#my exhibition might I add that they were resistant to come for because it was a week before my graduation ceremony

[flightybuttlass]

my mom, for the last 10 years, has been obsessed with the folk pop band formed by the sons of our local pediatricians, but gaur-an-teed they earn similar money to me and she doesn't realize that they're probably costing off their parents's wealth in the way she accused me of doing

[moonlitinks]

what fate decides [taehyung x reader] [part 1]

drabble count: 5

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part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 all three parts are currently completed, but if you want early access to all of them, become a member on my ko-fi page! 💞

summary: You're a beta in love with your best friend, alpha Kim Taehyung. Except you know that you can never fulfill his dominating urges, so you draw a line between the two of you. Cherish his small kisses and embraces until an omega has to come along.

Until one day, you're not a beta anymore. Now, it's nearly impossible to resist the protective, endearing alpha in front of you.

pairing: taehyung x reader

chapter tags/warnings: angst, self-depricating thoughts, fluff, alpha/omega, a/b/o dynamics, best friends to lovers, slow burn ish, smut, mature, swearing

If there’s one thing you pride yourself on, it’s being a year older—and thus wiser—than Kim Taehyung. Taehyung Kim. Tae-tae. Whatever the idol’s nickname is. He’s got thousands, no doubt. 

Or at least, you think it’s easier pretending not to know him. You see the idol on the screen, hear your friends gushing over him, and wonder if the two of you ever becoming close—so close that you were inseparable when you were younger—was a dream. Back then, the day turned into a week, a week into years, and a year into years. 

Sometimes the feeling of nostalgia sinks in when you scroll through your old texts with him. Sometimes you wish to beg him to come back when he takes a flight back to Korea, but you realize that one of you has to be the adult. And because you’re older, it basically means that the responsibility falls on you, no matter how stubborn or persistent he is. 

Thank God you’re a beta, and unaffected by his alpha presence. The fact that he is an alpha is infuriating. His ego is large enough, and though he loves basking in compliments, lips curling upwards into a boxy smile, there needs to be someone to knock him down a peg or two. Hence, the (somewhat) calm-headed, (mostly) logical beta: you. 

Though he really is testing that side of you right now, pulling at your heartstrings. When you told the idol that he can visit your apartment in Los Angeles, you didn’t mean, “Hey, bring all your members along so I can be humiliated in Harry Potter pajamas and blubbering Korean.” Except now the idols entered your apartment anyways, and Taehyung was giving them a tour like he owned it, flinging his arms out and pointing at various exhibitions—your rooms. 

“Here, Noona,” he flings the hoodie draped over his arm at you. “You look cold.” 

“I—thanks, Taehyung.” You respond gratefully. Not that Los Angeles is cold. The sun’s beating down through your curtains, the light bright enough to blind you in the mornings as you sip a coffee on your plush, red sofa. But since you were younger, you’ve always been cold, especially once you woke up. 

“You have any snacks? Or ice cream? Jungkook might be hungry.” The alpha steps closer to you when you slide your head through the hoodie, trying to find the hole from your left arm. Grasping the fabric, he holds it out for you, and you beam up at him. 

“I think so. I can also whip out something if you guys want breakfast.”

“No,” he says, voice firm, eyes locking with the members. “I came to hang out with you, not make you serve breakfast.” 

“It’s really okay,” Jungkook adds hastily, and Jimin smirks in return. Then, someone’s stomach grumbles in reply, and you all glance at the blushing leader.

“It’s me digesting!” He blurts. You snort at how ridiculous it sounds, because seriously. If they came to Los Angeles, it’s a crime to not eat. The food here is a fusion of all cultures blended together, which is why it has one of the best ones in the world. You know your mother hates hearing this, but you think that the food in Koreatown suits your tastes better than the authentic food in Korea. It’s just a perfect blend between the modern and traditional culture, and you can’t go back. 

“There’s leftover gamjatang in the refrigerator that I brought yesterday, if you guys want. I also have rice and can make you a—”

“Y/N,” your friend insists, wrapping an arm around your waist to prevent you from going anywhere. Not Noona. Not ya, or some other rude nickname he gives to you when he should respect that you’re older (though it is just a year, Korean standards say otherwise). “Stop. I know you’re tired. You don’t need to.”

