

-Guys, please calm down, we can all sort it somehow- you tried to calm Sid down as he fiddled around with his drumsticks pointing at Dan, lingering around in his business. -stop fucking pointing at me with your fucking drum sticks, oh yeah forgot. that’s the only thing you’re good at!!! - Dan spat at Sid.

-you know what? Fuck you, at least I manage to do a good solo, you’re the one playing the same 4 chords in each and every song of yours! – the drummer Sid countered.

-that’s it, I’ll fucking quit. - Dan slid his guitar off his shoulder and stepped forward to talk to you. - what? Dan? - you asked him in disbelief, tears started to brim in your eyes. -I’m so sorry Y/N. I just can’t work with him anymore. - Dan pointed into Sid’s direction. -but the album is halfway finished. You can’t leave right now- you tried to keep him on board. without success. -I’m sorry, really am.- shooting a sympathetic smile and gave you one last hug before leaving the recording area. -umm, Y/N? - the producer’s voice filled the room through the speaker. -there’s someone here for you- you lifted your head up from your hands and looked through the glass. Roger was standing there with a big paper bag in his hands.

-alright, I think that’s it for today- you gave Sid, your bass player Anthony and the producer the rest of the day off, considering the fact that the band was now missing a member.

-Sorry you had to witness all that - you glanced up at Roger, wiping your wet cheeks before shooting him a sad smile. - you know, that’s nothing compared to the fights we had way back when..- Roger tried to cheer you up, setting the paper bag on the table next to the mixing board and taking his sunglasses off. -c’mere, love- Roger held his arms out for a hug, there was no better feeling than being in his arms again. It was wrong, after everything that happened the last time you had seen each other, but at the same time it almost felt like a healing process, having his arms wrapped around your waist. The warmth and kindness, love. He looked so good in his blue jumper, his hair was slightly brushed back.

-I brought you something- Roger broke the hug, as his blue eyes shone of excitement – I know how these studio days can get- he grabbed the paper big paper bag and pulled out a burger and fries. – thought you might be hungry- he smiled and placed it in front of you. - oh god, Rog, that’s really what I need right now, but you didn’t have to. Thank you so much- you grabbed the food and let yourself fall back on one of the leather couches. He pulled yet another surprise out of the paper bag: Curly Wurly chocolate bars.

-Y’know Rufus told me you like these- he placed the bars on the table.

-oh, did he? - you asked and he nodded. -did he also tell you that we basically lived off these when we were on tour? - you laughed as you took another bite of your hamburger, Roger joined you on the leather couch with your notebook in his hands. - you and Rufus really get along, huh? - he smiled at you to which you nodded. -here you go, love- he handed the little book to you -kept it safe, suppose your songs are in there. Don’t worry, I didn’t read anything. I know just how important each song can be, you treat them like they are your kids, you’re proud of them, no matter what other people might think. Look, the situation might not look too rosy right now about your whole band situation- he placed his hand on your shoulder- you must understand him, he’ll come around. Dan was it, the guitarist, right? - you nodded, and he continued- Dan will come around, he cares a lot about his own song, especially when someone interrupts and tries to change every single bit. Hell, I’m not proud of it but to be honest, I once locked myself into a cupboard to convince the others to release my song- Roger laughed and put his arm around you to pull you closer into his shoulder, while gently rubbing your arm. Despite the heaviness in your stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of your body pressed against his, it felt comfortable and you sunk into the warmth of his side. It was an appreciative, simple gesture, but his touch made the room slightly warmer somehow. -I’m in love with my car? I’m glad you did it though, it’s a really good song- you laughed into his shoulder like it was the most natural thing.

-You know about that? - he blushed. -But see? That’s why I did it- he gave your hair a few strokes to calm you down a bit, which helped a lot. You devoured the rest of the burger, fries and ‘curly wurly’ bars with Roger when the look on his face suddenly became more serious. -Was she very mad at you? Your wife? - you asked, expecting to hear the worst. Expecting that he’ll never want to see you again or hang out with you again. -not so bad, don’t really want to talk about her though. There’s nothing to worry about – he assured you and tried to avoid the topic furthermore. -well, gotta get back to business again- you lifted your head off his shoulder and got up

– got to go and try mix a few songs now that I’ve sent the producer home, gosh I hate mixing songs. But thank you again for bringing me the food and my precious little thing right here- you pointed at your own personal lyric collection

-I couldn’t live withou- -Do you want me to help you?- Roger blurted out, interrupting your sentence. -mixing the songs?-

-I couldn’t ask you to do that, you’ve helped enough, but thanks- you tried to assure him that you’d be ok. - I’ve been struggling myself at first, in fact I hated mixing all the songs, but I swear it gets better. - he plopped himself down on one of the chairs behind the mixing board and you joined him. -ok I’d love your help then, if it’s no trouble-

-Ok look, you need to keep the elements in the mix at a steady and balanced level, without abnormal level changes popping out all over the place. – he fiddled around the faders on the boards, quickly glancing at you as you watched carefully - moving the faders around should get you very close to a rough mix.- he continued - try to find a good equilibrium and balance between the left and right speaker, you don’t want your track all over the place either – you nodded as he kept on giving you more useful tips about how each instrumental part must be handled differently without resulting in a clattering or having an instrument drown into the back.

Roger being Roger sometimes managed to fool around a bit on the faders to create interesting sounds, that made you laugh and escape the seriousness.

It was 1 am when the last track from half of the album was finally finished. -about the Dan situation- Roger spoke up – don’t let it get to your head that much, love. Give him some time, we could help you out in the meantime. When we first went on tour to support another group, Brian fell awfully sick and we also started to record without him at first. I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. We were scared to death about how we were going to continue without him for quite some time. - He hugged you again, and it felt like nothing else mattered in this moment. Not the band, nor the unfinished album, not a single thing, only being with him, having his strong arms around your waist, telling you everything was going to be alright.

You broke the hug after you found it to be too long, as you didn’t want things to be awkward, when he was being the sweetest guy. - you’re so strong, dealing with everything, overcoming so much- Roger still held you close, brushing some of your hair out of your face to get a better look at you. - I wish we could have met in other circumstances and I- the moment was interrupted by his ringing phone and he went to get it.

-sorry that was Sarina, she’s in America right now filming a movie, whatever. – he shrugged, knowing that this moment could not be saved anymore.

He noticed a hint of sadness on your face and it made his heart ache, he shouldn’t have said that, but it was his reality, his reality that he was not sure of still being destined to be in. The more time he spent with you, the more wrong it felt to keep spending time with his wife, when it was supposed to be the other way around. His feelings told him otherwise -Are you going to be here tomorrow? - Roger asked you with a feeling of hope in his chest.

-Well, yeah, we got the studio for the next month, I’m going to be here every day- you answered as he helped you get into your coat.

-perfect- Roger smiled. -how about Chinese takeout tomorrow then? – taglist: @bellamy1998 @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #Queen #queen + Adam Lambert #Brian May #old roger taylor #present day roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x y/n #josh kiszka #purple thunder

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shhhhyoursister · 5 years

Text

hi i was tagged by @navollidiot to put my music on shuffle and list the first 20 songs that play!!! im gonna kinda copy leaf and do my top songs 2016-2019 and im gonna try to avoid repeating artists/themes!!!!! ty leaf this is exactly what i needed to do after finishing my finals ily (also enjoy my commentary cause i cant not say things)

juice - lizzo (okay i definitely had one of those “listen to a lot of lizzo and love yourself” summers and lizzo hypes me up unlike no other artist seriously....)

crush - david archuleta (okay okay....so a lil backstory on me i had a roommate for three years who is also like my best friend we are basically soulmates but ANYWAY me and them tried to make this song our most played song of 2018 but i also loved it as a kid and this song SLAPS)

the gospel truth - hercules (guys this movie is so underrated and this song is so good in particular and “HONEY YOU MEAN HUNK-ULES” is an iconic line)

wrong way - sublime (lmao so in 2016 i went through a phase where i tried to listen to different types of music and idk why but this song stuck)

dont wanna fall in love - green day (haha so yeah i listen to a lot of green day and this song may have vaguely inspired a certain fic of mine.........)

