#i borrowed these from the library growing up to read them all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kingkat12 · 21 days

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the same rain (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, fingering, semi-public sex(??), angst, smoking, foul language, Roman needs to get his act together omg

summary: after your date with Roman, you find yourself in a sea of questions-- will you drown or will you float?

word count: 8,347 (sorry not sorry)

a/n: this is part three of seven minutes in heaven!! i suggest you read the first part here and the second part here to make all of this more understandable🙈🌸 enjoy!!

Long ago, back in middle school, I picked up a sentence from a book that etched itself into my mind; "It is the same rain that you loved that drowned you,"

Every minute of every day felt like I was drowning. Thoughts of Roman were continuously holding my head underwater, making it hard to breathe or function properly. Flashbacks to how his hands gripped my hips, the way it felt to have his lips move against mine with unmatched hunger, and his dizzyingly beautiful smile threatened to suffocate everything I was— had I been consumed?

Returning to school was hard, following my date with Roman this weekend. I could barely walk beside Letha without feeling like I was about to faint from the guilt, and I had to get away, just for a moment. So, I ended up in the library, bringing the book I had borrowed a few days ago. I closed my eyes as I leaned against a shelf in a desolate area, enjoying the peace and quiet. Here, Letha wasn't suspicious of me. Here, there were no prying eyes around, ready to bust me as the worst friend in the world.

However, Roman was here. I could sense that it was him before I had even opened my eyes because I could smell the specific cinnamon cigarettes he smoked. It didn't take long for my heart to start drumming in my chest, and I eventually dared to pry my eyes open.

Roman was standing a few steps away from me, holding out an open book in front of him as though he wasn't here to see me at all. It gave me the time to scan him once more; the way his hair hung over his eyes in soft waves, the way his hands were practically the same size as the book, and how he chewed on his lower lip as though he was deep in thought. When he realized that he had my attention, he slowly moved his gaze from the book and to me, his pupils immediately dilating no matter whether he wanted them to or not. However, in pure Roman fashion, he couldn't suppress his growing smirk; "Don't mind me," he said. "Just reading."

"I see..." I held back a giggle; "What are you reading?"

Roman turned the book with a swift flick of his wrist, as though I wouldn't be able to see him do it if he was quick enough. "Uh... It looks like I've picked up Pride and Prejudice,"

It was too late to suppress the snort that escaped me-- I immediately covered my mouth with my hand, watching as Roman's eyes widened, holding back a laugh as well. "Definitely the book for you," I said, trying to recover. "Just perfect. Liking it so far?"

The tension between us was palpable, especially since we weren't addressing what had happened this weekend. It was almost as though I could feel it wrap around me, clawing at my heart-- why was I so happy to see him, and why was it so damn hard to breathe?

All the air I was fighting to keep in my lungs seeped out the second I heard Roman's gorgeous laugh again, watching him smile the most genuine smile I had ever seen splayed out across his lips. "Nope," he said, putting the book away. "This looks like complete and utter shit."

I couldn't help but gasp; "You insult me. That book is a classic!"

"Yeah? Classic case of the snores,"

Groaning, I rolled my eyes as I turned away from him, hoping to suppress my smirk. "What are you doing here, Roman? Don't you have class?"

Roman shrugged, moving closer to me. I watched him lean against the shelf next to me through my peripheral view, holding my breath-- why was this such a thrill? "You're right," he said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he scanned me in a rather obnoxious manner. "I just didn't feel like going. And then I saw you coming in here, so I just wanted to say hi."

I swallowed hard; he wanted to say hi? Roman wanted to... talk to me? Something about that concept was mind-boggling. This definitely wouldn't have happened a week ago. "You didn't call, y'know?" I said, daring to face him.

"Call?" Roman's brows drew together, his green eyes shimmering as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You wanted me to call?"

"Well..." I immediately wanted to take it back-- why had I said that? Stupid! "I don't know, Roman, isn't that what guys usually do after... whatever it was that we did?"

He blinked a few times, biting down on his lips with a puzzled expression on his face. "Did what?"

Something about the way he was batting his lashes at me made me realize he was taking the piss, as always. I groaned, rolling my eyes as I stepped away from the shelf, turning my back to him as I walked to the one opposite us. There was no way in hell I'd adhere to his preferred outcome of this conversation, no way in hell I'd spell it out. "Nothing, Roman. Forget it,"

"Come on!" he said, stepping towards me with a chuckle. "Play along, will you? Just messing around." Roman's arm wrapped around my waist, pulling my back flush against him as he guided my hair to the side, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my neck.

My brain nearly shut down at the feeling of his lips against my skin, but I knew I had to fight it. How would it look if I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted to me right now? In public, again? I let out a squeak, the physical contact feeling like an active elective shock, and I pushed him away as he laughed.

"You can't do that!" I huffed, trying to keep my voice low as I scoped out the area around us, making sure no one saw. As discreetly as I could, my eyes darted down for less than a second, checking whether he was hard again-- I couldn't shake the memory of how he'd gotten aroused after seeing me scared out of my mind this weekend. But I could let out a relieved sigh when I saw that he wasn't, and my cheeks flushed red with the realization that he had just kissed me.

"Fine, alright!" Roman put his hands in the air, taking a step back as he continued to laugh. "So you wanted me to call, is that it?"

Shrugging, I did my best to hide the redness of my face by looking down at the floor. It was rather embarrassing that he knew that I wanted him to contact me-- I hoped he didn't think I was desperate, or something. "I didn't," I mumbled. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You didn't?"

"Nope,"

"Okay... Is this the sort of situation where you wanted me to want to call you?" Roman took a big breath, holding back another laugh. "You girls and your ways... If you wanted to fuck, you could've called me first, y'know?"

That was definitely not what I wanted. Not yet, at least. My eyes rounded out with the realization that Roman's motives were clearly not as gallant and pure as I had made them out to be in my head. "Go away," I mumbled, trying not to look too disappointed. "You know what I feel for you, and I don't need you to rub it in my face. Go to class."

Roman rolled his eyes, taking a step towards me. In my attempt to avoid him, I felt my back hit the shelf behind me, and I looked up at him with big, worried eyes as he cornered me. He pressed himself further up against me as he put his hand next to my head. "I'm not making fun of you. I'm dead serious,"

It felt as though my heart was thudding against his chest, trying to beat him away. "Dead serious about what?"

Roman shrugged, flashing his teeth in a rather sinister-looking smile before leaning down to whisper in my ear; "Call me if you want to,"

"Want to...?"

"To fuck," Roman pressed a kiss right next to my ear, which had my breath hitching. My hand flew up to his chest, ready to push him off of me, but it was as though my body refused to comply with my wishes.

"That's not--" I had to clear my throat before continuing, realizing my brain was threatening to shut down and become another one of his mindless girls. "That's not exactly what I had in mind..."

Roman pulled away from my cheek, nudging his nose against mine. "Tell me, then,"

Why was it so hard to keep a straight thought around this man? "Just... I don't know, is that all you want from me? Sex?" I had to swallow rather hard, letting out a shaky breath against him. Everything about this made my heart drop.

"Well..." Roman paused, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "What more would you want from me?"

Looking up at him, meeting his green eyes, was too dangerous. I had to look away and try to discard the fluttering of my stomach at every single touch from him. It quickly became obvious that Roman probably didn't know how to handle anything deeper than just casual sex. Everything about it made me sigh; "Roman, I think you know very well what I want from you... And I think it's time for you to find out whether you want the same. Because if not, I need you to leave me alone,"

I put my hand on his chest, making way for me to leave. There wasn't much time to stare at the beautifully stunned expression on his face, wondering what on earth he had done wrong.

All I knew was that we either did this my way or no way.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had successfully made it to the next day, eyes a little puffier than before. My heart was practically in pieces after yesterday's conversation with Roman, wondering whether or not he would ever be interested in me the same way I was about him. After everything we had done together, I still hadn't gotten any confirmation from him that he reciprocated-- it made my whole body ache with a numbness I hadn't felt before.

I was getting a little conscious about my puffy eyes, so I decided to put on the pair of sunglasses I had in my bag despite being inside the cafeteria.

Letha watched me, unable to hold back her giggles; "You look ridiculous. Take them off, please?"

"Stop it," I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched her finish her lunch. "I think I just had an allergic reaction to something." Lying to Letha again, even if it was something as small as this, made me feel more like a piece of shit than before.

Everything about this situation made me feel horrible. I had put my friendship with Letha on the line, and for what? Some guy that didn't see me as anything more than a sex object?

It seemed that I wasn't the best liar; Letha moved to the edge of her seat, scanning me with a worried look on her face; "Are you okay?" she tried, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "Maybe you're still sick from the weekend... Should I drive you home?"

This was killing me-- absolutely killing me. How was it possible for someone to be so sweet? "No, I'm fine! I promise," The kind look in Letha's green eyes was starting to feel like a drill into my skull, and I didn't know how long I could last with sneaking behind her back concerning my feelings for Roman.

Eventually, Letha made peace with my glasses and odd behaviour, but I still couldn't shake the slight tremble in my legs; I was getting close to confessing, my guilt rising to the brink of my capacity.

Even worse, was that the tremble didn't get any better later that day when I met Roman in an unusually empty stairway. Everything about it made me want to groan and evaporate-- just my luck.

There were barely any people who used this part of the school, which was why I often took this way up to the second floor. It seemed like I wasn't the only one who had taken use of the desolate space; I watched as Roman sat on the banister further up, handing a guy a few dollars in exchange for some cigarettes.

When Roman finally spotted me, I was sure I looked like the world's biggest idiot. It dawned on me that I was staring at him, completely frozen at the sight of his beauty, and I cleared my throat when I finally managed to look away. With shaky steps, I began to make my way up the stairs, hoping he'd let me walk by without making any jokes or mocking comments. Ideally, we wouldn't talk at all. But as I tried to pass him, Roman's hand easily reached out for my wrist, his fingers wrapping around my skin with the gentlest touch.

My breath hitched-- I turned to meet his green, green eyes, noticing that the dealer was gone. The only thing left was him, me, and the pack of cigarettes he had just bought. My eyes darted down to my arm, observing how big his hands were against my skin.

"Did I say something wrong?" Roman eventually asked, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes.

I shrugged, stunned that he was asking that question in the first place. "Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't," he said, not missing a beat. Despite his refusal to admit anything, Roman drew his other hand forth to trace circles in the palm of my hand, retracting back into his shell.

My eyes followed his movement, inhaling a shaky breath. What was he doing? Was I really putting my friendship on the line for this? "Roman, I can't be seen with you here--"

"There's no one here," Roman rolled his eyes, clearly not here to fight with me. His grip around my wrist tightened, almost as though he was afraid I'd leave again. "I'm not a fucking idiot, I wouldn't be doing this if I knew someone was watching. What's made you so paranoid?--" His trail of words stopped, eyes rounding out with some sort of realization. " You know what? I have an idea." Roman reached into his pocket, fishing out something silver, something sharp that practically shone beneath the bright lights of the school--

I let out a high-pitched scream, jumping away from him in all-taking panic. "No, no!--"

"Calm down!" Roman barked, holding out the needle over the hollow of the stairwell before dropping it down to the first floor. There wasn't much noise as it hit the ground, other than a high-pitched ringing that lasted for a few seconds.

I realized that I was practically hugging my body, ready to shield myself from any incoming needle attacks, and slowly unwinded my arms from around myself. Letting out the breath I had been holding, I watched Roman's hardening gaze meet mine. "Told you," he said, voice low. "Never wanted to, never planned to."

My eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet his anymore. "Okay," By instinct, I reached for the sleeve of my sweater, ripping at it with my nails to keep my nerves in check. I hadn't expected to see him today, especially not here and now-- had he noticed my puffy eyes?

Roman sighed, reaching forward to guide me back towards him. "Stop that," he mumbled, grabbing my hands, keeping them separate. "You do that all the time, do you know that?" He nodded towards my sweater, squeezing my hands.

I wondered if it had dawned on him that we were practically holding hands now. If he realized that he was being sweet with me, that he was acting as though he cared. Would it scare him if he knew? I couldn't be sure. All I could be sure of was that this was hurting me either way. With a sigh, I spoke up; "What are you doing?"

Roman's green eyes darted down to our hands, unable to meet my gaze. "I... don't know,"

"Of course you don't," Slowly, I pried my hands away from his, feeling my heart sink into my shoes.

Watching me retreat, Roman opened his mouth to protest; he was ready to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at me with blank eyes for a few seconds, almost as though he had short-circuited.

The air around us started to feel thicker, the tension growing without its needed release-- all until he finally said something; "Look, I don't know why, but you being mad at me is just really inconvenient right now, so... How do I make it up to you?"

It felt as if the air had gotten knocked out of me, and I stared at him in disbelief at his words; "... Inconvenient?"

"Yeah," Roman rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath. It was clear that he didn't know how to properly articulate what he was feeling, and that made everything furthermore frustrating. "I know that you said I have to figure out my feelings for you or whatnot, but I don't think I have any. So, for Letha's sake, I think we should make a truce or something."

"For... Letha's sake?" I had to suppress a laugh-- this was insane. "Since when have you cared about Letha's feelings? Was that before or after you blackmailed me into meeting you everywhere, and then kissed me?"

Not a beat passed before Roman raised his voice in protest; "You said I could! You said 'you can kiss me now if you want to', so I did!"

How was it possible for someone to be so confusing? I balled my fists in an attempt to control my exasperation; "Well, why the fuck did you then?! You say you have no feelings for me, and then you kiss me?--"

"Because I wanted to!" Roman yelled back, gripping the banister with a force that turned his knuckles white. "I've wanted to kiss you again ever since that time we played seven minutes in heaven, so excuse me for taking the opportunity!"

It was immediately clear that he regretted saying that out loud-- his green eyes widened, his plush, pink lips parting in mortification.

However, Roman wasn't the only one that was caught off guard. I was quite sure that my heart had stopped, the ringing in my ears mixing in with the echo of his voice lingering in the empty stairwell. Realizing I had been holding my breath, the rest of it came out in a shaky exhale, my body stiffening with complete and utter shock. "Roman, I--"

"Please don't," His words came out barely more audible than a whisper as he hurried to get off the banister. "Forget I said that. I haven't had my nicotine this morning--"

"Roman!--"

"I don't usually deal with virgins, anyways," Roman mumbled, throwing his bag over his shoulder as he refused to meet my gaze. "Too much work. And you're kind of hard-maintenance."

I couldn't even hold back my reaction to the further blow, letting my jaw fall. "Sorry, what? What is happening right now?"

He shrugged, a forced nonchalance about him as he dragged his fingers through his gelled hair. "Again, I'm not into you like that. And if I wanted a therapist, I would've hired one, right?" That seemed quite funny to him-- Roman's mouth curved up as he let out a nervous laugh, now watching my eyes hollow.

This was probably the biggest whiplash of events I had ever experienced. Completely spellbound by his idiocy, I couldn't do anything other than stare at him. Was he really this clueless, and did he really think these things about me?

I was very abruptly reminded of why I hated him in the first place. I was about to spew verbal acid at him but was interrupted by the door to the second floor swinging open. With quick steps, I moved away from Roman, glaring at him from afar as I hoped to spot a flash of regret.

But hence; nothing.

I realized that the group of boys at the door were Roman's friends, and they quickly spotted him as well. It didn't take long for him to wordlessly join them, bumping fists as they walked past me. Everything about it made me feel like a ghost-- what had just happened?

And why was I so heartbroken over this jerk?

I felt my heart drop, hiding my face in my hands the second I knew they couldn't see me. Everything about this situation was mortifying; Roman didn't have any feelings for me. I hadn't meant anything to him at all, and all of this back-and-forth had been for nothing.

I was ready to run to the bathroom and burst into tears, completely spent and exhausted, until I suddenly heard a conversation coming from beneath;

"Who was that?"

"Who?" This was definitely Roman.

"That chick you were with?"

Intrigued, I pulled myself together before carefully leaning over the banister, trying to get a good look at the gang of boys who were yet to make it all the way to the exit.

"None of your concern," Roman said, giving in to a chuckle.

That wasn't satisfactory enough for the other guy, who proceeded to shrug; "She was cute, though. Do you have her number?"

Roman's eye twitched, his smirk faltering. Without even saying a word, he shoved the other guy rather harshly; "Drop it,"

I immediately stepped away, clasping a hand over my mouth as the rest of the guys laughed, finally leaving the stairwell. Letting out the breath I had been holding, I clutched my heart as my mind raced-- was I imagining things, or were Roman's words betraying his actions?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

"It is the same rain that you loved that drowned you,"

It was haunting me, at this point. Genuinely.

All the feelings I had for Roman had nowhere to go anymore. For a week now, I had been like a ghost to him. The one thing I had learned about Roman, at the end of the day, was that he was very, very true to his word-- he definitely didn't like me. I could be very sure about this, now that he suddenly had a new cheerleader on his arm again, making it his twelfth. Everything about that made me want to puke; how could I have been so stupid as to believe Roman would feel differently about me? Was he actually the asshole he made himself out to be? Maybe it wasn't a coping mechanism-- maybe it really was just him?

So, so many questions.

I could only watch him from afar on the bleachers, with Letha sitting next to me and revising her notes for an upcoming test. With a heavy heart, I watched as Roman leaned over to kiss the cheerleader's cheek, and I suddenly recognized the girl from my literature classes; Jessica. Fucking Jessica? Come on!

The sight was enough for me to crumble up my notes, not realizing what I was doing until Letha nudged me; "Uh... What are you doing?" she asked, her green eyes giving me a weird look.

In an instant, I let go of the paper, accidentally letting it fall to the floor. "Sorry," I mumbled, bending down to pick it up. "I just didn't get much sleep. I'm spasming up." It was hard not to shudder-- lying to my best friend had become a habit, and there was nothing I hated more.

Letha didn't seem to buy it, but she also didn't comment. Instead, she wrapped an arm around me, soothingly rubbing my back. "What's up with you these days?" she asked, concern coated in her soft voice. "What's bothering you? You can tell me anything, you know that?"

The soft cotton of her sweater, the kindness of her being-- my heart was actively breaking. I didn't deserve any of it.

Everything felt so worthless at this point; especially while watching Roman's public display of affection to this girl that he barely even knew. Had he actually taken my romance tips and applied them to someone else? Asshole move number one. Eventually, I turned to Letha, a sense of anxiety washing over me as I realized what I was about to do; "Anything?"

My angel of a best friend only held me tighter, shooting me a kind, warm smile as she nodded. "Anything,"

"Okay..." It was getting hard to breathe-- was I really going through with this? My pulse quickened, my words coming out with a sliver of panic; "Please don't kill me, okay?"

Letha tucked a strand of her long, blonde hair behind her ear, worry filling her eyes. "Seriously, you're torturing me at this point, just say it," She squeezed my shoulders as she attempted a smile. Even in the most tense moments, she still tried to put me at ease.

There was no way I could back down now, and I wanted so badly to be done with it. To be done with the guilt, the shame, and the heartbreak. Just as I was about to speak up, it felt as though my mouth had dried up, and I was beyond breathless when I finally blurted it out; "Roman and I kissed at that party where we played seven minutes in heaven. And... another time after that."

Letha might as well have frozen over. There was no single movement whatsoever. Her arm remained wrapped around me as she stared at me with an empty look, eyes wider than I had ever seen them before.

I caught a glimpse of Roman kissing his new girl of the week in my peripheral view, and along with my confession, that was enough for my tears to press their way up in my eyes with a burn unlike anything I had ever felt in my life.

I could swear that Letha was furious. That she wanted to throw me down the bleachers and stomp my face in. But instead, she slowly retreated her arm around me, holding her breath. Letha's green eyes glossed over, unable to meet my gaze anymore. "You... What?"

With swift movements, I pressed the sleeve of my sweater up against my eyes, not wanting to cry in public. "Could I please explain?" I tried, holding back a sob-- why on earth had I decided to do this now?

"What is there to explain?" Letha wrapped her jacket tightly around her body, almost as though to hug herself, her words coming out in a breathy mumble. "You kissed. Twice. Had it been once, I might've gotten it because it was a party game, but... you went back for more?" The hurt in her voice was thick, and I couldn't help but notice how small she sounded; I had never seen Letha so upset.

Her question haunted me, and I buried my face in my hands. "I'm so sorry, Letha, I never meant to hurt you or go behind your back--"

"Is it at least something serious between you two?" Something about Letha hardened, and her words were starting to choke me. "Please tell me you pulled this crap for a good reason?"

I sniffled, wiping away any impending tears with my sleeve. The truth made my confession even more mortifying-- saying it out loud only made me feel worse; "He says he has no feelings for me..."

Letha nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as she slowly started rocking herself. "And you have feelings for him?" When she didn't get an answer, she finally looked at me, meeting my glossy eyes with a glare so harsh that I nearly shuddered. I would've never thought Letha would be capable of pulling such an expression. Enraged, she raised her voice; "You have feelings for him?!"