You stare up at Taehyung, who has his hair slicked back and is staring back into your eyes, as if challenging you. Ugh. Screw him. You know he knows that you’re terrible with eye contact.

“It’s not that I feel the need to,” you explain, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “I want to, I promise.” 

Taking care of people—Taehyung included—made your heart swell, and made you soft inside. Your love language giving wise is acts of service, and yeah, it might end up with you giving more than you should, or people taking advantage of you. Taehyung had seen that happen firsthand with his ex-girlfriends, or with those who had a crush on him, thinking that you did that because you were forced to. But these are his members, people he’s been with for years and trusts.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, lowering your voice. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Running a hand through his hair, he nods and stalks off where Yoongi is residing on your couch. You smile brightly at the rest of the members, who have been quiet or averting their gazes at your conversation. 

“You want help setting the table?” Jin offers. You nod. 

“I was also thinking about making some kimchi stew.”

“I can make that!” Jimin pipes in. 

“Jimin ah,” Namjoon winces. “Your last kimchi-jigae was too salty. Maybe next time.”

“But practice makes perfect.” The idol rolls up his sleeves, suddenly looking determined to prove himself. “Just get me an apron, and I’ll whip up a masterpiece in seconds.” 

“Or Taehyung can, since he’s been learning how to cook,” Namjoon says, wincing. Oh, yeah. You heard about that on social media, him uploading pictures of his food or sending them to you. 

“My kitchen isn’t big enough,” you tell him regretfully. “I think Jin and I will have to make do.”

That part is true. Washing the dishes is a one-man show, because next to it is the refrigerator, and then the cabinet. The stove is behind you, and a small counter divides the kitchen with the living room. It’s cozy, but because LA apartments are so expensive, you had to make do with this small one. Even if Taehyung pressed about buying you a house, you couldn’t accept it. What would his future girlfriend think, that he brought his best friend a house? Knowing how conservative Korea is, you don’t want to step over that line.

Plus, you get free reign to place rugs anywhere you want on the hardwood ground. 

You hold in a laugh with the grateful glance the leader shoots you, and ushers Jimin away. 

“And how do you expect me to come to your shoot?”

“I’ll let the staff know,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “And you can just come in and watch.”

“You’re what—twenty something? All grown up. You can handle a shoot on your own.”

“But you’ve never seen me work.”

“I’ve seen you work. At concerts.” 

“It’s not the same thing, Noona. And you said that you’d hang out with me when I came to visit you. You weren’t lying, were you? You said you’d make up for all the birthdays we missed apart.”

Ding ding. Another point for Taehyung. “Alright, where’s your shoot?”

“In Korea.”

“Korea!” You practically shriek. “Taehyung, no.”

“Why not? You said your novel’s set in Korea, isn’t it? It’ll be good research, and you get to see your parents.”

Yeah, this is a good opportunity for you, as a writer who literally has no job except freelancing. But… 

“Noona.” The word alone makes you flinch, and you sigh at the idol in front of you. Legs crossed in front of you, Taehyung juts his lower lip out, pouting. He intentionally parted his bangs to give you a pleading look, too—but you refuse for it to affect you—you never know what this alpha is up to next. “C’mon.” 

Then again, your willpower is never that strong around him.

“No, Taehyung. I can’t go.”

“Is this about the money?” When is it not about the money? 

“I have plenty of money,” he adds. You snort. 

“Yeah, that much is obvious.” He’s practically plastered on every billboard, and any moments he has with women are trending. Though you don’t tell him, your favorites are the book memes that come out of it. God, you feel awful for laughing, but it’s just hilarious. Like the meme of how this one person mentioned that they’d get pregnant if Taehyung gave her the gaze of “I’ll take you to the bookstore.”

“What are you giggling about?” The corner of his mouth tugs up into a smile, and he pokes your cheek. 

“Nothing.” A grin stretches across your face. “Seriously. I’m saving up for Korea myself, don’t waste your money on me.” 

“I love giving you my money,” he retorts immediately. “And you always stole my money in high school, what’s a few years older?”

“Shut up!” You smack his shoulder, and he snickers. “I’m pretty sure I paid back that amount enough, too, dealing with you.”

“I told you, I can help you out. You know I make more than enough.” But your pride won’t let him. As someone older than him, it’s ingrained in you to pay for him, not the other way around.