everybody wants to rule the world - ninja sex party (okay im a HUGE nsp and gamegrumps fan and i listen to their cover alubums....frequently)

american pie - don mclean (i mean idk dude im a white american and this song is fun to play on guitar ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

arabesque - samuel r hazo (its honestly hilarious that this came up this was just a super fun song i played in band yes im a band kid like one of those band kids but i am proud of that fact)

deepthroat - cupcakke (this is something me and my friends would listen to a lot but somethings going on with cupcakke im worried about her...)

pynk - janelle monae (yall i could go off about janelle monae for LITERAL hours i watched dirty computer for the first time in a fucking gender utopias class and it really just rocked my entire world and specifically this song?? iconic)

finish her! - aja (im a big fan of drag and im an extremely critical viewer of ruauls drag race, but aja is radical and WAY more than drag race at this point)

the schuyler sisters - hamilton (i am also a giant big loser theater nerd and really loved (still kinda do ngl) the music from hamilton and i saw it in 2016!!!)

hawaiian roller coaster ride - lilo and stitch (okay one of my fave all time kids movies makes me feel LOTS of things and this song is just so GOOD)

love shack - the b-52s (okay this is probably one of my top 3 songs i dont know WHY it just hits me right and its such a bop you cant not sing along)

reflections - misterwives (this song just has a very specfic energy and vibe to it and i heard it the first time and i just loved it?? once the chorus hits i like JUMP)

heirloom - sufjan stevens (one of my fave artists, one of my fave songs of his, honestly just so good, like?? how can he do that???)

pillow talking - lil dicky (okay so me and my ex used to listen to this stupidass song all the fucking time, and now i know all the words and i hate it sdfgsdf)

suburbia - troye sivan (lmao leaf im copying you but highkey this might be my fave all time troye song?? hard to say but this one just hits harder)

boasty - wiley (only druck song im allowing here just cause WOW this song fucking slaps hard and i cant not move when i hear it thanks druck)

rose-colored boy - paramore (im not necessarily a big fan of paramore but this song and a few others of theirs are just super good and boppy?? idk i like it!!)

#noggins #not druck #long post #i LOVED doing this #now time to write if i can????#:))))

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aweirdkindofyellow · 5 years

Text

Glad to Meet You Again Pt. 2

Alex Gaskarth x OC ‘A past relationship did not end up very well. Now it’s nearly six years later, and they meet again.’

Lena Conrad and Alex Gaskarth used to be the couple that everybody wanted to be. They were too cute for words, a perfect couple that seemed like they were soulmates. As you would say nowadays, they were #couplegoals. But that only lasted for three years. Some say they were too young to face the problems they were going through, resulting in their breakup, but others would say that even if they had been through it when older, they wouldn’t have made it. They hadn’t seen each other since that messy breakup, until now.

Six years later, Alex is still playing in a band and Lena is a stay at home mom taking care of her five-year-old son. Only one of them knew they’d cross paths again on this specific day.