Panicked, I put my hands over my head, almost as though I was scared she'd hit me. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry, Letha, you have no idea!--" As I heard her shuffle about, I raised my eyes to see her gather her stuff, ready to leave. My tears were burning in my eyes, obscuring my vision as I desperately grabbed her hand. "Letha, please! I made a mistake, I never wanted to do this to you!--"

"But you did!" Letha sneered, throwing her backpack over her shoulder. She turned to me with a look that would etch itself into my mind for days to come, a look so furious that it gave me goosebumps. "You're no different than the rest. Go be one of his whores, for all I care!"

Stunned, I watched as she made her way off the bleachers, not looking back. I didn't know Letha had it in her to call me slurs, but at the same time... I knew I deserved it. However, nothing could prepare me for the avalanche of sadness that would ensue my confession; I was dead sure that I had lost my best friend, and what had I gained in the process? I buried my face in my hands, allowing tears to run down my cheeks, trying to make myself as small as possible. My shoulders slumped, wanting to ball myself up into nothing and disappear.

I did my best to get myself together, sniffling as I wiped away my tears. Reminding myself that I was in public, and that I definitely didn't want to make a scene, I let out a shaky breath as I gathered my stuff and got ready to leave. But just as I stood up, I couldn't help but look in Roman's direction, wanting to get a quick glance at the root cause of my misery.

However, I hadn't thought that he would be looking back at me as well.

There he was, his arm wrapped around another girl, but he couldn't take his eyes off me. He wouldn't-- Roman's gaze didn't shy away as our eyes met. Instead, they rounded out with the realization that I had been crying.

Seeing him again, being acknowledged, was enough to drive me over the edge once more. Letting out a quiet sob, I stormed off the bleachers, clasping a hand over my mouth. Who would've thought my ridiculous crush would lead to these gut-wrenching feelings? It felt as though I couldn't breathe, heaving for air as I rushed to get away from everything and everyone.

"It is the same rain that you loved that drowned you,"

To my surprise, it didn't take long before I heard the familiar sound of long steps following me. My heart beat so hard, I thought it might explode and cover the school grounds in my flesh and blood. The way my pulse quickened made me nauseous-- I needed to get away. "Go away, Roman!" I clutched my heart as I sped up; I didn't need to turn around to know it was him.

His next question could've easily been answered if he'd listened closely to the sob I was suppressing; "Are you crying?" Roman didn't have to do much to catch up to me, but he wasn't lunging at me just yet. "Why are you crying?"

I couldn't believe I had to deal with him on top of everything-- I groaned, turning around to face him despite how bloodshot my eyes looked. "Could you back off? Go back to your braindead cheerleader!"

It was clear that Roman hadn't expected to be confronted head-on like this. His green eyes widened before they hardened, balling his fists as he spoke; "Why are you so fucking mad? What did I do this time?"

"Everything!" I inhaled a shaky breath, burying my face in the crook of my arm to hide my tears. There was no way in hell I was about to cry openly in front of this douchebag. "I just-- I just lost Letha because of you! I got so swept up in you, I caused a fucking avalanche!" My lower lip gave in to a quiver, and multiple tears escaped the crease of my arm, now rolling down my chin and landing on the grass beneath us. "And you obviously don't give a damn about me, and I've been throwing my feelings at you like an idiot, and I just... How could I have been so stupid?"

I swallowed another sob, making an unsuccessful attempt at wiping away my tears. Refusing to meet his eyes, I sniffled as my gaze fell to the ground, shaking my head in denial as Roman stayed silent. "Please, I... need to be alone. I don't want to make myself look even worse in front of you than I already do--"

My ramble escaped me with my next breath; it got caught in my throat as I felt the soft fabric of Roman's sweater against my chin, silently wiping away my tears. It was clear that he figured out I had told Letha. I dared to look up at him, finding an unusually forgiving tenderness about him.

Speechless, I could only stare right back. Roman was focused on wiping away every hint of a tear, his brows drawing together as he carefully traced the bags under my eyes. The kindness of his gesture, the softness in which he was tending to my sadness, made a familiar warmth spread through my chest all up into the tips of my fingers. It became too much-- I reached for his hand, prying it away from my face. "Why are you doing this?"

Roman shrugged, debating whether to say what was on his mind. It was clear that he was conflicted, and I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed up and the way his jaw clenched. "Doing you a favour. Your mascara is everywhere," Roman grew more and more uncomfortable with my silence. "Just stop crying, okay? Do you want me to talk to Letha?"

"I doubt that will help," I mumbled, sniffling. "Look, Roman, I really can't do this right now... You and your bullshit just lost me my best friend, do you realize that?"

He shrugged; "Letha will come around... I guess we'll have to wait it out,"

"We?" I huffed, wiping away the tears that were threatening to spill once more. "There is no we. Letha is family to you, so of course she'll forgive you! Me, on the other hand!--"

"There could be," Roman mumbled, interrupting me. His gaze darted down to his shoes, now chewing on his lower lip as his next words came out with a low whisper; "A we, I mean."

What? I shook my head, immediately going into denial. "... What are you even saying?" Something about his words sent me over the edge again-- I was so tired of the illusion of everything turning out alright between us. The exhaustion brought more tears to my eyes, and I brought my hands up to my face, hiding from him in plain sight. "Go away," I said, my voice shaky from the sadness consuming me. "Go away, please just go away! I don't need you to change your mind every week whether you have feelings for me or not, just-- Go!"

Roman sighed before stepping forward, completely taking my breath away as he wrapped his arms around me. It felt as though he understood that I wasn't pushing him away with malice, but more so to protect myself-- and right now, he was wrapped around me like a shield. I didn't have any fight left in me to push him away, so I buried my face against his chest, inhaling the smell of cinnamon cigarettes that I had weirdly missed.

"Let's go somewhere else, okay?" Roman said, sizing up the people passing us by with a scowl. "I have a feeling you don't want everyone to see this. Just follow me."

It didn't shock me that Roman's first thought was his car-- but I still ended up right there. In the dreaded backseat. Hadn't I promised myself I'd never set foot there? It seemed all my thoughts of reason flew out the window when I was in this state. He was currently tending to my new tears, wiping them away with the pads of his fingers. "Letha will forgive you," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Do you maybe want a cigarette? They usually help me take the edge off... I have different flavours, if you want?"

I shook my head, feeling my headache swell from all the crying. "No thanks," I said. "And I think Letha would rather cut her head off than forgive me right now. She even called me a whore."

"... You?" was the first thing that came out of Roman's mouth. "The only virgin left at this school?"

Despite how sad I was, it didn't hold me back from hitting his arm. Roman let out a warm chuckle, grabbing my hands, forcing them away from him. "Just stop crying, alright? Pretty girls aren't allowed to cry in the back of my car,"

"... What?" I turned to him, brows drawing together in confusion. Did he just...?

Roman broke into a smile, nodding to my cheeks; "See? Not crying anymore. Flattery works every time,"

I held back a rather large groan-- I wasn't up for Roman's party tricks, especially not in this state. Knowing that he knew what I felt for him, knowing he used it to toy with me just for the fucks, made me even more angry. "I think I'm good now," I mumbled, turning away from him. "I don't think I should be seen here with you... Letha might actually think I have no heart."

There was a thick silence that fell over us like fog-- it made me face Roman again just to check what the hold-up was. And there he sat, his face suddenly completely serious, his brows drawing together in... anger? "Well, you chose this for yourself," he said, clenching his jaw as his black pupils shrunk.

Everything about him right now scared me. Why was he staring at me like that? It was as though he was about to pounce and rip me to shreds. "Roman, what's up with you?--"

"You're not the fucking victim here," Roman's words came out with a sneer, sharp enough to cut through wood. "You asked me to kiss you. You started this. Being seen with me is not what's going to make Letha think you're heartless, so either you own up to your crap or leave me the fuck out of it!"

My lips parted in complete and utter shock. I blinked repeatedly, hoping to blink away the angry expression on his face. "What the fuck?" I sat up, tucking my hair behind my ears as I attempted to size him up. "You're the one who dragged this shit out! You threatened to tell Letha we kissed if I didn't comply to your wishes, and then you damn near dry-humped me in that fucking alleyway!"

"Hey!"

I could barely believe it; in the middle of his outburst, I could see hints of a blush creeping up his cheeks. "You know I'm right!" I barked back, balling my fists. I couldn't believe we were having the same argument over and over. "I wouldn't have been in this mess if you hadn't stirred the fucking pot! You could've said no in that fucking closet!"

Roman quickly got enough of my retaliation; "You know why I didn't!"

"Yeah, and fuck you for that!" The volume of our altercation was rising-- I hoped people passing by the car couldn't hear this. "You shouldn't have kissed me! You should've just told me no, you owed me that kindness!"

Roman's eye twitched, and I was sure he hadn't blinked in about a minute. "I didn't owe you any kindness! You've always been horrible to me!--"

"Because you've been horrible back!"

"And why do you think that is? You think it's easy to be treated like shit by the one person you?!--" Roman inhaled sharply, eyes widening as yet another confession slipped past his lips. It was clear that he was mortified, that he had definitely not wanted to let that slip, but his eyes never left mine in shock and horror.

It felt as though I had been electrocuted, completely frozen in my seat. Uttering my next words felt as though I was walking through a minefield; "Person you... What?"

It didn't take long before Roman started squirming, eyes now frantically doing everything not to meet mine. "Shut up," he breathed, reaching over to open the car door on my side. Now that he was leaning across me like this, it was obvious that he was trying to get me to exit the vehicle. However, his face betrayed him-- Roman's hand gripped the door handle, slowly turning his head towards me. Like this, I could feel his breath hot and heavy against my lips, inches away from me.

I wasn't sure why I was digging my nails into my seat as though I was about to be mauled by a wildcat. The intensity oozing from Roman along with the realization that I had nowhere to run completely engulfed me, and my instincts suddenly pushed all thoughts of reason out of my brain. I had no idea what came over me as I put my hand over his, closing the door to the car before doing what I never thought I would do in this situation; our lips came together in a hot, fiery kiss as Roman leaned forward, laying me flat against the backseat.

I told myself I would never end up in this situation-- in the back of Roman's car. But here I was, splayed out beneath him like all his cheerleader whores, completely out of breath as I gave in to my deepest, darkest desires. The taste of cinnamon tobacco entered my system, and I couldn't help but moan out against him; I had been dreaming of being reunited with him like this for longer than I could remember. So as Roman's weight on top of me gave me a sense of security, the need for his kisses dulled down all my logical thinking.

There was nothing more important than this. There never had been.

The next thing that happened snapped me out of the constant static noise buzzing in my brain; "I want you so bad," Roman breathed against me, the whiny tone in his voice making my stomach flutter and flip-- was I maybe dreaming?

"Fuck Letha," he continued, his kisses now trailing down my jaw and neck, grabbing at me as though he was afraid I'd disappear. "Fuck all of that."

No, no, no. I couldn't. "Don't-- Don't say that," It had never been harder to inhale a simple breath before, and I let my lips part in pleasure as I realized Roman was leaving hickeys in the crook of my neck. Why was he doing that? Did he not know everyone would see them and make conclusions?--

Oh.

Before I could protest, Roman's plush lips were back on mine, melting me against him with the softest kisses known to man. In a flash of passion, my hands went up into his hair in an attempt to bring him closer. I could feel the thud of his heart against mine, realizing his was racing as well-- I wondered whether he reacted like this to all his girls. Warmth blossomed in my chest, sparks igniting as Roman leaned in close, lips brushing together as we tried to catch our breaths. The smell of his cologne and the deep citrus scent of his conditioner made me dizzy to the point where it felt as though butterflies danced in my stomach. But the warmth consumed me, completely in awe of the fact that we were reunited again as I leaned into the next kiss, Roman's lips impossibly sweet against my own.

He didn't have to say anything for me to know he had missed me too. The unspoken words passed between us with each stroke of my fingers against his back, each kiss he placed against the corners of my mouth, and the softness of his thumb caressing my cheek.

Roman pulled away as his long, slender fingers dug themselves into my waist. "Can I try something?"

What? I was too dazed, too content to immediately deny him. But had I known what he would do next, I probably wouldn't have agreed so fast. Roman leaned forward to unite our lips in another passionate kiss, but I couldn't feel his hands on me anymore. It took me a few seconds to realize he was unbuttoning my jeans and reaching my zipper.

My eyes widened against the kiss, and the squeak I let out got muffled against his lips. In a flash of panic, my hand reached down to grab his arm with speed I didn't know I had. Roman hummed, detaching our fiery union as his green eyes met mine, trying to find the reason for my panic. "Come on," he purred, the look of mischief spreading across his lips.

"I'm not doing it in the back of your car!" My fingers were still digging into the skin of his arm, making sure he wouldn't move.

Roman rolled his eyes; "Not what I was getting at, but whatever," A laugh escaped him, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at me splayed out across the backseat. "I'm not that evil. I wouldn't let you have your first time here."

A sense of comfort washed over me-- since when did he take pity on me? "Then what... What are you doing?"

He shrugged, holding back another laugh; "Giving you a sneak peek,"

I wasn't sure what that entailed, but my grip around his arm loosened.

Something about me changed whenever Roman was around. A part of me wanted to please him, appease him, and entice him into staying with me like this forever, no matter what. I wanted nothing more than for us to be together, no matter how hard my conscience was gnawing at me regarding the Letha situation. But thoughts of my best friend quickly evaporated as Roman's finger was suddenly deep in my cunt-- I wasn't quite sure when I had managed to get wet, but here I was. It must've been somewhere in between the fighting and the kissing.

I could only whimper against his kisses, not used to having anything in me at all. There was a certain sting, but it dulled down when Roman was at the hilt of his knuckle. It quickly turned into something I had never felt before-- I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was, but it felt as though all the butterflies in my stomach melted into one, a weirdly pleasurable ache building in my lower abdomen.

As Roman added a second finger into me, careful to go in with slow strokes, my back arched slightly off the backseat of the car. Suppressing a moan, the hand I had in his hair tightened as a certain desperation ran through my veins. I watched as Roman smirked down at me, a knowing look in his eyes as he spoke; "If this feels good, imagine how it will feel when you get the real deal,"

I nearly shuddered-- that thought alone almost sent me over the edge. I could only writhe, my hips meeting the thrusts of his fingers as Roman ran his tongue along my bottom lip.

I was aware that all of this was a bad idea. To get more involved with Roman, to let him unravel me further; it was plain stupid. And horrible to Letha. I knew it was awful, that Roman and I shouldn't be together, and that I should be running after my best friend to keep begging for forgiveness.

Everything was starting to make my head spin.

As I came hard around Roman's digits, letting out a moan against his lips which would later make me blush, I couldn't help but wonder what on earth to do next. Should I let it all spiral? Should I get myself together and fix my friendship?

My thoughts completely shut down as Roman's wet fingers made their way past my lips, making me lap up my own slick.

Filthy. We were filthy, we were fucking horrible, and his following words didn't make me feel any better.

"Let's give it a try," Roman whispered against my lips, sincerity swimming in his green eyes. "You and I... It just has to happen. This feels too good to be wrong, fuck what Letha says."

There they were, the words I had wanted to hear from him all along. But now that he was right here, telling me he wanted us to be together, I found myself unsure what to say. When Roman leaned forward to sneak in a soft kiss, muffling the warmth of his chuckle, I realized I had a decision to make-- I knew it would end up being one of the hardest decisions of my life so far.

I held my breath, realizing the quote that had haunted me was correct after all; "It is the same rain that you loved that drowned you,"

(a/n: part four HERE!<3)

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #fanfic #smut #angst #toxic relationship #JUSTICE FOR LETHA FFS #ugh i love him #highschool!au

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fayes-fics · 8 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 - La Valse de Paris

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur.

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days.

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted.

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises.

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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cozage · 1 year

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Hi, can you write a scenario where Sanji founds his S/O (who is secretly an artist) staring the Aquarium's ceiling, and when he looks, he see that they painted a ocean landscape (like the All Blue) on it? I'm not good on explaining, but i think that would be a cute idea.

A/N: ALL THESE SANJI REQUESTS ARE MAKING ME FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM YOU GUYS NEED TO STOP!!! (jk you better not stop he deserves love)

Characters: gn reader x Sanji

Cw: none :)

Total word count: 1k

A Painted Dream

Sanji hadn’t seen you in a few hours, and he began to grow worried. Once he finished cooking for Luffy and Usopp, his mission would be to find you.

The more he thought about it, the more concerned he became. You had been scarce most of the week, actually. He could really only remember seeing you for meals and for bedtime, which you came late to most nights.

“Luffy.” He handed over a plate of sandwiches for the captain. “Have you seen Y/N recently?”

Luffy hummed, thinking about the question while he ate. “I saw them at breakfast this morning,” he said with a mouth full of food.

“I saw them down in the workshop a few days ago,” Usopp offered.

Of course these idiots wouldn’t be any help. He lit a cigarette and started cleaning up, trying to think about your conversations over the past few days. You almost always showed up to meals late, and you always looked a little disheveled when you arrived. Whenever he went to serve you snacks you weren’t there, and he always got distracted by another crew member before he had time to find you. He hadn’t noticed it at the moment, but now that he was reflecting on it, your behavior had been kind of secretive lately.

He trusted you, of course, but he still felt uneasy. Moreso, he felt guilty that he hadn’t noticed it sooner and asked you about your day to know what you were doing in the first place.

He wandered the ship, trying to find you. He asked all his crew mates, but the only helpful info he got was from Franky, who said you borrowed a small scaffold a few days ago and hadn’t returned it yet, and you borrowed a ladder this morning.

There weren’t many places you could use a ladder inside the ship, so he checked the library first. He found Robin there, but not you.

“Try the aquarium,” Robin offered, turning the page of the book she was reading.

He wandered down to the aquarium and opened the door to find you standing before him. Your hair was pushed back in a bandana, and a variety of colored paint was smeared across your face and your arms. You were holding a palette in your hand and a paintbrush between your teeth while you stared upwards, focusing on something above you.

His eyes trailed up to see what you were staring at, and he let out a small gasp of shock. Fish from the North Blue to his right, the South Blue to his Left, the East Blue on the far side, and the West Blue above him, all swimming towards the center of the room. There, they intermingled freely, swimming amongst sea kings and other monsters you all had seen on your travels. He could feel tears welling up and he furiously blinked to clear them. He didn’t want to cloud his vision of such perfect artistry.

A sound at the door alerted you to a presence, and your eyes flicked over to see someone in the doorway. Tall, blonde, dressed to the nines. Sanji.

“No!” you cried, running over to him. “No! No! No!”

You reach him and throw your hands over his eyes, which were glued to the ceiling. “You can’t see it yet! It’s not done!”

He stood in front of you, still as a statue. Your hands were still over his eyes, and you could feel wetness beneath your fingers.

“Sanji?”

You opened your hands slightly so you could see his face, but kept them cupped so he couldn’t see the ceiling. He had tears streaming down his face as he looked at you.

“You made that painting?”

You nod sheepishly. “I was hoping to finish it before you saw it, though.”

He looked at you, surprised. “It’s not done yet? It’s-”

“Just adding the finishing details now. Making it perfect.”

“Can I sit here and watch you finish it?”

Your face made a pout. “You have to promise not to look until I say so.”

He laughed and took a seat in front of the fish tank. “I’ll keep my eyes on you.”

It was hard, but he did it. He desperately wanted to glance up at the painting, to be lost in the intricacies and name every fish he saw. But he waited until you gave him permission, and he kept his eyes on you the whole time. He watched as you squinted to see, huffed in frustration, and smiled in success.

After an hour or two, you nodded in satisfaction, and you turned to him. “Okay, you can look now.”

He strode over to you and wrapped you in his arms, and then the two of you looked up at the All Blue you had created.

“Just when I think you can’t surprise me, you go and do something like this.” He pulled his gaze away from the painting and smothered you with kisses, causing you to cry out in a fit of giggles.

“You really like it?” you ask, peering up at him.

“I love it. I love you.”

The two of you stood there, looking up at his dream until your necks were sore, and then you laid on the ground and kept looking up. You listened to him name each of the fish he saw, delightedly pointing them out like a child pointing out shapes of clouds on a sunny day, and thought about how you couldn’t wait for him to finally find the actual one.

