#ignore the fact that i didn’t plan a light source i never do that id rather die </3

[realcube]

his offer || nishinoya x reader

  summary: nishinoya has one night to prove to you that he’d be the best boyfriend

not a song fic! but it might seem like that at the beginning

tw// swearing, sexual references, energy drinks, lord’s name in vain, murder references, fluff, angsty, crying, skirt wearing! reader

‘ ♪ shawty’s like a melody in my head, that i can’t keep out, got me singin’ like  ♪ ‘

You groaned, lifting your head off your essay which you fell asleep on while writing and rubbed your eyes, confused and disorientated. Not at the fact you had fallen asleep while studying - that was a fairly normal occurrence - but as to where that music was coming from? 

Surely, your neighbours hadn’t started a party at midnight - the time which you had caught a glimpse of on the My Melody clock sitting on your desk - especially because both of your neighbours were old couples but hey, you were in no position to judge their music choice.

Like any reasonable human-being, you got up from your desk and lolloped over to your bedroom window, where the music seemed to be blaring from. Once you reached the window, you opened the lock then proceed to push it open which required a lot more strength than you’d like to admit, but figured that you’d blame it on the fact you’re tired. 

You craned your neck out of the window to hiss as the chilly air suddenly nipped at your skin, then scanned the surroundings for a source of the music but there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary: no lasers, no rave lights, no crowds of people and not a speaker in sight.

Sighing, you were just about to call it quits; blame the noises on sleep deprivation hallucinations and go to bed - until you heard a familiar voice call out to you from your back garden. 

“(Y/N)! Down here!” The voice yelled, lowering the volume of the music momentarily to guarantee that you heard their shout. 

You tossed your head back, letting out a fed-up groan as you instantly recognised who’s voice that was so when you squinted and through the darkness you saw the bi-haired boy - in his white pyjama set under his black puffer-jacket, with black trainers on - standing in your garden with a speaker on his shoulder, it only confirmed both of your suspicions; the first being that he was source of the obnoxious music that woke you up. 

The second suspicion being that the voice belonged to none other than the boy who has been on your ass for the last few months - Yū Nishinoya. 

“Oh my god.” You muttered, rubbing your temples, desperately trying to process the sight you had laid your eyes on - was he seriously blaring music outside your house right now? At midnight? “Nishinoy--”

“What?!” The boys screamed, cupping his ear to show that he was struggling to hear you due to the distance between you both but mostly because of the loud music which was blasting in his other ear and throughout most of the neighbourhood. 

“Turn the fucking music down!” You shrieked, something about the ear-splitting volume of the music causing your blood to boil. 

Nishinoya chuckled, complying with your request and in fact turning the speaker off all together, “As you wish, m’lady.” He joked, setting his speaker down on the bit of concrete just by the back door of your house, “Is it alright if I just leave this here for now?”

You quirked an eyebrow at his question, was he not going to explain to you what he was doing or were you just supposed to play it off as normal? “Sure.” You replied as if you were asking him a question. 

“Anyway,” You started, clearing your throat and attempting to regain your composure now that the music was gone. “What is the meaning of this, Nishinoya?” You inquired, resting your chin on your elbow which was perched on the windowsill. Relaxing as - knowing Nishinoya - this interaction was going to be far from brief. 

“I told you to call me Yū.” He complained, jogging back to the spot in your garden he was standing in prior to placing his speaker down, as from there he got an excellent view of your gorgeous moonlit face. “I’m here to make you an offer.” 

You let out another exasperated sigh as it was one of the only reactions you had enough energy to give. If it was anybody else, you would’ve just told ‘em to fuck off and went to bed but it was Nishinoya and something you’ve learned after months of dealing with his antics and endless advances, is that it is easier to listen to him than get him to leave you alone. “What’s your offer, Yū? Also, be quick about it.”

“Okay,” He began with a wide grin, chuffed to see that you’re actually conversing with him for a change, instead of just ignoring his whole existence. “I know you said that you’d never go out with me but I’m here to change your mind--”

His offer was interrupted by your murmur of disapproval from above, but he brushed it off with a chuckle and continued explaining his plan to make you fall in love with him. 

“Just an hour; that’s all I need! I won’t waste your time! And I chose tonight because it’s not a school night, I know how much you hate staying up late when you have school the next day!” 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the naïve boy’s reasonings -which you attempted to hide with your sleeve, you didn’t want him to think that you were the slightest bit charmed by his proposal. “Yū.” You mumbled, looking down at him with eyes filled with empathy. “I- I don’t know--”

It was clear that Noya’s offer wasn’t especially tempting yet, so he had no choice but to pull out the big guns. “If you come with me tonight, I’ll never annoy you ever again, on god!” 

You blinked a few times at what he just said - it seemed too good to be true. This drastically increased your chances of accepting his proposition but you still needed to be filled in with some information, “What are we going to do?”

Noya beamed, his pearly whites almost blinding you, “That’s a surprise!”

You rolled your eyes, mentally comparing the pros and cons of accepting his offer; the main pro being the fact he promised to leave you alone afterwards and Noya wasn’t one to purposefully break a promise.

The fatigue weighing on your mind wasn’t helping you conclude your decision either, hence resulting in you taking around a minute to think about it and once you eventually snapped out of your unrelated thoughts, you just blurted out the answer which had apparently been waiting on the tip of your tongue the whole time.

“Uh- fine.” You uttered, your reply causing Noya to pump his fist into the air with a bright smile on his face, “Yes!” He let out a celebratory cry, along with a little happy dance which made your heart flutter - not that you’d ever admit it though. 

“Alright.” You giggled, playfully scoffing at his actions as you hastily went to close your window, “I’ll be out in a moment--”

“Wait, (Y/N)!” 

You immediately halted in your tracks, “Yes?” You quirked an eyebrow at his sudden interjection, yet you were hardly surprised as random outbursts were far from uncommon for him.

“Make sure to wear shoes that are easy to run in.” He said, devilry laced in his voice as he tried his best - but failed - to resist a mischievous smile forming on his lips.

His comment was a tad suspicious but you thought nothing of it since it was coming from Noya - he probably just wanted to play tag or something. Locking the window, you swiftly turned on your heels, grabbed your coat and rushed to your backyard. 

Nishinoya probably chose the best day for his shenanigans as your parents were both abroad for a business trip and - since they had no reason not to - they trusted you to be left home alone, meaning that it’s not like you’d have to sneak by them on your way out or anything.

As you approached you back door, you realised that you had very limited choices when it came to shoes; that is, if you wanted to leave quickly. Lying by the back door were you school shoes, your gym shoes and a pair of flip flops; the favourable option was obvious. 

You slid on your gym shoes while internally scolding yourself for falling asleep in your tight, uncomfortable school clothes then you proceeded to jingle your keys around in the lock until you were able to slip outside and glance at Noya, who had taken a seat on the paving next to the door. 

Once he noticed your arrival, he hopped to his feet and that was when you noticed the bag - which was almost the same size as him - slung over his shoulders. “Hey, what’s the bag for?” You inquired, momentarily averting your gaze from it onto him as you noticed he had his arms wide open for a hug.

Perhaps it was the sleepless euphoria, or maybe it had something to do with the dreamy ambience held by the dark lunar night; but either way, it convinced you to do something you would never even consider doing in any other situation. You leaned in and snaked your arms around Noya’s chest, allowing him to hold you in his embrace for a solid 5 seconds - the best 5 seconds of his life.

Although you hated yourself for feeling this; something about the way the outline of his muscles flexed against your back and the tingling sensation of his warm breath against the soft skin of your neck caused an unfamiliar emotion - perhaps slight arousal but mostly admiration - to shoot through your body.

Feeling something so foreign made you immensely uncomfortable so jerked away from the hug before your brain had any time to process it. 

After you pulled away, it took a moment for the overwhelming bliss Noya felt to subside - and you could tell by his starry-eyes - but once it did, he gave you a somewhat straight answer to question you asked prior to the embrace. “Oh, the bag? It’s got all the the things we need for tonight in it: snacks, money, my Switch, a blanket, a ball, a first aid kit, a fake ID and just a few other things.” 

You snickered, hardly able to imagine what those ‘few other things’ were but knowing Noya, he was sure to surprise you; that’s one of the things you loved about him. 

However, you knew that if you ended up falling for him, it’d completely ruin your grades. If you were with Noya you’d probably end up going out on these little adventures every single night and although you weren’t opposed to the concept, in reality you needed to study as you were quite ambitious and the university you aspired to get into required nothing less than perfection in terms of GPA. 

So, it’s not like you didn’t have any romantic interest in Nishinoya - in fact, you’ve kinda had a crush on him since the beginning of the school year - it’s just that you knew it would be in both of your best interests if you remained friends. You’ve tried to explain that to Noya several times but he simply didn’t understand and he didn’t try to either, which is what irked you. Thus, you stopped your feeble attempts to reject him in a kind manner and moved on to just blocking him out entirely.

However, a new problem was afoot. Both you and Noya were coming into this ‘date’ with completely opposing incentives; he wanted to make you fall for him and you had to do everything in your power to suppress your feelings for him but if he continues being so damn sweet, that’s gonna make things a whole lot trickier for you. 

“Alright.” Noya chirped with his signature daring smile, “Let’s go! Follow me.”  He instructed, grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours before guiding you to the front gate of your house. Upon noticing how the gate was hanging wide open, you realised that your stupid-ass forgot to lock it, meaning that anybody could’ve waltzed right in. Noya seriously chose the best day to pull this little stunt. 

Your breath hitched slightly as he kept his cold fingers in with yours but you didn’t protest as this would be a great starting point in convincing yourself that you weren’t in love with Noya; his strong, possessive grip definitely did not make you blush and the way he caressed his thumb gently against the back of your hand resulted in mighty rage bubbling in your stomach - not butterflies - rage!

The pair slipped passed the gate and he paused in his tracks, momentarily releasing his grip on your hand to allow you to lock the gate behind you. But as soon as you finished, he immediately took your hand back with his own and began swinging it back and forth as he led you to an unknown destination.

You giggled at his childish - yet cute - action but the fun was short-lived as your blood ran cold as the romantic aura which was blinding you at first finally lifted, hence the reality of the situation hit you like a truck; Noya was taking you a location which he refused to disclose, he carried a large bag which could easily fit a body inside, he had taken you out alone in the dead of night, he had a powerful grip on your hand so you couldn’t run away and worst of all, because you were in a rush to leave, you forgot to bring your phone.

Of course, a large part of you doubted that Nishinoya - Karasuno’s guardian deity and #1 simp - had murderous intentions behind his actions, it was surely just all one big coincidence. However, it’d put you at ease if you mentioned it, “Yū, um, I kinda forgot my phone at home.”

Noya sensed the anxiety in your voice and in all honesty, he couldn’t blame you. He was aware that what he was doing was suspicious - to say the least - and he wanted to give you more clarity on what he was happening but he thought it’d be more engaging if he built up some suspense. “Oh, um, I mean, if you want, we can turn back so you can grab it but I also brought my phone, you can have mine if it’d make you less worried.”

You tensed your whole body at his suggestion, ‘don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall!’ you internally commanded yourself before shifting your attention onto your options. It’d certainly calm your nerves to have access to any mobile device you could use to call for help, but there were a few holes in his plan, “Well, that’d be nice..but what if I lose you and you need to phone someone?”

Nishinoya simply rolled his eyes as a cocky chuckle erupted from his throat, “As if! Why would I ever need to do that?”

“In so many situations: you could have a heart attack, injure yourself, set something on fire, throw-up, get possessed, be struck by lightening, fall in a river, get jumped--”

“That’s silly.” Noya scoffed, ignoring the fact you suggested he could be struck by lightening despite the fact that there was not a cloud in sight, instead he chose to focus on how you insinuated that someone could possibly assault him. “I could be jumped? Ha! In your dreams! If someone shady comes up to me - or you - I’ll give ‘em one of these-” Nishinoya jumped into an offensive stance and aggressively uppercutted the air, “And one of these too!” He followed up with a swift roundhouse kick before planting both of his feet on the ground and looking at you with sincere eyes, “Trust me, (Y/N). I won’t let any creeps lay a finger on either of us tonight - or ever.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at how eager he was to protect you; it made your heart flutter more than you’d like to admit. Also, upon seeing how keen Noya was to fight - plus, remembering that you had taken those 5 years of karate lessons for a reason - put your mind at ease slightly. 

Still, you were tempted to accept all the safety you could get your hands on. “That’s sweet, Yū. But if it isn’t an issue, could I keep your phone in my jacket pocket?”

Noya unzipped his jacket so he could reach into the pockets of his pyjama bottoms to grab his phone and once he did, he presented it to you, “If it’ll make you feel less tense, then take it.” He single-handedly zipped his jacket back up while shooting you a kind grin which caused your body to do the thing again.

Your expression softened as your gaze met his and in that moment, everything felt right; you weren’t stressing over exams, you weren’t thinking about your chores, you weren’t fretting over your friend group drama, all you worries seemed to just dissolve away into the background - in that moment, it was just you and Nishinoya, appreciating each others company on a empty country road.

But perhaps you appreciated his company for a bit too long as he snapped you out of your trance by teasing you, “Oh, you’re falling for me already?~ We haven’t even arrived at the surprise yet.” 

You blinked rapidly, instantly scowling and rolling your eyes at his silly comment - which you knew deep-down was true but let’s conceal those feelings for a bit longer. “Uh, no. I just zoned-out thinking about..how stupid you look in those pyjamas.”

Nishinoya gasped in an exaggerated manner before sticking his bottom lip out to form a pout, “I didn’t have time to change.” He dropped the first excuse that came to his mind before glancing at the phone which was still waiting patiently on the palm of his hand. “Are you gonna take it or?” 

You nodded, carefully picking up his phone and sliding it into your jacket pocket, “Thank you, Yū.” You muttered, tucking it in as deep as you could to secure it so it wouldn’t fall out. “I had no idea you were into Pokémon--” You said in reference to his lockscreen which lit up when your finger accidently grazed the power button. If you were ignorant enough, you probably could’ve mistaken his background for just a bunch of words written in a red font but in reality, those words were connected in such a way that they formed the outline of a Charmander.

Noya’s eyes widened at your comment, ‘Shit, I forgot to change my background- she probably thinks I am a nerd like Tsukishima now or something-’ he mentally rebuked himself, desperately scanning his surroundings to find a topic he could just blurt out to pretend as if he didn’t hear your comment. 

Fortunately for him, the ‘portal’ to the desired destination finally came into vision, so he hurriedly grabbed your hand again and bolted towards - what looked like to you - the entrance of the Forrest. “C’mon, (Y/N)! I can’t wait for you to see where we’re going!” 

You laughed at how obviously he tried to dismiss your comment and change the subject, but you excused that part for now and focussed all your attention on trying to match Noya’s pace without letting your school skirt fly up in the wind. 

So you continued to sprint up to the entrance of the Forrest with Noya but as soon as you passed the first tree, you paused to catch your breath and squeezed Noya’s hand, communicating that he should stop too. “Wait, Yū.” You panted, taking a moment to admire the new scenery you had been introduced to. “You’re too fast.” 

You hummed, tossing your head back to inspect your surroundings; which was predominantly Cryptomeria japonica trees that stretched up to meet the sky, creating a mystical yet mysterious atmosphere. There was also the distant song of flowing water which rang throughout the Forrest, and that was seemingly the only thing to be heard - besides you and Noya’s puffs - as the Forrest was known for lacking Fauna. 

Although you have lived near this Forrest your entire life, not only did you not know the name and opted to call it ‘the Forrest’ whenever you spoke of it - which wasn’t often - you also had never stepped foot in it before today..with Nishinoya. 

He was always pushing you out of your comfort zone, persuading you to try new things; most of which, you would never even consider doing if he wasn’t in your presence: like the time he convinced you to go on every ride at the amusement park with him and you actually kinda had fun, or the time when he insisted that you play MineCraft Bed Wars with him despite the fact you had made it clear that you hated most server games..but now you play Bed Wars every chance you get. 

Nishinoya could say the same about you though; you were constantly pushing him to be the best version of himself that he possibly could. For example, there was when he texted you saying that he was going to skip school so he asked for you to cover him but instead, you induced him to come in by telling him that his future self will thank him for having the best attendance possible. 

Before you had a moment to collect your thoughts, Noya took your hand again and guided you through the Forrest, the sound of rushing water getting louder as y’all went along. “Yū, this place is so pretty.” You mumbled, the chilly air lacing through your hair elegantly as you were dragged through the Forrest by Noya. 