PART 2

Everybody kept contact for the two months after their reunion, only some kept more contact than others knew. There were secrets being kept between people possibly capable of hurting others. Nobody knew anything about it other than the people directly involved. It was dangerous, they could get caught at any moment and ruin everything. The only thing that kept it from coming out was that there were no physical encounters, only text messages being shared outside the group chat. There was something fishy going on, but nobody realized. It was all done behind backs, nothing other than two phones providing proof. But it couldn’t be hidden forever. It was bound to come out at some point. Little did they know how it was going to blow up the next time they met. So, that’s where we are now, back at Lena’s and Anthony’s house. It was two months later meaning that Lena was just over five months pregnant. Her baby bump had been growing steadily but also didn’t protrude out too drastically. You could definitely see it if she was wearing a tight shirt, but with a loose-fitting shirt you could only see it if the shirt was falling the right way. It wasn’t anything special, it was how all pregnancies went. All Time Low had just finished their tour and decided to come visit Lena, Anthony, and Nick soon after. Just like they had promised, they weren’t going to just disappear altogether. Even though Alex was having those serious doubts, he didn’t want Lena to think that he wanted to cut all ties with her again because he wasn’t over what happened between them. He was in a way trying to prove that everything was all cool with him although he was actually freaking out on the inside. Luckily, this time he was a lot calmer than the last time he had been at the beautiful house. The group of guys rang the doorbell, Jack being the most excited to see Lena again. He was actually jumping up and down a little as he was the one stood at the very front with flowers in one hand and another gift in the other. Although he had nothing to do with the whole father situation, he was the one that somehow was most involved with Lena’s life. He’d text her frequently and ask how everything was going just for the sake of it. There was no harm done making sure somebody was doing ok… right? Lena walked up to the front door and opened it just like she had done last time. She greeted them with big smiles and was immediately engulfed by Jack’s arms despite the fact that he had his hands full. It was quite a clumsy hug with Lena’s bump also causing there to be a bit more space between them, but all she could do was laugh at Jack’s antics and wrap her arms around him as well. Eventually, his excitement got the best of him and he broke apart from her. “We got you a gift and flowers!” He said in a giddy tone, holding out both objects to Lena. “Well, I chose them, but we got them as a group gift. So, give me all the credit, ok?” “You guys shouldn’t have.” Lena shook her head but still took both gifts from Jack with a grin on her face. “And, don’t worry, I’ll give you all the praise you want.” “Open them, open them!” He urged next, hopping from one foot to the other just like Nick would do when he got excited about something. Basically, Jack acted just like the 5-year-old. “Don’t you think I should first say hi to the others before I do that?” She giggled again and went to Rian to greet him next. Jack groaned a little in anticipation, but let her make her circle of hugging the three other guys in his band. As soon as she was done with that, however, he was on her again, telling her to open it over and over. Lena rolled her eyes a little and told him to wait a little while longer, that she’d open them in the kitchen so that she could quickly put the flowers in the vase as well. Jack was on her heels as soon as they started making their way to said other room. Lena put the flowers down on the counter and turned back towards Jack to opened the wrapped gift so that he could see exactly how she reacted. Out of habit, she carefully lifted up the tabs with tape, trying her best not to rip the paper, only making Jack more impatient. Eventually, she finally had opened it fully to reveal a custom-made All Time Low onesie and another one that was giraffe-themed, both for the baby. The corners of Lena’s mouth curled up again as she hugged all the guys again, Jack at the end to give him the longest one to give him the credit he wanted. “This is so cute. Thank you guys so much!” “Do you know the gender yet?” Alex asked, making eye contact with Lena that was slightly uncomfortable, but neither of them wanted to be the one to look away and seem suspicious. Lena shook her head. “Nope, but we’ll found out at the next ultrasound. I’ll make sure to tell you guys.” “But we can know for certain that this one isn’t Alex’s right?” Jack joked, but it only created more tension that could now be felt by everybody else. Zack elbowed Jack in his side, trying to subtly scold him for saying such a thing. It was way too soon to be making jokes like this already. “I am one-hundred-percent sure that this one is not Alex’s and is Anthony’s.” Lena still answered to make it seem as if Jack’s question hadn’t done anything to her. “You’re such an idiot, Jack,” Rian still commented with a slight glare. Jack really did only mean good, but sometimes things did not come over that way. It wasn’t his fault, he just didn’t have the best filter. Lena folded up the onesies again and was about to ask the four guys if they wanted anything to drink. But Anthony already walked in with two six-packs of beer that he had gotten from the fridge in his studio. He hadn’t even realized that their guests had already arrived, but was only pleasantly surprised when he saw the band standing in his house. “Beer is up for grabs,” he said to welcome them and went to give them all one of those bro-hugs men always gave each other. However, when he got to Alex, they shared a look. Lena noticed it, but wasn’t sure what type of look it was. She was afraid that maybe Anthony was accusing Alex of something or even threatening him. It didn’t make sense with how he had treated the whole ordeal when it was suddenly thrown at him last time, but Lena had all the reason to be paranoid with the situation she was in. “Why do we have so much beer?” Lena asked with a chuckle in her voice, trying to distract herself. “Because we have a lot of guests coming over. Don’t forget Samantha is coming in a week and staying for a couple of days. We need to keep her satisfied.” Anthony clarified in a way that was not meant seriously at all. Lena rolled her eyes and got the bottle opener from one of the drawers. “You’re making your sister sound like an alcoholic.” “She practically is.” He nodded and used the bottle opener to open four beers which he gave to the All Time Low guys before opening one for himself as well. “No, she’s not.” She shook her head to disagree. “Trust me, if she were, she would not be allowed in this house.” “You guys are going to gang up on me as soon as she comes, aren’t you?” Anthony sighed melodramatically, proving that he was only joking around. He had a very weird relationship with his older sister that mainly consisted of teasing each other. She’d call him ‘Annie’ and he’d call her an alcoholic. It was how things normally went. “You bet your ass...” Lena giggled and filled up a glass with water for herself. “... Annie.” He immediately glared at Lena since she knew exactly how much he hated being called that. “You did not just--” “That’s my cue to go outside!” She interrupted and shuffled her way quickly to the French doors that were wide open and stepped out onto the back porch. The warm air hit her skin and the bright light blinded her for a few seconds. As soon as her vision recovered, she looked out over her garden. It looked exactly the same as it did when All Time Low had visited the first time, only this time Nick was out running on the grass with Sofa jumping around him. The sight was what any woman who wanted to be a stay at home mom wanted to see some time in their life. Lena was just lucky to have gotten it so quickly. Soon after, the others joined her and they moved over to the outdoor wooden table. They fell into a conversation mainly about the tour stories their guests were bringing back. Anthony felt nostalgic, thinking about the time he still toured around in a van with his band. Maybe All Time Low had upgraded to a tour bus a long time before, but it still reminded him of it. Also, don’t start thinking that he missed it; sure, he had good memories, but he wouldn’t change his life at all. To him, his life at that moment was already perfect. It was only going to get better when his second child was born. Or was it his first? “Wait, how’s your latest project going again? I forgot to ask you.” Lena asked Anthony when the subject slowly turned into something about his producing abilities. Anthony shrugged, not thinking much about the thing he was working on. “The lead singer of the band still has problems with his vocal chords so he hasn’t been able to do anything for the recording process. They’re going to have to see if he’ll ever get better. For now, I sang some rough vocals for it so we could see what we wanted to tweak in the instrumentals.” “You sang?” she gasped and her face lit up. “Now I definitely want to hear what you’ve been working on!” He snorted a little as he burst out laughing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. When I say rough vocals, I mean rough. I haven’t done any singing in ages!” “If you won’t do it for her, do it for us.” Alex smirked with a devilish grin also wanting to know if Anthony actually did have good vocals and that Nick would have gotten his talent (as Jack had said) from him. “We do have to hear some work from a potential recording artist if we consider working with them. We still have a song to go for our new album and it needs to happen quick.” “Please, please, please, please!” Lena begged, clasping her hands together and leaning forward as far as her baby bump would allow her. “I can’t just show you unpublished stuff without permission from the band. I’ll have to contact them to see if they would let me.” Anthony made up as an excuse, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, come on. They’ve asked me multiple times what I thought of their work so far and every single time I’ve had to say I haven’t looked at it yet. Plus, anybody would love their work to be listened to by respectful artists!” “Ok, fine!” And so they all managed to be let through the heavy door that had a number pad on it with an emergency keyhole that could be used if there ever was a power outage. It was just to make sure nobody would manage to get their way into the building that was once a small pool house but had been converted into a fully equipped studio. All the stuff in there was super expensive. Nobody would risk accidentally leaving the door unlocked. The studio didn’t look like any old studio that was boring and only made to compensate the technical details. It was more like a modern man cave with its amazing couches and set up. The lights could even change colors and were often a dark blue or purple when Anthony had to work long hours since there weren’t really any windows. There was a microphone and a drum kit in the same recording space, making enough space in the room with the control panel to have a small fridge and even a pool table. It was heaven on earth for most men. Rian’s mouth immediately opened wide when he saw the soundboard, admiring it without daring to touch a thing. The other three were more focused on looking at the space in general while Anthony was clicking some of the things to get to the most recent version of the new song. Lena, however, was a little more focused on something else. There was a whiteboard on a wall with the progress the band was making, but right next to it was a mood board that she was attracted to. Her eyes fell on a polaroid and she took a deep breath in. “You did not!” “What?” Anthony asked, not taking his eyes off of what he was doing. Lena kept staring at the photograph that had been taken years ago when she and Anthony were still in their ‘having-fun’ phase. She couldn’t exactly remember where it had been taken, but she still remembered the actual scene. There was a pool, she had stripped off all her clothes and jumped into the refreshing water, Anthony had been laughing while also staring at her fully naked body and took the Polaroid photo of her while he was still standing on the edge. Soon after, he had also jumped in and we can all guess what happened after that. This was back when they were still carefree and Anthony was going through a slight hipster moment. How dare he even put a photo like this in a place that was frequently visited by other guys that she didn’t even know! Jack peered over her shoulder to see the photo in which you could clearly see she was naked but that water ripple made it just too difficult to make out all her features. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.” “Excuse me!” Lena shrieked, not only because of Jack’s comment but also because he was now seeing her naked in a photo. “I’m just saying,” he shrugged, once not again not thinking before speaking, “we all caught you and Alex having sex before.” “Well, I’m sorry,” she mocked, holding the photo to her chest so nobody else could see. She couldn’t believe Jack. Why would he even mention such a thing when she was with Anthony and Alex was also in the room. “I don’t think that has anything to do with this.” “Now I’m curious,” Zack piped up. “Is it bad that I’m curious? I don’t want to see the photo, but it can’t be that bad!” “Oh, the swimming pool photo!” Anthony nodded in understanding, the smirk already evident in his voice. “I remember taking that.” “Oh my god, how do you even remember that!” Lena scrunched up her nose in disgust. “That was before we even got serious!” “You saying that just tells us all that you also remember it.” “Yeah, but I didn’t keep any of the photos that were taken!” “Wait, there are more?” Anthony acted oblivious, turning to Lena with a frown on his face. “You’re just trying to put this on me.” She glared at her boyfriend accusingly. “I’m not the one who took the pictures in the first place.” “Something tells me that you still remember exactly what was in those photos.” She shook her head knowing that anything she said was only going to make it worse for herself. “You’re stalling. Just play that goddamn song.” “Somebody’s sleeping on the couch tonight,” Rian commented with a laugh, happy the conversation had turned into playful bickering between the couple and Jack’s stupid remark was completely ignored. “Yeah, right, that won’t ever happen,” Anthony said in a nonchalant tone and pressed the button to play the song through the loudspeakers before Lena could retort anything. But it was true. She had threatened him very often before, but the whole sleeping on the couch thing never worked out. It always turned out to be Lena getting the bad end because she couldn’t sleep properly. Especially now that she was pregnant, she couldn’t even get comfortable without Anthony there with her. The happy strumming of the electric guitar filled the room, even surprising Lena. She was so used to hearing quite heavy rock and this was nothing of the like. This was completely indie pop with the quirky beats and guitar riffs, the bass line causing you to want to dance along. Even the All Time Low guys were pleasantly surprised, bobbing their heads along. Maybe working together wasn’t actually a bad idea. Anthony seemed to know what he was doing. And his singing wasn’t even half bad. Sure it was a little rough in the first verse since it was a very rough first take, but the chorus was already way better and actually sounded like it could be a final version of the song: "You know I talk too much Honey, come put your lips on mine And shut me up We could blame it all on human nature Stay cool, it's just a kiss Oh, why you gotta be so talkative? I talk too much, we talk too much" And that got Jack even more confused. Lena telling him that Nick had gotten his talent from Anthony first seemed like some comment any parent would say if they weren’t the one that was