#one piece #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x you #cozage #✧˚sanji✧˚

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xrenjunniesx · 9 months

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when they join you at the library

you go the library to study, but your boyfriend joins you! the only problem is that he has nothing to do at the library.

bf!nct dream

mark

he kind off joined you impulsively. so with 48% charged phone and dying AirPods, he will use the first half of your study session just listening to music. when you take a break, he is literally so excited to talk to you, just because he is honestly growing bored. once his airpods die and his phone is on its death bed, he may just stare at you for a bit before deciding a nap might be good. if you asked for help, he won’t be much help unless you explain the whole thing and by then you might even figure out the answer yourself, but he will try to help you as best as he can!

renjun

as soon as you start studying, he stands up and is gone for like an hour. he is touring the whole library, looking at every section and all the books. he comes back with at least two books and reads them. if he didn’t have a library card before, he has one now. he will borrow those books under his name and join you every time you go the library just so he can read. he will help you with your work but if he doesn’t understand it, he will just google it.

jeno

he actually stays quiet for the moment you got in. he only really speaks when you spoke to him, otherwise he is just on his phone. if you ask for him, he immediately has google up. however, he may get so bored that he tries to learn whatever you are learning. if he does do that, he will try to help you to complete the work faster. otherwise, he may be taking a nap to make time pass by faster.

haechan

how much he talks will be like waves. at the start he is just quietly talking about something that happened but when you tell him you actually want to study, he goes quiet. for like… 30 minutes. he distracts himself with his phone most of the time, if not then he is just staring at the wall. if you asked for help, he is more than happy to try and help you. he may end up distracting you so much that you two have to leave the library because all of a sudden you two were unable to contain your laughter.

jaemin

he doesn’t even try to be distracting, he just is. at first it was fine, but when you got bored of the work for like a split second, you look up at him and just… didn’t do work again. he doesn’t distract you, but once you start talking to him, he won’t stop talking to you until you stop. he is there just for the vibes and the calm atmosphere. if you asked him for help he will help you as best as he can, even doing some of your research and summarising it for you if it means helping you complete your work faster.

 chenle

he was a pain to sit next to at first. he just wanted to talk, and kept asking questions about the work. you tried to answer them but within thirty minutes you had only written down one sentence, but had managed to tell chenle the whole topic. “if you know what you’re doing, then why are you studying?” “it’s an assignment chenle, I have to do it.” he goes quiet when you ask him too. he won’t really be much help but if you start getting stressed he will immediately take your work away from you and start trying to do it himself to give you a break.

jisung

he felt awkward at first. just sitting there next to you as you diligently did your work. he tried to talk to you quietly but you kept turning him down, reminding him that you needed to get this done. he ends up getting up and exploring the library. he picks up a random book and sits next to you, reading it. he grows bored of it quickly and ends up just going on his phone. if you asked for help, he won’t really be able to help much but he does try!

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solarwonux · 11 months

Text

Business Proposal || knj (8/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting, semi-edited

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 7.0

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: I hope you enjoy, I will add all the extra links later. Please please please let me know your thoughts you have no idea how much it helps me. Enjoy!

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m.list | series m.list | wattpad

10 years ago.

You have circled around Dionysus Lake at least three times, in a failed attempt to calm your nerves. In all honesty you aren’t sure why you’re so nervous, it was a simple tutoring session with your friend's brother. Yet, the hammering in your heart and the pressure around your neck was impossible to ignore.

You know this has nothing to do with you finding him attractive. You can find someone attractive but not be attracted to them. Hence Jungkook. You know it has nothing to do with the fact that his meeting place of choice was the one cafe that was slightly out of the budget you set aside for iced coffees on the weekday.

What you do know is that it has everything to do with the fact that this is something new. A little hiccup in your perfectly curated daily routine. From now on every Tuesday and Thursday you will be meeting up with Kim Namjoon at seven o’clock at Serendipity Cafe. Who by some miracle will hopefully have you understanding the PEMDAS rules that you’re hundred percent sure we’re taught wrong to you. No more will be your days in which you stay at HYBE U’s seven floor library, cranking down on research or polishing essays after math class. No more will be your days that you decide that maybe it was time for some me time, and enjoy a nice long relaxing bath with different bath salts, bath bombs, and candles in an attempt to relax your racing thoughts and aching muscles.

No, now you have to squeeze in a half an hour walk after your algebra class to give yourself a breather. So, you don’t have to face your friend's brother all frazzled and annoyed that you have successfully sat through a math class without understanding a thing. Really, your nerves are really due to the fact that you don’t want to seem incompetent; but is it your fault that you’ve had incompetent math teachers or lack of math teachers throughout your academic year? It’s not your fault they couldn’t explain complex terms in a simple form. Or that they took advantage of the system to get close to younger children. You were cheated out of a decent understanding of math because the academic system simply worked against you.

It’s a thought you have been turning over and over in your head since you woke up this morning. You’ve been trying out every other excuse in the book.

“I’m sorry they had us do flawed computer programs in middle school instead of actually teaching us something.”

“You see I couldn’t really do my math homework growing up because I had ballet class at four until eight.”

“I’m actually really smart I just don’t understand how the fuck I have to apply an exponent when there’s a parenthesis involved.”

All of these excuses were dumb. A mask for the actual truth. Math was uninteresting, impalpable. It stayed constant and lacked excitement because you couldn’t see the puzzles laid out before you. That, and sometimes you sneakily read a book in the back of the class or whispered about the next big boy band with your equally as boy crazed friends Shalimar and Ruth.

Still, after your third wrap around Dionysus lake, you’ve decided that if questioned you’d just come clean.

“I’m stupid and I absolutely have no idea why we have to have letters and numbers mingle with each other.”

Hopefully he'll appreciate your honesty and grow a soft spot for you. At least that’s what you hope for. And you keep hoping for as you steadily approach the large wooden doors of Serendipity. There’s still about ten minutes until seven, but you figured you’d get there a bit early to grab a good seat. One in a section that’s quiet but not too quiet because the last thing you want while you sip on your peppermint tea is to be consumed by your overwhelming thoughts while you wait for your tutor.

You approach the counter, gripping the leather strap of your purse, going over your order in case you stumble upon your words due to pressure.

“Welcome to Serendipity whe—oh hey you’re Kookie’s girl.” The man behind the counter says in awe. While you cringe at the fact that you’re being referred to as Jungkook’s girl. You remember the doe eyed man referring to the man now wearing a button down with what seems to be condoms printed all over it as Hobi. Though his nametag states that his name is Hoseok. You try not to dwell on it for too long because he’s looking at you curiously. Probably wondering why you haven’t greeted him back or placed your order.

You shake your head, circling your moon shaped bag back to the front of your body, attempting to hide your discomfort. “Oh, hi, um, Jungkook’s just a friend.” You swallow, while he smiles in acknowledgement.

“I see, things are complicated. I get that.” He brushes you off before turning to the iPad in front of him. Before you can counteract with a ‘no it’s actually very simple, we share classes and he’s unfortunately picked me to annoy.’ He speaks up and gets right to the point. “What can I get you cutie?” He finishes, looking at you through his bangs.

The heat in your body erupts. No guy has ever been this forward with you but you’re positive this is just part of his customer service training. If he ever had one. Either way he’s talking you up and making you feel seen, which you assume is a specialty of his and probably why the cafe is crowded with many young adults.

With a grin you say. “Just a hot mint chocolate latte.” You nod in assurance before opening up your purse and taking out your wallet. When you fish your card out and go to swipe it across the reader a hand stops you. Startled, you look up to find Hobi or Hoseok smiling wide at you.

“No need, it’s already paid for.” He takes his hand away and gives you a white buzzer instead.

You furrow your brows in confusion. How has your drink already been paid for when you’ve just entered? You aren’t complaining, you did just save some money, but that small amount of happiness doesn’t mean that you aren’t confused.

The cashier seems to read your confusion and he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Namjoon paid for you earlier when he ordered his drink.”

“What?” You glance down at your phone to see the time. Did you get it wrong? The two of you agreed on seven, and you even confirmed it this morning through a quick text just to be sure. So, why does the analog clock on your phone read 6:55, and Namjoon has possibly already been waiting for you.

You curse under your breath and quickly put your wallet in your purse before turning around to look at the almost empty cafe. There’s only a couple of people occupying the circular tables. All of them fully immersed in their books or laptop screens. Namjoon is nowhere in sight. You look back at Hoseok—you’ve decided to refer to him as such since it’s what’s on his nametag—and he laughs at your confusion.

He lifts up a finger signaling up, “he’s on the second floor, got here about an hour ago.”

His statement doesn’t do anything but worsen the panic already coursing through your veins. Maybe you did misinterpret the time, still it wouldn’t make sense because wouldn’t he have texted you by now asking where you were?

“Um thank you…”

“Call me Hobi.” He waves a hand in front of your face. “Any friend or special friend of the boys gets the privilege to call me Hobi. Plus Hoseok—” He points to his nametag with a boney finger. “Sounds too serious.” He shrugs.

You nod your head. “Thank you Hobi.” You rush out the acknowledgement and turn around and speed walk to the industrial style spiral staircase.

It’s a dizzying journey up, but once you make it to the final step you spot the man that has your nerves at an all time high. He’s sitting in the far corner next to a floor to ceiling window. His back is hunched as he types away on his laptop. Today he’s ditched the beanie and you can see his dark brown hair. A few strands of his bangs sneak their way behind the thick rims of his black glasses. He’s wearing a simple gray long sleeve, with black sweatpants. He looks relaxed, the opposite of what you’re feeling because the thing you hate most in the world is keeping people waiting.

With quick steps you approach the table, halting when you get to the front of a chair. “I’m sorry, I thought we agreed on seven.” You rush out instead of a proper greeting. In a quick motion he lifts his head and takes off the earbuds inside his ears, and you feel like more of an idiot than before because of course he would be wearing noise canceling earbuds.

“Hey, you’re here. Did you order something? I told Hobi that I would just pay for what you wanted.” He grins and stands up, extending his hand for you in a handshake.

You put your hand in his and feel a shiver run down your spine when his cold one meets your clammy one. “Am I late?” You tilt your head to the side.

Namjoon shakes his head, and lets go of your hand before sitting down again. “No, you’re right on time. I just got here a bit early to get a head start on an essay due by the end of the week.” He reassures you, and finally you can let out the breath you had been holding in.

You feel calmer now. Relieved. You set down your stuff on an empty chair and take the seat directly in front of him. You place your white buzzer in front of you, tracing the circular ridges. Now, that you’re not in such a panicked state you can finally show your gratitude to his selfless actions. “Thank you for the drink, you didn’t have to pay for it.”

The busy man smiles and waves his hand in front of his face to brush you off. “It’s no big deal, Hobi gives me discounts anyway.”

“So, I’ve heard.” You whisper recalling the first night you met him a week ago. Since then, Jungkook snuck his brother’s phone number to you the next day at the library. He didn’t say anything, he just passed by you with a green drink from the only smoothie place on campus and a sticky note saying:

Text Namjoon, he’s forgetful. -JK

It took the whole day to muster up the courage but finally you sent a simple text regarding your name and the fact that his younger brother had been the one to sneak you his number. In case, he assumed you had gone through multiple deep dives on the internet to retrieve it. Thankfully, Namjoon didn’t question it and just replied with a simple greeting. Then the two of you got into a brief conversation that lasted about two days because you’re also forgetful and forgot to reply to his messages. Basically coordinating a plan further than the one you had discussed the first time you met.

It was strictly business. Yet, a part of you felt a little happy that you were meeting and talking to somebody new.

Just as you’re about to take out your small notebook and pen from your purse your buzzer comes to life, filling the spaces of silence in the air surrounding the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes tear away from his computer screen, and you’re about to stand up when he beats you to it. He quickly grabs a hold of the noisy device saying, “Don’t worry I got it,” and he disappears down the stairs.

You’re now sitting by yourself, wallowing in your over consuming thoughts. Most of them involve the story Jungkook told you about his very eventful weekend while the two of you were walking to your math lecture earlier today. Truly, it was so odd knowing that he had run into Taehyung at a club in the rich part of town. The two of them stayed together the entire night and even brought home two girls to Taehyung’s apartment. Thankfully, he didn’t share further than that, but he did share that he was in love. In which you rolled your eyes so hard it gave you vertigo.

In the few months that you have known the man. He has claimed that he has been in love with every single girl he’s slept with. Which surprisingly, given his flirty nature was not a lot. What was surprising to you was Taehyung being at the club. It’s not out of character for him, but Saturday nights were always spent at Jimin’s one bedroom apartment catching up on life, and binge watching One Piece. When his text message came through on Saturday evening saying that he wasn’t feeling very well and skipping out. You couldn’t help but feel a little sad because you hadn’t seen him in a while.

Taehyung was always out and about, chasing every new adventure he could grasp. He called it inspiration for his art, but you always knew there was another underlying reason. One he never cared to explain because in all honesty it only made sense to him. He was a tough book to get through. Sometimes it keeps you questioning why you even have a soft spot for it. Though, you suppose it is the backstory the two of you share. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit hurt knowing he had chosen to not ditch you but Jimin as well.

The night wasn’t a bust and you managed to finally make a significant breakthrough on the anime. Twenty episodes in one night was something that needed to be awarded. It did feel a bit awkward when it was just the two of you. It was as if there was an invisible ceiling slowly crushing you, because on Saturday for the first time ever the two of you found yourself stuck. Nothing to talk about. No updates on life, only the sound of the anime doing its best to fill the void of Taehyung not being there that the both of you unspokenly felt.

It made you question a lot of things. Like was it maybe time to finally part ways? A chilling thought that sent shivers down your spine and one you pushed so far into the back of your head. One you really don’t want to think about now, especially when you’re about to succumb yourself to a full extra hour of torture. Otherwise known as: College Algebra.

“Hobi says that if you take a picture of his latte art to tag him if you post it.” Namjoon voices, placing a small tray in front of your open notebook. A white mug with a beautiful Jack O'Lantern drawn in white foam decorates the top of your warm decaffeinated latte. It’s impressive, surely puts all those swans and hearts to shame.

“He’s a big fan of Halloween, and he always says that fall time means it's Halloween everyday.” Namjoon finishes with a chuckle, as he takes the seat in front of you again.

You laugh a little, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your jean jacket. “I can get behind that.” You say as you click on the camera app and snap a couple of pictures.

Unbeknownst to you, Namjoon is watching as you rearrange the contents on the table. To get the right aesthetic for your perfect picture. He can’t lie, it's a little endearing, seeing somebody so excited over latte art he has grown accustomed to seeing. It’s something he will definitely spill onto Hoseok before he leaves. His friend was crazy talented in many areas and he hates that instead of sharing all his passions out with the world. He’s stuck running Serendipity because his grandfather wanted the neighborhood's hub to stay in the Jung family. When he should be out in the world sharing his clothing designs with anyone who’s willing to listen.

Namjoon’s thoughts are interrupted by your extended hand, holding out your phone for him. “What’s his instagram?” You grin, and his eyes make their way to the small phone screen. A beautifully taken picture, showing off the spooky pumpkin with a caption reading,

Halloween should be all year round @--

Namjoon lets out an ‘ah’ before taking your phone and quickly typing out his friend's handle. He reads the caption again, double checking to see if he made any mistakes, Halloween should be all year round @uramyhope.

He nods in approval and hands you back your phone. Deep down he feels a surge of something foreign. He can’t necessarily put his finger on it but regarding Hoseok’s statement when he first met you last week, when he asked both his brother and him for your number. He feels a little strange, knowing that he’s basically given the two of you a way to start communicating outside of him and Jungkook. Knowing the aspiring designer, he won’t miss a beat, and that makes him feel a bit odd.

He shrugs it off though, pushes away the churning in his stomach, concluding that it was because he chose to consume caffeine so late in the evening. He looks back at his computer screen, while you type away on your phone. He continues to ignore it, saves the document on his computer two times before closing the lid. He pushes it aside, and clears his throat, catching your attention.

Quickly you lock your phone and stuff it into the pocket of your jacket. You look over at Namjoon, his hands clasped in front of him and a scowl prominent on his face. It resembled the same one he transformed into the first night you met him. When he coldly stated he was done with blind dating thanks to his mother and step brother. Though, this time it does feel less intense, probably due to the fact that he knows you’re just here to be his tutee and not his future wife.

Still, it lets you know that time was ticking and it was finally time to get down to business.

“How have you gone on this long without understanding the basic principles of algebra?”

Namjoon is serious. He means business and you’re about to pull out the hair from your scalp.

“Maybe because I never had a permanent math teacher, they’d all leave in the middle of the year.” You pout, crossing your arms in front of you and slumping down in your seat.

He lets out a sigh before sliding your notebook to his side of the table. The metal spiral scratching against the wooden surface, letting out an unpleasant noise making you cringe.

“That’s a good excuse.” He says, grabbing his red pen and making all sorts of marks along the paper. You don’t need to know what steps you got wrong while solving the math problem. You know exactly where you went wrong. It was the second you signed up for the class even if you didn’t have much of a choice.

You groan, throwing your head back. “It’s not an excuse. My eighth grade teacher left in the middle of the year because she got pregnant, my ninth grade teacher unfortunately was diagnosed with cancer. Then my tenth grade teacher was accused of being a pedophile so he was fired an—“

“Okay,” Namjoon cuts you off, setting down his pen on top of your notebook. “I understand, your school was just shitty at keeping teachers around.” He grins, placing the notebook in front of you again. “But did you ever do your math homework?” He tilts his head to the side in curiosity.

Unfortunately you’ve been caught. “No,” you whisper, dragging your fingernail down the spiral.

The sound he lets out tells you enough. He’s proven his point with the sarcastic hum that escapes his mouth. “In my defense I had dance practice everyday after school from two to four and the ballet from five to eight.” You add but it does little to prove your innocence. Instead, it makes you look guiltier or maybe not you but your parents because who would choose an extracurricular activity over academics. Especially when they knew their daughter was absolute shit at math. They did try though, but even the math tutor they hired back in high school could not get through to you.

“I see,” he puts a pensive hand on his chin leaning back. The look he gives you makes you feel small. You can’t tell if he’s judging your upbringing or the you now who can’t seem to understand the simple PEMDAS rules.

“Your problem isn’t even that bad. It’s easy to fix. You know what each operation does. You just get confused with the order along the way.” He leans forward, picking up the pen and pointing to the problem you just finished doing. “You know to do parenthesis first, but then you forget that parenthesis don’t really go away. That’s your first mistake.”

It’s like a lightbulb has suddenly flicked on inside your head as you watch him solve the problem while thoroughly explaining each step. Writing out every single step even if it was unnecessary, but it helps.

“So the answer should be seventeen and not twenty-two.” He finishes, and the puzzle slowly starts to connect itself before your eyes. The steps are laid out perfectly and neatly. The parenthesis stay until the equation is factored to the lowest it can go. And you’re about to jump across the table to give the man before you the biggest hug. He’s the only one who's been able to point out what you’ve done wrong your whole life and then explain it easily.

You lift your head up, wide eyed and say “oh, that makes sense.”

Namjoon laughs, almost as if he’s relieved but also disbelieved. You start to feel bad because for the past hour he’s been trying to explain to you the basic principles in every way possible. And it was only until he explained it to you in baby terms that you finally understood. You’re about to apologize, but instead you’re left stunned by his next words.

“I’m giving you homework for the next time we see each other on Thursday.” He hums, flipping to the next page. Your eye twitches a little at the thought of math homework. If you never did it while you were in school and getting graded for it, why would you do it now?

“Homework?”

He hums, and begins to write down a bunch of different math problems. He can sense that you’re about to fill him with different complaints, so he speaks up. “Do you want to pass math class?

“Yes, but do you really need to give me homework?”

“How many hours were you in dance class growing up?”

“I don’t remember like five hours, but what does that have to do with you giving me math homework.”

“What were you doing for five hours?” He lifts his head, handing you your notebook. You take it looking down at the ten perfectly curated algebra problems.

You want to throw up.

“Practicing.”

“Exactly, and how are you going to pass math?”

You huff, seeing exactly where his question was heading. Proving a point or whatever. Jungkook did mention his brother was a bit of a smart ass. Now you’re unfortunate enough to be at the receiving end.

With a grunt you close your notebook. “Fine, I'll do the homework.”

Namjoon smirks, tapping his ear, leaning in further into the table. “No, I want to hear you say it please.”

You stuff your small spiral notebook into your purse, snatching your special pink mechanical pencil from his side of the table. You spent too much money on it to let—your stupid math tutor who is now giving you homework to make you suffer—steal it.

“I need to practice math.” You mumble, zipping up your bag, and putting it over your shoulder.

Namjoon laughs, letting his red pen fall against the wooden table with a clank. You roll your eyes before standing up. At least your suffering was amusing to someone.

You cross your arms in front you waiting for his laughter to die down. When it does he looks at you, watery eyes from joy and you feel a slight tug in the inside of your chest. You push it to the side, convince yourself that it’s just the irritation bubbling up inside of you.

“Are you done?”

He nods, shuffles around the table to put his stuff away. “How are you getting home?” He questions, standing up and hoisting his vintage messenger bag over his shoulder.

You shrug, “the bus.” You state, pulling up your phone to check the bus schedule. If you can catch the next bus that comes in ten minutes then you’ll still be able to get home with a couple of seconds left of daylight.

“I’ll go with you then.” He states firmly, standing up abruptly and walking past you. It leaves you no room to argue against him.

You’re quickly starting to realize that once he says something firmly enough to be believed as the truth. There is absolutely no room left for a final say.

And they call you stubborn…as if.

The bus arrived a minute late. A minute that felt longer than what it should’ve felt. The two of you were the only ones standing side by side under the dim light of the bus stop.