“It’s—it’s my job because I’m older—”

“Get that thought out of your head,” he murmurs. Taehyung takes a deep breath. “I love taking care of you, Y/N, alright?”

“You need to stop using my name,” you groan. “It’s rude. How have we become this casual over the course of what? Over a decade?” 

“I like your name.” And he inches closer, nose brushing your neck as he places a soft kiss there. You don’t even know how he knows that you’d melt from that, but you do. Hands shoot out to grab his biceps, and he rests his forehead in that crook, body at an odd angle because he’s hunching over you, torso twisted. 

Taehyung likes physical contact, you remind yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. Again, thank God you’re a beta, and your scent—both giving off and smelling—is minimal. Also, bless the universe that the alpha in front of you is wearing suppressants today. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. 

You press your lips together. “I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to, but—”

“Please,” he hushes, breath hitting your skin. Making the moment so intimate. “Come with me.”

Hands hold both sides of his cheeks, and you stare. Rub your thumb in circles, and his eyes darken. Darken with a promise, with worry from your answer, with something. 

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.” 

A week later, upon arriving in Korea, Taehyung sends you a text, along with a pinned location.

Taehyung: Come.

Taehyung: Please.

Taehyung: I’ll be waiting.

“He’s not in a good mood today,” Namjoon comments on the obvious. Taehyung isn’t out here yet, but the other members are slowly trickling in.  

As you stand in the midst of the photoshoot for Vogue, you nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”

In return, the leader mimics your action and heads over to the director. The chatter around you is growing, as interns run in with drinks for the staff and the idols, and as directors shout where the lights should be placed. It’s like the scene is shifting in circles around you, and as you hide in the corner, you love it. Watching everyone enter their own element, running on adrenaline until the shoot is over. The determined glances, the peering in the cameras, the directing. Your heartbeat quickens seeing everything unfold in front of you, and you rock on your heels to contain your excitement. 

“Ah, hello!” Hoseok smiles. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Well, that’s sudden. “Uh, su—”

“Can you get Taehyung? He’s—well—” The idol stumbles over his words. “He’s in one of his moods. And, well, since we’re all alphas, we don’t want to be messing with his area.”

Oh. Oh. You flush. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ah, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, and stunned into awkward silences, the two of you slink away from one another. “He’s in the dressing room.”

Roaming down the halls, you knock on his door. Well, BTS’s door. 

No answer. 

“Taehyung?” You question, and stick your head in. The dark mess of hair stiffens when you do. 

“Did the members send you here?”

You can’t help yourself, gazing at his muscles and the hard ridges of his body as he slumps down the chair, legs open wide. In fact, your mouth almost goes slack at the sight, but you reign it in, knowing that the other members are waiting. Because Taeyoung’s broodiness—or, him being pissed all morning—could only mean one thing. He’s about to go into rut soon. 

“Bad morning?” You chirp from where you’re at, not wanting to intrude or do something that would piss him off even further. There was never a telltale sign as to what Taeyoung hated, so close to rut. Not that he ever lashed out at you. But you saw how he would grimace, or hide the discomfort of your actions. 

“Ha. Very funny,” the idol grumbles, then frowns. “Why are you so far away?”

“No reason,” you grin, and inch closer. “Just thought you wanted to sit alone today.”

“Sit on me,” he orders, grouchy. You carefully settle yourself on his thighs, but can’t help but shift forward to drape yourself all over him. You can’t help it—he’s just that comfortable. His shoulder is the perfect pillow for you to rest your head on, and the crook of his neck is the perfect place for you to dig your face into, hiding away from the world. And it’s like he owns you, with the way his palm sometimes curves around your nape, or the way he guides you, or the way he curves his hand around your hip and draws you closer. 

You tell yourself it’s the Alpha instincts within him, taking care of his best friend. In his mindset, you’re pack. Making sure that your nervousness isn’t stinking up the room. Making sure you’re safe and tended to. 

But sometimes, you hallucinate. 

“Are you staying until I end today?”

“That’s what I was planning to do, unless it goes on for too long.”

“I didn’t know if you were coming today,” he admits. His arms tightening around you and pulls you closer, smothering you in his scent. Of the ocean. Of sand. It’s nice. The issue is that your heart flutters when catching hints of it, like it did in high school. Then it’d fall, or be stomped to pieces when he came home every night talking about the girl he wanted to impress. You forgot her name—never bothered to learn it in the first place, just trying to pick up your broken pieces when he shattered you. And one day, he came home, saying he lost his virginity. Saying that he was happy he gave it away to the one person.