good at said skill. But she was actually right. Anthony could not only produce amazing songs, he could also sing if needed to. The whole who-is-the-father debate inside Jack’s head was only getting more complicated by the second. “Dude, that’s a really catchy chorus!” Alex praised, immediately dissecting the song. “Especially the part where you keep descending. Did you help them write that?” Anthony burst out laughing, pressing another button so the next song wouldn’t start playing. “Oh my god, no. They weren’t sure how to do the chorus, so that whole descending part is just a joke. We just needed something to work with for the time being. This isn’t a serious chorus at all.” “Well, it’s a damn good joke. You should keep it.” Alex nodded, showing that he was honest about his opinion and didn’t purposely pick out the part that was apparently out of place. “I’ll run it by the band. In the end, it’s their decision.” Anthony told him and started flicking random switches again. If it weren’t for a short clip of the song playing again, you wouldn’t even have noticed that he was editing it as he was speaking. “Oh, no, don’t you dare.” Lena slapped his hands away. “Just let me finish this one part!” “If you get started, you won’t be able to stop. Just let go before you lose control.” “Okay.” Anthony quickly saved the song and turned off the soundboard before he got carried away. “It’s a bad addiction. At least I’m not an alcoholic like Sam.” “Your sister’s not an alcoholic!” Lena tried to make clear. She was afraid that her guests were actually going to start believing Anthony. They didn’t know it was a recurring joke between the siblings. Before she knew it, there were going to be people thinking she actually was ok with an alcoholic staying in her house for a few days while her son was there. That would happily convince Alex to believe Nick was his son and then take him away from her. “That’s what she wants you to think.” Anthony tapped his temple three times and started making his way back to the door to let everybody out. Staying inside on such a beautiful day for no reason wasn’t a good idea either. “You’re so mean to her.” She rolled her eyes and followed him out. Anthony stayed behind while everybody went back to the porch so that he could lock up everything properly. He didn’t want to accidentally leave something unsecured and then regret it later on. What it did mean, however, was that Lena had some time alone with the All Time Low guys. It wasn’t long or anything, but it was long enough for her to have to walk beside Alex the entire few yards that were just grass. “So, how are you doing?” Alex asked out of the blue, coming up with a small talk question that wasn’t exactly appropriate anymore for how long he had already been there. Lena looked around the garden as if that would answer the question. “I mean, I think I’m doing pretty well for myself.” “Ok, yeah, that’s good, of course.” Alex nodded, not really having thought of where the conversation was to go next. Lucky for him, the awkward silence to come was filled for him. Nick happened to run right past them at that very moment and trip over thin air. Alex stabilized him before he actually fell to the ground, creating some sort of weird invisible bond. Or, at least it felt like a bond to him. “Be careful!” Lena scolded her son. But he was already running off again without taking much notice of what had happened. “Sorry!” “Well, isn’t he a hyper little dude?” Alex chuckled under his breath, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “He’s always been like this as soon as he could walk. Sometimes he's a little too excited and all over the place, but he’s a good guy. He wouldn’t harm a fly.” Lena agreed as her face lit up. Talking about her son always got her mood to be elevated without even needing to do anything. “Talk about good parenting.” “Or genes.” She added as they reached the porch and went to sit with Rian, Jack, and Zack who had already found their seats from before. Alex tried to act like what she had said didn’t do anything to him, but his heart dropped and his pupils had dilated a little for a second. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so bad. Everything was so messed up. He knew Lena probably meant it as a joke, something she would say to anybody, not really thinking of how it would fold out in this context, but it affected him more than it should have. Although all six of them acted like nothing was going on, as if they were all best friends for no other reason than wanting to be around each other. But it wasn’t that simple. They all knew they only had gotten contact with each other because of one specific thing. If Nick hadn’t even looked so much like Alex, they probably wouldn’t have ever spoken to each other again after the concert. Things just happened to go the way they had. Four of them didn’t know, however, that two had been very secretive behind the others’ backs. Alex was the one to bring it up, no longer feeling comfortable with the pressure. “So, umm, I wanted to suggest something. I mean, umm, Anthony and I kind of already talked a bit about it, so this isn’t just something coming out of the blue.” Everybody except for Alex and Anthony thought it may have been about a career possibility. That Alex had asked Anthony to produce a song for them despite not having asked his band’s permission. But that wasn’t it at all. It was way different. Only, Alex couldn’t get it out. He stared at Anthony, hoping he’d take over. “Yeah, just some stuff about the paternity test,” Anthony spoke, but only to guide Alex, not to say the exact thing. “Alex was thinking about some stuff and asked me what I thought…” And that was Alex’s cue to finally say it even though he was afraid. “I don’t want to do this paternity test.” “What?!” Jack screeched. All this work for nothing? Was he the only one that cared? He thought Alex wanted to know. That’s why he started it all in the first place! “Let me finish first.” Alex took a calm breath to show that he wasn’t going to be mad but just wanted to communicate his thoughts. “I just think it’s the best thing to do. It would be unfair to Nick to just throw this at him, even if we slowly ease him into it… that is, of course, if I am the father. Anthony agrees with me. We didn’t even consider what this would have done to Nick.” “But don’t you want to--” “Jack, this is not your decision to make unless you’re being the one tested. As far as I know, he definitely isn’t your kid,” Alex sighed in a stressed out way. “Unless there’s something you want to tell us.” Jack’s eyes widened with shock as he stared at Lena. He shook his head rapidly, pursing his lips as if he was trying to stop himself from blurting out something. As if that didn’t seem suspicious at all. And Lena knew exactly what it looked like Jack’s actions were implying. It wasn’t any good; it would only make it messier. “If you are implying that I also slept with Jack, I’m going to stop you right there.” Lena interrupted any thoughts that could have been going through the men’s minds. “I did not. It’s either Alex or Anthony, I never did anything stupid like that. So, I would appreciate us thinking before speaking because so far everything is making me look bad.” “Ok.” Alex nodded, also noticing he completely went off topic. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. It was me just blowing up on Jack a little for needing to have a say in this. Anyway, I still think it’s best for us not to take the test. I just want to know your opinion on it, not Jack’s.” “Do what you want.” Lena shrugged seeming like she didn’t care about it anymore. “I can’t force you to give somebody your DNA so they can test it. I will support your decision no matter what you choose.” “Are you sure?” Right at that moment, the oven timer started beeping. Before the guys had come over, she was baking a cake with Nick. Well, they started it together but Nick quickly got distracted. That kid loved being outdoors and could just spend hours running around in the garden not doing much. Lena wasn’t complaining, though. She liked that he loved playing outside and wasn’t anything like most kids who would stare at a tablet screen for days on end. “Perfect timing, huh?” Lena snorted but got up nonetheless. She couldn’t just leave the alarm and finish the conversation. That would ruin the cake, which would then cause Nick to be upset even though he didn’t do anything to help. She stood up and slowly pushed her chair back so she could get away and walk into the kitchen. Of course, she felt the stares as she was leaving, but she acted like she didn’t take note of it. It wasn’t like she was trying to avoid the situation, because all she wanted was to get it over and done with. There was no point trying to drag it out. It would only cause more problems. They just had to make their decision now and leave it be. Once she was in the kitchen, she grabbed the oven mitts and took her time taking the cake out of the hot oven. She put it down on the counter and turned back around to close the oven once her hands were empty. If she was honest, she really only thought that was all that was going to happen and she’d return back outside right after. There wasn’t much she could do before the cake cooled down, so she wasn’t going to stay there much longer than she had to. But something else kept her there. Alex and Anthony joined her, both studying her face when she noticed they were there. She frowned back at them, putting back the oven mitts in the drawer she had gotten them from. “What?” “We decided to come here to talk since we are the only three directly involved in this. Maybe it’s best for us to discuss this without anybody else interrupting,” Anthony told her, referencing back to what happened with Jack. She nodded, understanding what he was getting at. “Ok. What’s there to discuss?” “That Anthony and I were thinking of not doing the test, to just leave it be.” Alex elaborated, thinking it was weird that Lena would forget so quickly. Of course, she knew, though. “Yeah, ok. But still. It’s your decision. You guys are the ones that have to provide DNA. It’s your legal right to choose not to do it.” “I get that,” Alex started to get frustrated even though there was no reason for him to do so already, “but I want to know what you think about it. I don’t care about the facts, we want to know your personal opinion on this." “I can’t form an opinion without knowing your reasoning behind it. And I don’t believe it’s just about you not wanting to hit Nick with something like this. He’s only five, he won’t know what’s going on until we have to explain it to him.” Alex stared at her for a second or two, unsure how to voice what was on his mind the entire time. It was so much easier to do through a text message to Anthony. Now he actually had to say it out loud. “Because last time we were here I saw how great your family is and all. You all have an amazing relationship with each other. I don’t want to suddenly come in between that. That would be wrong. Even if you say it’s ok, I’ll feel horrible about it.” “Alex told me a while ago.” Anthony added to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly be singled out. “I asked him if he was sure multiple times, but he has his heart and mind set towards it.” “Ok, I understand. Nice of you to tell me now.” Lena smiled at them, but the sarcasm was hidden too well. “So, what do you think?” Alex asked once more just to double check. “What do I think? Well, let me see… You,” she pointed at Alex, “I think you are too afraid to find out that he’s your son and that you’ll feel guilty for not being there despite not even knowing that he is. And you,” her finger panned towards her boyfriend’s chest, “I think you’re too afraid that he isn’t your son and you’re scared that it will affect your relationship with Nick because you love that boy to death. I also think that both of you,” she pointed between the two men, “are maybe a little afraid that it will turn out that neither of you is the father because that’s apparently the girl I seem to be. You might be able to get past it all, but I’ll always look at him and be unsure which one of you two gave me him. But, hey, you guys choose what to do. At least I know for sure that he’s my son.” Anthony looked at his girlfriend with a shocked expression, not having expected to suddenly have gotten such a long speech from her. But she was right. It was exactly what he was afraid of. He was afraid that Alex would turn out to be Nick’s father, taking his place in the family. He would no longer be Nick’s proper father figure despite the five years they had both believed he was. Alex would take that from him. And of course there was also the small fear that Lena would run to Alex. She had said so many times that he would always be the guy she would spend the rest of her life with, but maybe news like this would change it all. As soon as Alex voiced his concerns, Anthony felt so relieved that he wasn’t the one who wanted to stop it all. But Lena had to agree to the decision as well. “So you do want us to take the test?” He asked, feeling dumb for even asking. “Personally, I’d like to know which one of you is the father so I would stop feeling so guilty. Right now I feel like I’ve lied to both of you. Anthony because I made you believe for sure that Nick was yours since I also thought so, and Alex because I never told you since I never even thought of the possibility. At least I’ll know if this guilt is for no reason or not. And that might seem selfish, so I don’t want to have the final word. It’s you guys who might have your lives changed completely. In the end, it’s all your choice.” Lena took a deep breath and went back outside to show that she really did not have another thing to say. She didn’t need all this extra drama. All she wanted was to go to a concert with her son to see his uncle and she was now stuck with this. Jack looked up at her expectantly to see if she was there with any news. But Lena just ignored the look and sat back down. She needed to keep calm if she wanted her pregnancy to go just as smooth as it had with Nick. There was no way she was going to make some unnecessary drama get in the way of that. “Did you convince them to take the test?” Jack asked when he noticed he wasn’t just going to get an answer to his unspoken question. Lena shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “I honestly don’t care. They can do whatever they want.” “You don’t mean that, do you?” He questioned further although he was trying to stop himself from being too nosey and involved. “It’s not that important, is it? I mean, we all haven’t seen each other in five years and we have been doing just fine before that.” “But don’t you want to know?” Zack decided to join in. He didn’t want to make it worse for Lena, but even he felt like she was acting weird. “Well, yeah. Of course I want to know whether or not I was an idiot, but I’m not going to force somebody to do something they don’t want. I’m not that kind of person.” Lena explained again. She was being genuine, and she just couldn’t comprehend the fact that nobody believed her. Rian had his say too. “I think you’re being very reasonable, but don’t be afraid to say what you want and fight for it.” She was about to try and explain again that she really was fine with it all, but Anthony and Alex came back outside as well. They were standing and looked down at the whole group. It was obvious that they were going to make an announcement and it most definitely was about what they had discussed with each other. “Make a final decision?” Rian asked them, also not being able to take all the suspense anymore. “I hope it’s the right one. I don’t know which one that is, but we’ll find out.” Alex made eye contact with Lena as his heart rate started picking up and his heart dropped. He swallowed, hoping to get rid of the dry spot in his throat, and nodded. “Yes, we’ve decided that it’s best to--” Before he could get the full answer out, Nick came running up to the porch and stood beside his mother. He grabbed a handful of snacks and sat down on her lap. She wrapped her arms around his small body and placed her chin on top of his head, looking up at the two men who wouldn’t dare say a word with Nick around.