It’s one thing to be in the same room as your tutor while the only thing the two of you talk about is math. It’s another thing to have him offer to walk you home. There’s no conversation. There’s no way to start a conversation. The only thing you really know about him is that he’s still studying, he is Jungkook’s step brother and he’s a philosophy major. The only philosophers you knew off were the ones from Ancient Greece. All the readings for your Introduction to Modern Rhetorics course that you were assigned to do were somewhere buried in the back of your mind.

You don’t want to start up a conversation in which you know you won’t be able to keep up. You remember very little about the readings and somehow the things you do remember blend into one another. So you can’t differentiate between what one philosopher said and what the other said.

Instead, Namjoon and you walk in silence. At a safe distance but close enough to still feel the presence of the other. Then you stand in the bus stop. Neither of you sit on the cold metal bench because it’s still not cold enough for them to turn on the bench warmers. And when you see that the bus is a minute late, you start to feel the slightly awkward air around the two of you get thicker.

You’re about to bite the bullet, take the embarrassing moment for some sort of small talk when the bright blue bus turns the corner. You watch it approach the stop fast. At least that’s what it feels like and soon enough the driver opens the double doors to welcome the two of you.

Surprisingly it’s not full. There are a few people occupying the seats, but there’s enough room to not feel like you’re being squished upon one another. Namjoon lets you enter first. Once you click your transit card against the reader you scan the rows for an empty seat. And of course, there’s two left in the far back. You walk to it quickly. Pass the exhausted bystanders and take the seat against the window.

After all, you will be here for the next twenty five minutes. Though, it’s not only occurred to you that you don’t know where Namjoon lives, until he takes up the seat next to yours. You want to ask if he’s going out of his way or if his place is along this route. But you don’t want to pry too much. You’ve only just met him officially. You also don’t know what you would do with yourself if it does turn out that his place is out of the way. Probably, apologize profusely for being such an inconvenience.

To save yourself from the discomfort you sights upon the buildings outside the window. Your daydreaming only lasts a few seconds when you feel a light tap against your shoulder. In a quick motion you turn your head to face the man sitting next to you. You tilt your head in question and he opens his mouth to speak.

“What’s the deal with you and Jungkook?”

The question feels like you’ve been hit by whiplash. It’s not the first time you get asked about it. Your longtime friend Jina has brought it up a few times, but you always reply with the same exact answer. “I guess we’re friends.” You shrug.

Namjoon hums in acknowledgment, nodding his head. He looks ahead for a few minutes before looking back at you. “Are you sure?”

Now, this question takes you aback. Nobody’s ever questioned your honesty. At least until now.

You quirk a brow and nod. “Yes, we share a few classes and sometimes we study together. But it always feels like I’m there to study and he’s just there to talk because he never shuts up.” You rant.

“Ah,” he chuckles, moving his head in confirmation. “That sounds like him, when he was younger he never talked, but then he turned fifteen got a little confident because he found out a few people found him cute and he just never stopped talking then.” Namjoon reveals, making you smile. “He also talks in his sleep.” He adds, smiling when he hears you let out a giggle.

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel as awkward as before. It feels a bit simpler. And you find yourself leaning into his aura a little more.

“I think he likes you though.” He adds, making your eyes grow wide in surprise. Maybe you’re dumb or you just don’t understand flirting thanks to the two very unserious relationships you had between the transition of high school and college. But from what you do know is that Jungkook holds no romantic feelings or a liking towards you. That’s something you’re very confident in.

“I don’t think so.” You scoff. “He would be stupid if he did.” You wave him off, and look out the window. You catch his reflection in the glass. He’s looking down at you, smiling in amusement. It somehow makes your cheeks get a bit hot and you divert your gaze down to the metal border of the window.

“He sat me down on our couch last night and laid down some ground rules.” He speaks up, looking ahead again. He lifts his hand and starts, “I’m not allowed to let you out of my sight, I have to be nice to you, and Hobi is not allowed under any circumstances get your number, which somehow I failed at doing.” He shrugs and counts with his fingers as if that proves his statement.

You stare at his hand before looking up at him again, you’re at a loss for words. Your thoughts are all jumbled up. Somehow you know tonight you won’t be able to sleep. You will now be questioning every single interaction you’ve had with Jungkook in the past few months.

Clearing your throat you say, “that doesn’t mean he like…has feelings for me.”

He lifts his hands up in defense. Your tone is harsh and he finds it amusing. He continues, “don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just relaying information on something I’ve observed.”

You finally turn to look at him. Your eyebrows are drawn together in a scowl. “No offense but your observation is stupid.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting like a child. It makes Namjoon laugh loud enough to turn heads, causing you to look at him alarmed. It only makes him laugh harder and when you’re about to reprimand him, the automatic voice sounds in the speakers of the bus. It announces your stop and you scramble quickly to press the bright red button to stop the bus.

This shuts Namjoon up, he looks around, biting the inside of his cheek before nodding his head in confirmation. “This is your stop,” he voices just as the bus comes to a halt.

You nod, taking out your bus card from your purse and standing up. He copies your movements, makes his way to the card scanner and places his card against it. He doesn’t wait for you to exit he simply does and stands outside on the sidewalk, hands in his pocket. You scan your card and take the leap of faith from the bus stairs to the sidewalk. You land next to him, thanking your lucky stars for catching you and finally you voice out the question that’s been dying in the back of your throat.

“This is not your stop is it?”

“It’s not but, I promised Jungkook you would get home safely.” With that he turns on his heels and escapes the light of the stop, appearing again a few feet ahead underneath the street light. “Are you coming?”

“Do you do everything Jungkook says?” You grumble. The argument in which you state that you’re a big girl who is more than capable of walking home by herself escapes you. Only because when you’re finally standing in front of him. His head towering just a few inches above yours, it finally hits you. The jolt that springs in the pit of your stomach. The tug inside your heart that will have you up all night because it feels like a terrible case of heartburn. And the seed, his soft gaze plants inside of your mind.

It’s a mistake, a big one and you’re now regretting taking up Jungkook’s offer to have his brother tutor you. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all. The slow cascade down the wall you’ve built surrounding your emotions. You can feel it crumble already, ready to run down a dead end street, because that’s what it feels like. Whatever you’re feeling inside.

“I don’t.” The soft timbre of his voice brings out, you’re thankful it helps you find your way back down to the ground, but you’re not a fan of the way it paints goosebumps across your arms.

He continues, “I don’t want him to lecture me for not looking out after his friend.” He emphasizes the last part, combining it with a wink. You know what he is implying and you can’t help but feel a bit of the drink you had an hour ago threatening to make its way up your throat.

“You’re not going to give up are you?” You walk past him. It’s best to have him a few feet behind than right next to you. The space gives you time to regain yourself, yet it doesn’t last because in seconds he’s right next to you. His arm is so close. It almost brushes against yours. Thankfully it doesn’t but you can smell his cologne. It’s soft, and warm. Like fresh laundry on a sunday morning. It makes your insides burn and you know that from now on you will be looking for that scent everywhere so you can call it yours.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him this protective over someone apart from his mom.” He whispers now, and the lower his voice gets the lower it sinks inside of you. “You must be special to him.” He concludes.

“I think I’m just the first girl who's never kissed his toes and finds him annoying.” You halt in front of a street light, and he stops with you. The little man signals red—do not go. You turn your head from side to side questioning your safety. If you run now, you will likely still be alive but most importantly away from the man next to you. Honestly, you’re a bit confused. When he was talking about algebra the only thing you could focus on was how to get from point a to point b while solving the problem.

Now that the moon is dim and the streets are emptying out. The only thing you can think about is how soft and ethereal he looks. Nothing like how when you first met him, but something straight out of a modernized fairy tale. It’s hitting you unexpectedly and you begin to wonder if it’s because your exhaustion is finally settling in, making you delusional.

“That could be true, but I think that you’re here to stay for a long time.” He chuckles. The little man switches to green and he takes the step.

“Why do you say that?” You walk fast to catch up to him. You realize that he is blindly following you and you to him. Sure, you’re almost home, but he’s leading the way as if he knows where he’s going. As if he’s done this before with you and has been doing this with you his entire life. It doesn’t do anything to calm your beating heart.

He stays quiet. He keeps on walking, stealing secret glances your way to see if he’s still at the same pace as you. It stays this way until you stop in front of a cute town house. The door is decorated with an autumn reef. The worlds ‘welcome fall,’ take up the entire circumference. There’s a red bell on the handle, to signal when someone is home since the doorbell has been broken ever since you could remember.

You’re home. But for some reason it had already felt like you were home.

“If it’s not Kook then it’s Hobi. Plus I need to make sure you pass math.” He voices.

You look at him, tilting your head in confusion. Until your mouth widens in a silent ‘oh’ recalling the question he had failed to answer a minute ago.

“I think your brain has been corrupted by reading into things while you do your research.”

He chuckles, “again don’t shoot the messenger, it’s not surprising though.” He shrugs, “My brother never shuts up about you, and Hobi hasn’t stopped asking for your contact information since you first walked into Serendipity a week ago.”

You roll your eyes, turning away from him and pressing your palm against the keypad of your house. It lights up, showing numbers and you quickly enter the code, wait for the little lock to signal it has been unlocked and you turn the knob.

Before you walk in you turn to face him again. “I won’t argue with you against the whole Hobi thing. But I know Jungkook doesn’t have feelings for me. If he did he wouldn’t tell me about all the dates he’s gone on and ask for advice whenever he has relationship or situationship problems. Plus he says he’s in love with someone he met this weekend.” You reason.

Namjoon takes his hands out of his pockets, raising his hands in defeat again. “Fine I’ll drop it, but I do think he finds you special. That’s all.” He states firmly and once again you’re reminded of that tone. He’s gotten the last word and you won’t bring up another one because if not then you’d be walking a tight circle around each other.

“Agree to disagree.” You smile, taking one step inside your house. “I’ll take your word for now. Thank you for walking me home. You didn’t have to even if Jungkook asked you to.”

He buries his hands into his pockets and grins. “I also wanted to.” He takes one step back. “Good night, I’ll see you on Thursday.” And with that he turns around, starts his way down the same path that led the two of you here.

Home.

You’re left astounded. In a rush to feel comfort once again, you hurry through the door, slamming it behind you, pressing your back against it. For a moment you’re scared your parents might find you in this state, wallowing in feelings you can’t begin to understand. Then you remember that they were at dinner with their friends, and you’re thankful that you still have some time to regain yourself.

Namjoon’s words cut deep. Not what he said about Jungkook. You know as well as you know your name that romantic feelings between the two of you are nonexistent. But you also know that he said he wanted to walk you home.

Chivalry might not be dead but the bar is low, because he wanted…he wanted…he wanted to wa—

Beep.

Your phone goes off signaling a message. With all the ditzyness a girl with a school girl crush can have. You fish out your phone with a haste, what if it’s him.

Though, that thought dies as quickly as it was conjured. It’s not him, but it’s a notification that in the same right births a little flame inside of you. Maybe not as bright as the one Namjoon left behind, but it has the potential to grow into something more.

uarmyhope wants to send you a message.

Your smile gets wide when you swipe across the notification. It opens up to your Instagram and it quickly directs you to your DMS.

You open it, and you feel a spark when you read the few choice words that were chosen. They’re simple but they’re enough. And they’re the start of a long night of getting to know someone else.

Your next latte is on me cutie.xx

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escapismblue · 11 months

Text

literally blame @neometalsilver for this but here’s how fucking unwell I am about Sonic being Tails’ parental unit.

context: this is using my own timeline of the games/headcanons so yeah. if shit doesn’t register as canon refer to that.

ANYWAY-

Sonic just found a kid when he was 11 while living in the woods and took him in because what was he supposed to do? he’s not a social person, he doesn’t know how to keep friends, but that’s a kid. a scared kid that needs someone to look after him. he doesn’t think he’ll do a great job, but he has to at least provide the kid food and safety. at least until he can figure out what’s best for the kid.

he’s lucky Tails is a genius and can already read and write because he can’t talk. he doesn’t want to. the sound reverberates in his head and makes him sick he can’t talk. Tails is okay with that though. he reads whatever Sonic hastily writes on paper and he learns sign language faster than Sonic had.

food’s already tight. it’s hard to scavenge and Sonic can only steal so much food without locking himself out of every town or village on the islands. he’s already malnourished as hell himself and now he has to find more food.

Sonic eats even less. he has to. Tails is 4, Sonic is 11. he can deal with less food. Tails is growing and even though Sonic can’t run as much because he’s so tired. his metabolism eats through whatever food he manages to eat for himself. his body hides it though. he looks fine and Tails is looking better and the kid is okay and that’s. enough.

Mighty and Ray meet up with Sonic again and Mighty sees Tails and He Knows. because that’s what he did. Sonic doesn’t know what to do when Mighty gives him a look that’s knowing because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he sure as hell didn’t know he and Mighty were still friends because he doesn’t know what friendships even are.

Sonic doesn’t understand people. he never has. he doesn’t trust people all that much. he can work with people when necessary but that’s… that’s all. people are scary and cruel but god there’s this kid that’s looking up to Sonic and maybe. maybe he should try and believe the world is good because he wants things to be good for his kid.

his kid?

the kid. he’s taking care of Tails but he’s not…

he “borrows” books from the library to read them. to teach himself about the world he’s bared himself from. he reads all the lessons kids are taught. he learns how the world works and then teaches Tails and sure he could just give the kid the books because god the kid is smart but he needs Tails to believe that he is capable.

Sonic needs to prove to Tails that he is reliable. that he’s gonna be there and get them out of whatever they get into. or whatever Robotnik forces them into.

he will do what he has to.

but he’s so scared. he’s not used to people relying on him or being attached to him. he’s so scared of that attachment he wants to run he has to be alone, alone is safe but Tails is there and he’s sleeping and he’s cuddled up to Sonic and Sonic cannot and will not be like the cruel adults that exist just to make his life worse.

when Sonic 2 happens he’s so proud of how capable Tails is. he’s not that nervous, Tails is doing great. sure, he doesn’t love Tails being dragged into stuff like this but it’s okay. it’s okay because Sonic will always be there to take the hit if Tails doesn’t dodge in time. and that’s fine. he’s a kid and learning. he can be clumsy. Sonic’s sturdy anyway.

when they meet Knuckles, Sonic is glad that the echidna seems to take a liking to Tails as a sort of older brother figure and it reassures Sonic that Tails would still have someone. Knuckles is not like Sonic, he is not going to take care of Tails like he does, but he's a protective figure, Sonic doesn't have to worry as much if he needs to be alone. which god he does. his skin is itching.

he loves Tails but he is itching to run.

when they move away from the islands, Sonic is quick to make sure Tails has shelter. he forges whatever he has to so that everything can be in Tails' name. both house and workshop. all of it. they're Tails', not Sonic's. Sonic can't have a house. he's been living in the woods so long that living in a house is so scary to him. he can't.

not yet.

when Shadow dies, Sonic mourns. death is not a foreign concept to him, but Shadow's sacrifice strings. Tails falls ill not long after and Sonic takes care of him. Tails has a high fever and in his delirium calls Sonic dad.

dad.

Sonic is aware of his own mortality, he almost died when he was 8/9. Shadow's death doesn't make him realize he will die someday, but it along with that keyword makes Sonic realize that when he dies he will be orphaning a child. his death will affect other people. he's not just some kid in the woods anymore. Tails will mourn like he does when he does.

Tails will be alone again when Sonic dies.

it doesn't matter how many of Sonic's friends take on a role in Tails' life, Sonic will be abandoning the kid in death. the thing he promised himself he wouldn't do. but what can he do? he's going to die young. it's only a matter of time.

he weeps amongst the trees. he is helpless to do anything besides prepare the kid.

things go on as normal. more adventures, more fights, more injuries, more fussing. it’s as normal as it can be. and sure maybe in the back of Sonic’s head he’s constantly trying to prepare Tails for when his only parent is going to leave him, but it’s minor. it’s fine.

when Sonic finds Emerl on that beach he knows the feeling that fills his heart. he knows that he’s gone from one kid to two.

everything about raising Emerl is rushed and a little different, but Sonic’s never had a normal experience raising a kid. weird is his home base.

there are a couple moments that get Sonic’s anxiety pumping. when Eggman says he has both Emerl and Cream hostage Sonic can feel the fear fill his veins, but of course Emerl gets both himself and Cream out of the situation. that’s his kid.

and it warms Sonic’s heart when he sees Emerl and Tails interact. something about Emerl brings out the childlike qualities of Tails and it’s endearing and so so heartwarming.

but nothing stays good forever.

Sonic had a choice. the world or his child. it wasn’t fair. but he couldn’t let Emerl destroy the planet. if only because he couldn’t force Emerl to deal with that amount of guilt. that wouldn’t be something the robot could live with. he prayed that he would be lucky and that Emerl would survive but…

“This was Gerald's final program... Should a weapon go out of control, the weapon will terminate itself...”

stupid fucking Gerald programming a self-destruct into a being with thoughts and feelings. stupid fucking Eggman gloating as if he won. as if this was something this was something to celebrate. stupid fucking Robotniks. stupid fucking world.

he didn’t regret the burning hot rage that took his over. he didn’t regret regret breaking Eggman’s jaw. he didn’t regret letting the dark energy blind him. he was blinded by tears anyway.

and god, Tails sounded like such a kid when he asked if Emerl would come back if the world was peaceful and Sonic couldn’t crush a kid’s hopes. especially not his own. his only. Sonic could barely keep it together as he agreed with Tails.

he made Tails stay the night at Vanilla’s house, too heartbroken to comfort the kid. tomorrow. he would do it tomorrow. when he had time to grieve on his own first.

turns out grieving was fighting with Shadow until they were both crying. Shadow lost his last connection to the Ark and Sonic? Sonic lost just about the worst thing he could’ve.

it wasn’t fair.

Sonic didn’t mean to be so much more protective of Tails going forward, hell of any kid he interacted with, going forward he just… he could deal with a lot of things. he had been through hell and back. pain was something he had learned to accept as part of his life. hell, maybe part of him would be lost without it. but he couldn’t lose Tails. for god’s sake if he was doomed to an early grave why was it so damn hard to have his kids outlive him?

he noticed Tails starting to doubt himself and that’s the last thing he wanted, Tails was so much better than him in so many ways, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t get over his fears.

was having Tails alive more important than him having a good self-esteem? Sonic was so lost. he had no frame of reference. Sonic had never had parents. no one to look after him. to show him what to do or what not to do in raising his own. he wanted Tails alive but he didn’t want Tails to have a miserable life. how was Sonic supposed to show Tails that he was more than capable without risking the kid’s life?

he didn’t know.

he tried but everything kept getting worse and Sonic didn’t know what to do and-

6 months of torture gave him plenty of time to think. too much time, really.

Sonic thought about plenty of things. but his mind always went back to golden fur and blue eyes. was Tails okay? sure, Sonic ran away a lot to do his own things, but never this long. had anyone taken up on taking care of Tails? did Tails blame himself? he shouldn’t. he’s just a kid.

safe to say he was not happy when he heard that Tails was missing when he got back. he was already upset with his boyfriend, and now his kid was just alone in an active war zone. Sonic knew Shadow had probably watched the kid from a distance but that wasn’t enough. Tails was 12 for fuck’s sake!

Sonic kept up the smiles, of course he did, but it only reinforced that Tails would be alone when Sonic actually passed and that… maybe Sonic was more mad at himself than anyone else.

or maybe the cruel workings of Fate. but no… that couldn’t be it. Sonic had defied fate before. but…

he didn’t know what he was mad at anymore. it didn’t matter.

Tails was in his arms again and maybe, just maybe, Sonic would teach Shadow about parenting.

just in case.

#sonic the hedgehog #tails the fox #miles tails prower #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #sort of not really #sonadow #shadow the hedgehog #sorry I'm mentally ill and sleep deprived #I’m working on charting the survey responses I prommy #there’s just a lot to work through and I’m unwell about these two #emerl the gizoid #I skipped over most of the later stuff in my timeline #I can do another post if people want it #correction *all the stuff later in the timeline #I was gonna go a bit longer but I felt this was a good ending

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narrans · 6 months

Text

My Borrowed Son | 10 | Unwrapped Questions

Chapter Ten | Unwrapped Questions

“Happy birthday Parker! Smile!” Amanda held up her phone and snapped several pictures over and over, not wanting to miss a single moment. The click of the digital shudder seemed to flick the memories from the past six years before Amanda’s eyes. She replayed them in her mind.

She could remember all of it as if it were yesterday.

Finding Parker under the bench abandoned and alone.

His first words.

His trust building as he grew and began to question the world around him.

It seemed like yesterday that she celebrated his first birthday with her where he turned a whopping five years old; at least, that’s where she thought he was age wise. Now he was officially ten years old.

Double digits.

It took everything in her not to break out in a sob as she reminisced. The years had certainly aged him. The minuscule boy no bigger than her thumb was growing up. There was a sense of pride that she had managed to keep him alive and safe all of this time, but also a sense of wonder and fear.