That’s when your project began. To move on from Taeyoung, the reason of your existence. Because the only reason you two met was because of your mothers. That’s it. If not, fate would have never allowed you to collide.

And you understood. He’s an Alpha, with urges no less. You’re a beta. You weren’t going to ruin anything. 

“Namjoon showed me the fancy director chair you got me,” you tease, fingers finding his hair and tugging a strand. 

“Mhm.” A deep inhale. “I better go.”

The untangling is slow, but you cherish those moments, keep it tucked away with memories only you have with him while your mind chastises your heart. 

It’s just like every other night back then, you tell yourself. Taehyung’s oblivious to your feelings, and you’re here beating yourself up over it without saying anything.

And you know—if you’re going to keep quiet, you shouldn’t take it out on Taehyung because that would be unfair to him. 

Besides. You loved him too much to break what the two of you have.

to be continued...

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 2 | first date

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The next morning, your classmates wouldn’t shut up about it.

The rumor of your rendezvous with Shouto had spread like wildfire through the school, and you were assaulted by a wave of questions the second you turned up to modern lit. “Is it true?”, “Is he your boyfriend?”, “How do you know him?”, “Is he a good kisser?”, all blended into a cacophony of sound that nearly bowled you over as you stepped through the door.

You felt your face grow hot under their scrutiny and quickly stuffed yourself into your desk. “Yes, we’re dating. No, I won’t answer other questions about it.”

“Come on,” Miko--the girl in the desk closest to you--begged. “You’re dating Shouto Todoroki, the cutest boy in school, and you won’t even tell us how you know him?”

You wracked your brain for something close to the truth. “We, um, got along really well on that support item project last month. It’s nothing special.”

Miko’s mouth opened to fire off another question, but Mr. Cementoss cut her off with his arrival, launching immediately into his lesson plan. You sent up a silent thank you to whichever patron saint of fake dating had been listening.

The rest of the school day passed much the same way, and you wondered several times if the price of your senior project was perhaps too high.

You’d known that Shouto was something of a celebrity due to his parentage, supreme good looks, and incredible power--even outside the walls of UA--but you hadn’t really thought through how that would affect the people who stood closest to him. Knowing what celebrity looked like and actually experiencing it for yourself were two very different things, you found. You’d never been subjected to attention like this before and you weren’t sure that you liked it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you’d started to wonder if you shouldn’t just call this whole thing off.

The sight of him that morning, however, immediately robbed you of your resolve.

He’d asked you to meet in front of your dorm mid-morning, and he showed up looking unfairly handsome in well-fitted jeans, a grey scarf, and a dark jacket with a high collar that framed his sharp jaw. He looked good, way too good for this early in the morning. You felt a shiver go through you, and not just because of the cold.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted you, the corner of his mouth curling. He gestured with something in his hands and you found your eyes drawn to two takeout coffee cups from the cafe just outside the school gates.

Okay, he was a literal angel and forgiven for everything you had been through this week.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I got all the extras,” he said, handing a cup over to you and turning out a pocket to unveil a mound of sugar packets and tiny creamer containers.

You smiled, feeling warm. “Thanks, Shouto. Pretty sure every support engineer has bypassed the need for modifications at this point and just mainlines straight from the coffee pot. Black is perfect.”

He grinned down at you. “Too many late nights?”

You groaned at the tidal wave of memories. “Support items should just build themselves.”

He laughed and gestured you to follow him, leading you out of school grounds and to the nearby train station.

“Where are we going?” you wondered as he ushered you onto the train. He herded you into a corner and stationed himself in front of you, one arm extended to hold the bar over your head. You wondered if it was something like a natural instinct at this point for hero students to assume a protective position, as Shouto’s choice had the effect of shielding you from the rest of the train car.

“I...asked around about you,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve been told that your interest in quirks and support items doesn’t just end at the classroom door.”

You flushed. You were kind of a nerd, he had your number.

“I’m taking you somewhere I think you might like,” he said. He took a sip of his own coffee, varicolored eyes glinting down at you over the rim of his cup.

You nursed your own coffee as the train rolled into the city, resisting the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. It was something you might do with an actual boyfriend, and as cute as it was that he was taking you out on a real life fake date, you didn’t think he would appreciate you putting the moves on him.