#all time low fanfiction #Alex Gaskarth fanfiction #all time low #alex gaskarth #all time low imagine #Alex Gaskarth imagine #glad to meet you again

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a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats · 6 years

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okay so long breakdown of my experience with Morrowind as a starter I first tried to play the game last year, fumbled it, repeated that a few times, before dropping it for a while and eventually coming back to it the past few days and running through it! Ran a Nord, Heavy Armor, Warrior, used almost no non scroll magic, notably used them to deal with locks, used divine intervention once during that one Baar Dau bit in the main story, probably a handful of other scroll usages for random junk. I also didn’t do the expacs and I haven’t played Oblivion in a while so I’m trying to avoid in depth comparisons to it. I’ll start off by saying I did enjoy it overall, and while I don’t think it stole my Favorite TES Award, it definitely left a mark, and I think my favorite bit of it was the main quest, the tone was just something I liked more then the other two TES games and all in all the whole mysterious diseases angle felt a bit more urgent then more nebulous threats like demons and dragons. Additionally, the plot conceptually I think is just a lot more fun to think about rather then “x is attacking!”, and I think the things like ash creature ambushes and ominous dreams helped that feeling a lot. All in all I feel it was a bit better handled to boot, and I particularly liked the whole “your cover story for being in the blades is that you’re an adventurer because they’re all over the place, you’d blend in, and you’re gonna need to be fighting anyway so you might as well develop that skillset”, since it allowed for explicit breaks in the main quest line where he’d tell you to go do other stuff for a while and “keep your cover story up to date” while he did research or whatever. Added to the settling, added to the plot, added a reason to go faff around in a dungeon and maybe find something cool. Maybe. We’ll get to that.