“You haven’t even seen the place we’re going to have our date yet!” He exclaimed, his lips curling into a smile as you didn’t object against his use of the word ‘date’ like you normally would. 

Suddenly, he came to halt and once you caught up with him, you took a moment to study the smug expression painted on his face before following his gaze only to realise that y’all had finally arrived at his desired ‘date’ destination.

You studied the setting he had brought you to and to say you were pleasantly surprised was an understatement. 

There was long, lush green grass growing on the outskirts of a clear crystal pond which was being poured into by many miniature ‘waterfalls’ that were just water squirting out from in between the rocks decorating the far edge of the pond. Along with that, there were cute little flowers adorning the sides of the pink, checkered picnic blanket which Noya had kindly laid out beforehand. 

“Noya- it’s- this place-” You choked, absolutely lost for words at the beauty and magic that this place emitted. 

The adorable look of awe in your eyes was enough to make Noya fall for you even more, “Do you like it?” He inquired sincerely, taking off the mask of pride he wore to impress you to get your genuine reaction.

“It’s stunning, you- how did you even find this place?” You eventually managed to blurt out, turning to look at him with a gleeful grin which set his heart ablaze.

Noya shrugged, thinking back to the first time he stumbled across this serene setting and how - upon laying eyes on the bewitching sight - his immediate thought was of you. “I guess, I just followed the noise of running water.” He spoke, as if asking you the question while tapping his jaw with his index finger. 

Then, before you got a chance to take a seat for yourself, Noya pulled the moves on you which he had practising with a volleyball since he first found this place; he took your hand by tucking his index and middle finger under yours so he had access to your knuckles, then he bent over to plant a long, tender kiss on it.

That action on it’s own was enough set the tips of your ears on fire but when he looked up from the kiss so his enchanting brown eyes met your wide (e/c) ones, you felt ‘the thing’ again and shuddered yet somehow unable to bring yourself to yanking your hand away. “Yū..” was all you could choke out in a breathy voice.

He didn’t reply, instead he led you over to the blanket he had set out on the ground by the pond, sat down and let go of your hand so you could take a seat beside him. 

You went along with him, mindlessly dropping down by his right side but all while keeping your eyes glued to the breath-taking sight of the pond water glistening under the moonlight which penetrated through the slats in the canopy.  Appreciating the environment as you were well aware that it’d be a while before you were taken some place so beautiful again. 

Noya couldn’t help but chuckle at how fixated you were on the scenery, taking this opportunity to drop the line he had been refining for many weeks prior. “You’re acting as if you’ve never seen something as magnificent before  - I mean, you’ve looked in a mirror, haven’t you?” He asked, a cocksure smirk tugging at the corner of his lip as he thought he delivered that line rather smoothly.

Meanwhile, you playfully rolled your eyes, cringing slightly at how poor Noya’s acting skills were; he made it dead obvious from his clearly google searched ‘synonyms for beautiful’ use of ‘magnificent’ to the fact you just knew that there was no way he’d be able to come up with something so suave on the spot. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he had rehearsed that line many times preparatory for today but something about the thought that Noya cared enough about you to go through the effort of practising lines made your knees weak for some..unknown reason.

“Anyway,” Noya broke the deafening silence between the two of you by sliding off his bag, pulling it up to his left and rummaging through it in search of something. “I brought snacks and drinks for us.” 

“Oh, you’re too kind.” This piqued your curiosity as you sat up straight to try catch a peek inside of his bag to see what other stuff he had in there, along with what he could’ve possibly brought as a ‘snack’. 

Noya whipped his head back around to face you as he slammed two cans of Monster Energy onto the few millimetres of space on the blanket between your thigh and his, “Mango Loco for me and a Pipeline Punch for you!” He exclaimed with a foolish grin on his face which just got wider as he noticed a sweet smile gracing your features as your gaze dropped to the cans.

“How did you know Pipeline Punch is my favourite? Or was it just a guess?”

Noya snickered as you asked the question which he was praying for you to utter so he could give his ‘nonchalant’ response, “Oh, I just remembered the time at the arcade when we found a Monster vending machine and you chose Pipeline Punch - no biggie.” 

You chuckled, internally ecstatic that he would remember such a trivial detail about you but externally you were ecstatic to chug down some well-deserved Monster. You opened your can and promptly poured it down the hatch - bottoms up - taking a few audible gulps before letting out a faint ‘ah’ as the can parted from your lips. 

“That hits the fuckin’ spot.” You mused, staring blankly into the void as you felt any fatigue or sleepiness that might’ve been lingering inside your body slowly melt away, being replaced by passionate urge to..make out with someone. Shit. 

Noya guffawed at your visible enthusiasm for the beverage, which reminded him to open up his own. Gulping down the sweet taste in unison with you before sitting the can back down by his side, “I think that’s my third can today.” He said indifferently, as he turned to his bag and began hunting through it again.

Your immediate response was to gasp and luckily you didn’t have any liquid in your mouth at that moment or else it would’ve came spewing out, “Third?! Yū, that’s too much! I think this is my third can this year. You’ve seriously got issues, man.”

Noya nodded in agreement with your last statement as he tried desperately to stifle a chuckle, “I know.” He replied, then threw a bag of Doritos over his shoulder for it to land perfectly in your lap. “And here are the snacks.” 

You smiled, glancing down at the bag of chips sitting in your lap before shifting your gaze onto Noya, expecting him to turn around with a second bag of chips in his possession but instead, he was empty-handed. You quirked an eyebrow at this, knowing that Noya wasn’t the sort to give food to others without leaving some for himself, “Yū, where is your snack?” 

Noya opened his mouth, clearly about to give you a serious answer until inspiration stuck him like lightening - he just had to say it. “Sitting right next to me, why?”

You couldn’t help but titter at his stupid little joke; still, you were able to read him like a book despite not receiving a straight answer, “I’m guessing you want to share this bag then?”

“Well, yeah, it’s party-sized so I’d be surprised if you were able to finish it on your own.” 

“Is that a challenge?” You inquired, popping open the bag and twitching your nose slightly as all the ‘flavour dust’  effused from the bag sprinkled across your face, leading to you having to wipe it off with your jacket sleeve.

“No, I’m starving!” He cried as he aggressively stuck his whole arm into the bag to grab a fist-full of Doritos, pull it out and shove most of it into his mouth like the glutton he is. 

You scoffed, tossing the bag onto his lap as there was no way you were going to eat a single chip from that bag after he put his grimy, unsanitized hands in there, “Did you even wipe your hands before eating?- god knows where they’ve been!”

Noya shrugged, choosing to ignore your grimace and continue indulging himself in his bag of Chilli Heatwave Doritos which he now had all to himself. “Haters gonna hate.” He mumbled to himself through a mouthful or chips, causing little pieces to go flying everywhere.

“Haters gonna care about your health and wellbeing!” You snapped back, attempting to say that in all seriousness but a playful smile kept creeping back onto your features.

Although there was an effort made to hide it, his whole body tingled when you said that you cared. The fact that you’d admit to something like that was - in Noya’s mind - proof that you were starting to catch feelings for him. 

He couldn’t be too confident in his hypothesis just yet but he needed answers right away as your endearing little actions caused him to grow more impatient by the second; how you said you cared for him, the way you gazed blankly at the moon or the stare filled with longing that you both shared on the way here - all of those factors snowballed into a feeling which was brimming inside Nishinoya this whole time and now, he finally bursts.

He tossed the bag aside, swiping his hands against each other to remove all the ‘flavour dust’ and once he did so, he grabbed both of your shoulders and adjusted his whole body to face you, exchanging a yearning gaze similar to the one you both exchanged before arriving at the Forrest. 

You instantly flushed red like anybody would do in your situation - I mean, his face was only inches away from yours, close enough for you to feel his light exhales tickle the skin of your lips and as much as you wanted to look down, for some reason you couldn’t pry your eyes off of his. There wasn’t a word spoken between the two of you for a solid minute but the fierce look in his eyes did all the talking for him, he undoubtedly wanted to tell you something important.

Nishinoya mentally scolded himself for being so impulsive, he pulled you in before he had even mustered up the courage to say anything so now you were both intensely staring into each other’s eyes as you waited for Noya to find the right words. 

“(Y/N)-” he spluttered at last, “I obviously really really like you. And I know the night isn’t even close to over yet but I just gotta know, do I even have a chance? Is there literally anything I can do to win your heart? Or am I just fighting a losing battle?” 

You internally sighed of relief, glad that it was just about his feelings rather than your sneaking suspicion that his forceful grabbing was the first step in his plan to - quite literally - take you out. “Yū..I can’t-” You were about to explain your answer until you froze mid-sentence, realising that you didn’t even know the answer to the question yourself. 

“I’m- I’m not sure. I’m sorry.” You murmured, averting your eyes from him and lowering them to the blanket beneath y’all. In all honesty, you were ashamed to have such little control or knowledge over your emotions - you usually don’t let your feelings run wild like this but something about just looking at Nishinoya evoked something special inside you. 

“I don’t even know what to say- I guess, I’m just mortified thinking about the way I’ve treated you up until today. And how I can’t even give you an answer to the simplest of questions, an apology doesn’t even cover half of it.” You gushed, feeling something horrible weigh down on your chest and you didn’t need a therapist to figure out that it was guilt. Next thing you new, tears were streaming down your cheeks but you paid no mind to them in hopes Noya wouldn’t even notice.

However, he noticed, of course he did. The faint sobs didn’t even need to reach his ear for him to be able to sense you sadness, thus slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you in so the side of your head rested against his heart while he kept you secure with one hand on the small of your back and the other cradling your head. “Don’t cry..” He whispered, not sure how exactly to comfort people in these situations but aiming to do his best anyway. 

“I don’t think it even matters if I like you or not; you deserve someone a lot nicer than me - and someone who shares more of your interests and ambitions so y’all can skip class together and whatnot.” You butchered the last part of your excuse but so be it, he’d get the memo either way.

Nishinoya chuckled which - in the moment - seemed inappropriate but after he flopped backwards - taking you down with him - you understood why he was laughing and you’d be lying if you said a faint one didn’t escape your lips too as he fixed his position so he was laying down with your head still against his chest. “You’re silly, (Y/N). Have I ever told you why I fuss over you so much rather than any other person?”

You paused, your breath hitching slightly, “No, you haven’t, actually.” Surely that was something you’ve learned by now after the many times you’ve asked him to go simp for someone else but no; every time you tell him to do that, his response is always the same, ‘If their name isn’t (Y/N) (L/N) then I’m not gonna fuck with them.’. At the time, you thought it was a great misfortune that there wasn’t any other (Y/N) (L/N)s at you school but now that you are laying in Noya’s arms in the crisp winter air, you consider yourself lucky. 

“Well,” Noya started as he usually does when he is about to go on rambling about something, “I think we are soulmates, to be honest. I mean, two incredibly attractive people, both with immaculate music tastes - it’s basically written in the stars that we should be together. Also, we are kinda like ‘opposites attract’, y’know? Like, I am the sexy rascal and you’re the sexy librarian - I help you live your life and you help me with algebra.” He wasn’t really sure where he was going with that comparison so he just decided to leave it there, “Basically what I’m trying to say is I really like you because you are you and I am me, y’know?”

There was just something about his chatter that you found so inexplicably captivating, so you allowed a small giggle to pass your lips at his final comment. “Yū..” You cooed, feeling your eyes drift shut under the warmth and comfort of his body pressed against yours. “The only reason I didn’t want to go out with you is that I was afraid I’d mess up my GPA. But genuinely, it’s hard to give a single fuck about my grades now; you just make me so happy, Nishinoya. I can’t even begin to describe how amazing I feel tonight, especially since I’ve kinda been studying non-stop for a week or two.” 

Noya’s heart skipped a beat as he waited in anticipation for you to continue, eliciting him to prod you a bit, “So..does that mean..?”

You felt the world fade away around you - right now it was just you and Nishinoya, enjoying each others company and keep one another cozy. “Yes, Yū. I’ve officially fallen for you. Will you be my boyfriend?”

Nishinoya was simply unable to contain his rejoice and excitement so he temporarily lifted his hand from your back to pump it into the air in celebration, “Yes!” He cheered, a toothy smile plastered onto his face which didn’t seem to diminish any time soon. “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend!”

He tensed, his eyes darting around to find something to express his joy onto until he recognised that the perfect opportunity was laying right on his chest. Hence, he lifted your chin with his index finger so you were gazing at him with your sweet, tired eyes and then he leaned in to plant an adoring kiss on your forehead. 

“I promise to treat you better than anyone else ever could!” He beamed, entitling that as his final comment as it was clear that you just want to fall asleep peacefully in his arms - which was odd considering you had a few sips of Monster Energy but he wasn’t opposed either way.

After all, now that you were his, he could spend as much time with you as he desired so there was no rush.

[melonkooky]

bts reaction - their s/o getting hate for dating them

requested

genre: angst, fluff

author’s note: i kinda changed your request. i hope that's okay 😬😬. also, i don’t think this is good writing but i did try my best. please enjoy!!!

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

masterlist

introduction

you knew what you were getting into when you started going out with [member]. you knew there was always going to be those people that don't accept your relationship to them. you told yourself not to listen and to ignore all the negativity. but you can only take so much.

kim seokjin

you received a letter in the mail. it was sitting on top of the coffee table, words haunting your mind. 'who gave you the right to date seokjin-oppa? do you think you're special? you're not.' those words were messing with your mind. on top of it, you felt scared. if they managed to get this letter into your mailbox, then they know where you live, they know where seokjin lives. you were more worried about him than yourself. seokjin had arrived home a few hours after you received the letter. "hey, baby." he greeted, tired from practice,

"come here," you told him.

slightly confused hearing the pain in your voice, seokjin walked to your spot on the couch. he sat down and you handed him the letter. you watched his face for any reaction. when he finished, the sides of the sheet of paper crumbled in his fist. he sighed. "why didn't you call me earlier?"

you shrugged. "you were busy."

"baby, they know where we live. this person clearly doesn't accept our relationship. they said very hurtful things to you. they could be dangerous."

you shook your head, tears spilling out of your eyes. seokjin's eyes widened. he pulled you into a tight hug, "hey, don't believe any of those words, okay? they are most definitely in the wrong. you have done nothing wrong." he reassured. "now, let's pack up some clothes and necessities. we're going to stay at the dorm for a while."

you nodded. you looked up at seokjin, who smiled at you. "i'll take care of it. don't worry."

min yoongi

it had never reached this point until just recently. you had helped with yoongi in his recent song and he was happy about it. he posted the song on soundcloud, and then announced it on twitter. he made sure that your name was in this tweet; there was no way he was going to take all the credit. majority of his fans loved it. but of course, there were those fans that loved the song, but hated the fact that you contributed. even worse: those who hated the song simply because of your contribution. you didn’t think anything of it but your social medias started to get blasted by comments, comments like ‘you’re not even an artist’, ‘you have no talent’, ‘the song would have been way better if you didn’t even exist.’ yoongi happened to read that last comment when you had left your phone unattended. he was angry. why weren’t they supporting you just as they would with him? he went to twitter for this problem. he thanked everyone in a long message, thanking them for their support. then he moved on to the ones who weren’t supporting you. he addressed that he was fine with their opinions, but directly messaging his significant other and saying how much they hated them just wasn’t right. sure, they don’t like them. but that doesn’t give them the right harass his significant other. after posting the message, many were proud and on his side. a few even apologized. even if his message didn’t do much, he felt better. when he was finished, you walked back into the room. “hey, i read a few comments they were making after our song.” he began.

your cheeks burned a bit. “did you...”

yoongi smiled at you, reaching for your hand. “i took care of it.”

you blushed, smiling widely at him.

jung hoseok

jimin had accidentally mentioned you in an interview, a...live...interview. there was no going back. hoseok had no choice but to admit that he was in fact in a relationship and only revealed your name. he didn’t want to expose you to the whole world. seconds after revealing you year long relationship, your phone lit up. one notification. then four. then sixteen. more and more. many started following you and began asking you questions. you became so overwhelmed by it all. many begged other to support you and even messaged you saying how attractive you were from pictures you had posted. however, there were a selected few who had the opposite opinion. they began to attack you. all of this happened in the span of a few minutes. your first thought was to call hoseok. he was in the middle of an interview but his manager secretly handed him his phone. hoseok beamed and blushed, flashing your pet name caller id to the crowd who screamed. he answered, “hey, y/n.”