He led you out of the train at the city center and down a few blocks, finally pulling you into a building with a very modern glass facade. You recognized it at once.

“The Support Museum!” you chirped happily, your interest picking up. They had an interactive exhibit going on right now that you and some classmates had talked about coming to see. Your fingers suddenly itched with the need to test out some of the items.

Shouto looked at you from the corner of his eye, a flash of curious blue. “This is okay?”

“Hell yeah,” you intoned, picking up the pace to get in front of him. “If you’re cool with being bored to death for the next six hours while I have a great time, then this is perfect.”

He gave you a dry look. “I care about support items.”

You scoffed. “You have like, one.”

A slow smirk overtook his features. “Maybe you could convince me to add more.”

Something hot flashed through you and you gave yourself a hard pinch through the fabric of your jeans. His tone seemed laced with insinuation, but you knew better than to buy into it. It was just hard when he was looking at you the way he was.

Damn him for having a face like that.

“Careful,” you said, trying to reroute your brain, “you’re signing yourself up for a whole lot of wild rambling and weird tangents.”

That soft smile pulled at the edge of his mouth again. “I’m used to it. Midoriya, my best friend, is a lot like that.”

You’d been in the room with Izuku Midoriya before and didn’t doubt it. The boy could certainly give you a run for your money. If he wasn’t equipped with the wildest quirk you’d ever seen, he would have made one hell of a support engineer -- you were probably lucky you didn’t have to compete for grades with a mind like that.

“Treat me like white noise,” you said as he shouldered past you to pay for tickets.

You let out a noise of protest when you noticed what he was doing, but he pressed you back from the ticket counter with a strong arm you couldn’t get around. It seemed only too easy for him to hold you off and pay for tickets at the same time, and it was slightly offensive. Maybe you needed to put in more time in the support course gym.

“I asked you out,” he said by way of explanation after you complained all the way through coat check, only shutting up when you were distracted by the sight of him in a soft tee shirt and blue button up. “I should pay.”

You made a dismissive noise. “It’s not the nineteen thirties anymore, dude. I can pay for my own stuff.”

He turned to you with a wry look. “Are we fighting about money already? Not something I’d thought we’d get to at this stage, to be honest.”

You laughed. “Our first fight as a couple.”

He pinned you with an interested look, something in his gaze growing hot. “Should we kiss and make up?”

Your face instantly went up in flames, like he’d lit you up with his quirk. Jesus Christ, he was a teaser? You’d thought he was just the quiet and thoughtful type -- who knew that he hid an ironic sense of humor underneath all that? This was going to be bad for your health.

“Cute,” you quipped for something to say, marching in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see your face. “Uh, where to first?”

He let you lead the way around the museum, and in minutes you’d pretty much calmed down from the heat of the moment, distracted by the halls filled with the forefront of quirk theory and the corresponding support equipment.

As someone who’d been born without a quirk of their own, the concept had always been fascinating to you, leading you into the support track at UA in your efforts to study quirks and their applications. It was incredible how genetics determined which people had none, and whose ranged from benign improvements like seeing slightly better through fog to more deadly power that roiled just beneath the surface of one’s skin like Shouto.

The deviations in power manifestation stretched the genetics of each human further from one another than they had ever gone before -- sometimes by a full 0.1-0.2% of their DNA structure -- and it was crazy cool. While your speciality was more applied science, you couldn’t deny the biology of it was equally as interesting.

At the rate it was going, people like you could share more genetic similarity with a banana at some point than someone like Shouto. Well, after a couple more millennia of evolution.

Shouto chuckled and you realized with some alarm that you had been babbling all of that out loud.

“Should I be concerned that our children might come out as bananas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a sour look. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He flashed you a cheeky grin and followed you easily as you led the way through the other exhibits.

He listened attentively as you oohed and ahhed over the different displays, asking very pointed follow up questions like he was actually interested in what you had to say. You fell into a very involved discussion about most of the displays, and you realized with some surprise that plenty of time had passed without you realizing it, and that you were having an incredibly good time.

Shouto paid for lunch at the museum cafe as well, affecting hearing loss over the sounds of your protests, and kept up the easy conversation all the way through the meal.