But the cover story thing is super appreciated because it’s an issue I frequently ran into in other games where it just never really felt like you had a stopping point in the main quest line, if you were playing as if you were legitimately concerned with the status of the main quest. Like, with Skyrim you start out. . . -escape from Helgen -go down to Riverwood with whoever -they tell you Riverwood’s in potential danger so you go up and talk to the jarl -he tells you to help with his investigations of the dragons (if you’re playing a bit more apathetic of a character this could potentially be a time to step out but let’s assume a sort’ve “lawful good” here) - you go down to bleak falls barrow, come back - a dragon attacks the tower, you go investigate and fight it - End Scene; and even then I think it wouldn’t be a stretch to feel like you had to answer the summons, and that goes through a very long road trip, a dungeon, and a dragon fight before you get to a solid “I need to do things, go outside and play” style stopping point. and after all that you’re like.... an hour or two into the game? It’s not absurd but it’s quite a bit compared to silt stridering over to Balmora and getting told to go have fun, and it’s not a game breaking thing, obviously the player doesn’t absolutely have to be told to stop doing main quest stuff, but it was a nice touch that I liked. At any rate I liked the main quest, but I think the thing I was most impressed with was the travel. I went into Morrowind thinking I was going to hate wandering around 24/7 and paying fees and so on and so forth but actually it felt pretty great after a while! I came out of Morrowind preferring the “carriage” system rather then the fast travel system, just because getting more mobility options and strength in that category was interesting to me. Given that I was playing the least mobile “class” in the game; heavy armor weighs a lot which slows your ground speed (I think) and weakens your jumping, with no magic and no knowledge of how to get propylon indices working, I think that’s pretty glowing praise. I also liked the way enchanted gear worked in Morrowind, where there are usable artifacts and passive artifacts, passive artifacts just give you the boost, and usable artifacts are purposely triggered to get an effect and slowly recharge over time, which is a game changer. I know I don’t really use enchanted weapons in Skyrim because it’s not that big a boost and juggling soul gems and soul traps is a pain in the butt, but if they recharged over time I might be more inclined. Again, a nice little thing the game does differently. The graphics were wildly better then I expected, and I think the game is an excellent example of restrictions creating a unique and good looking style in some cases. The polygonal models really add a lot to the fairly eerie main quest backdrop and pretty hostile game world overall, and ultimately the game just sort’ve creates its’ own aesthetic and it’s super good despite being very obviously dated. The entire inside the ghost fence part of the end game was spooky as hell and felt very climactic despite the landscape looking like something that came out of 3D Studio Max circa 1990. And on a side note, Diyavath Fir’s tower and the Corprusarium were a really cool dungeon concept and I’m very surprised the whole “sequential treasure chests with keys in them that eventually lead to a prize” thing hasn’t been done again since IIRC. With all the praise out of the way, let’s get to stuff I was more neutral on or outright disliked (there’s surprisingly little of the latter, by the way). To start off, I felt gear progression felt super weird. I started out by buying a full set of steel armor and an iron long sword and I didn’t get an upgrade until like, halfway through my playtime, so like, two days total, and my long sword went un-upgraded even longer. After a while I found a silver long sword and about an hour after that I found a daedric katana and suddenly the game was basically over past that point because I was 2 shotting everything that wasn’t a higher end ash creature or daedra. It felt very spotty, it wasn’t a game changer or anything, and to be fair once the armor upgrades started going, that progression didn’t feel too bad either (though my shield did get upgraded from steel to daedric). Not a huge deal, but it was a thing. The end game quest line where you’re re-uniting the tribes and houses is a huge chore and also holds the only two escort missions in the game which I don’t think is a co-incidence. I liked the house quests more initially since they were more tightly packed in and had fast travel options around. . . buuuut they quickly became a gold count check. Having to get confirmation from councilors that, by their own mention, wouldn’t be necessary, was also obnoxious, though I didn’t mind that as much, as the whole declaring a war leader thing is a big deal and I can believe that from a plot standpoint. Still didn’t like it. I am aware I could’ve skipped all this with reputation, and that’s fair, but I still think as a quest line it’s a bit much; though I dunno how I’d fix it without banging up the plot significantly, to be fair. All the side quests I did were pretty bland. Lotta “go here, clear this dungeon, come back get x gold”, some “go here, fetch y guy, bring him back, get z gold”. Sometimes you didn’t even get rewarded, though the reputation system makes up for that. I ended up stopping about halfway into House Redoran because the quests were, by and large, just dungeon clear quests and I was vastly more interested in the main quest. It’s something I might take more interest in on a second play through. You can end up trivializing combat very quickly, which was probably a part of why I didn’t end up liking the end game so much. Part of that’s my fault; athletics and acrobatics were minor skills, it basically put me on a timer, and some people like the “I’m level 20 and I can crush anything in the game like a walnut” thing, which is fair. I did end up finishing it at about level 23, and I’ve heard scaling stops at 20, so that’s about right to be fair. Though I’ve also heard Dagoth Ur scales up to 35? It sure didn’t feel like it, and overall it kind’ve made the whole lead up into Dagoth’s big moment a bit of an anticlimax, I hit him like six times for the fight and I got most of the heart fiddling done before he brought me to half. A big part of why I even almost died was because I didn’t realize I had to run back over the bridge. Though that all might be a side effect of running a heavy armor warrior, IIRC they’re pretty easy, but I also did surprisingly little side stuff. It just sorta feels like if you do anything other then the main quest you’ll trivialize the final stages of it, and if you do the main quest you trivialize the extra stuff? It’s a bit of an odd problem to solve and it seems like they’ve still not gotten it quite right, to be fair. I’m trying to think of stuff I outright hated and really all I can think of is the fact that NPCs stand in “one NPC wide” hallways and doorways like it’s their job. A not insignificant part of why I gave up on Redoran is because getting through under-skar was hell because of all the guards just shuffling around on rope bridges and staring at me anytime I got anywhere near them while they clogged up the road. But yeah, overall had a good time and I probably played the least complex character type, so that’s definitely a good sign. I look forward to playing it again and playing with magic more; already thinking on an acrobat like, athletics/acrobatics/whatever magic school does jump/move speed boosts character and getting a bit more into the setting with it, eventually. I definitely get why people love the game so much and while I don’t think I hooked into it quite as hard I admit I haven’t played something quite like it before, between the aesthetics and mechanics either, and admittedly most of my complaints were half complaints, so that’s definitely not a bad track record. Will definitely play again at some point.

#bats writes #long post

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genie-of-the-4th-wall · 6 years

Text

Found

@hatofulshipweek Day Seven: Home

AO3 Link

This one’s a little late, but I’m usually terrible when it comes to consistently writing and posting, so I feel I’ve done a pretty good job this week. Speaking of which, participating in this Ship Week was a blast! It was really fun, and I feel like I’ve improved just over the course of the week. So thank you to @hatofulshipweek for hosting this event, thank you to all of the other participants for your amazing works, and thank you to the people who read and enjoyed my stuff! Enough rambling, here’s the story.

Nageki was used to Hiyoko frequenting the library, especially since she found out he physically couldn’t leave the area. She wasn’t very good at staying quiet (much to the dove’s chagrin), but he appreciated her company nonetheless. She had even taken to checking out the books he recommended so they could discuss them. Nageki had to admit it: Hiyoko was his best friend. So it didn’t surprise him too much when the hunter-gatherer girl snuck into the library after school hours, toting a sleeping bag and a full backpack.

“What is all that?” Nageki asked.

“We’re having a sleepover! The staff is all gone for the weekend, I already checked,” Hiyoko answered with a grin.

“A... sleepover?”

“Yeah, a sleepover! I figured it must get lonely spending your nights in the library, so I thought I’d stay over tonight. Have you ever had a sleepover before, Nageki?”

“Maybe. If I have, I don’t remember.”

“Well, I’ll make sure you have a blast tonight!”

Nageki learned that you didn’t really do much sleeping at sleepovers. You played boardgames, and watched movies, and just talked a lot. It was different from his quiet norm, but it was an enjoyable experience. As Hiyoko finally settled down to sleep, she gave Nageki her signature sunny smile.

“I’m gonna help you experience all of the great things in life, Nageki. It’s a promise,” she said.

A couple days later, she told him that the detention she got from stealing the janitor’s keys was completely worth it.

Ryouta didn’t often come into the library on his own. Sometimes Hiyoko would drag him in there to hang out, but Nageki could always sense a strange awkwardness Ryouta had around him. Nageki wasn’t the most socially adept bird in the world, so he couldn’t really do much about it. Thus, he wasn’t quite sure what to do when Ryouta approached him in the library, alone.

“H-hello, Nageki,” Ryouta stammered.

“Hello,” Nageki responded, pretending to be engrossed in his book. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most polite of responses, but Nageki didn’t know how else to proceed.

“Um, what are you reading?”

“‘Destined to Find You’. It’s a romance novel about a world with predetermined soulmates. Romance novels aren’t usually my favorite, and I’ve already read it. However, it has some very interesting themes of destiny and the importance of both platonic and romantic relationships. I find that I can appreciate it more upon rereading it.” That was probably the most words Nageki had ever said to Ryouta directly, but he couldn’t help but ramble when it came to discussing literature.

“Oh. Sounds really interesting, actually. Does the library have another copy?”

“I don’t think so. Here.” Nageki gave the book to Ryouta.

“Uh, weren’t you reading this? I wouldn’t want to take it away from you while you’re busy with it...”

“It’s okay. Like I said, I’ve read it before.”

“Well then, thank you! I’ll let you know what I think of it when I’m done!” Ryouta accepted the book, giving Nageki a warm smile. As he left the library, Nageki smiled too. The tension was broken, and Ryouta definitely seemed like the kind of bird anybody could be friends with.

Nageki usually didn’t mind being confined to the library. A place full of books was probably one of the better places to be trapped, especially if you enjoyed reading as much as he did. And with the recent discovery that he could move vertically, he could go to the roof for a breathe of the outdoors. However, he found himself wanting to leave the library more and more lately. Maybe it was his brief freedom of movement on the Holiday Star, or maybe it was Hiyoko’s determination to help him experience as much as he could. Regardless of the reason, there were days when Nageki desperately wished to escape the confines of the library.

Today was one of those days. Most of the students had shuffled out for the day, but Nageki could hear the faint noise of somebody playing the piano. It was a beautiful sound, and it sparked Nageki’s curiosity. Who was playing? What song was it? If only he could find out... Nageki found himself drawn to the door of the library, straining to hear the music better. He leaned closer and closer to the boundary that kept him trapped within the room... and stumbled into the hallway. Nageki blinked, unable to believe his eyes.

“What...?”

Nageki wasn’t sure how he had managed to leave the library, but he knew what the first thing he wanted to do was. He followed the sound of the piano, leading him to what he could only assume was the school’s music room. A fantail pigeon that Nageki recognized as one of Hiyoko’s friends was playing the piece. Hiyoko and Ryouta were also present, watching him perform. Hiyoko, ever alert, noticed Nageki enter the room. She stared at him, eyes wide.

“Nageki?!” she exclaimed.

That got Ryouta’s attention, whose mouth dropped open at the mourning dove’s presence. The fantail (Sakuya, he believed?) stopped playing and looked them, annoyed.

“Who is this, and why do you find the need to interrupt the flow of the music?” he grumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It sounded so beautiful, and I wanted to hear it bett-“ Nageki was interrupted by Hiyoko grasping him in a bear hug, spinning around in excitement.