Parker wasn’t two inches tall anymore. He was getting closer to three and a quarter inches, and he would only keep growing from there. He was developing a sense of style and taste in the things he liked. The clothes he wore, which he was beginning to make himself, were more free flowing and flexible while tight in others.

His mind constantly wanted more knowledge. By now, he had read through nearly every book in Amanda’s home and she was renting stacks of books weekly for him from the local library. Parker had also gotten into experimenting recently, which was a huge scare for Amanda.

She had walked by his room one day to find one of the push lights completely disassembled and Parker messing with the wires, connecting them to different elements of the electronic device to figure out how it worked.

That ended up being a discussion about safety which Parker did not enjoy.

The rambunctious boy was also getting into climbing and inventing, which set Amanda completely on edge. Not only was Parker balancing precariously on whatever he could, but he was testing the strength of different items around the house. Once, Amanda found him with a piece of yarn attached to a paper clip which was wrapped around one of the knobs on the bathroom counter.

When she asked him why, he said he didn’t know.

It just felt right.

He had an unexplainable urge to climb and jump and tumble over anything and everything. Try as she might, Amanda couldn’t get him to stop completely. The compromise was that she had an area specifically set up for him to run drills and “play.” It was like a complicated playground with tunnels made from the cardboard tubes from toilet paper or paper towels as well as yarn, toys, and boxes.

Despite his rambunctiousness, Parker also found time for his “quiet” activities, reading and writing in the notebooks Amanda gave him. He was a thoughtful, intuitive child and it really showed in his writing when he dared to share it with his mom.

Now, he was a whole ten years old.

Amanda nearly choked up again as she stared at her son’s face and the little plume of smoke where the candle once stood lit. It was the first candle he had ever been able to blow out by himself.

“Did you get it, mom?” asked Parker as he leaned around his cupcake birthday cake and stood as tall as he could. Amanda had to quickly wipe her eyes with the back of her hand as she nodded.

“Of course I did, sweetie,” she said affectionately. “Now, cake or presents first?”

“Presents please!” Parker cheered as he stepped off of his makeshift stool that he stood on top of to blow out his candle. He darted over to the small, wrapped boxes Amanda had prepared. It was excruciating work, but it was well spent. Parker deserved to have wrapped presents just like any other child after all.

The child bounced on the balls of his feet as he examined the five different packages in front of him. Two of them were about as big as him while the other three were much smaller.

He decided to go with the big ones.

It took him a minute to undo the wrapping as his little fingers fumbled with the paper, but he eventually pulled it back to reveal an MP3 player. It was a very simple model that took AAA batteries, but it held loads of music, which was something Parker frequently enjoyed.

“Oh, thank you momma… but… what is it?” asked Parker. He remembered his manners even when he was confused, which made Amanda chuckle.

“It’s a music player. Now you can play music in your room without asking me. You just flick this right here to turn it on and this is how you switch songs,” Amanda explained as she demonstrated how to use Parker’s new toy.

She knew it was old fashioned technology, but he was still a bit too young in her opinion to have a phone or complete access to the internet. What little access he did have was to watch movies at the end of the night, which was always with Amanda.

“Ohhh! Thank you momma!” Parker said eagerly as he pressed the play button and began listening to the “Happy” song. He moved onto the small packages, which were some more books and new colored pencils, the “world’s smallest video game, and a new board game - chess. It was part of a multipack which Amanda had been rationing out when he achieved something like reading a big book. Now felt like a good time to give him a more complicated game which he could learn over time.

“These are great! Thank you,” smiled Parker as he excitedly went from present to present.

He finally moved onto the last big one, but opening it brought a face of confusion when he found something that looked like a metal rod.

“Momma? What’s this?” Parker asked. He lifted it with a heave and observed the metal ends that clicked together like Legos. Amanda’s smile broadened as her eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Okay, your last big present is… a little bigger than the others. Here,” said Amanda as she got up from the table, making sure she had her camera set to record, as she hurried out of the room and into the back bedroom and emerged with a package that was massive, even for her.

Parker’s eyes widened as he stepped over to the edge of the table and watched as his mom unveiled the final gift. The front of the box read “Snap Circuits,” which already made Parker’s eyes gleam. He enjoyed electronics and figuring out how things worked, and this seemed to be right up his alley.

“Okay, so this right here is an experiment kit. You take pieces, like the one you have over there, and hook them up to a board to understand how electricity and batteries work. If you’re going to be curious, do it safely first,” said Amanda as she slid the box just under Parker. He wasted no time in jumping down into the box to examine all of the parts and pieces.

“Woah! Mom! This is incredible!” Parker said, jaw slackened in awe.

“I thought you’d like it. Now, let’s get it unpacked and get playing with it,” smiled Amanda.

For the next three hours, the two of them clicked and set up different experiments. Amanda did make Parker read most of the instructions out loud, which was frustrating from time to time, but the end result of getting lightbulbs to glow or fans to rocket into the air was absolutely worth it.

It was a great celebration - perfect even.

Still…

There was something deep down that Parker wanted that wasn’t - couldn’t - be wrapped in paper.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Parker, for as long as he could remember, knew he was a little different. He knew he was small for his age, but there was a good reason for it.

Parvi Homunculi Syndrome.

He had it ever since he was a baby. Evidently, it was a rare condition that made him a perfectly sized human, but just significantly smaller than any other human. The condition was so rare that very few people knew about it and, therefore, not a lot of research had been done. Not even the greatest scientists in the world had answers.

There was no cure.

There was no treatment.

Not even online resources had anything significant to say about the condition except that the origin words were from Latin and that it meant “little human.”

It was final.

Parker was always going to be tiny.

He was alright with his size. In fact, he never felt like anything about him was entirely off. The child felt completely normal, but he was told by his mother that his condition kept him fragile, making the outside world a bit more dangerous for him than any other human.

It was like the people who were allergic to sunlight.

Normal, and yet not.

Parker didn’t resent that fact. He enjoyed his time with his mother and loved the time he had to explore, read, and do mostly whatever he wanted.

It was the simple fact that there was no one else like him that made him feel… lonely… from time to time.

The child knew there were kids his age, but he also knew he could never play with them because they wouldn’t know about his condition and not be careful with him. It was a precaution. It was a necessary precaution.

Still…

It didn’t stop him from feeling a bit out of place.

It was a sensation he could never quite get rid of. Everything just felt so big and some of his impulses and thoughts just felt right despite how dangerous they seemed. He remembered an instance with a paper clip and yarn he attached to one another. Parker was tired of asking his mother to lift him to the sink anytime he wanted to play in the sink or if he needed to go to the bathroom. So, he found a solution. He attached a paper clip to some yarn and threw it upward until it caught the knob on the sink drawer.

Was it dangerous to climb it?

Yes. Absolutely.

Did he do it?

Mostly - if his mom hadn’t stopped him.

Parker couldn’t explain how he knew how to climb the rope or why that seemed like the best solution, but he did it anyway.

Another time he was balancing on the edge of the nightstand drawer at the very bottom. His mom told him to be careful, but he still lost his balance and fell toward the ground. Inside of him, something told him how to twist in the air and land safely on his feet - and so he did. His mom fussed and worried over him for a week, but Parker emerged completely unscathed from the incident. He and his mother both were astounded he was alright considering the fall was the equivalent of falling from the roof of a two story building.

There were a million instances just like this, and none of them could be explained.

Nothing stopped Parker from asking questions, but all of them were explained with the condition he had; so, ultimately, he started attributing all of these odd quirks to his genetic condition.

Every once in a while, he felt like he just wanted to be like his mom - normal. But he suspected that others with this condition had the same thoughts and feelings too. Anyone who was deemed a little different probably wanted to feel normal every once in a while, whatever “normal” actually was.

Now that he was ten, Parker felt he had more questions than answers, but not all of them pertained to his instincts. Some of them were about life. There were things he knew, and there were things he didn’t know. And, for the things he didn’t know, sometimes he was afraid to ask. Whether it was natural apprehension for delving into the unknown or because he was afraid to hear the answer, Parker didn’t know.

But, what he did know was that his mom always had a hard time saying “no” to him when it was his birthday.

Now was his one day out of the year where he felt like he could summon the courage to ask some really tough questions.

And this time he was going to do it.

So, after a healthy helping of cake and a movie of his choosing, Parker played with his plate of mostly icing and crumbs as he cleared his throat. His heart was pounding hollowly, but he wouldn’t shy away from his questions today. He had already done so far too many times.

“Um… momma?” asked Parker, gaining his mother’s attention.

“Yes, sweetie?” Amanda asked as she turned off the television and flicked on the nearby lamp.

“Could… um… could I ask you a question? And you not get mad?” Parker asked. Amanda’s body position changed immediately as she faced him, which made his mouth dry.

“Parker, when have I gotten mad when you’ve asked a question? You can always ask me anything and I’ll answer as best as I can. Is something wrong?” His mom’s concern was evident in her signature “mom” tone. It made Parker smile as he heard it. He knew the question came off a bit wrong by asking her not to get mad, but it just sort of slipped out.

“I… I know. I’m okay. You don’t get mad. I just… I just know some questions you… don’t like,” said Parker. His mom’s body stiffened ever so slightly as if she knew the question to come, but she nodded with conviction.

“Parker, you can always ask me anything,” said his mom.

It was enough to get the ball rolling.

“Well… with my… condition… will I get a chance to invite friends over for my birthday?” Parker asked. He knew what the answer would be, but he wanted to ask anyway.

“Parker, I wish I knew the answer to that question. I would love it if you could go out and make some friends like any other kid, but you’re special. Everything here is to help and protect you, sweetie, which I know is hard,” said his mom.

“But, maybe, if we could go to the park together, you can help explain everything and…”

“And kids your age aren’t always as careful as you. They don’t listen as well as you, Parker,” said his mom. Parker drew his legs up to his chest and picked at the lump of icing on his plate.

“Then… could I maybe call friends one day?” he asked. “Like… if you find someone who has a kid who will be careful, and we can play games online or call on the phone and stuff?”

At this suggestion, Amanda perked up.

“Yes, I think I can figure something out. I want you to have friends to play games with. I’ll see what we can do. Yeah? For your birthday, I’ll do this,” suggested Amanda. Parker smiled and nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, yeah! I mean… yes, please,” said Parker. Already, his heart was feeling lighter with the answers he was given.

“Anything else?” asked his mom, her eyes luring out more questions that had been lingering in the corners of the child’s mind.

“Um… I… guess… could… I mean… I love reading, but…” Parker’s next request was a bold one, but it tied into his first desire of meeting other people. He gulped and spat out his desire before he lost his nerve. “I want to go to school.”

His request lingered there for a moment before he saw his mom nodding.

“I know. I’ve seen it for a while now. I know I can only teach you so much, and you probably want to make friends with your classmates too, huh?” asked his mom. Parker nodded sheepishly.

“Yes momma,” he replied.

Amanda sighed, knowing this day would come.

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know about this season, but I’m sure I can get some tests done and have you placed in the fall. Okay? Mind you, it will probably have to be virtual, like how I go to work sometimes. You’ll be able to see and talk to others, but going physically to school might be tricky. Okay?”

It didn’t matter that he had to stay at home. He would get to interact virtually, which was a start.

“Well then, birthday boy, any other questions and requests?”

There was one other thing…

It weighed on Parker, and he wasn’t even sure if he could articulate what he needed or wanted. It was more of the curiosity and the unknown that captured his focus.

“Um… there was… one other thing.”

“Okay. I’m all ears,” said his mom.

“I… well… I was just… wondering… about dad.”

The word left the air feeling charged and static. It took a good thirty seconds for his mom to respond.

“What were you wondering about?”

It was a legitimate question, and Parker honestly didn’t know if he would get this far.

“Um… just… I don’t know. I guess… why he missed my birthday? Why he’s not here? I… see in the shows and movies and stuff that there’s a mom and a dad, and he’s not here,” said Parker. His questions were earnest and meant in innocence and sincerity, which made it all the more bitter for Amanda.

She often left her ex-husband out of all conversation and discussion. Parker had absently asked a few times in the past about him, but now there was a deliberate question about his existence and presence - or lack thereof. Amanda had to take a few deep breaths as she formulated the right words.

She had already thought about these words a while ago, and while she knew Parker would ask her one day about the truth of his size and origin, she didn’t want to shatter his reality here and now.

Not on his birthday.

Maybe not ever.

Everything she said was the truth - but the bitter lying by omission burned her tongue and made her squirm.

“My… husband… he would have been your dad… he left when you were just a baby. He and I… we didn’t get along. We had our arguments and decided it would be best to split - divorce,” explained Amanda as carefully as she could. “I know he would have loved you if he got to know you, Parker, but at the time we made decisions that we thought were best for us, even though that might feel wrong now.”

Parker listened to his mother’s explanation intently. She had never given him so much information all at once.

It still left questions.

Did his dad not love him? Did he not want to try and get to know him?

What did he do wrong?

“Is… is it because of me?” asked Parker. He had asked the question before he had a chance to second guess himself.

Immediately, Amanda leaned over and rested her fingers beside him. Parker wasn’t sure why, but a momentary instinct told him to flinch away at the approaching fingers that he knew and loved. He stood his ground, but the impulse was an odd one. As fast as it came, it went, leaving Parker feeling confused. His mom’s voice brought him back to their conversation.

“Parker, you listen to me. It is not because of you. Do not even think that for a second. We made the best decisions we could in the moment. They may feel wrong now, but we didn’t know that at the time,” said Amanda reassuringly. “You are so loved, Parker. Don’t you forget that.”

Parker looked up into his mother’s features and saw there were tears in her eyes. His eyes started to burn seeing the conviction and passion in his mother’s gaze. He wanted nothing more than to take back his last question.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad,” said Parker as he leaned over and hugged his mother’s fingers, practically wrapping his whole body around them.

“No, Parker. You didn’t make me sad. I’m just sorry I can’t give you everything you want and need. I hope you know none of that is because of you,” said Amanda.

“I know. I know. Don’t cry momma,” said Parker over and over again. Ever so carefully, Amanda rotated her hand and scooped up the small child to hold him to her chest. His little fingers grasped at the fibers on her shirt as he turned and faced her. She could hear his little voice apologizing, but she reassured him that there was nothing to apologize for.

In fact, she was surprised things were going as well as this. She always feared these questions when Parker asked. She feared the day if and when he would question who she was to him.

She was his mom.

But not his mother.

She didn’t carry him or birth him, but she was there to nurture and teach him as if she did.

The difference didn’t matter to Amanda because Parker was her son. She would protect him and love him with everything she was. It was sad she didn’t have all of the answers he wanted. He deserved the truth; but how could she tell him what she didn’t know?

All she could do is tell him the truth as best as she could, even as the difficult questions sat poised on the edge ready to strike at any moment. It made her feel anxious and sick, dreading what might not ever come to pass.

Perhaps that day will never come, Amanda prayed as she held Parker closer.

When the two of them had taken a few deep breaths and felt the air clear, Parker asked to go back to playing with his toys. It was still his birthday so, despite it being his bedtime, Amanda allowed him to stay awake and to play with his toys for just a little longer.

It was his birthday after all.

Parker proceeded to build three more constructions from his book before his eyes could no longer be held open. He needed sleep, and his mom knew it. She took him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and a quick bath before the two of them went to sleep.

As Parker drifted off in his bed in his room, he stared up at the edge of his mom’s massive bed and called, “I love you, momma.”

“I love you, Parker. I love you so very much.”

Parker curled into his bed and smiled.

What a fun birthday….

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Beginning

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queenkeesi · 17 days

Text

Sy-on Boy and the Teenage Anya Incident

—

It was a sunny day at Eden Academy, but the usual carefree atmosphere was clouded by the anxious energy in a small alcove where third graders Damian Desmond, Emile Elman, and Ewen Egeburg were huddled together.

“Bossman, are you sure about this?” Emile asked, his face scrunched up with worry.

While it wasn’t unusual for the three friends to concoct wild schemes, thanks to the ridiculous amount of resources at their disposal—being the children of obscenely wealthy parents—this time, it seemed like they might have taken things a bit too far.

“Yeah, Boss, this seems… kinda crazy,” Ewen added, his pompadour bobbing as he nervously adjusted it.

“Will you two just shut up?!” Damian snapped, frustration clear in his voice. He held up the items he’d painstakingly gathered—a rusty key, a quail’s egg, and a blue marble. “It’s gonna work, alright?”

“Uh, but what if you like… get old but not taller?” Ewen asked, scratching his head.

“Or worse,” Emile shuddered dramatically, “what if you turn into an old man?!”

“Stop being such morons!” Damian hissed, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to turn into an old man! I’ve got the circle, I’ve got the spell, I’ve got everything under control!”

Damian was fuming inside. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outshine his older brother, Demetrius. Demetrius had just been awarded another honor for being the top student in the ninth grade. It was like the universe was rigged against Damian, and he was fed up. Six years ahead—what a joke. So, Damian had decided to close that gap, using a spell from an old book he’d “borrowed” from the Desmond estate library. Today was the day he’d make everything right.

“Now, I just need to stand here and read the passage,” Damian declared, his voice tinged with the kind of determination only a kid with a grudge could muster.

The chalk circle on the ground was a crooked mess, with lines smudged and uneven from where one of them had accidentally stepped. It was the kind of circle that only a group of overconfident third graders could draw—something they thought looked cool, even though it was totally lopsided.

Before Damian could start, a high-pitched voice pierced the air. “Beckyyyyyy!”

Anya Forger’s voice rang out as she bolted across the grass, her little legs pumping furiously as she chased after Becky Blackbell, who was clutching a photo of Anya’s father, Loid, like it was the crown jewels. “Oh my god, Anya, this new photo of Loid! I must keep it!” Becky squealed, too busy swooning over the picture to watch where she was going.

“But you have so many already! And he’s married!” Anya yelled back, their voices growing louder as they closed in.

“Oof!” Becky smacked right into Emile and Ewen, sending them both stumbling backward.

“Hey, watch it!” Emile yelped, juggling the marble like it was about to explode.

“Seriously, Becky! You almost messed up the circle!” Ewen groaned, looking at the chalk lines, now even more crooked thanks to Becky.

“What circle?” Becky asked, staring down at the haphazard chalk drawing. “What kind of dumb stuff are you guys up to?”

Just then, Damian finished reading the passage, his voice rising with excitement. He looked up just in time to see Anya charging toward him like a mini bulldozer. “Sy-on boy!” she shouted, crashing into him with enough force to knock him out of the circle and flat on his back. The next thing they knew, thick pink smoke billowed from the circle, swirling around them all in a chaotic cloud.

As the smoke slowly cleared, the four kids stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock. The figure emerging from the mist wasn’t the eight-year-old Anya they knew—it was a stunning fifteen-year-old version of her. It was like something out of a shoujo manga, complete with glitter, a pink glow, and rose petals fluttering around her. Her short, playful pink bob had grown into long, flowing waves, framing her face with a soft, ethereal beauty. She had high cheekbones, delicate features, and eyes that seemed to hold a depth far beyond her years. The girl who used to eat dog food and play with bugs had transformed into a young lady of grace and poise, standing tall and confident in an Imperial Scholar’s cloak that shimmered in the sunlight.

Damian’s jaw practically hit the ground. Anya was taller—way taller—than he was now. He had to crane his neck just to look up at her. She’s… taller than me?! The thought alone sent his usual bravado into a tailspin of confusion and panic. The girl who used to wear mismatched socks and make goofy faces was now… stunning. Everything about her radiated an effortless charm that left Damian feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable.

Anya blinked her now clearer, more mature eyes as she took in her surroundings. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice smooth and confident, startling the boys with its new, rich tone. Even her voice had changed—it wasn’t the high-pitched, eager sound of a child but a melodic, calm voice that seemed to command attention without even trying.

Her gaze landed on Damian first, and her eyes widened in recognition. “W-what? Damian? Emile? Ewen? Becky?!”

Becky, ever the dramatic one, was the first to react. “Anya? Is that you? You’re all grown up!”

Damian was still speechless, his brain struggling to keep up with what was happening. He felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation in his chest—something that made him feel flustered in a way he wasn’t used to. She’s got an Imperial Scholar’s cloak on… is she even real? And why did the height difference make everything feel so much weirder?

“Yeah, it’s me,” Anya said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “Why are all of you so young? One minute I was just outside with…” Her eyes met Damian’s, and she hesitated, “And now you’re like, seven?”

“Hey! I’m not seven!” Damian snapped, finally finding his voice. “I’m eight, thankyouverymuch! And I was supposed to age up, not you!”

“S-Syon boy…” Anya muttered, her eyes wide as she stared at him. He mistook her shock for something else and was about to tell her off when she suddenly squealed with delight.

“Oh my god, you’re so small and cute!!” Without warning, Anya grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him so hard he could barely breathe. Damian’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he struggled in her grasp, completely overwhelmed by the sudden physical contact—and the fact that she was now taller and holding him like he was the little one.

When Anya finally let go, Damian was left sputtering, his heart racing as Emile and Ewen rushed over to check on him.

“Are you okay, Bossman?” Emile asked, barely able to hide a grin.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” Damian snapped, his voice cracking as he tried to regain his composure. “Just… get off me next time, Stubby Legs!”