“hoseok, i hate to interrupt your interview but...the fans...they’re all over me.”

hoseok’s smile dropped. he took the phone away from his ear. “i know this is sudden and a surprise,” he started, “but please leave them alone. i hate to say this but if you don’t support my decisions, then you really shouldn’t call yourself my fan. the fans that i love to death would love both me and whoever i am with. please, don’t be mean and give them such comments.”

you sighed. “hoseok?”

“i’m here.”

“you didn’t have to do that.”

“i wouldn’t want you to go through such negative things.”

kim namjoon

you and namjoon had no choice but to reveal your relationship to the public. you and him had tried to hide it for months, but somehow, a picture of you two together was taken, reports of you two were all over the internet. there was just no hiding it anymore. namjoon finally made the announcement. at first, things were relatively calm. maybe the public and his fans were just a little shocked. it got to a point where it was always a topic on interviews. a question relating to that was asked and it broke your own heart but namjoon replied, “you can hate me, but please don’t hate them.”

many were supportive. “it’s not right to hate them just because they’re dating namjoon. they’ve done nothing wrong.”

it got to a point where fans were harassing you on the internet and eventually in public. you were able to ignore them for a while. but one day when shopping with namjoon, some girl ran up to you and dumped ice cold water all over you. and namjoon couldn’t hold back. “a fan is someone who not only loves and admires someone, but also supports them. if you don’t support me or my significant other or any of our decisions, the exit is right behind you.”

park jimin

it began with a few messages online. those things you could ignore. you could just log out and delete the app, even shut down your account. that simple. but somehow, someone had found the place you had worked at. you don’t know how but they did. first it was a note, “you don’t deserve him.” and then more notes, eventually getting to flat out hate mail. someone that obviously didn’t like that you were dating jimin was out to get you. and they knew where you worked. the mail lasted a few weeks. you ignored them and decided not to tell jimin yet. he didn’t need to know. his focus should be on his career. but they started to get worse. each letter was making you more scared and anxious. you eventually couldn’t take it anymore so you took a few days off. jimin hadn’t noticed a thing but one day, while looking for a specific article of clothing, he saw a box. opening it, he found every single thing the anonymous being had wrote. he immediately called for you. you knew it was coming. he questioned you about it and you answered all his inquiries. you had begun crying and admitted that they were the reason why you can’t bring yourself to go to work. jimin pulled you into his chest. “i just wish you had told me earlier. this all could’ve been over a lot sooner.”

“i know. i’m sorry.”

little did you know, jimin went to the police about it and they found out that a coworker had been sending all the letters. it explained how they knew where you worked.

kim taehyung

you and taehyung were at your apartment. you had a movie on when he showed up at your doorstep. naturally, taehyung got excited and told you to restart while he made some popcorn. so now you were laying in his lap, all the lights off and all the curtains closed. the only light was from the tv...for the first half of the movie. the second light source came from your phone. once wasn’t a bother. but eventually, it wouldn’t turn off because of the number of notifications. “love, maybe you should check those.” taehyung suggested.

you reached over and checked who they were from. your mood immediately dropped but you hadn’t told your boyfriend about this issue yet. in fact, you didn’t plan to. “it’s nothing.”

“they clearly need you if they are texting you that many times. who is it?” he asked, a mischievous smile of his face.

“none of your damn business.” you replied, pretending to ignore him.

but taehyung was quick and snatched your phone. he laughed as you reached for it but you eventually gave up. you waited for him to open your phone and investigate. his smile dropped as he scrolled through your phone. “who’s ‘y/nisabitch01′?”

you shrugged.

“’i hate you.’ ‘you’re not even pretty.’ ‘you think you’ll get attention for dating taehyung-oppa?’ please tell me you don’t actually believe this anti-fan?”

you shrugged again. “love, this is harassment. why haven’t you blocked her?”

“i felt that that would make things worse.”

“do you really care about that? it’s okay to be a little selfish at times. i’m reporting her for you because i don’t like the things she’s saying about you. they are not true.” taehyung told you. 

you looked at him. you truly loved this man. 

jeon jungkook

you were crying in your bedroom. you couldn’t take it anymore. all the hate for dating. yeah, you were dating the maknae one of the most popular kpop group in the entire world. but they were giving you so much shit for it. and a human being such as you can only take so much. it all caught up to you when someone confronted you on your way home. this woman had called you out of so many things, things that were most certainly not true. but now you were thinking, “i’m not worthy enough for him. i don’t deserve him. i’m not even that great.”

jungkook had noticed your unusual silence throughout the day. there was always one conversation where you and him use memes and fight over the smallest thing. but when he started one...you apologized. something you had never done. he decided to confront you about it. he wasn’t sure about what was going on. he walked into your apartment, having gotten in with the spare. he heard your cries. they were loud so you couldn’t hear him enter your bedroom. you were momentarily started but his sudden approach. he hugged you tightly. “why are you crying?” 

you shook your head, not really wanting to tell him. “yah, please tell me.”

you sighed and explained to him your recent encounter. jungkook was shocked that someone had actually personally walked up to you just to tell you you were worthless and didn’t deserve to be dating him. “baby, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” he reassured. “you’re not worthless, you’re not talented, you’re not ugly. i love you so much and it hurts me that someone is telling you these things. please let me know if this ever happens again.”

[marshmallow-phd]

White Out

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe  

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Summary: Bouncing place to place was just how lived your life. Settling down just wasn’t in your plans, especially with your past. But when you meet Kyungsoo, there’s suddenly a future in front of you that you never imagined possible. With both enemies and friends of the pack arriving in town, you’ll be pulled into a danger that you never asked for. Will you stick around for Kyungsoo or will you do what you do best and run?

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

When you arrived at work the next morning, there was a voicemail left on the answering machine. Kimberly had called back and was letting you know that some friends would be in later to pick up the school ID as both she and Ji Yeon would be in a pre-session class all day. You shrugged it off, putting your focus more on the fact that the next voicemail was from your boss who was apparently now sick and leaving the running of the store to you.

Thankfully, there were plenty of sweets that were still good in the display cases and no large orders that needed to be completed right away and could be left for tomorrow. No one came in for the first few hours, letting you sit in the back and decorate another batch of sugar cookies just for fun.

Since this town was surrounded by forests that went on for miles, you were feeling a bit inspired. Birds, moons, trees, whatever you could think of, you mixed up the icing and covered every inch of those cookies with scenes of nature. You kind of felt bad for whoever would be consuming the treat given the amount of sugar you were piling on.

The bell that signaled the entry door opening chimed off and you reluctantly left your artwork to man the front.

Three boys walked into the store, looking around.

“How can I help you?” you asked, wiping excess frosting from your hands with a paper towel.

One of the boys came up to the counter, leaning against it with his forearms. You immediately stiffened, willing yourself not to take a step back. At this point in your life, it was just a learned reflex.

“I’m here to pick up my ma- er, my girlfriend’s ID,” he explained. The tallest of the boys giggled behind him. Elbowing him in the stomach, the remaining one with black hair sent a death glare as well.

You relaxed a bit, now fully realizing the situation. He wasn’t going to hit on you or flirt. “Yeah, let me go grab it.” Coming back with the ID, you handed the card over to the sharp eyed boy on the other side of the counter. You felt a pair of eyes trained on you, but you refused to look up to meet the stare.

“Thanks,” he smiled as he slipped it into his pocket. He whipped his head around just in time to catch the tall one reaching out to take a cookie from the open display. “Chanyeol, no!”

The tall one – Chanyeol – actually pouted his lips. “But Minseok–”

“We just ate,” the third one interrupted in a soothing, deep voice, his eyes finally leaving you.

You were a bit startled that that kind of voice could come from someone like him. He was the shortest out of the three, his face seemingly cold and void of any emotion. His black hair wasn’t quite as long as the others, styled so what would have been the bangs were away from his forehead sticking out in a sort of wave motion.

When Chanyeol didn’t put the cookie down, the third boy added more authority in his voice. “Put it back.”

Feeling sorry for the guy who’s pout had actually deepened, you went to the back and quickly put a few of the cookies you’d completed earlier in a clear plastic bag, tied together with a green ribbon.

“Here.” You held the bag out for the first boy to take when you were back in the front, but the shorter one took it instead. His face had pulled into a frown, but not out distaste of your offering. It was more… confused. His eyes wouldn’t leave you and you felt like a bunch of cells shining under a microscope.

The first boy started to pull out his wallet but you waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. Those weren’t for sale. I was just practicing.”

“Making them?” Chanyeol asked cautiously.

You chewed on your lip to keep from chuckling. Laughing opened you up to more conversation and really you just wanted to go back to solitude. “No, decorating.”

“They look pretty,” the shorter one commented.

Clearing your throat, you stepped back, running your hand over your hair. “Have a nice day.”

You all but ran to the back, needing the space. Once you heard the bell chime above the door, you peeked back around. Through the storefront window, you watched them leave. But when you thought you were being sneaky, the third boy looked over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a half smile. With a gasp and as fast as you could, you hid behind the wall, getting a strange thumping in your chest. You put your hand over the pounding, realizing it was your heart speeding up.

No. Not again.

You breathed in through your nose and out your mouth, willing your circulatory system to calm down. What was wrong with you?

Yes, he was… cute, but thoughts like that led to attachments. You didn’t create new attachments. That just ended in disaster. The few you had were enough for you.

Shaking off the strange encounter, you went back to your decorating. No one else really came in for the rest of the day and even after you locked up for the evening, you stayed an extra hour or so, just working on your decorating skills and coming up with new designs to offer.

The sun was completely gone by the time you left the bakery. You kept your eyes ahead, walking at a quick pace back to your apartment. You were just two blocks away when a shadow stepped out from a passing alleyway.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

You kept walking, ignoring the loser that was trying to catch your attention. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate that very much.

Before you could get out of his reach, he grabbed your upper arm, yanking you back. You dug your heels into the ground trying to keep away from the alley he was now guiding you to. The only light source was the corner street lamp.

Lifting a leg up, you kicked at his thigh, digging your heel into the muscle, your goal giving him a dead leg achieved. Letting out a loud yelp, he let you go. You took off towards your apartment, heart thumping your ears with adrenaline. This place was supposed to be safe and yet you were currently being chased by a delinquent who wanted to make you his plaything.

Said criminal caught up to you easily and practically tackled you to the ground. Even though your jeans, you could feel the roughness of the sidewalk scraping your skin.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he huffed, flipping you over to your back. You tried to fight back, but he had your wrists trapped in his hands and slammed them down to the concrete on either side of your head as he straddled your waist. “Now the real fun begins.”

“Get. Off.” Your teeth were clenched as you shifted and kicked, trying anything to get away. He was too strong but you wouldn’t give up. Not until you were dead.

A strange growl ripped through the air and suddenly the man was off of you before you could blink. Someone had come to your rescue, pinning the man against the brick wall, his feet over six inches above the ground, wiggling to gain some sort of traction or stability.

The man growled down at your rescuer, struggling against his grip that was wrapped within the ratty t-shirt.

“Stay out of our territory,” the newcomer warned in a familiar voice. He threw the man down to the ground and watched him scramble up and run away into the darkness.

Your guess was right as the stranger crouched down to get a better look at you. It was the third boy from the bakery. His eyes scanned over every inch of you as he tried to help you up. His worry seemed genuine and, given the fact that you didn’t even know his name, it made you uncomfortable.

Ripping your arm out of his hand, you got to your feet by yourself. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He stayed close to you, a hand resting on your elbow. “Did he hurt you? I’m sorry i didn’t get here sooner.”

“I’m fine!” you insisted. You were irritated, but you couldn’t figure out why. Your body was reacting to him in such a weird way that you didn’t understand and it was freaking you out.

“Can I see you home the rest of the way?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. I can get there by myself.”

He tried to stop you after you took a few steps. “But-”

“Just leave me alone!” You were nearly shouting, but you didn’t know how else to get him to go away.

Finally understanding, he let you go. Looking over your shoulder, you made eye contact with the person who had come to your rescue. Worry, frustration, and something else you couldn’t read was written all over his face and you felt guilty all of a sudden. The thought of agreeing to let him walk you home lingered for just a second, but you shoved it aside. Shaking your head, you kept going and made it back to your apartment without any other incident.

**

Kyungsoo still followed you back to your apartment, keeping a fair distance so you weren’t aware of his presence. He couldn’t believe another wolf had shown up in town, not to mention tried to take his mate like a bone he’d found to play with. Thankfully, the omega was easy to deal with, weak from being alone.

Nothing else happened, but that didn’t mean he felt any better leaving you relatively safe inside behind the locked door.

Kyungsoo kept walking, ignoring the whining wolf inside his chest, until he was lost within the trees of the forest’s edge. Pulling his shirt off over his head, he stripped down before letting his wolf go, fur exploding from his skin as his body morphed from human to animal. The pain of the transformation had turned into a numbing ache years ago. Now, his main agony was the distance growing between you and him as he ran deeper through the trees.

He couldn’t believe that he was next. After watching his hyungs and even Jongin find their mates back to back, he wondered who would have been the lucky one to find their mate. Packs tended to find them together, the magic of fate working in their favor. If you’d asked Kyungsoo, he would have said that Junmyeon would have been the next to gain his mate. Actually, he’d hoped it would have been their alpha so he could stop pining over the witch. Junmyeon was so noble that he just let himself be in misery rather than giving himself just a taste of happiness.

The ground felt different beneath Kyungsoo’s paws. Or maybe Kyungsoo himself was just different. Finding his mate was even more elating than he’d expected. Too bad you seemed to be too fond of strangers. He would have to be careful not to accidentally over do it in his excitement. He was determined to not be like Jongdae. He’d embrace you completely, letting you go at your own pace while he waited for you. All he needed to do was make sure he gained your trust. Something told him that was easier said than done.

When the house was finally in view, Kyungsoo slowed his pace and turned back into his original human self. He was covered in sweat, somewhat regretting telling Minseok and Chanyeol to go back in the car without him even though they wanted to stay.

Kyungsoo knew that while Minseok would have been able to handle the long hours, Chanyeol would have been bored and whining fifteen minutes in. So Kyungsoo stayed behind by himself, watching the bakery and keeping an eye on you. He’d stepped away for a few minutes to go grab a drink at the gas station and you’d chosen that exact time to finally leave your job and walk home. In the dark. Alone. It frustrated him to no end, but he wasn’t exactly in the position to scold you for it.

“Hey! Look who’s back!” Chanyeol yelled as soon as Kyungsoo walked in the back door.

He simply threw the obnoxious giant a look that told him to shut his mouth.

“Did you talk to her?” Jongin asked hopefully.

Kyungsoo shook his head. “No. A lone wolf attacked her. I scared him away, but she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“They never do in the beginning,” Jiyoung murmured, giving Jongdae the side eye. The latter whined, but went ignored. It was his own fault he’d given his mate the perfect ammunition.

“Congratulations,” Junmyeon said sincerely from his usual spot at the counter stool.

Kyungsoo smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Grabbing a glass out of the cabinet, he filled it with icy water out of the fridge, gulping it down quickly and cooling his system greatly.

“So, there was an omega in town?” Yixing asked worriedly. Apparently he’d taken Kyungsoo’s place as chef tonight and was now cleaning up the mess.

Joining him at the sink and helping with washing the dishes, Kyungsoo nodded, “Yeah. It’s not a good sign. I’m sure a lot more are going to come through town if the hybrids really are on their way.”

“I guess that means you’ll be spending a lot of time in town as well.”

“We’re going to starve,” Baekhyun huffed, slumping down in his seat at the booth.

“You could learn to cook,” Kyungsoo shot over his shoulder. That just earned him a stuck out tongue from the childish wolf.

“I think we’ll all be spending more time in town and the surrounding woods,” Junmyeon concluded. “We’ve sworn to protect our home. That’s what we’ll do.”

“You really think the hybrids are coming?” Sehun asked, straightening up from his spot on the wooden floor.

Junmyeon shrugged. “We can’t take the chance that it’s not true. It’s too risky.”

Knock, knock, knock.

All nine pairs of ears perked up at the sudden interruption. Were they really here?

Everyone scrambled to the front living room. Junmyeon had to shove through the excited pack to get to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he put his hand on the knob and slowly pulled the wooden barrier open. All breaths were held as the reveal happened.