“YOU’RE OUTSIDE OF THE LIBRARY! HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE?!” she squealed.

“Er, Hiyoko? I think you’re making him dizzy,” Ryouta commented. Nageki was greatful, considering Ryouta was right. Hiyoko stopping spinning him and loosened her grip, but she didn’t let go.

“Hehe, sorry. I’m just really happy for you, Nageki. How did this happen, anyway?” Hiyoko said, smiling.

“I’m not really sure myself. I really wanted to listen to the piano music, and when I went to the entrance of the library to hear it better I found I was no longer trapped,” Nageki explained.

“Weird. Well, I don’t really care how. I’m just glad you’re here,” she said.

“Will somebody please tell me what is going on?!” Sakuya interjected.

Hiyoko introduced Sakuya to Nageki and gave a basic explanation of his backstory as the library ghost.

“But wait, I thought you couldn’t see Nageki, Sakuya. At least, you couldn’t when we all went to watch the eclipse. Oh! Is it because you’re no longer a classist jerk?” Hiyoko mused.

“What?!” Sakuya sputtered in indignation.

“Um, I was wondering, what song were you playing?” Nageki asked, changing the subject before things could get out of hand. Sakuya noticeably relaxed when the conversation was brought back to music.

“The piece is called Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy. Would you like to hear it in full?” Sakuya asked, giving Hiyoko a sharp glare.

“That would be lovely,” Nageki said.

Sakuya started the piece again. Nageki thought it sounded even more beautiful up close.

“Coo, coo!”

Nageki sat on the bleachers, watching an energetic dove run laps around the track. Since the piano incident, Nageki found he could now go as far as the school grounds. After that, he hit an invisible wall much like he had before in the library. Hiyoko was disappointed he couldn’t leave the school, but Nageki was content with any improvement. It certainly made it easier to hang out with his friends, given that they tended to cause a bit of a ruckus in the library. Case in point, Okosan. The dove always managed to make a mess or anger the librarian whenever he stopped by, so he was overjoyed to hear Nageki could meet him outside instead. Despite his oddities, Nageki thought Okosan made for pleasant company. Okosan paused after finishing his latest lap, flying up next to Nageki’s spot in the bleachers.

“Coo coo? (Is Nageki enjoying watching Okosan run?)” Okosan asked.

“Yes. Your speed is quite impressive, Oko,” Nageki replied.

“Coo coo! (Of course! Okosan is the fasted member of the track team!)” Okosan puffed out his chest proudly. He noticed Nageki staring beyond the track.

“Coo? (Is something bothering Nageki?)”

“Not much. It’s just... weird, being out here. I was trapped in the library for so long, and now I suddenly have the whole school. Will I be able to go even farther? I wonder...”

“Coo coo. (Okosan thinks it’s just like running.”

“Hm?”

“Coo coo, coo! Coo coo! (Like, Okosan started out only able to run a few laps at a time. But Okosan trained and trained, and now Okosan can run many many more! It’s the same for Nageki. Nageki’s spirit needs to get stronger and stronger, so he can run farther! The stronger you get, the farther you can run!)”

Nageki thought about it. He did feel stronger than he did before. Bonding with Hiyoko, and making actual friends... he had certainly grown a lot from when he had first awoken as a ghost.

“Heh... maybe you’re right, Oko.”

“Coo coo! (Okosan is always right!)

“Estelle, I must implore you to take this cursed painting from my possession!” Anghel said, thrusting a piece of paper in Nageki’s direction. He seemed flustered.

Nageki examined the the paper. It contained sketches of Nageki and all of their friends, but it was different from Anghel’s usual fare. Instead of the fantasy style he drew his manga in, the drawings were much more realistic. He vaguely remembered Anghel busily sketching the last time everybody hung out together as a group. He must have drawn everybody then.

“What’s this, Anghel?”

“The other day, I came across the Golden-Winged Messanger on my way out of these cursed halls. As I made haste so as to not waste my crimson blood on him once more, the Tome of Epics was nearly lost. The Golden-Winged Messenger retrieved it, and remarked that indulging in a study of the profane would allow me to better harness my abilities. However, now that the training is complete, I can no longer hold onto this page, lest it infect me with the despair of the unenlightened,” Anghel explained.

“I... see,” Nageki said slowly, “Why are you giving it to me?”

“I thought... you would appreciate an illustration of those you have formed the pact of blood with,” Anghel muttered, embarrassed.

“Pact of blood?” Nageki echoed.

“Yes, a pact of blood! The spiritual entwinement of souls, interlocking fates!”

Nageki stared at Anghel, confused. He had gotten used to interpreting Anghel’s... Anghelisms, but he couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like he meant. Anghel sighed in frustration.

“Family, as the unenlightened would put it,” Anghel grumbled, clearly unhappy with having to use normal language.

Nageki stared at the paper. Family, huh...? Nageki remembered having a family. It was blurry amd distant, but he did have one at some point. But now...? He thought about Hiyoko’s bright encouragement, Ryouta’s gentle conversations, Sakuya’s strong presence, and Okosan’s exuberant advice. And of course, Anghel’s strange brand of affection. Nageki smiled brightly, tears pricking his eyes. Yes, he supposed he did have a family now.

#hatofulshipweek #hatoful boyfriend #Nageki Fujishiro #hiyoko tosaka #ryouta kawara #sakuya le bel shirogane #okosan #Anghel Higure

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spideywars · 6 years

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Prompt: a narry canon fic, where they have to spend two months apart(for example, cause Harry has to work on his album while Niall has promo to do) and Niall doesn't wanna say goodbye, and just basically a sad but fluff filled goodbye fic but then fast forward two months and they reunite and it's a happy ending!(I hope that all made sense) and I love fluff so feel free to add in as much fluff as you want!

This is beyond late but, hey, I’m moving at my own pace with my writing and I don’t really want to set a schedule for myself or dates to post. I’m just kinda...going with the flow and writing when I feel like it.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this little blurb I made!

____

The smoothness of his skin, the tanline on his hips, the ink splayed along his arms and chest. Niall takes it all in, he moves his fingers along it all–mapping it out, trying to remember it all before it slips from his mind again.

‘Its only two months’ Harry said last week on a friday night as they sat out in Harry’s backyard, behind one of Harry’s many houses in LA. The fire was burning and rippling in front of them, illuminating Harry’s face and showing the feature of guilt so clearly. Niall remembers trying not to argue, smothering the words the devil on his shoulder was feeding him. He knew it wasn’t a long time, they’ve been separated longer. Its different though, really different, because its becoming more frequent.

Niall had a friend named Tim in Ireland, when he lived in Mullingar he would play football in his backyard and would trick the candy machines outside the convenience stores to giving them more than they payed for. They’d muffle their laughs into the sleeves of their shirts as chocolate spilt out onto the floor of the store, them running out with pockets full. But then Tim’s dad got a job in Dublin, and he only would come back every couple months to see his relatives. But the constant separation, the constant disconnection, it put so many cracks in their friendship it ended up broken in half until they were two different people again, not a pair. Niall never bought candy from a vending machine again, too nervous that someone would catch his dirty hands shaking the machine and call the police after seeing his pale skinny arms snaking their way into the flap trying to shake more loose.

Niall’s scared of that happening with Harry, he’s scared all these nights alone in hotel rooms and half-assed facetime calls with bad connection are gonna build up to the inevitable…a breakup.

They’ve talked about it, about them just giving up and letting them become in a relationship with their jobs instead of each other. Niall could be caressing his guitar strings instead of running his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry could be wearing his custom Gucci suits instead of Niall’s shirts.

But they’re both stubborn boys, and breaking up was just a one-time conversation that lead to apologies from Harry, saying sorry for even mentioning it in the first place.

So breaking up wasn’t in the cards, and thats why Niall is still wrapped around Harry’s arms in their bed. Their clothes piled at the end of their bed.

His body was hot underneath the covers, sweat caked along his skin. Harry was locked beside him, and he could feel him start to shift until he let out a long sigh. That was usually the sign he was awake, and Niall moved as well, looking up and meeting a green forest of eyes.

Niall can’t explain his boyfriends beauty, its not like models on television or actors pampered for the cameras. Harry is all rough but soft at the same time, something in between. His hair is soft, silky to the touch–jaw sharp and cheekbones pronounced. There was a shadow of prickled hair growing above his upper lip, and it made him more manly, and made their kisses rougher with their facial hair russeling together.