After lunch, you two queued up for the interactive exhibit that you’d initially wanted to see, eventually being let into the exhibit hall in a small group. You immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas.

The hall was studded with actual support items that had been developed for the top twenty heros, ranging from real costume pieces that had been retired to replicas of items currently in use, supplied by the same companies as had built them. The items were free for testing with the caveat that the user had to be careful.

You spent a fair amount of time over pieces of Edgeshot’s costume that had been made from strands of his own hair, allowing it to fold and reshape with the changes to his body, and more time over Ryukyu’s size-changing suit that mechanically adapted to her dragon form.

Shouto stopped over a flame-resistant gauntlet from his father’s previous costume.

“Think you can melt it?” you asked with interest. You wondered how fast they’d eject you from the museum if he succeeded.

Shouto shook his head. “My flames are hot but I doubt it.”

You perked up. “How hot?”

“I haven’t actually measured,” he admitted and you groaned.

“Your super cool quirk is totally wasted on you,” you said. “You have to let me do tests.”

His mouth twitched again. “What kind of tests?”

“Anything you’ll let me,” you said. “Temperature gauges, cryogenic structure analysis, body scans when you use both energy sources. I have my theories as to how your quirk is actually scientifically possible but I need more data.”

“Body scans, huh?” he asked.

Of course he’d seized on that one. God, he was such a boy.

“Yes. We’ll get you all strapped up in wires and those little sticky nodules. It’ll be super sexy, trust me.”

He chuckled, and set a hand to one of his father’s boots that was also on display. “Fine, but later. Want to test this out now?”

You leaned in, nodding, and he let a flame grow in his hand, pressing it to the fabric of the boot. The cloth activated instantly, channeling the flame across the surface of the boot in the customary style of Endeavor’s flaming costume.

“Fuck, that’s so cool,” you breathed, leaning over to read the description of how it worked. “You need something just as obnoxiously showy on your costume. You’re letting your own dad upstage you.”

He laughed again and let the flame die down.

You wandered companionably through the rest of the exhibit, thrilled when it ended in an arcade-like simulation of Wash’s quirk that let you rig up and shoot water around at various targets. Shouto immediately targeted you instead.

“You're supposed to be a hero,” you whined, whipping around to aim your water cannon at him in revenge. “How could you target a civilian like this?”

His hero training had clearly paid off, as he was too skilled at dodging to get caught up in any of your attacks. Your time was called without you able to catch him once, but you left the exhibit with your own shirt sticking wetly to your body. You tried not to wince, thinking of the wintry weather that would no doubt invade the confines of your jacket once you made it outside.

Shouto immediately pulled you to the side of the coat check, however, his eyes trailing down your shirt where it clung to you. You tried not to feel self conscious.

“Let me,” he said quietly, placing a hand against your shoulder. Searing warmth washed over your skin under his hand and you tried not to arch up into the pleasant heat. You stood incredibly still, hardly daring to breathe as he passed his hand lightly over your shirt, taking care not to touch you anywhere too scandalous, though some traitorous part of your mind almost wished he would. This close, you could catch the scent of some light cologne, minty and fresh, and the smell of it made your head spin.

It took just under a minute for him to fully dry out your shirt, each second passing like a small eternity.

You were able to gather your wits just enough to laugh about his bright future in steam cleaning as you tucked back into your coat, then followed him to the train back to campus.

It was nearly dark by the time he walked you back to your dorm, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon, sunset orange fading into the deep blue of an evening sky. You realized that you’d spent all day with him and had hardly noted the time passing -- he was a very, very good date. Some girl in the months after graduation was going to find herself very lucky with him.

The dorm was quiet as you approached, which was unusual for a Saturday evening, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your classmates must be waiting quietly, watching for your arrival from inside to see what he’d do. Shouto must have realized the same thing almost the same time that you did, as he stepped into your space at the doorway, catching the sleeve of your coat to pull you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, face dipping close to yours. His features were somehow even more symmetrical up close and it was overwhelming to look at. “I quite liked today, so I thought…”

Your heartbeat kicked up in your chest and the tips of your ears went hot as you panicked, tangling your own fingers in his dark jacket like a lifeline. “Y-yeah,” you answered. “This is g-great.”

He smirked, leaning in even closer to you. You held carefully still as you had in front of the coat check, all the nerves in your body straining with anticipation. Then a hot mouth pressed softly to yours, and every neuron in your brain misfired.