Just as Kyungsoo was expecting, three people that they hadn’t seen or heard from in years stood on the porch, their heads hung low in a bow.

The tallest and head of the formation straightened up and swallowed.

“Kris,” Junmyeon said in a small, barely-there voice.

“Hey, Junmyeon.”

[justbtscenarios]

Birthday Boy Blunder

Part 3: You haven't changed a bit

I sat up in the queen-sized bed I had passed out in some time early this morning, maybe around three? I woke up not but 6 hours later to the sound of my phone dinging like crazy with messages from Hobi. It didn’t take much time before I was over the conversation we were having and went back to sleep for a few more hours. I kicked the comforter that seemed to be smothering me to the end of the bed then pulled my hair into a messy bun and wiped the sleep out of my eyes. I surveyed my surroundings, barely visible with the help of the light seeping in through the space in between the curtains. I stifled a yawn, stretching out my limbs until I felt the relief of my bones cracking, the sound was music to my ears. Hobi hated it when I cracked any part of my body because it made him nauseous which only made me want to do it more to tease him. I smiled at the thought, but it quickly vanished once the events of last night hit me like a mac truck.

Why didn’t he answer my calls? It was as if he deliberately ignored them just so he could hang out with the guys which was all he did anymore. It was clear I wasn’t as much of a priority to him as he was to me. I couldn’t even remember the last time we slept together or even just spent a night in to have a movie marathon and cuddle. My heart ached but I couldn’t tell if it was for him or because of him. One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to go running back into his arms as if nothing had happened. I needed some time to collect my thoughts and figure out what it was that I wanted, no matter how much it may hurt.

“Yo twiggy! You plan on getting out of bed any time soon?” Yeon-seok said interrupting my thoughts and flicking the light switch on, temporarily blinding me.

“I have a name dipshit,” I grumbled.

I hopped out of bed with a huff and followed him to the kitchen where I took a seat at the breakfast bar.

“You haven’t changed a bit. Maybe a little more feisty than I remember,” he said sliding a steaming mug of tea across the counter to me.

I could smell the overwhelming aroma of mint tea with a hint of honey that infiltrated my nostrils, filling my lungs with a warmth comparable to that of the sun. How did he remember my favorite tea? I put my hands around the cup as the heat of the contents inside seeped to the outside of the mug until it burned my hands and that’s all I could focus on.

“I see you’re still a masochist,” he said grabbing my source of concentration from my grasp.

“I see you’re still a dickhead,” I spat, taking it out of his hands.

Hobi and I weren’t just a couple. We had been the best of friends for years, even before his debut. He was a year ahead of me but we were both in the same math class when I was a freshman and him a sophomore because that was my strongest subject in school. We were assigned to the same table and the rest is history. He was the most caring guy I had ever met, although in a relationship for a year before they broke up (two years after BTS debuted) and he asked me out. It wasn’t so much a mutual break up as it was him dumping her after he found out that she not only slept with his older brother but had gotten pregnant too. At that point me and Yeon-seok were in a hate-hate relationship. He always picked on me when I came over to see Hobi and even bestowed upon me the nickname of “twiggy” because I was so thin. At which point in time I bestowed upon him the nickname of “eat shit and die”. Hobi forbade either of us from talking to one another after his experience with his ex-girlfriend. It had been years since I talked to or saw Yeon-seok…until now.

“You’re welcome,” he said motioning to the mug of tea.

“Funny I don’t remember saying thank you,” I replied.

“Okay so it wasn’t just me,” he retorted.

“Thank you,” I smiled fakely, “Asshole.”

“So do you wanna talk about it or?” he asked and I could hear from the tone of his voice that he would rather get hit by a train than hear why I was crying over his brother.

“You don’t have to act like you care Yeonnie,” I said hopping off the bar stool and abandoning my half-drunken mug of tea.

“Hey,” he said grabbing my shoulder and turning me around to face him, “I do care about you. You were my friend too once.”

“Acquaintances possibly and that was until you stuck your dick where it didn’t belong,” I said crossing my arms.

“It takes two to tango twiggy,” he said stepping closer to me.

“Are you trying to intimidate me? Because it’s not working,” I said taking a step closer to him.

“Why do you think I’m just this heartless guy who doesn’t give a shit about anyone?” he asked somewhat hurt.

“Because someone with a heart wouldn’t do what you did.”

“That’s not true at all and you know it. You remember New Years?”

“That’s completely different Yeon-seok! You kissed me!”

“As I recall you didn’t pull away did you?”

“No but Hobi and I were just friends still. Can we just never talk about that again like we said we wouldn’t years ago?”

“Why does it matter? Like you said you guys weren’t together yet.”

“Because he’s my best friend! He knows all of my secrets, even the ones I’d rather keep hidden but he doesn’t know about that and if he did, it would crush him.”

“Like it crushed you when you saw him with some random girl?” he mused.

“How did you even know about that?” I asked bewildered.

“I still talk to the guys now and again. Can’t really fuck them and get them pregnant so Hoseok doesn’t really care.”

“Regardless that’s not even the main reason I was upset,” I said turning to walk away.

“Can you just talk to me? Please?” he asked blocking my path.

“I can’t,” I said shaking my head, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes.

“Shit,” he sighed, “You’re not gonna cry again are you?”

“Fuck you dickwad,” I spit, shoving him out of the way and heading to the bathroom.

After composing myself in the mirror, I took a deep cleansing breath and placed my hand on the doorknob to exit the bathroom. It was cold just like Hoseok had been acting towards me yesterday. I never realized how much my life revolved around him, similar to how the Earth revolves around the Sun. Everything reminded me of him, no matter how minute it appeared in retrospect. It was like an inescapable nightmare that haunted me wherever I went. Exiting the bathroom I ran straight into Yeon-seok, our bodies clashing with one another like cymbals. He grabbed me before I could completely ricochet off of him and he let go of me, straightening up and clearing his throat nervously.

“What are you doing?” I asked exasperated, “Were you waiting outside the bathroom this whole time?”

“I’m really sorry ladybug,” he said taking my hands in his.

Ladybug was the nickname that Hobi had given me because he said I was his good luck charm, it had been ages since he called me it though.

“Ladybug? Really? Using the nickname Hobi gave me to soften me up?” I asked, taking my hands out of his grasp.

His face contorted into an expression of confusion and I was curious as to what I had said that created such a puzzled look to grace his face.

“What?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

“Nothing,” he said shaking his head, “Look. I’m really sorry about everything. I’m sorry for all the times I teased you. I’m sorry for being such an ass to you. You didn’t deserve that and I honestly do care about you.”

I could see the pleading in his eyes to express how apologetic he was and I could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“Most of all I’m sorry for not keeping in touch with you,” he said looking down at his feet.

Yeon-seok rarely, if ever, got shy. He exuded confidence and was well aware of his own self-worth and not in an excessive or cocky manner. He was a well-rounded and humble individual as painful as it was to admit.

“Why? Hoseok forbade us from talking.”

“So? I should’ve contacted you. I wanted to contact you but…I was too much of a coward to do so.”

“I’m really trying to wrap my head around this but I’m a little lost. Why are you being so nice and apologizing to me? After all this time?”

“It’s been festering in me the past couple of years. I was so unnecessarily rude to you and I can blame it on the fact that I was jealous you were getting all of my brother’s attention or I could attribute it to the truth.”

“Which is?” I asked, urging him to continue.

“I-”

Before he could finish his sentence, my phone started going off in his bedroom where I had left it on the nightstand. I jogged into the other room towards the source of the ringing with Yeon-seok not too far behind and when I grabbed my phone I slid the green phone without even looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

[qqueenofhades]

the tangled web of fate we weave

This is highly self-indulgent because I, an extremely stressed-out final-year history PhD student, needed extremely stressed out final-year history PhD student Lucy Preston and also Garcy, because I always need that. 

This is an unofficial sequel to this, where Flynn was the one to save Lucy from the car accident in her sophomore year. 

March 19, 2010

It’s Friday, and it’s the first time all week that Lucy Preston has seen the sunset. Possibly in two weeks, for that matter, or more. She has been shut up in the library since what feels like the start of the new year, buried in her carrel among an endless stack of books, articles, notes, photocopied primary sources, her overworked laptop, her three thumb drives (someone else in the department has a horror story about their computer dying five days before submission, and Lucy isn’t taking any chances), a rotation of takeout cups and sandwich wrappers from the library café, and whatever other sustenance she needs to keep going. She’s rented a campus studio apartment, otherwise she would probably be sleeping in the stacks in the basement. Be way too much hassle to try to commute back and forth to Mom’s house in Mountain View otherwise.

The Stanford campus is cool and blue and quiet, and Lucy leans against the outside library wall, rubbing her eyes and trying to get them to focus. They don’t seem to want to. She turned twenty-seven two months ago, and feels about eighty-one. It’s been a nonstop grind of work, from that moment she nearly died seven years ago, almost exactly to the day – that was the twenty-first of March, 2003, she’s never forgotten. Dumped Jake, abandoned her plans of joining a band, enrolled for junior year of history, finished, graduated, went straight onto her master’s degree that fall, and now, the fact that the end might actually be in sight is one Lucy cannot wrap her head around. It feels surreal and dreamlike.

Overachiever that she is, her PhD is being conferred jointly by two departments, history and anthropology, which means her dissertation is at least one and a half times longer than everyone else’s. She’s teaching HIST1210 on the Civil War and HIST1300 on primary sources, she still has papers to mark from both, and she needs to update her CV and apply for research funding for the conferences she submitted paper prospectuses to. And think, again, about the future. Even having a mother who basically invented the Stanford women’s studies department isn’t a guarantee that she’ll get a job, even if it does pitch her odds a lot better than most people’s. Lucy has already had most of her tuition paid by Carol Preston’s institutional pull, and she can’t help but wonder where the gravy train stops. She likes to think that she’s smart enough that she’d have earned scholarships on her own merit anywhere, but why go anywhere else, when it’s Stanford, for God’s sake? Not Jim Bob Jones Community College.

After a long pause, Lucy straightens up, swings her bag to her shoulder (she leaves most of her stuff in her carrel overnight) and starts down the path. She’s wondered if now might be an opportune moment to develop a drinking habit, but her anxious mind won’t let her. One near-fatal car crash was bad enough, after all. No need to push her luck with a second.

(She thinks again of the man who rescued her. Just dove in, no hesitation at all, and fished her out, told her not to quit history for a boy, and vanished. She never got a name.)

(Is he pleased, then, that she threw herself in headfirst? Is that what he wanted? Not that it matters. Not that that is the reason she’s doing this.)

Lucy comes to a halt in front of the beige-stucco residence halls and digs for her keys, wondering how obnoxious her neighbors feel like being tonight. This is postgrad housing, supposedly quiet, but the way they go at it, you’d think it was undergraduate party central. Lucy has been over to bang on their door at 1AM a few times, and she could complain to the office, but – again, Lucy Good Girl Preston – she shirks from the idea of actually getting anyone in trouble. She’ll be out of here soon anyway, moving on. She can endure it, she can –

“Good evening, Lucy.”

She almost has a heart attack. Drops her keys and fumbles for them madly in the dimness, having some panicky idea that it’s someone jumping out of the bushes to put a bag over her head and drag her off behind a dumpster. Yes, it seems odd to politely address her by her first name beforehand, but who knows? It’s a man’s voice, gravelly and accented, almost familiar. But it’s been at least two years between boyfriends, it’s not any of her professors (and it would be more than a little creepy to follow her home) and –

She whirls around, gets a good look at his face in the portico light, and feels momentarily faint. She was, of course, just thinking about him, and wonders half-seriously if she’s charmed up him up like a djinni. He looks exactly how she remembers: tall, dark hair, sharp-nosed profile, though this time he is not dripping wet, having not had to dramatically dive into the Bay to save her from her sinking car. He’s wearing the leather bomber jacket and a nice pair of jeans, has his thumbs linked casually through his belt like a Grease extra, but it comes off casually competent and slightly chilling. She also remembers what she thought about him last time, that instant response to high-pressure situations might be something he deals with a lot. What the –

“You,” she says at last, having managed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “What are you doing here? How did you – how did you know where to find me?”

He has apparently been prepared to remind her how they know each other, but sees at once that he doesn’t have to. He shrugs. “I know people.”

That’s not exactly a reassuring answer. Lucy clutches her bag closer, as if he’s really come here for the $3.20 in her wallet and her backup thumb drives. “Have you been stalking me?”

He looks amused, but only briefly. “We should get inside.”

Lucy goggles at him, not least at his apparent presumption that she’s going to ask him into her house, but something makes her do as told. Hands trembling for no good reason, she taps her key card, buzzes them in, and climbs the stairs to her second-story apartment. She can hear the thumping of rap music before she even reaches the hallway – yep, her neighbors are at it again. Trying to ignore it, not least because she suddenly has bigger problems, she reaches into her bag for her phone, trying to dial a 9 and 1 without him noticing. But why would the man who saved her life want to kill her?

His eyes flick to her hand. “You don’t need to call the police, Lucy.”

“Don’t need to, or you would prefer that I didn’t?” Lucy refuses to budge. “There’s a difference.”

He looks admiring of her bravery, if irritated at the timing. “Don’t need to. Go inside, I’ll be along.”

Lucy debates dialing the last 1 with her thumb. Or campus security, they could probably get here faster. But – weird as this is, and as he is – something stops her. He slowly removes his hands from his belt and holds them up, then opens his jacket to show her that he isn’t packing heat inside. There is, however, a holster as if he usually does, and he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a slim black case, and flips it open, holding it out. It’s a U.S. government ID. Gives his name as Garcia Flynn.

“Okay,” Lucy says, a little weakly. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

Garcia Flynn doesn’t bother to answer this perfectly reasonable question, making another gesture at her apartment. Lucy goes inside, puts down her bag on the couch, and feels like collapsing onto it. Next door, the music continues unabated for a few more moments, until it abruptly cuts off. The silence is blessed, but suspicious. She hears voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying. Then her front door opens again, she jumps, and Flynn enters, looking smug. “That’s better.”

“You didn’t kill my neighbors, did you?” Lucy isn’t sure they wouldn’t deserve it, but that is obviously not a man she wants to be alone with. Not that she knows how he would kill three people in thirty seconds with no noise, but. . . it’s the sort of thing that doesn’t seem out of his ability. “Or – ”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” He seems somewhat aggravated that she keeps harping on this point. “I’m not here to hurt you, Lucy.”

Lucy remains looking at him tensely, but he returns her gaze forthrightly, and she finally lets out a whisper of a breath. “What’s going on?”

“That’s complicated.” Flynn is prowling around her living room, tapping and shaking things, picking them up and turning them over, in a way that seems – to say the least – out of line in a perfect stranger’s house. Maybe Lucy’s watched too many spy movies recently, switches on whatever looks halfway interesting on Netflix and vegs out, but it looks a lot like sweeping for bugs. He takes a small silver thing that looks like a coin out of his pocket and sets it on her bookshelf. “I’m not sure you’d understand.”

“I’m a PhD student,” Lucy says, voice brittle. “I’m pretty sure I’d understand.”

Flynn glances up at her, one eyebrow raised, but doesn’t answer. He presses something on the silver thing, which hums as if to disrupt any nearby listening equipment, and finally seems satisfied that her shithole student flat is in the clear. “So you kept up with history?”

“Yes. And I’m due to submit my dissertation in about two weeks, my supervisor is supposed to email me by Monday with my oral exam date, half the committee is from Harvard, and I just spent thirteen hours reading nineteenth-century handwriting. So you better make this quick.”

Flynn half-grins, seemingly despite himself. “A PhD at – what, twenty-seven,” he says. “That’s very impressive. You’ve worked hard.”

Lucy doesn’t want to accept the praise of a possibly crazy government operative, but it makes her glow, a little. Her mom always wants to know how much more she still has to do, as if keeping a timetable in her head and marking her off, and of course Amy is encouraging, but Lucy has kept her nose to the grindstone so long that she’s barely picked it up to look at the rest of the world. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing, other than that she has to do it. She does love history. She really does. You don’t get this far without it, and you have to enjoy the tedious parts (well, mostly), even if you’re re-reading your draft and shouting at your first-year self because they didn’t put in page numbers, thus obliging you to go grumbling to hunt them down. She is damn and justifiably proud of this accomplishment, and she doesn’t need anyone, much less FBI Freddy here, to tell her that. But still.

“Never mind that,” she says. “Why are you here?”