“You’re staring at me like I hung the moon.” Harry chuckled, joking as he moved up and settled his back on the beds header. He moved his fingers through his curls, them having a mind of their own as they sprung right back into their previous places along his head.

“Your ego is showing Styles.” Niall jabbed back, getting up now that he had no one to cling to. He was naked, and the air that hit his skin felt relaxing. After being wrapped in warm blankets last night and with body heat from a boyfriend who is like a bloody heater in human form, it was soothing, similar to the feeling of dipping yourself into a pool during a smouldering hot day.

He was slipping on his boxers, knowing the feeling of being bare can’t last for long since he knows Harry wont stop himself from staring. But he heard the covers shift behind him, and Niall turned as soon as he shuffled his underwear up and over the curve of his bum.

Harry was standing in front of him, walking only two steps before they were so close Niall could feel Harrys breath touch his cheeks–he could see the shadows of his eyelashes underneath his eye, the bump of a pimple growing along the top of his brow.

“How about you keep those off and come take a shower with me? Would appreciate as much company as possible before I go.” Harry smirked, his dimples appearing along the sides of his mouth. They’re killers, those two dips along his cheeks. They sink Niall further under water, keeps him hooked under Harry’s spells.

It was tempting, really, it was. Niall wants to nod silently and let Harry grab his hand and guide him towards the bathroom. But he can’t, not when so many thoughts are in his mind. He’s a ticking time bomb right now, knowing Harry is leaving in exactly one hour to drive to the airport, him tomorrow to catch his flight to London. They wont see one another again, for two months while Harry is working on his album and Niall his promo for This Town. Harry said ‘its only’ as if they were talking about a week or two, he didn’t seem bothered at all as he stood in front of Niall right this minute, looking totally unbothered.

Niall needed to clear his head, and it wasn’t going to happen under the hot spray of the shower head and the glistening body of Harry pressed behind him. He needed space, just a showers length of time for him to think and regain his sanity.

“You go have your shower, a cup of coffee will be waiting for you when you’re done.” Niall couldn’t help but move his hand to grasp at Harry’s chin, thumb and pointer finger both on one dimple each.

“Suit yourself.” Harry smiled, now leaning forward and kissing Niall long and lasting. Niall kept his hand along his chin, squeezing slightly tighter so his nails dug into Harry’s skin. Harry hummed into his mouth and then let go, stepping back and ghosting his hand on Niall’s hip before turning away and walking to the bathroom, still naked.

Niall stood in the middle of the master bedroom, scanning his eyes along the room and taking in every fragment around him. He had left his mark here, this house seeming more like his and Harry’s than just Harry’s. There was one of his many baseball caps left behind on the dresser during last summer when they went golfing, a couple shirts of Niall’s probably burried in Harry’s closet from nights that he stayed over. There was even a stain on the carpet near his feet, dark and puddled along the white fabric, slowly fading. It was when Niall got drunk at Harry’s last birthday party in LA, slurring and stumbling so bad Harry had to help him up the stairs. He probably should have kept the drink on the island in the kitchen, but it was too late to think about would have’s and should have’s.

He wonders what would happen if they did break up, of course he thought it wasn’t happening any time soon, but its inevitable. They can’t live like this forever, and is their relationship more important than music?

Things would be awkward at first, Harry wasn’t good with words and never will be, so if they split he would most likely shut Niall out as much as possible–not on purpose, but more because he didn’t know what to say, what to do, and how to act around his new ex. Niall wishes he knew what he would do in the situation of a breakup but he has only had a handful in his life, and mostly the girls and guys he dated weren’t as important to him as Harry was. He’ll probably cry in the enclosed and safe space of his home for a week or so, asking himself if it was all worth it in the end, or if their whole relationship was a mistake. They’d probably make songs about one another too, lyrics about heart break and everything tearing them apart.

His thoughts fade away from the dark parts of his mind when he hears the shower turn on, the water pounding against the bottom of the shower waking Niall up a bit more. It refocuses his intentions, and now he is grabbing a random shirt on the floor and walking downstairs while Harry clambers in to the shower.

He stays on the path of his normal morning routine, trying to bypass his thoughts until he was somewhere comfortable to let it all sink in. The routine consists of turning on the kettle, grabbing two cups from the cabinet, and putting toast in the toaster. But soon he has nothing to do, and now he is leaning against the counter with his fingers tapping along the sides. All that he hears is the crinkle of the kettle as the water boils inside.

He could leave right now, sneak out with no words spoken, no rivers of tears. He could leave unscaved from the battle he knew was going to take place, no scars left behind, no would have’s and should have’s…right?

No. Not right. His fingers tightened along the countertop in silent rage that steamed like the kettle. He hated how weak he was, how he wanted to fall to his knees at Harry’s feet but also run as far away as possible from him.

He was being pulled in two directions and he didn’t know what to do. Why run from something that’s just gonna catch up to him again? Harry will find him, Harry will confront him, Harry will be heartbroken.

But the thing is, Niall was just scared of saying goodbye. Because, goodbye was a dangerous word. It could mean goodbye for the night, goodbye for the day, goodbye for a week, goodbye for a year…goodbye forever.

He didn’t want to say goodbye because he didn’t want everything to be the unknown after it.

The kettle squealed and he blinked towards it, watching silently as the steam rose fast from its top, whistling as the water bubbled inside it. He slowly moved towards it, grabbing the handle and pouring the water delicately inside the cups settled on the counter.

It wasnt long after he made the tea and smeared the peanut butter and jam on the toast before Harry came downstairs, hair dripping and tangled along his damp forehead. It looked almost black against the kitchens lightening, and his body was glistening like snake scales as he walked towards the island where Niall settled their breakfast.

After a long pause, only the sound of teeth smothering their crispy toast, and small slurps from their drinks, Niall spoke.

“Whats a better thing to say to someone that isnt just…goodbye?

—

His eyes are staring at the man in front of him that he hasnt seen in months. He doesn’t look different, the same dimples, the same tattoos inked along his arms and chest, the same hands that rake down his skin, same teeth that can smile like an angel but bite like a wolf into his flesh, same lips that kiss the corner of his mouth like he’s a spiritual entity, but also the same lips that can suck purple blotches along his skin to mark his place.

He’s a devil and an angel all in one, someone Niall wants, the man Niall loves.

“Did you miss me?” Harry asks, but thats a stupid question because of course Niall did. Of course he thought of Harry in his hotel rooms in London and New York.

“Of course I did, you’re an absolute knob.” Niall chuckled, but it wasn’t real and Harry felt how fake it sounded. It was an energy that radiated off Niall when he got nervous, and Harry smirked sadly, now moving towards him slowly.

It’s weird, seeing Harry wearing a Journey concert shirt, bandana wrapped around his hair and ripped jeans tight to his thighs. He’s not in gucci or any other designer outfit that screams money. He reminds Niall of the man he first fell in love with, the Harry that wore duct-tape to his knees to cover the holes on his jeans, or the one that wore the same brown boots till their soles were worn right to the fabric.

It’s almost like Niall’s back in Ireland again, meeting friends at his school, kissing girls in the park and staring at boys a little too long in the locker rooms. Harry’s his big crush.

“Remember when you asked me whats better to say than goodbye?” Harry asked, his hands moved to hold Niall’s, both safely locked away in a hotel room in London, away from the world. But the window was still open, and Niall couldn’t help but stare at how the city lights contorted Harry’s face, how they sharpened every detail.

“You remember that?” Niall tried to make a half-hearted joke, but he knew it just made him seem more nervous. He paused, staring at the darkness of Harry’s eyes and then slowly nodded. Yes, of course he remembers.

“I said see you soon, right?” Harry said, now moving a little closer until they were almost chest to chest. Niall nods again, speechless.

“So, now I have to ask you…what do you say to someone instead of hello?” Harry mumbled, now smiling cheekily and stepping back to take-in Niall’s reaction.

And thats a hard question, because what do you say after seeing someone again after a while? After all the stressing Niall had gone through, after the words he battled with himself that one morning, Harry deserves more than just a simple hello.

“How about, I never realized how much I loved you until you were out of my arms?”

And Harry couldn’t help but giggle, because that was the chessiest thing Niall Horan has ever said…but probably the only thing he needed to hear.

#this is so so late I'm sorry #narry #narry fic #niall horan x harry styles #narry storan #angst #fluff #fanfiction #one direction #my fics

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