Meanwhile, Becky was circling Anya in awe. “Oh my god, Anya, you look amazing! You’re like, a woman now! Your hair! Your outfit! And you’re an Imperial Scholar! Does your cloak have diamonds sewn in?!”

Anya blushed and looked down shyly. “Oh, no, no. But you did alter it, though, Becky.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Becky interrupted, her eyes wide with realization. “So you’re from the future! That means you can tell us about ourselves! Do I have a boyfriend? Do I have a lot of guys who like me? Am I still stylish? Do I still look pretty?”

Anya couldn’t help but smile at Becky’s enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes,” she answered, watching as Becky squealed and spun around in a giddy circle. Even Anya’s smile was different now—more serene and composed, a reflection of the confidence she’d gained over the years. She wasn’t the clumsy girl who tripped over her own feet but someone who had clearly come into her own, with an air of sophistication that made her seem almost otherworldly.

“What about me? Do I have a girlfriend?” Ewen asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yes,” Anya chuckled, making Ewen’s face light up with excitement.

“Oh, oh, me next! Do I have a girlfriend?” Emile asked eagerly.

“No…” Anya replied, watching Emile’s face fall slightly before she added with a playful grin, “But only because you haven’t asked anyone yet!”

Emile’s mood instantly lifted, and he beamed at her. “Awesome! So I just gotta ask someone out. Cool!”

“What about Lord Dami—” Ewen began, but Damian, now boiling with frustration, shoved him aside.

“I don’t care about that stuff!” Damian growled, his frustration boiling over as he desperately tried to regain control of the situation. “But what I don’t get is how you’re still at Eden! If you’re really this old, shouldn’t you have been expelled or something by now?” He glanced over at Emile and Ewen, his voice rising, almost pleading for backup.

But Emile just shrugged. “I dunno, Boss. She seems like she’s got it together.”

“Yeah,” Ewen added, nodding nervously. “She’s got the Eden high school uniform on, plus the Imperial Scholar cloak. She’s probably super smart or something.”

Damian’s irritation spiked as he stared at them in disbelief, his face flushing with frustration. How can they be so gullible? he thought, feeling his composure slip away. It’s like they’ve never even thought about what high school is really like!

Anya chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and empathy as she saw Damian’s mounting frustration. “I guess we all change then,” she said, her tone gentle but with a playful edge.

“Hmph! I doubt I’d socialize with the likes of you by then, Forger,” Damian shot back, crossing his arms and stomping his foot like a child on the brink of a meltdown. “It’s only because they make us do kiddy stuff that we have to deal with each other now.” ‘That’ll show her’, he thought, his heart racing.

“Oh, no, all five of us are friends,” Anya said casually, the remark so offhanded and confident that it felt like a punch to Damian’s gut, causing him to stumble back as if her words had physically knocked him over.

Becky gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “But you and I are still best friends, right?” Her eyes glittered with excitement, already picturing teenage girl shopping trips and sleepovers.

Anya nodded, smiling warmly. “Of course! We just got back from a girls’ holiday in St. Tropezinne.”

Becky started hyperventilating. “Oh my god, really?!”

By this point, Damian had picked himself up, his annoyance turning into a full-blown temper tantrum. “Look, none of us care about your girls’ holiday!”

Ewen and Emile, always eager to chime in, muttered in unison, “We would’ve liked to hear about the food… maybe what the weather was like… if there were other girls…”

“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?!” Damian exploded, his face red as he spun back to Anya, pointing at her accusingly. “Y-you!”

Anya stared at him, surprised, her calm, demure expression only making Damian’s heart pound harder, like the Anya from their time always did when she gave him any attention.

“If you’re really from the future, tell me… am I an Imperial Scholar?” he demanded, the question bursting out of him with desperate intensity. He had to know—he HAD to.

Anya’s smile softened, warm and reassuring, which only made Damian’s nerves fray even more. “Of course you are, Damian.”

For a brief moment, relief washed over Damian, filling his chest with a sense of triumph. ‘He was going to be an Imperial Scholar!’

But then Becky, always the one to stir the pot, leaned in, smirking mischievously. “Yeah, but how many Tonitrus Bolts does he have?” she asked, her tone light, clearly intending it as a joke to tease Damian.

Anya paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Four, I think… maybe five… but I’m pretty sure it’s four.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.

Emile and Ewen gasped dramatically, their eyes wide with terror. “FOUR TONITRUS BOLTS?!” they shrieked in unison, their voices trembling. “LORD DAMIAN?!”

Anya immediately cringed, realizing she had said too much.

Damian’s face drained of color, his earlier relief shattering as the implications hit him like a ton of bricks. His hands balled into fists, his body trembling with the effort to hold back the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “YOU LIAR!” he screamed, his voice cracking with the raw intensity of a little boy on the verge of a meltdown. “I DON’T HAVE BOLTS! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT! YOU’RE JUST A BIG UGGO WITCH!”

“What is going on here?” a stern voice cut through the chaos. Demetrius Desmond stepped onto the patch of grass where they were gathered. Even at fifteen, he was still as gaunt and serious as ever, his hair slicked back in its usual style, his presence immediately commanding attention and silencing the group.

“Why are you screaming at…” Demetrius began, taking a step back in surprise. “This young lady?” He had expected to see the small Forger kid—someone Damian still shouldn’t be yelling at but always was—but a teenage girl? It was clearly inappropriate.

“Oh, Demetrius…” Anya said, recognizing him immediately. She straightened up and stepped toward him, her height now nearly matching his. The difference in their statures only made Damian feel smaller and more out of place.

“Do I know you…?” Demetrius asked, his usually impassive face showing a rare hint of surprise as he took in Anya’s appearance. She didn’t look like any student he knew, yet there she was, wearing the Eden high school uniform and an Imperial Scholar’s cloak.

“No, well, sort of. I’m Anya…” she began, her voice steady and confident, which only deepened the strange, unsettling feeling in Damian’s gut. Wait! He had started this!

“I took the book of spells and tried to use it to make myself your age!!!” Damian interrupted, his voice high-pitched and strained, as he tried to regain some semblance of control over the situation. This was his idea, after all!

Demetrius sighed, a rare crack in his usual composure as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew you took that book. Jeeves called me—you’ve disappointed him, you know.”

“Yeah…” Damian flushed, having been found out. “I took it, and it was supposed to make me older, but this idiot got in the way!” Damian snapped, his voice cracking as he pointed accusingly at Anya, trying to deflect the blame.

“Wait, wait, so you’re seriously Anya Forger?” Demetrius asked, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied her closely. A subtle shift in his expression hinted at something more—a faint blush dusted his usually pale cheeks as he added, almost to himself, “I suppose Mother was right…”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, instantly on edge. “Mother was right about what?!”

But before he could demand further explanation, both Anya and Demetrius raised their hands in unison, silencing him in a way that was both infuriating and strangely coordinated.

“Yeah… that’s me,” Anya confirmed, her voice thoughtful as she pieced it together. “I think the spell somehow… pulled me from my own time, where I’m fifteen, to here and now. It must have affected me instead of just aging Damian, which I’m guessing was his intention…” She glanced at Damian before turning back to Demetrius, who nodded as he absorbed the explanation.

The other Eden students stood quietly, unnerved by Anya’s sudden maturity and the calm, almost adult-like demeanor she now exhibited. It was impressive, but it was also deeply unsettling.

“My biggest concern,” Anya continued, “is that the eight-year-old me has switched places with me. Logically, she’s where I last was, which, if my memory serves, was walking home from school. Not the worst place, but definitely not the best.”

Demetrius nodded in agreement, his usually impassive expression softening slightly with concern. “Yeah, this isn’t a great situation, is it?”

Becky gasped, her eyes wide with worry. “Oh no, Anya! I mean, little Anya! Will she be okay?”

The boys exchanged guilty looks, Emile and Ewen both feeling a pang of responsibility as they glanced up at the older Anya and Demetrius.

Damian clenched his fists, trying desperately to mask the worry gnawing at him. He couldn’t help but hope that Anya—stupid and annoying as she was—would be okay. But the tension in his chest only grew as he watched her.

Anya noticed their concern and smiled warmly, attempting to reassure them. “I think she’ll be fine, actually. I was with my boyfriend, so she’s probably with him now. He’ll definitely take care of her.”

The mention of her boyfriend felt like a punch to Damian’s gut, making his fists clench even tighter. Boyfriend? The word echoed in his mind, making the sting of jealousy and frustration almost unbearable.

Becky, ever the curious one, couldn’t resist. “You have a boyfriend?! What’s he like?” she squealed.

A faint blush spread across Anya’s cheeks as her hand moved to fiddle with the chain of her Imperial Scholar’s cloak, her fingers brushing over the elegant design as she thought about him. “Well, he goes to Eden with us and he’s an Imperial Scholar too,” she said softly, clearly lost in the memory.

Damian’s breathing quickened, his frustration boiling over. “How is any of this possible? There’s no way you have a boyfriend, and no way you’re an Imperial Scholar!” he shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief and rising panic.

The others fell silent, the air thick with tension. They all knew that Anya had actually earned more Stella Stars than any of them in the present, yet the idea that she could have surpassed them so much, even in the future, was overwhelming.

Anya didn’t rise to Damian’s taunts. Instead, she simply patted his head, her expression affectionate and almost maternal. “Aw, little Sy-on boy,” she teased, her tone gentle, making Damian hiss in annoyance, his temper flaring.

Demetrius sighed, looking at Damian with a tired expression. “We’ve been over this so many times, Damian. Anyone can become an Imperial Scholar for a great number of reasons.” His little brother’s obsession with it was starting to wear thin.

“Yeah, Bossman! She’s got medals pinned to her cloak too! Look, a tennis one!” Emile pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ooh, a nebula one! What’s this one for?” Ewen asked eagerly, their voices overly enthusiastic as they admired Anya’s achievements.

Anya sweatdropped, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the kids’ eager, expectant faces all focused on her. “Oh, that’s just from the astronomy club…” she said with a nervous laugh, then quickly shook her head to refocus on the situation. “Demetrius, I know this is all really strange, and I get that you don’t really know me or enjoy working with others, but I really need your help. In the future, we’re more acquainted, and I promise I won’t be a bother.”

“We are? Interesting…” Demetrius pondered. “Very well then, I suppose we can’t just leave little Anya in the future. We should head to my dorm then and leave the kids.”

“What? We can’t help?” Damian’s frustration reached a breaking point. His eyes began to well up with tears he was barely holding back, his face turning red as his emotions spiraled out of control. Not only was Anya older now and benefiting from his plan, but Demetrius, who never solved problems with him, was willing to work with her. His fists clenched tighter, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep the tears from falling. ’Why does everyone believe this?! Why does everyone think she’s so amazing?!’ His voice cracked as he tried to speak and he felt the burning sensation behind his eyes intensify as he struggled to keep his composure.

Anya noticed the telltale signs of Damian’s emotional turmoil, and her heart softened. She bent down to his level, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Damian, it’s not that you wouldn’t be helpful,” she said softly, her tone full of understanding. “It’s just that it’ll be easier for Demetrius to help right now since we’re older… I know it’s frustrating, but it doesn’t mean you’re not important.”

Her words were meant to reassure him, but the tension in Damian’s chest only grew tighter. He bit his lip hard, trying to force back the tears, but his voice still trembled when he spoke. “B-but I did this!” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. “I was supposed to be the one who got older! Not you! I—I—” He choked on his words, his eyes brimming with tears that refused to be contained.

Seeing Damian so close to breaking down, Anya’s heart ached. Without a second thought, she pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping her arms around his tense shoulders. “It’s okay, Damian,” she whispered soothingly. “I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

Damian stiffened in her embrace, desperately trying to hold on to the last shreds of his dignity. He didn’t want to cry—especially not in front of Anya, who seemed so much older and more composed now—but the warmth of her hug and the kindness in her voice made it almost impossible to keep the tears at bay.

Becky, unable to contain her admiration, tried to lift the mood. “Oh my god, she’s so cool!!”

“Wow, yeah, she is cool…” Emile murmured, while Ewen nodded in agreement.

Damian, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions, could only manage a small nod in response, his fists slowly unclenching as he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes before they could spill over. The overwhelming mix of embarrassment, anger, and jealousy left him feeling utterly defeated, but he fought to keep himself together, refusing to let his emotions fully show.

“Okay, yeah, let’s just all go,” Demetrius stated, giving in to the plan as the group made their way toward his dormitory, each of them still processing the bizarre events that had unfolded.

---

As they walked through the high school section of the campus, Damian and his friends felt increasingly out of place. The buildings seemed to loom larger, the older students looked impossibly mature, and everything about the high school section felt intimidating. But Anya and Demetrius, both moving with the ease of those who belonged, were completely at home.

Everywhere they went, people stopped and stared at Anya. No one except the kids and Demetrius knew she was actually the eight-year-old Anya Forger; to everyone else, she was a mysterious new girl who had suddenly appeared, radiating confidence and grace. Whispers followed them down the hallways as students speculated about who she might be.

“Looks like everyone notices Anya!” Becky said as she nudged Damian, “bet you don’t think she’s such a stupid uggo now do you?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “No people are staring cause they think she’s weird.”

Emile and Ewen, always eager to join in on the gossip, chimed in with wide grins. “I dunno, Bossman,” Ewen said with a snicker, “maybe they think she’s Demetrius’s girlfriend.”

Damian’s teeth clenched involuntarily at the suggestion. A strange, unfamiliar wave of jealousy surged through him. But he quickly shook it off, refusing to entertain the ridiculous idea. ‘There’s no way’, he told himself, though the thought still nagged at him.

Becky, not one to let things go, turned her attention to Anya with exaggerated curiosity. “So, Anya, is your boyfriend rich? Handsome? Tall?”

Anya’s expression softened, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yes, he’s all of those things, but…” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she added softly, “Most importantly, he’s kind. We’ve been through a lot together.”

Becky let out a dreamy sigh, clasping her hands together. “That’s so romantic! I want a boyfriend like that! Is he older?”

“No,” Anya replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. “He’s in our class.”

Damian felt his irritation spike, an unpleasant heat rising in his chest. ’What classmate?’ he wondered, his mind racing. ‘And why do I even care?’ But care he did, much to his annoyance. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like stubborn cobwebs.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, a guy from the football team swaggered over, clearly interested in Anya. “Hey there, you new around here?” he asked with a confident grin, his eyes raking over Anya in a way that made Damian’s blood boil.

Before Anya could respond, Demetrius stepped in smoothly, his tone icy and commanding. “Move along.” Despite his slight build and typically aloof demeanor, there was something about Demetrius’s presence—the way he carried himself with that quiet, unyielding confidence that came with being a Desmond—that made people think twice about crossing him.

The football player hesitated, then slinked away, clearly not wanting to challenge the Desmond name. Damian felt a brief surge of satisfaction at seeing the guy retreat, but it was quickly replaced by a gnawing worry. ‘At least she won’t be stuck with that guy,’ he thought with relief. But then a more unsettling idea crept into his mind, one that made his stomach twist. ’But what if she ends up liking Demetrius?’

As they continued walking, Damian’s mind wouldn’t let go of the troubling thought. He imagined Anya and Demetrius together, laughing, studying, walking down the halls… His heart pounded harder, and not in a good way.

A group of girls nearby began whispering loudly, their voices carrying over to the group. “Who’s she? Is she a transfer student? Is she… Desmond’s girlfriend?”

“I don’t know, but she looks really cool though… But why are those kids following them?”

Damian’s hands clenched into fists, his fingers digging into his scalp as he struggled with the idea. MDesmond’s girlfriend?’The words echoed in his mind, almost too much to bear. He could feel an ill sensation rising in his throat, as if the mere suggestion was enough to make him sick.

“Bossman, you okay?” Emile asked, noticing Damian’s obvious distress.

“Yeah, you’re looking a little green,” Ewen added, peering at Damian with concern. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in his head, Ewen added, “Well, to be honest, Anya isn’t exactly Desmond material, right? But Demetrius is kind of… scary.”

Emile nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s always so calm, but you just know he’s thinking ten steps ahead. And remember when he just stared down that rugby player without even blinking? Creepy, right?”

Damian’s mind conjured up a horrifying shoujo manga-style image of a wedding between Anya and Demetrius—Anya in a flowing white dress, Demetrius in a sharp suit, the two of them smiling at each other with hearts in their eyes. The thought made Damian’s stomach turn. He could almost hear the nauseatingly sweet background music that would accompany such a scene.

Becky, always ready to poke the bear, snickered as she glanced at Damian. “Maybe he wants this Anya to stay so she and Demetrius can be together she can be his big sister-in-law! ” she teased, her voice full of mock innocence.

Damian shot her a withering look, his face pale and his heart pounding. Ice ran through his veins as he glared at Becky, knowing she was just trying to get a rise out of him, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling gnawing at him. He said nothing, his thoughts too jumbled to respond. ’Why is this bothering me so much?‘ he thought, the question circling in his mind like a storm he couldn’t control.

As they finally reached Demetrius’s dorm, Damian kept his gaze firmly ahead, trying to bury the irrational jealousy and confusion swirling inside him. But the image of Anya with Demetrius lingered, refusing to let him rest.

Finally, they arrived at Demetrius’s dorm. Damian let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, glad to be off the increasingly unsettling campus. The tension hung in the air, especially for Damian, who couldn’t shake the turmoil churning inside him.

“Right, you three,” Demetrius gestured at the boys, “explain what you did.”

The boys took a deep breath and began to explain the process, as best as eight-year-olds could. Both Demetrius and Anya listened intently, which felt strange to Damian—Demetrius rarely paid attention to him, and now, combined with older, composed Anya, it was unsettling.

As Demetrius flipped through the pages of the spellbook, the conversation naturally paused. Becky sidled up to Anya, still fascinated by the entire situation. “So, Anya… when you get back to your time, will you tell your boyfriend about all of this? I bet he’d be super jealous if he knew Damian was helping you.”

Anya’s smile turned a bit mischievous. “Oh, I think he’d find it pretty funny, if I’m honest.”

Becky oohed, her curiosity piqued. “Nice! Yeah, I bet your boyfriend doesn’t get fazed by other guys at all.”

Anya laughed. “He definitely gets fazed sometimes, but with stuff like that, we can work it out.”

Becky gasped dramatically, looking like she’d just discovered a new life goal. “You’re so mature and cool, Anya! I love it! Am I as cool as you?”

Damian rolled his eyes, clearly fed up with the whole conversation. “Neither of you are cool!”

Anya stared at Damian for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she studied him. Damian’s face flushed red under her intense gaze, her big green eyes making him squirm. She was definitely Anya. “W-what do you want?!” he snapped, stomping his foot in frustration, trying to break the tension.

But she didn’t look away. “Sy-on boy… let’s go outside for a moment.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed Anya out of the dorm room. She closed the door behind them, and he stood there, glaring at her.

“I can’t help but ask… why did you do this? Why did you want to be older?” she asked, her voice gentle but curious.

“That’s none of your business!” he spat, his bratty tone cutting through the air.

Anya didn’t flinch. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch soft. “I’m just trying to help, Damian. Please, tell me.” She smiled at him, and Damian felt that same uncomfortable squirming sensation he got when little Anya looked at him with tears in her eyes.

“I-I-I wanted to be older like Demetrius! If I was older, I could get as many Stella Stars as him—maybe even more!” He refused to admit the deeper truth—that he wanted to be more like Demetrius so his father might finally be impressed and spend more time with him.

“I see. Well, that took a lot of courage to admit,” Anya said, her voice calm and reassuring. She placed her other hand on his other shoulder and bent down so her face was close to his. “But don’t you think that even if it had worked, it wouldn’t have solved anything? You’d just be older, and you’d have lost all the time you could’ve spent with your friends.”

Damian’s heart pounded like crazy, and if she wasn’t holding him still, he would’ve bolted. This was like his usual Anya fluster times a million. “B-b-but…” He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Anya sighed and stepped back, giving him some space. “Can you just try to accept that you’re good enough?” she asked, tilting her head to the side with a soft smile.

Damian’s face felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“For me?” Anya added sweetly.

“F-fine! But you’re still a big uggo with stubby legs! And I bet your boyfriend smells!” Damian blurted out, his bratty tone flaring up as a defense.

Anya chuckled, unable to resist ruffling his hair again. “Aw, little Sy-on boy…”

“Hey!” Becky called from the door, peeking out. “I think Demetrius has found something!”

Anya and Damian quickly returned inside.

Demetrius looked up from the spellbook. “I think this is it,” he said, pointing to a passage. “But we’ll need the same items you used originally to cast it. Do you still have them?”

Damian nodded, pulling out the rusted key, quail’s egg, and blue marble. “Yeah, I’ve got everything. Let’s just get this over with.”

Anya looked at the items and then at Damian, her expression softening. “Thank you, Damian. For everything.”

Damian felt his cheeks heat up again. The normal Anya never said his first name like that. “Whatever.”