Flynn regards her for a long moment. Then he says, “Scientia potentia est. You’ve heard that?”

“It’s Latin,” Lucy says, a little shortly. She is not up for having a fright, and her time wasted, for something he could have typed into Google Translate. “It means knowledge is power.”

“Yes, I know that.” Flynn sits across from her, looking too big for her secondhand armchair. “It’s also a motto. Have you seen it anywhere?”

“No.” A phrase as banal as that could be a motto for dozens of private schools. “Mr. Flynn, I’m afraid I can’t – ”

“Very well.” He sits forward, gripping his knees. “Rittenhouse, Lucy. Have you ever heard of that?”

“Rittenhou – David Rittenhouse?” Lucy is vaguely familiar with him, a leading intellectual of the eighteenth century, polymath and professor of astronomy at the University of Pennsylvania, and correspondent and cohort of the Founding Fathers. Has Flynn come here to ask for help with some research project, some kind of sponsorship some historical society is doing to raise awareness of his life? That at least might make more sense. “Is that what we’re talking about?”

The expression on Flynn’s face seems to say that he momentarily isn’t sure. “So he founded it?”

“What?” Lucy gets up, not entirely sure that she isn’t asleep atop a stack of books back at her carrel, drooling on her notes. “Founded what?”

“The society in his name. Rittenhouse. Scientia potentia est. That’s their motto.”

“There is no society in his name. Unless you mean the astronomy club?”

“I don’t mean the astronomy club. The other one.”

“Is this a – ” Lucy isn’t sure what it would be, some extended performance-art practical joke, perhaps, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to prank her. Besides, why would an eighteenth-century astronomer have anything to do with why Flynn wanted to sweep her apartment for bugs? “I work more on the nineteenth century than late colonial-early federal America, but if you have some kind of question about him, I can recommend someone in the department to – ”

“I’m not asking anyone else,” Flynn says brusquely. “I’m asking you.”

“Well then. You’re in the wrong place, I can’t help. I don’t have time.” Lucy gets up, pacing toward the kitchen. Flynn remains seated, but she can feel his eyes following her. She runs a glass under the tap and takes a drink, then returns to the living room, as if this will somehow have fixed the problem. “What do you want to know about him for? There’s Wikipedia, there’s whatever else, there’s – ”

“Nothing of what I want is available online.” He says this with the tone of somebody who’s looked – and NSA Nicky probably has. “You, though – I thought there was a chance you might. Given who your father is – ”

“What?” Lucy’s father died almost nine years ago. Lung cancer. The reason she won’t take up smoking either, that and the way her mother’s been coughing a lot and she’s urged her to get it checked out. She feels slapped. “My father’s dead.”

“Henry Wallace?” Flynn shakes his head. “No, not him. I meant your biological father.”

“What?”

He pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket and holds it out to her, but Lucy does not budge to take it. In a savage whisper, she says, “You need to leave.”

Flynn belatedly seems to realize that it might not have been the best time to bring this up. He opens his hand and lets the paper flutter onto the floor, but doesn’t move to retrieve it. He gets to his feet instead, eyes never wavering from hers. He is just so damn intense in everything he does, it makes Lucy feel like she’s on the inside of a forge, burning, burning. “Very well.”

With that, he starts across the floor, but seems reluctant to go entirely. Any other person would apologize for the intrusion, or tell her to be careful, but he doesn’t. “Ask your mother about your father,” he says. She can’t tell if his eyes are green or brown – in some lights they look one, in some lights the other. He looks at her challengingly. “Ask him if he is who you thought.”

Lucy’s about to respond, but just then, headlights waver on the ceiling through her half-closed curtains, and she looks down to see a car pulling into the parking lot. It’s the sort of nondescript black sedan that screams shady government business, and she might have thought it was Flynn’s ride, but after he strides to the window and looks out, his mouth goes very thin. He jerks the curtains shut, reaches into his jacket, and remembers he’s left his gun off in a bid not to alarm her. He swears in something that sounds Slavic; Lucy can’t be sure exactly what. It fits with the accent and appearance, but he had a U.S. badge – unless that was some kind of forgery and –

Flynn whirls back to the silver gizmo he has, switches it off, and pulls something else out of his jacket that kills the lights. Then he takes hold of Lucy – it feels much too forward, even as she remembers him pulling her out of the water – and tugs her flat on the floor. “Don’t open the door,” he hisses. “You’re not home.”

Lucy is about to struggle, to ask questions, but the look he gives her is so searing that she bites her tongue instead. She can hear footsteps on the stairs, then a knock on her door. “Miss Preston?” a voice calls. “It’s FedEx.”

She’s pretty sure it isn’t FedEx. She and Flynn lie close together on the floor, his arms still around her, the lights off and the apartment dark. Are they going to go look at the library next, or just assume she’s out having a life like an ordinary twenty-seven-year old woman would on Friday night? She tries to concentrate, to slow her breathing, as if they could hear it. The thump of Flynn’s heart seems distractingly loud, though her ear is pressed directly against his chest. He is so tall that if they were standing, her head would tuck easily under his chin. What is it about him and appearing out of nowhere to get her out of – or into – life-threatening situations?

The faux FedEx man knocks again. They don’t budge. Lucy has to admit, it is more than a little freaky that this has happened right after Flynn has turned up talking about secret societies and – whatever else, and it unwillingly makes her think that there might be something to his story. Oddest of all, however, is the fact that it almost feels familiar to lie next to him, not just because he saved her life. Like it’s something else, and she just has to remember what.

After a long pause and one last knock, the fake deliveryman departs. Flynn doesn’t let go of Lucy until several minutes after they’ve heard the car pull out, he’s looked through the window to make sure, and swears again. “That is the last time I leave my gun at home.”

Lucy sits up slowly, rattled. “Are you going to tell me that was Rittenhouse?”

“Might be.” Flynn speaks distractedly, eyes still on the parking lot. “I don’t suppose you carry?”

“I’m a history student.” Lucy has never wanted to touch a gun in her life, especially since she plans on being a professor. “No.”

“Of course.” His brow remains furrowed, as if he’s judging the advisability of leaving her alone long enough to go back and get his own. Finally he says, “I think it’s better for me to stay here tonight.”

Lucy opens her mouth to tell him that he can’t invite himself to stay the night, but the words get stuck. Despite herself, she is scared. Nonstop dissertation anxiety and crushing uncertainty about the academic job market almost seem preferable. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Flynn turns slowly, the dim light from outside etching the sharp features of his face. “They could have guessed something about what I knew, or. . . I’m not sure. It could blow over, but I’d feel better about it to stay. Just for tonight.”

“And then what?” Lucy demands. “I can’t go into witness protection, just because of whatever stupid thing you got me into! I have to finish my dissertation!”

“You can do that, Lucy.” He looks at her frankly. “I’ll protect you.”

Whatever she is about to say withers on her tongue. After all, isn’t that what he did – the first time, and then now? She doesn’t know what’s going on, he has been an enigma in a bomber jacket ever since she met him – seven years ago, technically, does it count to have known him for seven years, if it’s only been one night and this one? That did freak her out. As strange and unwise as it might be, she would in fact feel better if he stayed. Not that her sagging yellow-plaid couch, older than her, which she picked up at a garage sale for $12, is exactly comfortable to sleep on. She can’t believe she’s thinking about this, but –

Flynn, still clearly ruing his lack of a firearm, makes another check around her apartment, then sits back down on the couch. It’s about half as long as he is, and his legs will clearly be dangling over the end. Lucy has no obligation of hospitality, and in fact is sorely wishing she left the library at her normal time of eleven o’clock PM. Then she wouldn’t have run into him (unless he let himself in to wait for her) and this would not be happening. It’s not that late, and ordinarily she might get into bed and watch something on her laptop, but her concentration is shot. She heads into her bedroom, shuts the door, and changes into her pajamas, then goes to the bathroom and washes her face several times, staring at herself in the mirror. She still appears to be real. Somehow, this is happening. Maybe it will stop doing that.

Lucy brushes her teeth and hair, and mulls a long bath, but it feels awkward with a NSA (she thinks he’s NSA, at any rate) agent sitting in her living room, even one ostensibly there to protect rather than spy on her. She goes out and climbs into bed, tugs the covers up, and lies there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Every time a car pulls into the parking lot, she tenses. Keeps listening for footsteps on the stairs, a knock on the door, but nothing.

Lucy eventually drifts off, has scattered and turbulent dreams, and wakes with a start sometime past midnight. She gets up in search of a drink of water, and when she peers into the living room, sees that Flynn has dozed off on the couch, still dressed and sitting up. Something wrenches in her heart, she can’t even explain what, and she pads out. Taps on his shoulder, and he wakes instantly, snapping to awareness, in what must be a long-honed reflex. When he sees it’s her, he relaxes, if only slightly. “Is something wrong, Lucy?”

Her name sounds softer in his mouth than it did earlier. Less as if it’s coming from a stranger, and Lucy shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s. . . you just didn’t look very comfortable.”

“I’m all right.” He grimaces, though he tries not to let her see. “It’s not the worst place I’ve slept.”

“Thank you,” Lucy says simply. “For staying.”

He starts to say something, then forgets or stops halfway through. Their eyes meet with a frisson that Lucy is fairly sure both of them feel. There is a touch of destiny about the idea that they’ve run into each other seven years apart almost to the day, that he saved her life the first time and is making sure he does again. Trying to be unobtrusive, she glances down at his left hand. He isn’t wearing a wedding band, but she doesn’t know if there’s someone else in his life anyway. Not that this is remotely her business. She’s not interested in dating him. For Pete’s sake.

(She isn’t altogether sure, however, that she isn’t interested in something else.)

She considers a moment longer. Then she decides that he can take it however he wants, and says, “Come on.”

Flynn looks almost comically startled as she beckons him to his feet. He hangs back, then follows her into the dark bedroom, her covers still tousled and warm with the imprint of her, her sheets glowing soft white in the murk. It’s clear he’s wondering if he’s supposed to climb in with her, and it is equally clear that he isn’t sure if he’ll refuse. “Lucy – ”

“Look, just. . .” This isn’t her style. Lucy Good Girl Preston. She has never had sex on a first date, this does not even qualify as a first date, and similarly, she likes nice men. Genuinely nice ones, that is, the smart and thoughtful ones with a grown-up job who she can talk to and feel supported. Whatever Flynn is, he is not nice. “It’s a queen bed. There’s room.”

Flynn continues to hesitate. Finally, he shucks his shoes, jacket, and belt, and gets on top of the covers next to her. The bedsprings creak under his weight, and even here, his feet extend a few inches past the end of the mattress. Lucy lies there with her eyes closed, well aware that she knew she wasn’t going to get back to sleep with this unfamiliar masculine presence on her bed, fighting herself back and forth. She thought he was here to possibly throw her into the trunk of a car or whatever else, it is – to say the least – concerning that she is now considering, well, the opposite. Her mouth is dry. It has been two years since Noah and as noted, she doesn’t do one-night stands. She doesn’t think Flynn is horrified or repelled by her. Oh God, this is stupid.

After fifteen minutes of increasingly excruciating feigned-sleep, Lucy gives up the ghost. Sits up fast enough to startle him, and she feels guilty, as if she’s somehow the one jerking him around by all this. They stare at each other, faces close in the dark. She can feel the whisper of his breath on her cheek. In this light, his eyes look almost hazel. His tongue darts out to touch his lips, almost unconsciously, and he shifts as if to ease the fit of his trousers. “Lucy – ”

Slowly, lightly, timidly, Lucy raises her hand and brushes her fingers across his chest, to the unbuttoned neck of his shirt. A shudder runs through him – well, no, he doesn’t look repulsed. It seems to take a great deal of self-control for him not to reach up and grab her hand, but not because he doesn’t want her to touch him. Just that this is a man used to controlling everything, to setting parameters, establishing boundaries. Sweeping for bugs. Making sure it’s clear. He takes the lead by temperament and occupation. That’s just who he is. And yet –

Lucy’s fingers settle in the hollow of his throat. She can feel his pulse bumping against them like a jackhammer, the way both of them have forgotten how to breathe, noses almost brushing. If she kissed him right now, if she actually did that – it would be one way to relieve her stress, an unhelpful little voice whispers in her brain. And then possibly cause any number of other things, but still. If he’s meant to be here somehow, if they’ve been led together again for some greater plan. . . Lucy isn’t religious, exactly, but she finds herself believing in some sort of unity, some kind of intention. Maybe it comes from being a historian. Looking at how everything has fitted together and interlocked, built upon each other like a flowering vine, gone forward and backward. The big picture. That’s how she always looks at it.

This feels like that, but different. Something like design, maybe. If she wants to call it that. But really, a whole lot more like desire.

Flynn doesn’t try to pull away from her, but Lucy can’t tell if that’s just because he’s stunned that she’s the one making a move on him, after the way the night started out. She shifts her weight, absurdly self-conscious, feeling like a nervous, bespectacled seventeen-year-old all over again. Lifts her hand and lays it alongside his face, strokes a thumb over the groove alongside his mouth. Then, when he still doesn’t stop her, she leans closer.

Flynn recovers from his paralysis just enough to lean in himself, and they knock noses painfully, forcing them away with muffled exclamations. It seems to jerk them back to their senses, both of them apologizing at the same moment. Lucy’s cheeks start to flame. “I – we should – shouldn’t.”

If Flynn was feeling as dickish as she gets the sense he might usually be, he could easily point out that she was the one who thought they should. He, however, doesn’t. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, even though they didn’t actually kiss. “I’ll go back out.”

Lucy supposes that, strictly speaking, is a good plan. She doesn’t need to keep making this mistake, having been saved from it the first time around. Her voice is breathy and choked. “Ok – okay.”

Flynn glances back at her, then shifts himself off the bed, standing up and collecting his jacket and shoes. It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to go, but if he stays here on the bed, something else is going to happen, and on the most brutally practical level, Lucy doesn’t have any condoms. They’re not something you need when you’ve been single for two years because your current relationship is with Abraham Lincoln (and in a less weird-cat-lady-way than that sounds). She wishes for once that she wasn’t so confoundedly rational. But still.

Once the door shuts behind him, she falls back on her pillows, flushed and breathing much harder than she should. All that, and she didn’t even get actually kissed for it. This night has been a total bitch.

(Dissertation, she reminds herself. Tomorrow is Saturday, and she needs to go grocery shopping and clean the house, but she can still do a little work.)

(Dissertation.)

Flynn’s face floats in front of hers. She has a hard time thinking that she’ll forget it again.

Out in the living room, the couch creaks as Flynn must sit back down to resume his lonely vigil, and Lucy clenches her fists, reminding herself that she is absolutely under no circumstances going to go out there instead. She rolls over into a more comfortable position, reaches for her phone to check the time – it’s 3:32 AM – and closes her eyes determinedly. Maybe he will be gone when she wakes up, and she will successfully convince herself that it was all a dream.

Finally, slowly, badly, she sleeps.

[terriblesportsimagines]

It's cold weather time, you know what that means. Yes, that's right. Stupid cliche fanfiction tropes. Oh no, there is only one bed and it's cold so we have to share it!!! What a situation!!! Hiruma from Eyeshield 21. Headcanons or scenario ok, female pronouns ok. Thank you, ily. 💘

OH NOES WHAT WILL THEY DO?! 

Just gonna say, that I loved this and you can tell, from the length alone since it clocks in at just over 1800 words lmao Cut for length!

PS. Cliche tropes are my jam lol

Hiruma Youichi

“You~ichi,” you complain, shivering like hell.  Youwere seriously underdressed for the current situation, mostly because you’dbeen lied to and manipulated into said situation.  You glared at yourboyfriend, trying to light him on fire with your eyes alone.

Unfortunately, he remained very much unburned.

He also ignored you.  He was dressed properly ina fluffy bomber jacket.  Of course, he’d known you were headed toHokkaido to scout the team you had to play in a few weeks.  Hokkaido inlate October.  He’d told you it was somewhere, maybe in the south,probably as some kind of twisted joke.  He probably wanted to watch yousuffer, because you’d pissed him off last week by choosing not to waitfor him every day after practice in the blistering cold.  Yes, this wasmost definitely punishment.

Thus, all you had was a sweatshirt – a thick one, but still– and he’d forced you to watch the very long, very boring practice ofhis target.  By the end of it, you were pretty sure you couldn’t feel yourface, or your fingers, or anything else for that matter.

“I really, really bloody hate you,” you growled underyour breathe as you followed him, still shivering, into the lobby of the hotelyou were apparently going to stay at.

That too was a surprise, because you were pretty sure hetold you it was just a day trip. 

You expected to be met with blissful heat, but it was nearlyas cold in the lobby as it was outside.  This day just keeps gettingbetter and better, you thought sourly.

The person behind the desk smiled apologetically. “Welcome.  Do you have a reservation?”

Hiruma handed over his id and credit card without aword.  You were left huddling in your sweatshirt while he checked in, atleast until you couldn’t take it any longer.  “Why is it so cold in here?”

The person behind the counter only smiled some more, theirexpression even more apologetic.  “Unfortunately, our heat isbroken.  We are trying to fix it, however, we’re told it could be as lateas tomorrow.

Oh lovely.  You knew better than to complainright here, however.  Hiruma didn’t seem bothered by the revelation, in fact,it looked to you like his teeth flashed in best predatory smile for a splitsecond.  This probably meant he had no intention of even bothering to lookfor another hotel.  Was this another part of his nefarious plot?

He was so infuriating sometimes.  You had a pretty goodhandle on him all considering, but then sometimes he did things like this andyou completely floundered.  It was pretty awful.

Ugh, if he wasn’t… well, Hiruma.

At this point, you didn’t even know what you shouldexpect.  He’d thrown all your expectations out the window anyway, so thereprobably wasn’t much point in having them.  Despite this, however, whenyou followed him into the room and found only a single double bed you just kindof stared.

Now you were starting to think if this wasn’t all someelaborate trap to get you alone together and force you to sleep in onebed.  You never had before.  Whenever it had gotten too late to goback to your home after spending time with him, you usually just slept on thecouch.  He was so touchy about things like personal space and haddrawn very clear boundaries around that part of his life.  You weren’tconcerned, it wasn’t like he left you particularly wanting physically. You just figured it was another one of this trust things.

But now, here you were, in a hotel with no heat and only onebed and you just knew it was a set up.

“Youichi, there’s only one bed,” you state, not because youdon’t know that’s obvious, but because you want to see his reaction.

“Do you think so?” He returned moving into the room to placehis laptop bag on the small table beside the tv stand.  His tone wassnide, but you thought you saw a brief flash of that grin again, anddamn it, if it wasn’t the most attractive thing you’d ever seen.

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and pulled your purse offto place it on the bed.  “Whatever, I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

He didn’t bother to answer you, which was notsurprising.  He had his laptop out and was already working away, whichmeant he didn’t plan to go anywhere that night.  This in turn made youwonder if he even planned to feed you, and he bloody better, because you’d putup with enough of his shit for the day.

You were still cold, and since he didn’t seem to care atall, you dismissed him.  “I’m going to have a bath, I literally can’tfeel my fingers.”

You were tempted to throw something at his head just to makea point when all he did was hum, but you decided it wasn’t worth it.  Howhe could type so quickly when it was so cold you didn’t know.  You did,however, throw over your shoulder, “There better be food when I’m doneYouichi,” you said in a voice that told him exactly what you were feeling atthat moment.

Not that he needed told.  Despite being weird,half-psychotic, and entirely too selfish, he could read you better than anyoneelse and was pretty in tune with you.  Not that he used the knowledgeoften outside of screwing with you, but still.  You knew very well that heloved you.  The very fact that you were there right now was a testament tothis fact. 

And as much as you were kind of annoyed at him right at thatmoment, you did adore his manic face to bits.

You lingered in the bath, because it was warm and the hotwater went a long way to warming up the small room.  Thus, you were prunyby the time you forced yourself out, after several hot water refreshes. And even then, you really only got out because Hiruma complained through thedoor.  “Fucking food’s here.”

You dressed as fast as you could, hoping to get beneath theblankets on the bed before the cold seeped into your bones once more. 

You didn’t even pause to see what he’d gotten you, yousimply scampered across the thin, garish hotel carpet and dove into the narrowbed.  Hiruma snorted – you couldn’t see him, but you could hear him, andit was enough to have you glaring when you popped back up.  You might haveeven given him a scathing retort, except he was suddenly beside the bed,holding a bowl of what looked and smelled like udon.

Others might have admonished you to be careful, but hewasn’t one to waste words on such things when he knew you to be perfectlycapable of taking care of yourself.  Instead, he waited until you gotyourself sitting up, the blankets creating a nest in your lap, before settingthe bowl of soup there and handing you a pair of chopsticks and a spoon.

You beamed at him, which earned you, at least you thought, aslightly softened look, before he disappeared off back to the table and his ownbowl of noodles.  Luckily, the remote for the tv was in reach so yougrabbed it and turned on the tv.

The room was silent save for the tv as you ate yournoodles.  They warmed you up a bit, but you couldn’t help but feel thecold encroach once more.  Hokkaido in the winter, it wasenough to make you furious all over again.  Fortunately for your boyfriend,you didn’t really have enough energy for fury.

And you were too cold.

When the soup was gone, you pulled the blankets up to yourchin, but that didn’t really help your back and it seemed to you like theblankets were doing very little.  In short, you were miserable.

You did your best to bear with it and seethe in silence, buteventually it got too much for you.  “Youichi.” You stated, loud.

His head rolled towards you, black eyebrow rising. “What.”

“I’m cold, so if you could enact your endgame, I’d reallyappreciate it.”  Your voice was dry and you blinked at him slowly becauseif you moved even a bit, you would start shivering.

The fact that you knew something was up seemed to get tohim.  He stared at you for a moment before clicking his tongue and closinghis laptop.  Your eyes god really wide a second later when he proceeded tostrip himself of most of his clothing.  He’d never been so bare beforeyou, and you were suddenly your thoughts about him being a little shy, werecompletely wrong.  There was nothing shy in him now, nor was there shame,and there was definitely something predatory in his eyes. 

You expected him to be cold when he invaded your space, buthe was the exact opposite somehow.  He was like a furnace and it had yougrumbling incredulously.  “How are you warm?”  There was apart of you that didn’t care that you should be a little more freaked out thanyou were, or that you probably should have made it at least a littledifficult.  You cared about him being a source of warmth and youimmediately searched out that warmth.

Hiruma hissed, but his arms came around you, handsautomatically diving beneath your layers to flatten his palms to yourtorso.  “Your feet are cold,” he sniped, though you were pretty sure youcould feel a grin being pressed against your neck.

“Fuck you,” you replied, hands stuck to his back.  Youalmost wished you weren’t wearing so many layers, but the idea of losing somemade you shiver anew.

He cackled, something wet and hot touching the side of yourneck.  “Kekeke, where did you think this was fucking headed?”

You knew it!  “You had to torture me just to getme into bed?” You cried, tempted to shove him clean off the bed, except he wasdeliciously hot and you weren’t risking the loss.  “I fucking hate you.”

He kept cackling, even as his hands traveled further andfurther up your torso to settle over your bra-clad breasts.  “There’s away you can get really warm, yahahaha.”

“Ugh, so terrible.”  But you were too busy laughing toeven be upset by that point and his long, lithe fingers were already beneathyour bra plucking at your nipples and making you moan.  “Mmn, if you’regoing to keep me warm, just take it off.”

Sharp teeth nipped at your neck.  “Don’t complain.”

You reached up and took his head in your hands and draggedhim up to your mouth.  “I’m going to kill you later,” you mumbled againsthis lips.

“We’ll see~”

[ramblesandmumblesofanerd]

Rambling Reviews: Netflix’s Death Note

Welp, the day has come. As you can see, the Netflix version of the popular anime Death Note has just been released. And, as I said I would, I saw it. What are my initial opinions on the subject? Well, through the filter of professionalism I have put upon myself for this blog, I can certainly say that the film is dull, boring, ignores all of the rules of the source material and leaves you questioning as to why this film exists. If I were to remove this filter, all you could hear would be the incoherent screaming of a nerd who has been thoroughly wronged by whoever thought making this movie would be a good idea. For a better understanding of why this is the case, allow me to both make a few comparisons between the film and the anime/manga and also briefly talk about the film as a whole.

So, what is the plot of this particular version of Death Note? Well, one day at high school, Light Turner (ugh, that feels so wrong) comes across an old notebook which can kill people according to the onslaught of rules held within and the Death God Ryuk who practically forces the young man to try it out on a two-dimensional school bully. After he discovers the power he holds, Light and his high school sweetheart Mia Sutton decide to take it upon themselves to become KIRA, a God who will “never disappoint” and kill as many criminals as they possibly can. Eventually, the detective known as L gets involved and declares that he will capture and execute KIRA. And thus the story focuses on the struggle between Light being KIRA and also being a high school student all while trying not to be caught by L.

Firstly, things in this film just happen. The film never takes a moment to take a breath and calm down, every moment just races by at the speed of sound and smacks you in the face. Not even a full minute and thirty seconds pass until Light gets the notebook. No build up, no establishing characters, just: BOOM, Death Note. Also, the Death Note’s appearance comes with a lot of horror movie fanfare, as it comes on the breeze of a storm and causes all of the lights to flicker whenever it is being used. The same goes for Ryuk, especially in his initial appearance when he just messes around and scares the excrement out of Light. You expect big things to happen in this film, dramatic reenactments of iconic scenes lifted from the source material, but they fly by so fast that you're left wondering “...was that it?”. You wouldn’t have even known this was Death Note at the beginning of the film until you saw the title sequence.

So, I guess I should start talking about the characters at some point, shouldn’t I?

Well, Light was absolutely boring and was the complete antithesis to his predecessor. Light TURNER is just a punk high school student who helps other kids cheat on their tests for cash because his mom was killed. Oh, yeah, they go that route. One of Light’s first targets of the notebook was his mom’s killer, but I just couldn’t give a care. At all. Light Yagami was never driven by revenge (at least not until L started messing with his vision, and even then not by much), he just saw injustice in the world and his seventeen year old mind decided that if he uses  his Death Note to eliminate all of the evils of the world, he will assume the mantle of a godlike being. He does not care about anything else so long as it doesn’t benefit his vision. Granted, Light Turner eventually came to the same conclusion, but only after he got revenge and his girlfriend told him to keep going from there.

Meanwhile, there is Mia Sutton. “Who?” You may be asking? Well, she is Netflix’s version of Misa Amane, the Second Kira from the source material. She was a Japanese Pop Star who wanted to personally thank Kira after he killed the man who murdered her parents. By sheer coincidence, she came to possess her own Death Note and even more power than Light, thus how she was able to find him and become his girlfriend. Many people complain how she was not entirely necessary for most of the story, and I am willing to agree. Her character in the source material never seemed to go beyond “Love me, Senpai” and thus her intelligence in the later seasons suffered greatly. In the film, ironically, Mia is more like Light Yagami than Light Turner was for most of the film. She was the Id to Light’s Ego, as she constantly strived to eliminate all opposing forces, going so far as to plan ahead for certain scenarios. She was manipulative towards Light and vindictive to all who opposed KIRA. This would have made for an interesting twist, but by the time the climax was happening and everyone was going all in, I just couldn’t bother to care anymore.

Speaking of not caring, that is exactly how I believe the writers felt about the original, true version of L; they didn’t care, so they just made their own version. L in the source material was an orphan with a brilliant mind, one very similar to Sherlock Holmes. His soon to be butler and father figure Watari raised him at an orphanage where other children would soon be raised to succeed him should the need ever arise. This was due to the fact that L soon became a detective of then unparalleled genius and determination, solving all sorts of previously difficult or unsolved cases left and right until the day when KIRA became a looming threat. He is seen as secretive, emotionless, analytical, and deceptive in spite of his disheveled appearance. He is the perfect man to take on a mysterious psychopath like KIRA, be it from the shadows to keep his identity a secret, or face to face under a slew of fake names and aliases. Now, take all of that, and completely ignore it in this film. Netflix L is an overemotional child who openly mocks and taunts KIRA in the open without any form of protection other than a mask. He just comes out and says “HI, I will be your L for the evening!” And don’t get me started on him emotionally freaking out about losing control over the case to the point of actually holding a gun to Light’s head.

But what about Ryuk, the one character I was actually looking forward to seeing on the screen? Well, he is a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, I do actually like the way he looks, the effects are mostly practical and you do believe he is in the room...from the neck down. From the neck up, in spite of some moments, you can tell that the CGI isn’t registering as realistic to your eyes, so all you’re thinking is that Ryuk is just a man with either a green face mask or motion capture dots on his head. As for his character, Ryuk has apparently been a traitorous backstabber who has been passing down the Death Note for generations who constantly taunts Light for not just simply killing everyone who opposes him. All he’s really meant to do in this version is exposit rules about the notebook (most of which don’t even exist in the source material), laugh a bit and look scary. And yes, while the original Ryuk did that, he never came off as a threat rather than an interested bystander. Ryuk was a shinigami who just got bored in his world one day, as all you can really do in a world full of immortal death gods is gamble and sleep so long as you write enough names in your notebook to keep yourself alive. He sees how Light uses the Death Note and basically hangs around to watch the show and laugh at the funny humans until Light either gives up the notebook or dies. That’s what I like about the original Ryuk, he’s just a spectator and is thus an odd reflection of the audience.Netflix Ryuk is just a spiteful spirit who is more interested in Mia than Light.

So, you have failure across the board for all of the iconic characters, Not even the secondary characters like Light’s Dad or Watari get a pass, as they either have no character at all or the character we are given is so poorly written or overdone that we just do not care about them. Every character just felt so two-dimensional that I felt like I was watching a film starring a cast of cardboard cutouts. The only one who gave somewhat of a good performance was the tag team of Willem Dafoe as Ryuk’s voice and the poor shlub who had to physically be Ryuk.

And the effects...lordy the effects. When it comes to the deaths in this film, they are somewhat gruesome if not ridiculous. The first two deaths are reminiscent of Final Destination, as they are executed through what I can only describe as a Rube Goldberg Machine of Coincidence, and when the payoff comes watch out! There’s so much blood and gore, I’m surprised the town wasn’t painted red by the end of the movie. While death is kind of a big deal in this franchise, the way the film executed it was quite silly if not sickening.

So, in the end, Netflix’s Death Note was not a good film. It’s not even good in the “so bad, it’s good kind of way.” Fans will hate it because of how much it gets wrong and casual observers will just be bored and confused by it. I understand that when it comes to making an adaptation, some things need to be changed or erased, but when die hard fans of the source material leave your film feeling so much agitation that they want to make an entry in their sub-par blog(s) to talk about why it doesn’t work by repeatedly comparing it to the source material, perhaps it would have been better not to make your film in the first place. So, unless you like torture, avoid this film.

In the meantime, never stop rambling, TM

[jeannette-marshall-optioneerjm]

Nagging moms raise more successful girls!

I love going to Google to look for an image, usually mid-way through, while writing a blog.  Ironically, the more productive I feel in real life, the better the writing seems to become.  If looking at the stats on meanderingABOUT and YUPPYdom are a strong indication. Finding the perfect image to compliment the point I want to emphasis, often buried in all the other stuff I write.  I might start out with a strong title and then start writing.  However, once the image has been chosen, there is a strong likelihood that the title will change along with it. I could spend hours looking at Pinterest art and photographic splendor:  there is a LOT of talent out there in the universe.   Thankfulness I may be slightly off the mark in my thankfulness blog to commemorate our Canadian Thanksgiving this year earlier in October [ usually, it fall around the third week of October, or so I thought ]. I’m sure my brother is thankful every October.  That is when he married his love of his life, his wife.  He was kinda private about relationships from what I remember growing up.  He is affectionately stereotyped as the Baby Boomer Older Sibling or BBOS (yes, somewhat bossy, but typically laid back unless you touched one of his record albums and left a speck of dust, he’d punch you in the arm). Not anywhere else.  Just the arm.  Thankfully, it never happened very often.  In fact, once was quite enough.  