“Just real quick…” Anya walked over to Demetrius. “I’m guessing there’s a memory removal spell?”

Demetrius nodded. “There is, yeah. I’ll use it on the kids.”

Anya nodded, relieved that he immediately understood.

Becky’s eyes widened. “What?! No! You can’t make us forget you—you’re so cool!”

Emile, Ewen, and even Damian reacted a little, clearly not thrilled with the idea.

Anya knelt down to their level, her voice warm and gentle. “Aw, guys, it’ll be fine. I’ve probably revealed too much, and I don’t want any of your futures to change.”

She hugged each one of them warmly, saving Damian for last. As she hugged him, Damian stiffened, not hugging her back. She whispered something sweet in his ear: “I think you’re good enough, and little Anya does too, we don’t want you to be like Demetrius”

Damian’s breath hitched, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. She knew. How did she know? He felt his jealousy melt away, if only for a moment.

Anya then turned back to Demetrius. “Thank you for your help,” she said, her tone sincere.

Demetrius looked at her thoughtfully before asking point-blank, “Anya… your boyfriend… he’s…”

“Yes,” Anya replied, smiling endearingly.

Demetrius nodded, processing the confirmation.

With that, Demetrius began the ritual, carefully following the instructions in the spellbook. The room filled with a soft glow as the spell took effect, and soon, the pink smoke returned, enveloping Anya once more.

When the smoke cleared, Anya was back to her eight-year-old self, sitting on the floor and looking dazed. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, blinking at her surroundings.

“Anya!” Becky exclaimed, rushing over to her. “You’re back!”

Anya blinked, her big, innocent eyes wide as she looked around. “What happened? Who woke me up?”

Damian let out a sigh of relief, glad to see that Anya was okay, though he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of loss.

“What was it like?” Becky asked, her curiosity bubbling over.

“What was what like?” Anya asked, tilting her head, which made the kids collectively facepalm.

“The future! That’s where you went!! Did you see us?” Emile asked, his voice filled with excitement.

Anya just blinked, her expression blank. “No, I think I was sleeping.”

“Are you serious?” Ewen groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

As the others complained, Anya stared at Damian, trying to piece together her memories. There was something fuzzy and warm in her thoughts when she tried to remember if she had been somewhere else. Damian’s face seemed to float into her mind.

Damian noticed her staring and immediately turned beet red, his bratty instincts kicking in. “W-what, uggo?! Stop looking at me like that!”

Anya blinked again, her thoughts swirling. “Maybe… I think I saw…” She paused, trying to grasp the fleeting memory of Damian’s face in her mind. “No, I don’t remember.” She shrugged, letting it go, though the feeling lingered.

“Can all of you sit in a circle?” Demetrius suddenly interrupted, his voice flat and uninterested, as if he was bored with the whole ordeal.

“No!” Becky protested, crossing her arms defiantly. “I don’t want to forget older Anya!”

Demetrius gave them all a stern, emotionless look, and they reluctantly gave in, shuffling into a circle. As he performed the memory removal spell, it was almost like magic—because it was—the kids suddenly forgot everything, blinking in confusion as they looked around, wondering why they were sitting there.

“I’m hungry,” Anya mumbled, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “I want peanuts.”

Damian, feeling oddly lighter and more relaxed, snorted. “You’re always hungry for something dumb like peanuts.”

Anya frowned, her confusion deepening. “Why are you so mean to me?”

Damian blushed, quickly looking away to hide his embarrassment. “Shut up, stupid. Let’s just get out of here,” he grumbled, stomping out of the room. The others followed, leaving Anya and the others to wonder why he was acting so strange.

—

Epilogue - The Future

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the city as Anya and Damian strolled down the quiet street, laughing about something trivial and enjoying the calm after a long day at Eden Academy. They had just finished studying for their upcoming exams, but the conversation had long since shifted to lighter topics—jokes about their classmates, teasing each other, and the occasional playful argument.

Anya, now fifteen and every bit as confident and spirited as she had been back in her earlier years, nudged Damian playfully. “You know, you still make that grumpy face whenever someone mentions Demetrius,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Damian rolled his eyes, though there was a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, well, old habits die hard,” he retorted, but his tone was light, and there was no real edge to his words. Being with Anya had softened his once hard lines—at least around her.

They continued walking, their hands brushing occasionally, the comfort of their relationship evident in every little interaction. Damian glanced at Anya, marveling at how much had changed since they were kids. He never would have imagined back then that they’d end up like this—together, and happy.

But just as the thought crossed his mind, Anya suddenly stumbled, her grip on his arm tightening for a moment before she swayed, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Anya?” Damian’s voice was filled with concern as he caught her, easing her down onto a nearby bench. His heart pounded in his chest, a surge of panic rising as he watched her seemingly lose consciousness.

And then, with a soft “poof,” Anya’s body shrank before his eyes, her teenage form dissolving into the familiar figure of an eight-year-old girl. She was now back in her original Eden Academy elementary school uniform, looking just as she had years ago—innocent, sweet, and utterly adorable.

For a moment, Damian just stared, his breath caught in his throat. He was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Anya, small and childlike again, was undeniably cute—so cute that it almost made him want to scoop her up and never let go. But then he remembered who he was, and what had just happened.

He had to hold it together.

Gently, he cradled Anya in his arms, feeling her head nestle against his shoulder as she drifted into a deep sleep, seemingly unaware of the transformation that had just occurred. Damian’s heart squeezed as he held her close, his protective instincts kicking in full force. She was so small, so vulnerable… and so not supposed to be eight years old right now.

His mind raced back to the odd conversation he’d had with Demetrius when he’d turned fifteen. At the time, it had seemed so out of the blue—Demetrius, with his usual cryptic demeanor, had pulled him aside and told him, “There’s a chance Anya might… revert, someday. If it happens, don’t panic. Just call me.”

Damian had brushed it off back then, finding it weird and typical of his brother’s strange way of speaking. But now, holding a tiny, sleeping Anya in his arms, the memory came rushing back with a cold clarity.

He needed to call Demetrius. Now.

Spotting a small convenience store nearby, Damian adjusted Anya in his arms and made his way inside. The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and the shopkeeper, an elderly woman with a kind face, looked up from the counter.

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest young father,” she said with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling as she noticed the sleeping girl in his arms.

Damian’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the comment. He quickly shook his head, ready to correct her, but the words got caught in his throat. Instead, he found himself inwardly admitting that the idea of having mini Anyas with his Anya someday wasn’t so bad. It was a thought that made his heart flutter—a future he hadn’t dared to imagine before now.

But he quickly refocused, pushing the thought aside. He had more pressing concerns at the moment.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Damian managed to say, his voice a little tight. “Could I use your pay phone?”

“Of course, dear,” the shopkeeper said, gesturing to the old-fashioned pay phone in the corner of the store. “It’s right over there.”

“Thank you,” Damian replied, carrying Anya over to the phone. He carefully balanced her in one arm and fished a few coins out of his pocket with the other, slipping them into the slot before dialing Demetrius’s number. The phone rang once, twice, and then his brother’s calm, measured voice answered on the other end.

“Damian,” Demetrius said, his tone indicating that he already knew why Damian was calling. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Damian replied, his voice a little more strained than he would have liked. He glanced down at Anya, still fast asleep in his arms. “She just… poofed back into a kid. What do I do?”

“Bring her to the estate,” Demetrius instructed, his voice steady. “I’ll explain everything when you get here. And Damian… try to stay calm.”

Damian nodded, even though his brother couldn’t see him. “Yeah… sure,” he muttered, hanging up the phone. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as he looked down at the little girl in his arms—the girl who had somehow stolen his heart, even if she was eight years old again.

Despite the situation, a small, fond smile tugged at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, you know that?” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

With that, he adjusted his grip on her and left the store, giving a quick nod of thanks to the shopkeeper as he headed toward the Desmond estate. His heart was filled with both concern and an odd sense of nostalgia. Whatever this was, whatever had caused this strange turn of events, he’d figure it out—with Demetrius’s help, of course. But for now, all that mattered was getting Anya somewhere safe.

#damian desmond #damianya #spy x family #anya forger #damianyaweek2024

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innumerable-stars · 2 months

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The Father Christmas Letters Promo Post

Summary: FCL is an edited version of a series of letters that Tolkien wrote to his young children in the run-up to Christmas, for an impressive number of years (1920 to 1943). It is an elaborate take on the tradition that Father Christmas is real and receives children’s letters. Tolkien writes his answers in the name, voice, and hand of Father Christmas, and later also adds contributions by FC’s chief friends and helpers to the correspondence, North Polar Bear and the elf Ilbereth. This elaborate game of make-believe keeps growing more complex over the years, gradually building up a story ‘verse of Father Christmas’s life and adventures at the North Pole. The edited originals are real hand-written letters received by the children, with envelopes, hand-drawn illustrations, and hand-drawn stamps. The letters also remain responses to actual messages from the children, although their letters are not included.

Why should I check out this canon? Many reasons! Father Christmas and his growing number of friends are charming and fun, and their adventures get increasingly elaborate and exciting. There is a peppering of Tolkienian jokes. The artwork and calligraphy are wonderful (they also get increasingly colourful and complex). If you are looking for insight into Tolkien’s mind, while he was writing The Hobbit and The Lord of Rings, there are all sorts of tantalizing links to the Legendarium and related bits of lore (which of course just are asking for even more fic crossover to happen!) If you are interested in Tolkien’s conlangs (and his linguistic interest in Finnish and in writing systems), there are bits of that, too! If you are looking for insight into the experiences of Tolkien and his children, there are all sorts of touching and heart-warming hints and clues. There are bits of light verse, too, if you like Tolkien’s poetry.

Where can I get this? There are multiple editions, often as hardcover, and the book has been translated into many languages. The book should be relatively easy to get in local libraries or second-hand. Something to be watched out for are the two main editions under different titles: “The Father Christmas Letters” is the original selection made by Baillie Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien’s wife, in 1976, especially with young readers in mind. “Letters from Father Christmas” is a more comprehensive selection published in 1999 and is especially aimed at Tolkien fans. There is an audiobook version available on Audible and some readings from the work on YouTube. Electronic versions are not so easily accessible, although the Internet Archive has copies borrowable by readers with disabilities. Selections from the artwork can be found online and in books on Tolkien’s art.

What fanworks already exist? The AO3 tag has 23 works, most of them rated General or Teens and categorized as Gen. Among them, there is quite a high number of crossovers, many of them with other Tolkien works, but also with a handful of non-Tolkien canons. As you would expect, with such a canon, some of the fic is epistolary or includes letters! Perhaps partly because the canon includes so much original artwork, there is not a great deal of fanart, but you can find some on Tumblr at the links below: https://www.tumblr.com/cycas/189739284354/merry-christmasinspired-by-letters-from-father?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/cycas/187421841269/the-elf-who-saved-christmas-story-art-special?source=share

#tolkien #innumerable stars #small fandoms promo #The Father Christmas Letters

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imagionationstation · 6 months

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*Slams open the door to your inbox very, very loudly*

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA FOR AN AU

But this one is a little bit deranged.

AU where only Donatello and Karai are raised by Splinter and the rest (Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo) were raised by the Shredder. (Or vice versa idk which would be funnier)

It's stupid, I KNOW— but wdnsixjsks—

Just imagine the lone turtle being raised by the opposite side of the other three, accompanied with just as fierce + overprotective older sister who'd drop kick anyone who ever attempt to claim the title as 'Donatello's older sibling'.

Donnie'd be so confused to suddenly have a group of the same species as him suddenly thrusted into his life after spending years of beliving he's the only one— and oh look they're now claiming him to be their brother, how neat.

Karai is NOT happy because that's HER little brother and they have to pry him out of her cold, dead hands.

Leo and Raph would be, "You're our master's daughter and that's OUR little brother", to which Karai would be, ">:0".

Cue to Mikey and Donnie arguing who is older.

I'm not sure about you, but I am also a sucker for (over)protective Mikey. It's a neat concept, one that hasn't been explored much by the fandom— but arhwidnsidnsi.

I just love the purple genius, okay?

This AU is purely crack and self-indulgent at this point hahah.

-Ellestrade

Donnie didn’t consider himself to be a bad son, per say.

Sensei always had a list of rules to keep him safe. Never go down to the ground floor unless the dojo was closed for the day. Never open the curtains because he might be glimpsed. Never go out into the yard unless he got permission or had one of them with him.

And never, under any circumstances, was he to enter New York City.

Sensei was always very careful when it came to his safety. It’s the whole reason that he found a place outside the city for him to grow up, miles away from people, but close enough to the city that Miwa could visit to terrorize socialize whenever she feels cooped up.

Donnie’s never had that luxury, but now he was fifteen.

Fifteen was practically driving age. Fifteen is old enough to be in a high school and get invited to parties that sounded unsafe and rent adult movies behind parents backs and get to buy things at stores or check out books at the library!

He’s definitely responsible enough to borrow some books on his own.

Fifteen is also the perfect age for sneaking out and breaking rules.

It’s not really his fault. It’s the hormone and teenage ritual stuff. He couldn’t help it, probably. That’s what Miwa always says. Sensei buys it sometimes. He goes easy on her. So when Donnie wakes up to a carpeted floor and a splitting migraine, he knows he’s been caught and he’ll need every reasonable excuse that he can get his hands on.

It’s his birthday, anyway. Sensei can’t be too mad.

There are muffled voices around him as he lifts his head, immediately regretting it when pain spikes from his skull and scatters across his forehead. He clutches at his skull, groaning miserably. He’s never had an all-nighter migraine this intense before.

He supposes that this is what Miwa would call a personal problem as remains on the ground, forcing his eyes open to get a read on the situation. He expects to see his father hovering as Miwa goads him into a punishment because the consequences of his actions was never enough for her.

Somehow, his father usually ends up letting him off the hook instead. A perk of being an extinct species that can never see the light of day, he supposes, is endless sympathy points.

Donnie’s greeted with three shells, four blinding overhead lights, five individual weapons, and six eyes, all balanced out by a truckload of confusion. He stares, blinking sluggishly, as one of the turtles announces, “Well, he’s not dead.”

And just like that, this has officially slotted itself to be the weirdest dream Donnie has ever had.

DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT I HAD TOO-

So anyway, feel free to assume that he’s in pain and kidnapped for any number of reasons because I have about twelve different ideas and they are all equal GREAT for the crack AU atmosphere that is in development in my brain.

I’m just imaging a backstory where Shredder fought the Kraang (cause he was hangry or something, who knows) and the turtles (sitting abandoned in the alley, maybe?) are corrupt with mutagen.

Absolutely dumbfounded but not stupid enough to leave the little freaks of nature behind, he (still human) snatches three of them, accidentally leaving one behind.

Hours/days later, Toddler Miwa hear Donnie crying, barely alive and all alone. Obviously, dad and daughter care for him.

Shredder and Yoshi are still human, but neither is on guard for the other. They both think the other remains in Japan.

Their sons don’t grow up hating each other’s guts. They are both trying to leave their past behind. Yoshi is raising his family. Shredder is growing his empire.

So Donnie didn’t grow up knowing he had other brothers because no one knew they existed. Ergo, I imagine Donnie would be confused at first, but after fifteen years thinking that he’s alone in the universe, he’s eager to learn everything about these three fellow turtle mutants in ninja gear. He’s a bit perturbed about the fact that they keep making excuses to keep him from leaving, but he’s not to concerned about it. He has brothers! How neat is that?

And since it’s a crack AU, it would be absolutely hilarious if Donnie seems like this naive, learned soul, who cannot social in the slightest- but the second that the need calls for it, he knows how to use several different type of weapons and can take all the brother down single-handedly. He had fifteen years of no brotherly distractions and a sister who takes training very seriously. Why wouldn’t he?

It’s why he’s not concerned with technically being held hostage. He’s reasonably certain that he can take them. And he proves it when Karai finds him and tries to take him home, only for the brothers attempt to stop him from leaving.

Of course, he always feels bad about his supremely awesome and instinctive skills. He prefers his studies.

No, but your “pry him out of her cold, dead hands” comment made me think that she’d need a reason to feel threatened. If they bond before she finds him, Donnie will begin looking at his older brothers (yes, even Mikey, who adores being able to feel in charge of someone) like, well, eldest brothers, and Karai will sense the change.

And, obvs, be completely and utterly ticked off by it.

Donnie’s spent his entire life admiring her and everything that she does- how DARE she have to share his attention with these three random strangers that literally kidnapped him?!

And his older brothers will all immediately decide that this lost child is theirs’ for one reason or another. And obviously, the safest thing to do when you find a stray mutant like you is to take it home and give it care. Heck, if it turns out to be your brother, even better!

HAPPY FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY! YOU BELONG TO A GROUP OF NINJA TURTLES NOW, ADOPTED LIKE A LOST CAT! CONGRATS!

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voyagers-stone · 5 months

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ashlyn banner hcs !! <3

Dips her french fries in milkshake/icecream

avid reader. specifically for high fantasy and thriller novels, she likes the world building and detailed monologue, which aiden is continuously confused about.

will NEVER speak about reading.

she thinks itd ruin her reputation as the responsible one.

the only reason aiden knows about it is because of the amount of times hes broken into her house.

knows a small amount of sign language and tried to speak with ben using it.

did not realize he was just mute and deaf, so he didn't know wtf she was doing.

embarrassed herself greatly with that last one.

took ben a couple of days of various frantic and concerned gestures to let her know that it was okay.

plays rhythm games on her phone when shes tired/can't access her ddr machine.

i think if anyone saw her playing, she'd tell them it's "just for the game play" but she knows somewhere deep, deep down shes there for the anime girls.

some of their stories are just so sad, okay? she can't help but want to keep reading a bit.

// im a hashtag "ashlyn as a normal teenage girl" kind of person okay. we saw her and her father outside of the hospital.

has a growing beanie collection, but only the soft ones so its not sensory hell.

listens to pink floyd, nirvana, michael jackson, red hot chili peppers, and the smiths (when shes sad)

fan of porcelain creechures. dogs, birds, cats. i like to think shes got a little showcase somewhere of them.

logan always gives her really big bouquets of flowers after ballet recitals.

she feels a bit guilty throwing old ones away so she dries them and uses them as book marks.

borrows books from the library that she sees logan reading.

this is something she thought of after taylor started to try and teach her how to talk to people.

she thought that if she wanted to start a conversation, she'd get logan to talk about recent books hes read.

taylor brings her out for slushies at the gas station often

practically begged taylor to come over to her house when her ddr machine broke.

she was absolutely distraught.

tyler witnessed her begging and wanted to make fun of her, but the pity he felt outweighed his need to be an ass so he shrunk back into his and taylors room.

taylor fixed it and she almost cried thanking her.

tyler and ashlyn are resident judgement and shit talkers.

eventually, taylor knows all of the gossip from the popular kids/sports kid so he's got to find someone else to talk to. his first person was obviously ben because hes a great listener, but he seemed too nice to laugh at others misfortune, so when him and ashlyn teamed up together to make fun of aiden eating shit on the sidewalk after he does something dumb....he found his new target.

i don't think its particularly mean gossip, but more like your average catch-up-on-events kind of thing.

dead silence "........you know who i really hate?" kind of talk

i also think tyler and ashlyn are gym buddies.

maybe it'd take her a while to get to the point to want to hang out with him somewhere like the gym, so they usually go on runs or bike rides together.

they make aidens scrawny ass play ddr with them. ill talk more about that in his headcanons though.

#schoolbus graveyard #sbg (webtoon)#ashlyn banner #aiden clark #ben clark #logan fields #taylor hern #tyler hernan #headcanon #sbg headcanons #alex is insane about sbg #p0nk headcanons

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sofasoap · 2 years

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Story time.

Summary : Din loves to read, but it's been a difficult life for him to keep up with his hobbies. Pairing : Din Djarin x GN!Reader + Grogu. Warning: T to M rating? mention of violence. Might have make up bits and pieces of lores. I try to keep it Gender neutral as much as possible for the reader. If any of you spots a mistake , please let me know :) Not beta'ed or proof read. wrote it in a hurry during work break. oop. note : This is dedicated to @deakyjoe for the inspiration! Also for allowing me to use the idea. All stemmed from her answer to my ask " Din likes to read but struggles to see the words properly through his helmet and has difficulty turning pages because of his gloves " This is my first ever Din/The Mandalorian fic. I'm very lucky to be surrounded by amazing writers that really pushes me to write. Thank you. MASTERLIST

Din loves to read and listen to stories.

Din's first contact with book was growing up on Aq Vetina. His parents, although not well off, often borrow books and holopads of all sorts from the local library and read it to him before sleep. Stories of legend, history of the planet, adventures of old. His father was the best story teller that makes the action and characters came alive when he convey the story on.