Ironically, growing up in the 1960s was not all about being groovy and surrounded by peace and love.  From what I recall, corporal punishment was outlawed just before me.  Happy to note, such an adventure to the principal’s office for the strap is not among the repertoire of experiences I have had. Yes, the innocent aura of my tribe of 1961 friends and classmates.  Yes, the worst year in history according to demographic specialists who authored “Boom Bust or Echo”.  Light reading for a 25 year old to be sure.  That would have been in 1986.  A self-confessed YUPPY of a bygone era, overshadowed by Millennial entitlement, a product of our generous and forgiving parenting style where we tried to reason, take away “privileges”  the worst punishment these hipsters had to endure.  That, and our endless nagging or demanding Mom. That REMINDS ME!!  One of my daughters texted me with a link to the following: “Study:  Girls with nagging moms grow up to be more successful”

READ:  Nagging moms …. LINK

YES, this is the same one who gave me the PINK SLIP a couple of weeks ago.  One minute I’m driving her crazy and the next, I’m her hero. The best story of nagging happened when she was at the enlightened age of 13.  As a January baby, beginning school at 3 because I recognized that she had a very inquisitive mind and knowledge student.   I was trying to think of a gift for my son, who would have been 16 at Christmas.  That’s when you start to realize that gifts are not masses of stuff but one perfectly thought out gift that connects with the age appropriateness of a boy starting the difficult journey of becoming a man.  Not something too boyish, it was getting to be a real bore buying a video game or a video console every year.  It was also expensive and not quite memorable. In steps my daughter, where we’re about to embark in the biggest mother-daughter battle of our respective generations.  Setting the tone for the next 15 to 20 years.  She suggests that I get him two tickets to this concert in February just in and around his birthday.   Brilliant!  Now I had not even thought of that!  Probably because it was not uncommon for me to take them and pals to the Glenbow Museum in Calgary [when I did have to pay for entrance, having years ago been their advertising representative, attending free openings, general meetings, shareholder meetings, artist presentations, launching shows].  They all had been to live performances with me from The Nutcracker to Phantom of the Opera to The Wiz on Broadway in New York, NY. So I did buy those two tickets as my lovely offspring suggested.  Son was just “meh” over the present.  He didn’t even appear interested with his sister’s first pay-as-you-go cell phone [ one of the reasons she turned into a math whiz I’m sure, from learning to subtract backwards on declining minutes of coolness ]. Well, as it happens.  The daughter had actually wanted to go to said concert.  She was 9/10 convinced that her brother would reward her thoughtfulness for coming up with the idea, that he would ask her to go with him. As the date of the concert started to draw closer, her hints were replaced by out-and-out-demands that he take her to the concert. As the most perfect brother would, he just didn’t respond.  The more she squawked, the less he noticed.  

It was time to go to war.  It was time to get everyone on her side of the army to help convince her brother that she was the most logical and OBVIOUS partner. He didn’t agree.  I respected his decision, reinforcing that choice every time she peeped up. The day of the concert also happened to be when I was going to compete in a Toastmasters’ International Contest by giving a speech.  I was nervous already, about to step off the cliff of my comfort zone and compete.   Dressed to the nines to work I went that day.  Thinking back as one of the most disastrous days as a mother.   Like any army general, I had the battalion organized with the support and help of the Master Sgt, my mother, and her side kick, my father.  I would pick up the one daughter at home with my son, then drop her off at my parents, who would pick up the youngest daughter from her soccer game, which I had arranged carpooling with another soccer mom.  My parents would feed the girls and my son would eat garbage at the concert and be content after I drove him there with his buddy. Like any well-intentioned-mother, I had clearance from work to leave at four o’clock to “prepare for my contest” that evening.  I was already trying to think of ways I could bow out gracefully without showing the stage fright I was hit with! Happily practicing and rehearsing out loud as I joined the commute home:  not appearing as though I were singing like all the other gals in the various lanes, nope.  I was looking like I was talking to myself!

SOURCE:  Getty Images

Being a single mother of three, perfection was my decree:  the better a job I do at being a parent than their dad, the happier they would be.  No, no yelling.  While a locked jaw clenching my teeth was usually the best sign for the troops to run for cover:  it never looked good and appeared more foreboding than any disciplinary measures handed out. When I arrived home, not one girl was missing but both!  Huh?  Oh, look a note from the articulate writer who confessed to having swiped her brother’s concert tickets and gone to it with her best friend, Stephanie.  {Ironic how both girls best friends when they were 13 were both named Stephanie – I ignored any red flags with the 2nd daughter that I shouldn’t have!} Now that I think of it, I wonder if I ever did save that note.  With butterflies, sunshine and flowers surrounding the words, she begged for forgiveness and understanding on how much SHE wanted to go to the concert.  How mean her brother WAS for not agreeing to take her, she couldn’t stop herself and her best friend from going.  Fear not, she knows what she is doing and will text when she is safely settled into the seats so I won’t worry about her! I aptly stepped into the role of psycho [which a daughter has accused her mother of on more than one occasion].   OMGosh, the competition.  Everything was choreographed and timed to perfection like carefully laid out dominoes [which I never mastered for real].  Now I had to call my mom to tell her that I wouldn’t be dropping off the one daughter, but that didn’t mean that all other plans were in play:  they still needed to pick up the younger daughter at her soccer game at precisely 7:30 p.m.  Of course, I had to wait for her to come to the entrance of her seniors building after riding the elevator down.  

SOURCE:  Allan Sanders

That was fine because like any fierce general faced with combat, I was barking on the phone to the Stephanie mother, who was proudly informing me that she had done her part of the carpooling to the concert since her daughter was so graciously invited to share with mine, apparently, picking them up when it was over after my competition! My competition!  Less than an hour and a half.  Fat chance for rehearsal before the stage.  Hey, I couldn’t make it!  I had to retrieve my daughter from the concert.  I was going to teach her a lesson.

Don’t mess with the mom Everyone knows this.  Wisdom about staying away from Grizzly bear mothers with her cubs is common knowledge! Unfortunately for daughter, she wasn’t aware of doing anything wrong.  She had left me a note, made carpooling arrangements, all without interfering with the original plan. She had a phone! Imagine me texting from the pulled over spot I was at [setting the appropriate example, important at all times, as though children and grandparents have CCTV capabilities that weren’t even installed, or not yet, or were they?  Ensuring mannerly conduct complimenting the polished, professional suit I was in that said:   “I mean business!” Back in that early dawn of the new Millennium of the early 2000s, it likely was a Blackberry, the clear badge of honor most YUPPIES grasped and carried, or hooked on our waists with the blazer casually tucked aside, like a police firearm, the Blackberry.  No professional parent of an honorable upbringing child would NOT have a Blackberry!   Also, we didn’t have SMART PHONES where we could thumb or swipe maps and itineraries with merely a flick!  We were thumb champions, children of the 60s, Yuppies of the 80s! I did my best to appear “calm” in my text to said daughter to ask her where she was, trying to appear casual, avoiding betraying at all costs, the combination of rage and panic:  my baby is at a concert without parental attendance! Surely, they would ask for ID or notice that the name on the ticket was in her brother’s name?  You ask?  Well, back then, they were not email confirmations with all the pertinent information like NAME of purchaser, concert seat, which could have easily have been printed out again under any circumstances! Imagine the parking at the Calgary Saddle Dome.  Darn, I couldn’t just pull up as a drop off, I had to pay for parking, look for parking, park, then hoof it to the entrance. Heaven and mercy.  At least the son has a remarkable memory!  He recalled an approximate location of the seats, which he observed where pretty amazing, now that he thought of not having them anymore. The rebellious daughter had not responded to my text.  The nerve!  

I likely gained attention while driving and parking waving my arms and raising eyes to the heavens when telling my buddy, Maddy, what I was in the midst of:  a crisis of massive proportions!   She graciously offered to let the folks know that I would not be able to compete due to an unforeseen family emergency!  [ How many hear that and think:  “she chickened out”? ]  Well I was thinking about it, but now I had no choice! I marched up to the security guard at the entrance attracting some attention for wearing a beautiful navy pant suit, perfectly coiffed hair, aesthetically polished nails and tasteful complimenting accessories and matching shoes with purse! After explaining my situation:  that my daughter had taken her brother’s present and come to the concert without my permission or knowledge and I needed to lock in parenting strategy 101:  grab daughter and eject from the concert. A motley crew we must have appeared:  my five feet zero executive pace, clicking pumps with a purpose in mind.  Accompanied by the security guard who was a big foot Chibawka with less hair, appearing more like a bodyguard.  By then, I was pretty accustomed to flipping eyeballs and raised brows.  

Let’s call him George. While escorting me to the office at the opposite of the building, he asked me for a description of said daughter in case we miraculously crossed paths with the offender.   Only kids born in the 90s remember “EMO” which was the opposite of whatever their parents may have happened to look like:  lots of very dark circles around eyes, fashionable hardly ever!  Black clothes:  black jean jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt, with died pitch black hair.  Maybe carrying her pay-as-you-go flip phone for peers to notice, they were more than happening by being at said concert. George didn’t slow his pace after ingesting the description any decent mother would recall what her child looked like for Pete’s sake [ nobody says:  “Pete’s sake” anymore, you notice?]. He empathetically observed and commented that she would fit right in since she looked like every other concert goer we were speeding past.  

Just as we were approaching the will-call booth to begin closing in on the culprit, I did get a text back [she probably remembered the number one rule she was nagged about when she got her pay-as-you-go-phone:  “always answer the mother, no matter what you are doing, even if on the toilet and asking her to hang on so she could wash her hands”). My daughter’s text calmly advised that I should not worry as she is in her seats, safe.  The concert was about to begin.  She’ll let me know when it is close to ending so I can swing by and pick them up out front. They were so advanced technologically at the time:  all I had to do was provide the attendants with my DEBIT CARD [note:  single mother as stated previously.  CREDIT CARDs go better being part of a couple].  My ID was used to verify that I should be a very irate parent.  They were able to verify that the seats were claimed with the tickets.  The speed in response was amazing! The other security guards were starting to form a circle around me as I waited for the seat details and escort to pick up my daughter.  Trying not to be rude [texting while conversing was unheard of “back then”], I texted to inform daughter that I was in the building, she was going to be surrounded by security guards and her name was going to be said out loud by the act’s lead singer, telling her that she should meet her mother at the concourse!   Never humiliate a child unless you want revenge She gasped and said that she was on the floor, no longer in her seats, so I wouldn’t be able to find her.  By now, I was furiously texting to demand that she give herself up and come out, it wasn’t going to end well for her if she didn’t. Smarty pants response was that the concert was just starting and she’d be coming out when it was done.  My response was less composed when I told her to watch for all the guards’ flashlights going up and down the aisle.  We knew where the seats were.  She could meet me or we could come and get her. When caught in an argument with an adolescent child, name calling, threats don’t work.   The show down was set at the replacement for the Corral in Calgary, the Saddle Dome. The stadium was blacked out with the exception of George and I carefully avoiding taking a tumble, with a flashlight guiding him and his hulk blinding me. She wasn’t there!   We went back to the concourse as my thumbs were warmed up and I reminded her she should be hearing her name any second before the band started. Embarrassment is revenge a parent should enforce.  At 13, being singled out among peers at such a big coolness event with the mention of having a mother, was a disaster worth considering. She gave herself up. There was only so much she was prepared to do.  She walked up to me with Stephanie so casually, as if it was a well thought out planned meeting. “You’re coming with me” George boomed as he grabbed their arms as he started to firmly walk them to someplace he had in mind.  There was no rehearsal on what we would do when they finally gave themselves up.  I was curious somewhat on where we were going, but too puffed up with pride for accosting the culprits:  I was victorious.  I had won.  I had found the stubborn so and so. Every stadium has a jail for wayward tweens and teens, originally intended for drunks and obnoxious folks waiting for a trip to downtown. George took them into the jail I caught a glimpse of a grey room, more like an arena dressing room without any bars. George politely asked me to wait outside I’m sure my look of astonishment wasn’t lost on the girls, who may have decided at that precise moment that the fun was done.  They were catching heat of the shocking kind! After what seemed like a very long time, remembering that everything had been a blur since sailing out of work to glide into my wonderfully planned organizational masterpiece of pulling off being in three places at once. George came out and whispered to me:  ” I really think ‘we’ got them.  What would you like me to do?  Scare them?” Masterfully calm parenting was out the window.  I exclaimed:  “YES!  Make her pay.  She deserves to do the time!” After promising to come out in a few moments, George hailed another enforcer, motioning another Big Foot Chibawka to join me and wait for a few, he needed help escorting a couple of young girls out of the building. True to character, the young darling was miffed and annoyed by the time she reappeared.  Declaring to all within hearing (a wide area) directed to George and complaining to me that a big deal was being made out of nothing. “Nothing?” boomed George, supported by a scowl from his associate.  “Were you not in possession of stolen tickets?” he asked. “Stolen!?!” she responded.  They were her brother’s tickets and they were NOT stolen she declared, indignantly. “Young lady, did you pay for those tickets?” She immediately glared at me to provide support.  I was quite intimidated by the turn of events and remained quiet.  [Not my strongest suit.] George then turned, all 6 or 7 foot of over 200 lbs, quite easily two of me or my daughter and I combined and asked me:  “Ma’am would you like me to take this young lady down to the police station for them to do an inquiry on stolen property?” I gulped and blushed as concert stragglers were being entertained by this scene, suggesting that perhaps that wasn’t necessary if she was prepared to come home with me then and at the same time drop her friend off home on the way. The longest mile You’ve seen in the movies where the police escort or bailiff escorts the criminal to jail or to court.  In our case, it was two imposing figures flanking all three of us as they walked with us to the nearest exit.  George asked if we needed assistance to our vehicle and I assured him it wasn’t far and we were good to go.  As I turned to lead the girls to the car, George winked at me. Oh the shame, embarrassment was the rant the whole drive home, while her friend was frozen in fear to what she may expect when she got home where her mother was waiting.  She had ignored her mother’s frantic calls and text messages as well. After allowing my wayward daughter to exhaust herself from crying and bemoaning how she was going to be the laughing stock when “everyone” heard that her mother had come down to the stadium and hauled her out, narrowly avoiding jail time. Things were pretty quiet by the time we got home.  Her younger sister perched and ready with her grandmother waiting to hear how her heroine, older sister, rebelled and got caught. Per normal, the brother had escaped to his corner of the house, where he often went to when he wanted to avoid “the drama” of the girls. The daughter dutifully brushed her teeth and went to bed without a peep.  Fresh the next day, off to school she went to face the music from her peers.  Respectful, polite and chipper as though what had unfolded the night before was a dream or conjured imagination of events. Of course, by the time I got home that evening, I had no steam left.  Yet my daughter wasn’t apologetic or acting like anything had happened. After dinner, wash up and after less fuss than usual for what time it was to go to bed [not having the “wait till your father hears this” refrain available as a single mother]. When all was quiet, kids settled and snug in their beds, my daughter crept downstairs to check in and see whether I was gritting my teeth still. She approached me quietly and then said that she understood what had happened and how things happened the way they did. She said that I became a hero to all parents who had heard that I hadn’t done what they would have done:  wait at home until they got home before going on the offensive.  I was a hero because I went out of my way to prove that she was wrong.  She then chipper-like confessed that she hadn’t been embarrassed at all.  In fact, she was a hero for being so rebellious by going to the concert alone. Sigh.  That was one of the first struggle over power between my daughter and me.  The never ending saga of being the nagging mother, trying to teach right from wrong, good manners and bad. Like the happy moral of the story that she optimistically revealed of two champions:  a mother and a daughter, each forging their way toward circumstances that required a stand off.  Apparently, both equally glorious.   After a pink slip and the silent treatment, I did reach out and we had a Facetime conversation last weekend.  Lovingly mother and daughter as though it was all par for the course.  She then texted me a note about an artist that I had unveiled a recognized woman who became famous in the 80s when she passed away, sending her pieces to appreciate in value.  Validating that such was the case. Then the text and article about how nagging moms raise more successful girls:  from a daughter skyrocketing in her own right as an emerging artist, scholarships, grants and the Dean’s list earned solely on her own.

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Nagging moms raise more successful girls!

I love going to Google to look for an image, usually mid-way through, while writing a blog.  Ironically, the more productive I feel in real life, the better the writing seems to become.  If looking at the stats on meanderingABOUT and YUPPYdom are a strong indication. Finding the perfect image to compliment the point I want to emphasis, often buried in all the other stuff I write.  I might start out with a strong title and then start writing.  However, once the image has been chosen, there is a strong likelihood that the title will change along with it. I could spend hours looking at Pinterest art and photographic splendor:  there is a LOT of talent out there in the universe.   Thankfulness I may be slightly off the mark in my thankfulness blog to commemorate our Canadian Thanksgiving this year earlier in October [ usually, it fall around the third week of October, or so I thought ]. I’m sure my brother is thankful every October.  That is when he married his love of his life, his wife.  He was kinda private about relationships from what I remember growing up.  He is affectionately stereotyped as the Baby Boomer Older Sibling or BBOS (yes, somewhat bossy, but typically laid back unless you touched one of his record albums and left a speck of dust, he’d punch you in the arm). Not anywhere else.  Just the arm.  Thankfully, it never happened very often.  In fact, once was quite enough.  

Ironically, growing up in the 1960s was not all about being groovy and surrounded by peace and love.  From what I recall, corporal punishment was outlawed just before me.  Happy to note, such an adventure to the principal’s office for the strap is not among the repertoire of experiences I have had. Yes, the innocent aura of my tribe of 1961 friends and classmates.  Yes, the worst year in history according to demographic specialists who authored “Boom Bust or Echo”.  Light reading for a 25 year old to be sure.  That would have been in 1986.  A self-confessed YUPPY of a bygone era, overshadowed by Millennial entitlement, a product of our generous and forgiving parenting style where we tried to reason, take away “privileges”  the worst punishment these hipsters had to endure.  That, and our endless nagging or demanding Mom. That REMINDS ME!!  One of my daughters texted me with a link to the following: “Study:  Girls with nagging moms grow up to be more successful”

READ:  Nagging moms …. LINK

YES, this is the same one who gave me the PINK SLIP a couple of weeks ago.  One minute I’m driving her crazy and the next, I’m her hero. The best story of nagging happened when she was at the enlightened age of 13.  As a January baby, beginning school at 3 because I recognized that she had a very inquisitive mind and knowledge student.   I was trying to think of a gift for my son, who would have been 16 at Christmas.  That’s when you start to realize that gifts are not masses of stuff but one perfectly thought out gift that connects with the age appropriateness of a boy starting the difficult journey of becoming a man.  Not something too boyish, it was getting to be a real bore buying a video game or a video console every year.  It was also expensive and not quite memorable. In steps my daughter, where we’re about to embark in the biggest mother-daughter battle of our respective generations.  Setting the tone for the next 15 to 20 years.  She suggests that I get him two tickets to this concert in February just in and around his birthday.   Brilliant!  Now I had not even thought of that!  Probably because it was not uncommon for me to take them and pals to the Glenbow Museum in Calgary [when I did have to pay for entrance, having years ago been their advertising representative, attending free openings, general meetings, shareholder meetings, artist presentations, launching shows].  They all had been to live performances with me from The Nutcracker to Phantom of the Opera to The Wiz on Broadway in New York, NY. So I did buy those two tickets as my lovely offspring suggested.  Son was just “meh” over the present.  He didn’t even appear interested with his sister’s first pay-as-you-go cell phone [ one of the reasons she turned into a math whiz I’m sure, from learning to subtract backwards on declining minutes of coolness ]. Well, as it happens.  The daughter had actually wanted to go to said concert.  She was 9/10 convinced that her brother would reward her thoughtfulness for coming up with the idea, that he would ask her to go with him. As the date of the concert started to draw closer, her hints were replaced by out-and-out-demands that he take her to the concert. As the most perfect brother would, he just didn’t respond.  The more she squawked, the less he noticed.  

It was time to go to war.  It was time to get everyone on her side of the army to help convince her brother that she was the most logical and OBVIOUS partner. He didn’t agree.  I respected his decision, reinforcing that choice every time she peeped up. The day of the concert also happened to be when I was going to compete in a Toastmasters’ International Contest by giving a speech.  I was nervous already, about to step off the cliff of my comfort zone and compete.   Dressed to the nines to work I went that day.  Thinking back as one of the most disastrous days as a mother.   Like any army general, I had the battalion organized with the support and help of the Master Sgt, my mother, and her side kick, my father.  I would pick up the one daughter at home with my son, then drop her off at my parents, who would pick up the youngest daughter from her soccer game, which I had arranged carpooling with another soccer mom.  My parents would feed the girls and my son would eat garbage at the concert and be content after I drove him there with his buddy. Like any well-intentioned-mother, I had clearance from work to leave at four o’clock to “prepare for my contest” that evening.  I was already trying to think of ways I could bow out gracefully without showing the stage fright I was hit with! Happily practicing and rehearsing out loud as I joined the commute home:  not appearing as though I were singing like all the other gals in the various lanes, nope.  I was looking like I was talking to myself!

SOURCE:  Getty Images

Being a single mother of three, perfection was my decree:  the better a job I do at being a parent than their dad, the happier they would be.  No, no yelling.  While a locked jaw clenching my teeth was usually the best sign for the troops to run for cover:  it never looked good and appeared more foreboding than any disciplinary measures handed out. When I arrived home, not one girl was missing but both!  Huh?  Oh, look a note from the articulate writer who confessed to having swiped her brother’s concert tickets and gone to it with her best friend, Stephanie.  {Ironic how both girls best friends when they were 13 were both named Stephanie – I ignored any red flags with the 2nd daughter that I shouldn’t have!} Now that I think of it, I wonder if I ever did save that note.  With butterflies, sunshine and flowers surrounding the words, she begged for forgiveness and understanding on how much SHE wanted to go to the concert.  How mean her brother WAS for not agreeing to take her, she couldn’t stop herself and her best friend from going.  Fear not, she knows what she is doing and will text when she is safely settled into the seats so I won’t worry about her! I aptly stepped into the role of psycho [which a daughter has accused her mother of on more than one occasion].   OMGosh, the competition.  Everything was choreographed and timed to perfection like carefully laid out dominoes [which I never mastered for real].  Now I had to call my mom to tell her that I wouldn’t be dropping off the one daughter, but that didn’t mean that all other plans were in play:  they still needed to pick up the younger daughter at her soccer game at precisely 7:30 p.m.  Of course, I had to wait for her to come to the entrance of her seniors building after riding the elevator down.  

SOURCE:  Allan Sanders

That was fine because like any fierce general faced with combat, I was barking on the phone to the Stephanie mother, who was proudly informing me that she had done her part of the carpooling to the concert since her daughter was so graciously invited to share with mine, apparently, picking them up when it was over after my competition! My competition!  Less than an hour and a half.  Fat chance for rehearsal before the stage.  Hey, I couldn’t make it!  I had to retrieve my daughter from the concert.  I was going to teach her a lesson.

Don’t mess with the mom Everyone knows this.  Wisdom about staying away from Grizzly bear mothers with her cubs is common knowledge! Unfortunately for daughter, she wasn’t aware of doing anything wrong.  She had left me a note, made carpooling arrangements, all without interfering with the original plan. She had a phone! Imagine me texting from the pulled over spot I was at [setting the appropriate example, important at all times, as though children and grandparents have CCTV capabilities that weren’t even installed, or not yet, or were they?  Ensuring mannerly conduct complimenting the polished, professional suit I was in that said:   “I mean business!” Back in that early dawn of the new Millennium of the early 2000s, it likely was a Blackberry, the clear badge of honor most YUPPIES grasped and carried, or hooked on our waists with the blazer casually tucked aside, like a police firearm, the Blackberry.  No professional parent of an honorable upbringing child would NOT have a Blackberry!   Also, we didn’t have SMART PHONES where we could thumb or swipe maps and itineraries with merely a flick!  We were thumb champions, children of the 60s, Yuppies of the 80s! I did my best to appear “calm” in my text to said daughter to ask her where she was, trying to appear casual, avoiding betraying at all costs, the combination of rage and panic:  my baby is at a concert without parental attendance! Surely, they would ask for ID or notice that the name on the ticket was in her brother’s name?  You ask?  Well, back then, they were not email confirmations with all the pertinent information like NAME of purchaser, concert seat, which could have easily have been printed out again under any circumstances! Imagine the parking at the Calgary Saddle Dome.  Darn, I couldn’t just pull up as a drop off, I had to pay for parking, look for parking, park, then hoof it to the entrance. Heaven and mercy.  At least the son has a remarkable memory!  He recalled an approximate location of the seats, which he observed where pretty amazing, now that he thought of not having them anymore. The rebellious daughter had not responded to my text.  The nerve!  

I likely gained attention while driving and parking waving my arms and raising eyes to the heavens when telling my buddy, Maddy, what I was in the midst of:  a crisis of massive proportions!   She graciously offered to let the folks know that I would not be able to compete due to an unforeseen family emergency!  [ How many hear that and think:  “she chickened out”? ]  Well I was thinking about it, but now I had no choice! I marched up to the security guard at the entrance attracting some attention for wearing a beautiful navy pant suit, perfectly coiffed hair, aesthetically polished nails and tasteful complimenting accessories and matching shoes with purse! After explaining my situation:  that my daughter had taken her brother’s present and come to the concert without my permission or knowledge and I needed to lock in parenting strategy 101:  grab daughter and eject from the concert. A motley crew we must have appeared:  my five feet zero executive pace, clicking pumps with a purpose in mind.  Accompanied by the security guard who was a big foot Chibawka with less hair, appearing more like a bodyguard.  By then, I was pretty accustomed to flipping eyeballs and raised brows.  

Let’s call him George. While escorting me to the office at the opposite of the building, he asked me for a description of said daughter in case we miraculously crossed paths with the offender.   Only kids born in the 90s remember “EMO” which was the opposite of whatever their parents may have happened to look like:  lots of very dark circles around eyes, fashionable hardly ever!  Black clothes:  black jean jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt, with died pitch black hair.  Maybe carrying her pay-as-you-go flip phone for peers to notice, they were more than happening by being at said concert. George didn’t slow his pace after ingesting the description any decent mother would recall what her child looked like for Pete’s sake [ nobody says:  “Pete’s sake” anymore, you notice?]. He empathetically observed and commented that she would fit right in since she looked like every other concert goer we were speeding past.  

Just as we were approaching the will-call booth to begin closing in on the culprit, I did get a text back [she probably remembered the number one rule she was nagged about when she got her pay-as-you-go-phone:  “always answer the mother, no matter what you are doing, even if on the toilet and asking her to hang on so she could wash her hands”). My daughter’s text calmly advised that I should not worry as she is in her seats, safe.  The concert was about to begin.  She’ll let me know when it is close to ending so I can swing by and pick them up out front. They were so advanced technologically at the time:  all I had to do was provide the attendants with my DEBIT CARD [note:  single mother as stated previously.  CREDIT CARDs go better being part of a couple].  My ID was used to verify that I should be a very irate parent.  They were able to verify that the seats were claimed with the tickets.  The speed in response was amazing! The other security guards were starting to form a circle around me as I waited for the seat details and escort to pick up my daughter.  Trying not to be rude [texting while conversing was unheard of “back then”], I texted to inform daughter that I was in the building, she was going to be surrounded by security guards and her name was going to be said out loud by the act’s lead singer, telling her that she should meet her mother at the concourse!   Never humiliate a child unless you want revenge She gasped and said that she was on the floor, no longer in her seats, so I wouldn’t be able to find her.  By now, I was furiously texting to demand that she give herself up and come out, it wasn’t going to end well for her if she didn’t. Smarty pants response was that the concert was just starting and she’d be coming out when it was done.  My response was less composed when I told her to watch for all the guards’ flashlights going up and down the aisle.  We knew where the seats were.  She could meet me or we could come and get her. When caught in an argument with an adolescent child, name calling, threats don’t work.   The show down was set at the replacement for the Corral in Calgary, the Saddle Dome. The stadium was blacked out with the exception of George and I carefully avoiding taking a tumble, with a flashlight guiding him and his hulk blinding me. She wasn’t there!   We went back to the concourse as my thumbs were warmed up and I reminded her she should be hearing her name any second before the band started. Embarrassment is revenge a parent should enforce.  At 13, being singled out among peers at such a big coolness event with the mention of having a mother, was a disaster worth considering. She gave herself up. There was only so much she was prepared to do.  She walked up to me with Stephanie so casually, as if it was a well thought out planned meeting. “You’re coming with me” George boomed as he grabbed their arms as he started to firmly walk them to someplace he had in mind.  There was no rehearsal on what we would do when they finally gave themselves up.  I was curious somewhat on where we were going, but too puffed up with pride for accosting the culprits:  I was victorious.  I had won.  I had found the stubborn so and so. Every stadium has a jail for wayward tweens and teens, originally intended for drunks and obnoxious folks waiting for a trip to downtown. George took them into the jail I caught a glimpse of a grey room, more like an arena dressing room without any bars. George politely asked me to wait outside I’m sure my look of astonishment wasn’t lost on the girls, who may have decided at that precise moment that the fun was done.  They were catching heat of the shocking kind! After what seemed like a very long time, remembering that everything had been a blur since sailing out of work to glide into my wonderfully planned organizational masterpiece of pulling off being in three places at once. George came out and whispered to me:  ” I really think ‘we’ got them.  What would you like me to do?  Scare them?” Masterfully calm parenting was out the window.  I exclaimed:  “YES!  Make her pay.  She deserves to do the time!” After promising to come out in a few moments, George hailed another enforcer, motioning another Big Foot Chibawka to join me and wait for a few, he needed help escorting a couple of young girls out of the building. True to character, the young darling was miffed and annoyed by the time she reappeared.  Declaring to all within hearing (a wide area) directed to George and complaining to me that a big deal was being made out of nothing. “Nothing?” boomed George, supported by a scowl from his associate.  “Were you not in possession of stolen tickets?” he asked. “Stolen!?!” she responded.  They were her brother’s tickets and they were NOT stolen she declared, indignantly. “Young lady, did you pay for those tickets?” She immediately glared at me to provide support.  I was quite intimidated by the turn of events and remained quiet.  [Not my strongest suit.] George then turned, all 6 or 7 foot of over 200 lbs, quite easily two of me or my daughter and I combined and asked me:  “Ma’am would you like me to take this young lady down to the police station for them to do an inquiry on stolen property?” I gulped and blushed as concert stragglers were being entertained by this scene, suggesting that perhaps that wasn’t necessary if she was prepared to come home with me then and at the same time drop her friend off home on the way. The longest mile You’ve seen in the movies where the police escort or bailiff escorts the criminal to jail or to court.  In our case, it was two imposing figures flanking all three of us as they walked with us to the nearest exit.  George asked if we needed assistance to our vehicle and I assured him it wasn’t far and we were good to go.  As I turned to lead the girls to the car, George winked at me. Oh the shame, embarrassment was the rant the whole drive home, while her friend was frozen in fear to what she may expect when she got home where her mother was waiting.  She had ignored her mother’s frantic calls and text messages as well. After allowing my wayward daughter to exhaust herself from crying and bemoaning how she was going to be the laughing stock when “everyone” heard that her mother had come down to the stadium and hauled her out, narrowly avoiding jail time. Things were pretty quiet by the time we got home.  Her younger sister perched and ready with her grandmother waiting to hear how her heroine, older sister, rebelled and got caught. Per normal, the brother had escaped to his corner of the house, where he often went to when he wanted to avoid “the drama” of the girls. The daughter dutifully brushed her teeth and went to bed without a peep.  Fresh the next day, off to school she went to face the music from her peers.  Respectful, polite and chipper as though what had unfolded the night before was a dream or conjured imagination of events. Of course, by the time I got home that evening, I had no steam left.  Yet my daughter wasn’t apologetic or acting like anything had happened. After dinner, wash up and after less fuss than usual for what time it was to go to bed [not having the “wait till your father hears this” refrain available as a single mother]. When all was quiet, kids settled and snug in their beds, my daughter crept downstairs to check in and see whether I was gritting my teeth still. She approached me quietly and then said that she understood what had happened and how things happened the way they did. She said that I became a hero to all parents who had heard that I hadn’t done what they would have done:  wait at home until they got home before going on the offensive.  I was a hero because I went out of my way to prove that she was wrong.  She then chipper-like confessed that she hadn’t been embarrassed at all.  In fact, she was a hero for being so rebellious by going to the concert alone. Sigh.  That was one of the first struggle over power between my daughter and me.  The never ending saga of being the nagging mother, trying to teach right from wrong, good manners and bad. Like the happy moral of the story that she optimistically revealed of two champions:  a mother and a daughter, each forging their way toward circumstances that required a stand off.  Apparently, both equally glorious.   After a pink slip and the silent treatment, I did reach out and we had a Facetime conversation last weekend.  Lovingly mother and daughter as though it was all par for the course.  She then texted me a note about an artist that I had unveiled a recognized woman who became famous in the 80s when she passed away, sending her pieces to appreciate in value.  Validating that such was the case. Then the text and article about how nagging moms raise more successful girls:  from a daughter skyrocketing in her own right as an emerging artist, scholarships, grants and the Dean’s list earned solely on her own.

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from Nagging moms raise more successful girls!