When he joined the children of the watch, his favourite time of the day was in the evening, siting around the fire and clan elders telling them stories of struggle and purge of the Mandalorian people, legends of the Darksaber, The teaching of the creed. After becoming a full time bounty hunter, having a hobby or idea of relaxation became a luxury, a dream. Lack of space on Razor crest is also a big factor. Who uses physical books nowadays in the galaxy apart from the old documentation and backward planets? What he read the most nowadays are instruction manuals of how to fix the ship or news for any new bounties. Along came you and the little green munchikin. He often hear you telling stories and singing songs from your home planet, or even fabricating your own stories when you ran out of any to tell. One day he saw you eyeing a stall in the market, stall selling second hand physical books and old looking holopads.

" Please Mando, can we buy some? I promise to use my own credit, plus it won't take up too much room on the ship. We can always trade in the old ones later to buy more..."

How can he say no to you. Nodding his head, you letting up a whoop and happily shuffle through the stall for any new stories you haven't read or heard before. That night, Din sat down on the crate with the baby in his lap, with a story book in hand, trying to read to him. Damn the helmet,he cursed silently . The dim light inside the ship doesn't help either with trying to read the prints, and he struggles with flipping through the pages with his thick gloves. Fragile the books are, little sharp claws of baby isn't the greatest either to help him. " Would you two like some help??" Din look up, you smiling down at him. Letting out a huff, he mumbles a reply to you. " Cool, I haven't heard of this story either. Shuffle over Mando." Asking Din to make space beside him so you can sit down with both of them He shook his head, you look at him with with perplex expression. He pick up the baby from his lap spread his leg a bit and nodding to you to sit down in between. Your face heated up, hesitating a bit. Din nod his head again once more, encourage you.

Slowly, you move yourself to sit down in the space between his leg. He lift the baby over your head, gently place him in your lap and pull you into his chest. Lifting the book up once more, he whispers into your ear, " Would you do the honour to do the reading and turning of pages for us, Cyare. " There's that word again, the nickname he's been calling you a lot lately. You don't know what it means ( you are pretty sure it's Mando'a ) but every time he says the word, he says it softly, lovingly. The baby cooed and you smiled and patted his head. " Yes Little pea....I'll read. " After that, it became a evening ritual for the three of you before baby's bed time.

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #baby grogu #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandarlorian

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grawlix-ness · 2 months

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The Big Sleet and Dingo Headcanon Post V2!

Bear in mind this is largely a collection of subconscious Notes app ramblings I’ve patched together so I may have made a few grammatical boo-boos or repeated myself here and there. It’s almost 4AM, I’m sure I’ve missed things. I’ll continue to add and edit this post should more ideas come to mind. Questions encouraged!

Cw: light implications of child neglect, mentions of drinking and mutant body horror

🔫 Sleet 🔪

Sleet was raised in the gutter. He knows a fair bit more than the average Lower Mobotropolis street urchin because his mom was an aristocrat until she was slandered by her peers and booted from high society. She taught him the essentials, and he learned everything else from scavenging library books. Presently, his education has all but fallen through the cracks. He tries to avoid reading most of the time. What will Dingo think if he learns he’s not the uber-genius he makes himself out to be? Why does he care what Dingo thinks? When such thoughts arise, they are pushed away and buried.

He has cybernetic implants to aid with frequent aches and muscle strain. In the winter, he struggles due to a lower cold threshold, the result of a fur and skin condition. Dingo knits sweaters for him. They’re oversized and kind of a mess. On particularly glacial nights, Sleet isn't averse to sharing warmth, willing to cuddle up and be the little spoon, so long as Dingo promises not to tell anyone.

He had no friends growing up and was often picked on. His ailments and interest in science made him an easy target. Some of his peers disliked him on the very principle of him having an ex-aristocrat mother. This made him prickly and distant. While others played kickball or tag, he was tinkering with junkyard machinery or eavesdropping around spacer hangouts, dreaming of someday getting off planet and flying to a world that’d understand him.

He’s quite good with a needle and thread and tailors his and Dingo’s ball outfits himself. Sleet gets his sewing skills from his mother. She was the personal outfitter and trusted right hand of an important noblewoman. As a pup, he adored listening to his mother’s stories of galas and masquerades. During such fleeting moments of peace, she’d also make costumes for him. He still heavily enjoys fashion, having a closet dedicated to fancy capes.

Sometime in his tumultuous childhood, Sleet discovered there was an Honor Guard. He admired their outfits and swordsmanship. Most of all he wanted to join so he and his mother could live in the warmth and safety of a castle. He even fashioned a costume out of his mother’s fabric scraps, complete with a sword made from a rusted metal pipe. She was quick to dash those dreams and didn’t take kindly to him borrowing her things, especially not for such a “ridiculous” project. During lonesome, existential nights he wonders how differently things could have turned out if he had become a member of the guard after all.

When his mother was absent or too volatile to be around, Sleet found company in local mechanics. He learned how to swindle and cheat with the best of them. One shop owner actually took him under her wing, viewing his perceived weaknesses as strengths.

Sleet first developed the transmogrifier as a kid. He used it not only to defend himself against the local rabble rousers and humiliate them. It wasn’t a complete success, only partially transforming targets, giving them wings or eyestalks and other unwieldy appendages. Transformations were temporary. No less horrifying however.

He calls himself a jack of all trades. This title is dubious. Thanks to an enriching education from the school of hard knocks, he does have an approximate knowledge regarding a variety of things, though it’s usually limited to topics relating to self-preservation and chicanery.

Animals don’t like Sleet and aren’t afraid to let him know. It’s become a standing joke. Dingo teases him for it, despite the fact that, because of his stature, toothy countenance, and tendency to squeeze or pet too hard, he isn’t the best with animals either.

Sleet is a skilled marksman. He prefers distance, specializing in both handguns and long guns. If the weight class is right and the odds are in his favor, he can hold his own in close quarters using an array of hidden fighting knives and some rudimentary martial arts. Sleet simply won’t hear that his cape is a hindrance, even when this has been proven multiple times. All that being said, Sleet is more of a fleer than a fighter. He is an unabashed coward, not opposed to unning away screaming with his tail between his legs.

While preferring motorcycles, he’s not half bad at riding animal mounts, thanks to the teachings of cowboy bounty hunter and old flame Fleabyte. It is serendipitous that he’s acquired this ability, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stay on as well after zapping Dingo into a beast of burden. The poor brute has heard a lifetime’s worth of ass jokes from his rider.

He enjoys strategizing and has free time stored away solely for scheming purposes. These lovingly-crafted plans generally go awry due to Dingo’s haphazard, devil-may-care nature and forgetfulness. That’s not to say Sleet would do better in the bounty hunting business on his own. He has the upper body strength of a wet noodle and a predilection for monologues and theatrics. He needs someone to shake him out of these ego trances.

Sleet uses his hands often when talking. Lots of flourishes and waves, tapping his chin as he feigns uncertainty, balling his fists and involuntarily shaking them when incensed. Little itchy, twitchy movements. Dingo finds it most endearing.

Though tech-savvy and clever, his anger and pride sometimes get the best of him, leading him to make less than wise decisions, such as forcing machines past their breaking points or abandoning plans the moment his buttons are pushed.

Sleet is not good at maintaining his hygiene, hence the hedgehogs’ odor-themed jabs. He'll polish and shine his armor until it glistens, yet giving the suit an interior deep clean is far from his mind. He's become so dependent on the power high and protection the suit gives him that he rarely takes it off. Dingo found this strange and a little concerning at first, but Sleet has convinced him that a good bounty hunter is always prepared in case of ambush. The thick polluted air of Robotropolis doesn't do any favors for his mangy fur coat either. So if anyone's a flea hotel, it's Sleet, though you’d be hard-pressed to find any fleas that’d give his scrawny hide the time of day.

Underneath that armor, he wears a black one-piece bodysuit made of a silky, breathable material, more resilient than it appears. Sleet is skin and bones. It’s why he prefers working with a partner. He went through—or rather left for dead—dozens of other partners before finding a suitable match. Dingo’s hardy. Sturdy. Loyal. Revoltingly sweet. He’s an intriguing oddity to him. Dingo could easily kill him and yet he doesn’t. For a time Sleet wondered if he was just too dim to ever consider betrayal.

He’s not big on displays of affection or people entering his personal bubble. However, when traversing through big crowds, he always presses close to Dingo, sometimes even reaches for his hand.

Considers himself sophisticated. He’ll generally greet with a low bow and flourish, allies and enemies alike. Has neat freak tendencies, despite the fact he’s a hot mess himself. In short, rules for thee, but not for me. There’s often a mental tug of war between his debonair self and the mouth-frothing sewer rat that lies deeper beneath.

Sleet has a bad habit of late night tinkering. He isn’t actively trying to be a night owl, time gets away from him. If Dingo doesn’t carry him off to bed beforehand, he ends up hunched over and asleep at his study. It does no favors for his already poor posture and eye bags.

His reputation precedes him. When he freelanced, many bounty hunters steered clear of him because he was a noted cheat that backstabbed his partners. Despite these unsavory exploits, he manages to reel in even the most disconcerting of clients via ingratiation, boasting a nigh supernatural silver tongue. Those who’ve been tricked by him before cite his wordsmithing as being almost hypnotic.

He tries his damndest not to acknowledge Dingo’s gaga eyes and honey glow cheeks. More times than one would deem platonic, he’s gotten distracted by Dingo’s chest. Though, to his credit, it’s hard not to when your co-pilot’s almost always shirtless and idly flexing his muscles. Even harder when you’re pinned beneath his chest—Dingo could make tripping over his feet a professional sport.

💪 Dingo 🧬

Dingo has a sizable extended family, a horde of siblings and cousins back home. His destructive tendencies came as no shock to his aunts who raised him, since the family business used to be organized crime. The syndicate disintegrated long before Dingo was born, other groups like the Toad Warriors and Bear Pack Bikers quickly outcompeting them.

Has no memory of his mother or father and holds no ill-will towards them. He has plenty of wild theories about their disappearance though. Everything from being lost at sea to being flattened by an asteroid. Whatever it was, he’s convinced it must have been legendary.

Of his litter he is the eldest brother. Barring fur color, none of his family look quite like him. His spots and flopped ear are noted recessive traits. His more dramatic features are the result of an understudied mutant gene. Nobody’s sure where in the family tree it came from. So far as Sleet can glean, it’s one in a billion, a title Dingo wears proudly. He isn’t interested in making connections with any long lost relatives, fearing there could be someone out there better than him at all things mutant.

Dingo grew up in the outback of Trailius, quite some distance away from the hustle and bustle of Mobotropolis. He was a rambunctious, often rude and aggressive child. A typical schoolyard bully. Sometimes he would lament over his appearance and wish other kids invited him to play, but those moments were short-lived. Fortunately for his peers he could be easily tricked or bribed with sweets.

Whereas Sleet took up inventing and sewing, Dingo loved throwing his weight around and exploring the great outdoors, wrestling every beast he came across and scaring vacationing campers late at night by pretending to be a Mobian-eating monster.

In pursuit on foot, Dingo is bad at maneuvering sharp turns. His topheaviness and clumsy feet have cost a number of hunts.

He has a sweet tooth. One thing he appreciates about the aristocracy is their love of extravagant desserts.

He is very naïve and trusting. It was worse when Sleet wasn’t in the picture to talk him out of things. A country boy in the big city, Dingo was scammed out of a lot of his Mobium when he first arrived in Lower Mobotropolis. The shell game was just too alluring.

Dingo is not so oblivious that he can’t rebuke Sleet’s gratuitous blaming. He can be sassy. Those who’ve had the displeasure of working with them can attest that, when tensions are high, they have the propensity to bicker like an old married couple.

For someone who was raised in Trailius, he is unusually afraid of spiders and other crawly arachnids. He doesn’t enjoy turning into insects either, finding the overall sensation, in his words, icky.

Transformation is typically painless. He tends to be sore after taking on the more abstract forms. If the strain is really bad, he will go to Sleet and ask to be massaged. Sleet used to refuse, but he has since humored him, asserting that he’s only doing it to check for signs of molecular decay.

Dingo can morph without the assistance of the transmogrifier, though the process is slower. It depends on how distant taxonomically-speaking the chosen form is from his mammalian base. These transformations are not too pleasant visually or audially, so the remote is preferred.

Dingo’s mutant abilities have some drawbacks. Because of his rapid healing, his body will try to stop him from getting tipsy and keep him on his A-game. He has to drink by the barrel to feel even the slightest buzz. Additionally, being stuck in one form for too long can leave him achy and disoriented, and if he changes too frequently his molecules buckle and unravel. It’s not a pretty sight. Sleet even theorizes that if he’s in a form for over two hours, he will get stuck that way. They have had close calls before, where after finally being turned back from a Mobini, some behavioral traits of the animal lingered.

Before meeting Sleet, Dingo could only morph if he remained focused, and those transformations were generally simple, such as limb multiplication or extension. The transmogrifier effectively glues his molecules together, meaning he doesn’t have to exert his concentration anymore. Colors are still somewhat of a challenge, tinted with his default orange. Nevertheless, he fools the untrained eye. When tasked with disguising as another Mobian, Sleet coaches him and will always supply him with a hidden microphone.

After an especially big transformation, Dingo becomes so drowsy he can hardly stand. All that molecular stretching and rearranging, it’s draining. When he wakes, he is insatiably hungry. Which is saying a lot because Dingo already packs food away like it’s nothing due to his bulking regime.

His accelerated metabolism often manifests in odd cravings, such as tuna and peanut butter sandwiches or pickle and pineapple ice cream sundaes. Sleet wishes he’d partake in his experimental cuisine somewhere else. Preferably out of the Red Whiptail’s cockpit—he gets crumbs everywhere. Despite being an extreme omnivore, Dingo cannot handle spicy food.

When he’s not making unusual combinations, and in turn making Sleet’s stomach churn, Dingo’s a decent chef. Messy, but decent. He’s the more culinarily adept of the two and makes dinner when time allows.

He likes scrapbooking. Dingo has more stationary and cute pens than he knows what to do with. Unfortunately he’s heavy-handed, so many of his supplies are worn with love. He keeps mementos of every successful hunt. Little knick knacks and trinkets, maybe the occasional tooth from a beaten adversary.

Not necessarily a couch potato, though does spend most of his downtime lounging in front of the TV. He enjoys playing video games, although he’s not very good at them on account of his itchy trigger finger skipping past tutorial levels. As long as he can shoot or smash things or toss chubby penguins off cliffs, he’s happy. He watches mainly big loud action movies, corny rom-coms, and slapstick cartoons. Sleet believes his screen time will rot the little left of his brain, though he has shown some interest in the historical Delmontian dramas Dingo skips past while channel surfing.

Has been known to boast quite the sailor mouth. It doesn’t happen often, the most foul only invoked for particularly painful offenses like stubbing a toe. Sleet doesn’t know what half the Trailian swears mean and at this point he’s afraid to ask.

Dingo does not like shirts. He especially hates the tuxedos and dresses Sleet makes him wear whenever there’s a bounty on an aristocrat. He tries to keep his grumbling to a minimum because dressing up makes Sleet happy. In casual settings, if more than his shorts is outright necessary, he’ll wear a quippy graphic tank top.

When they go out of town, Dingo always hits up a tourist trap or two, no matter how blatantly overpriced or mind-numbing. He’s a big fan of carnivals and amusement parks. Dingo’s demolished many strength tester games and would most assuredly be banned if he wasn't one of Robotnik's hirelings.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed, true, but he is definitely the more emotionally aware of the duo. When it comes to personal matters, he’s a good listener.

He has a twinge of separation anxiety. It’s not super debilitating, he just gets restless if Sleet is away for long. He can be possessive. This proves a problem whenever Sleet goes Casanova Mode to retrieve information from targets. It’s worth noting Sleet has moments of jealousy too when Dingo manages to hit it off with others, though he’d never admit it.

The hedgehog triplets are aware of Dingo’s crush on Sleet. To catch him off guard, they’ll sometimes slyly allude to it, much to a flustered Dingo’s chagrin.

Finds Sleet’s voice very soothing. It’s so soft and muted. He could listen to it all day. Often he does since, while certainly less exuberant than Dingo, Sleet can be a chatterbox when it comes to aristocratic gossip and comparing blaster models.

Despite being certifiably canine, Dingo makes all manner of noises. He snorts and huffs like a bull when upset and can unleash fearsome, leonine roars. When happy, he rumbles.

Excitable. Liable to break the nearest object in vicinity from pure exuberation.

Dingo can’t see well without his glasses. Despite the swanky look, they are in fact prescription. If they’re misplaced or knocked off by a meddlesome hedgehog, his clumsiness is increased tenfold. He is gentle when handling them.

Dingo wears a bracer on his right leg. In a comedy of errors, he injured his leg as a pup while playing with a slingshot. For reasons unknown, his healing factor neglected to kick in. His knee aches at times. Dingo mostly wears it because he finds it cool and fashionable.

His fighting knowledge is limited to the concept of hitting, hitting hard, and hitting dirty. He has no formal training, relying on instinct and what he’s seen on television to best enemies. His moves are sloppy and unrefined, but no less formidable. As a mutant shapeshifter, he’s also granted a number of potential forms. Even without Sleet’s transmogrifier, his elasticity allows him to grow in size and turn his arms into whipping tentacles or his hands into mallets. He could finish fights before they even start with this power, however Dingo prefers to milk his battles for all their worth. Some Freedom Fighters have reported seeing him actually play with the battered and unconscious like they’re dolls.

He is actually well-kempt all things considered. Dingo enjoys bubble baths and singing—or caterwauling, as Sleet calls it—in the shower. His fur coat is soft and surprisingly dense, especially in the winter when it grows out. He sheds and has to brush himself fairly often. If he’s in a good mood, Sleet will help. The mastiff-like skin folds around his neck also have to be cleaned regularly. His mane is naturally bristly, akin to that of a wild boar. It softens somewhat after a good shampoo.

Dingo makes the first moves. He is usually the one who initiates. Trouble is, if it doesn’t involve flexing his guns or pulling a smoldering expression, Dingo’s bad at flirting. His word choice is . . . unique. Lummox that he is, his compliments come across more like threats. Turns out Sleet does not in fact appreciate being called small, fragile, and edible among other things. He’s since tried to alleviate this by writing down pick-up lines on his hand.

Dingo’s definitely the more doggish of the two. He wags his tail, something seen as uncouth in aristocratic social circles and immature in most other places. He’s wounded himself on occasions by wagging so hard. Dingo also barks when he gets too excited or surprised and, due to his muzzle structure, is predisposed to drooling. If Dingo is proving particularly stubborn about going into a death trap or being used as bait, Sleet can convince him with a scritch between the ears.

Additional Information

Their partnership was bumpy at first. Their differing personalities clashed and sometimes led to physical altercations. Nothing too dramatic of course, they are still cartoon animals after all. Dingo pulled his punches. Sleet might have been a nag, but he didn’t want to see him hurt.

Sleet and Dingo are both bisexual. Dingo has a slight preference towards men and masc folks. Sleet is trans. He performed his top surgery himself. Despite the quality of the tools he had at the time, his scars have healed remarkably well.

The two are very competitive. Before being hired by Robotnik, on particularly uneventful nights they played board games. They’re both cheaters so they went around in circles for hours. Lots of yelling, finger pointing, and eventually falling into a heap on the floor because they stayed awake all night trying to psyche each other out.

When they manage to squeeze any free time out of their schedule, they enjoy going to arcades and stealing prizes from kids. They also like to take potshots at the irradiated wildlife on the outskirts of Robotropolis and do prank calls—the Robotnik Intelligence Agency being a favorite victim.

Dingo believes that Sleet’s love language is mockery. That might not be too far from the truth. Sleet genuinely doesn’t know how to express himself. He doesn’t altogether know if he wants to. Sleet’s trained himself to think the worst of everyone so he’s not disappointed or hurt in the long run. In truth, Sleet appreciates acts of service. Dingo’s love language is considerably more simple, as things regarding Dingo so often are. Dingo’s huggy, nuzzly, altogether physically affectionate.

Sleet snores terribly. It’s not so much the volume as it is the whistling his nose makes. He’ll never admit to it, and gets flustered whenever Dingo tells him. Fortunately the walls of Robotnik’s fortress are thicker than those of their previous abodes, giving Dingo the chance to rest easy.

Dingo doesn’t understand mirrors. Sleet, egotist that he is, rather likes mirrors. He hasn’t owned any since the incident. It’d be a hassle to clean up glass and find a replacement everytime Dingo popped his head into Sleet’s quarters. Sleet has explained how reflections work to him several times before, yet it never seems to stick.

In his default state, Dingo has a strongman build. Sleet is a beanpole. Without his boots and shoulderpads, he’s slightly shorter than Dingo.

As far as affairs of the heart go, their relationship is unspoken. Dingo’s doing all he can, Sleet pretends he doesn’t see it, as on principle he believes love is for fools. There may or may not have been some wild nights where he had too much wine and slurred a few things suggesting otherwise however. He’s softening up to the idea, even if he doesn’t know it yet. In essence, he’s perpetually stuck in a “I Won’t Say (I’m In Love)” loop, because he’s a shitty little tsundere.

#sonic headcanons #sonic underground #sleet sonic underground #dingo sonic underground #sleengo #slingo

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