The next thing you registered, your arms were around his neck and he was pressing you gently up against the door, his tongue in your mouth and his large hands on your waist. You arched up into his touch, desperate to get closer, twining your fingers in his soft hair.

He gave a low groan and pressed you harder into the door, a hand coming up to cup your face as he did something absolutely criminal with his tongue. So much for his career as a hero.

A muffled shout came from within your dorm and you jerked apart, panting. Your face flamed in embarrassment.

“Wow,” you said dumbly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Wow indeed,” he teased, stepping back from you.

You shook yourself as he did. Right, fake dating. The kiss had been hot but it was only for show--and the show had been successfully executed. You had to resist the urge to drag him back for another.

“I’ll text you?” you squeaked out and he agreed, looking weirdly satisfied as he bid you good night.

You watched him for a long moment as he trudged back down the path to campus, heart beating a frantic staccato in your chest.

Shouto Todoroki was the most dangerous boy alive and it finally dawned on you just what you had agreed to for the next few months. You were so absolutely fucked.

[machinegunbun]

2

The house you eventually park in front of is much like yours, just a bit bigger, since Colson didn't live alone. The sound of sirens outside is carried almost melodically in the freezing wind. You soak it all in, wondering about who else in this city felt so far from home and yet right in the thick of it.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Colson quips, motioning to the steps, "but at least we got it to ourselves tonight," his grin could stretch a city mile.

Once inside, Colson immediately turns on a nearby heater and clears the couch, grabbing his RAW tray off the busted up coffee table, almost muscle memory, it seems, for both of you. You lay a fat sack down on the rolling tray as he sweeps the papers out of the way.

"Damn, do you really got glaucoma?" He snorts, untwisting the top. "No wonder I can smell it thru your backpack." He is all smiles while he breaks it down. "Have a seat, make yourself at home," he offers, pointing to the couch cushion free next to him.

You sit down on the very edge, causing Colson to stop in his tracks.

"Aw, come on, don't do me like that," he pouts, pulling a folded blanket from the chair to his left. "I got blankies," he teased, knowing how drafty all these houses are the heater won't cut it. "I said, make yourself at home," he playfully insists, and unexpectedly, he grabs your thigh to pull you so close, you can feel the heat emitting from his jeans.

He continues as if nothing had even happened, luxurious tongue peeking out to seal the blunt. So you wrap the blanket across your laps, and act nonchalant, too, trying to force the lump in your throat all the way down.

"A backwoods, that's classic," you offer as a change of subject, watching mesmerized as the ambient lighting and warm tones of the fake flames of the heater danced across his chiseled face. Godddd, why couldn't you control yourself?

Colson smirked before running a lighter across it. "Only the best for my guest."

The two of you sit cozy under the blanket for a short period of time, passively hitting the blunt and savoring before passing, while Colson rigged up a speaker. As the hip hop played softly, you felt your muscles relax a bit, most they had in 6 years.

Colson began probing you with his eyes again, like he was about to start 20 questions back up.

"So, you're not really from around here, are you?" He digs, pressing a thigh against yours to turn to face you better.

"Ah, no," you say, nodding

"From....?" He prompts, rolling his hand before passing the blunt.

"Down South," you're ashamed the more you divulge.

Colson pulls a face. "You don't have an accent, though," he contests.

"Got rid of it," you shrug. "People think you're stupid," you smile back.

Colson takes a hand and begins rubbing your thigh softly, as if to comfort you, although he can feel the tension increasing doing just the opposite. "I wouldn't think you're stupid, at all," he husks quietly, serious.

You don't want to make a sound for fear it will come out as a squeak.

"Look, I would ask what brings you all the way out here, but..." He trails off before hitting the blunt hard. "I'm a blunt motherfucker, so I'll just say it. I know about the..." He is swallowing the wrong words, struggling despite his frankness. "Well, the whole crew knows about the... The statutory situation," he whispers, like someone is listening. "You don't really talk to nobody, so.. They got curious. There's... There's lots of articles."

You almost disassociate, so he takes it as a sign to continue.

"I couldn't imagine. So, if I'm making you uncomfortable..." He begins to look worried, the desire to backpedal immediately written across his face.

You physically snap back, and force him to stop leaning away from you.

"You're blunt, huh?" You ask, now trying to comfort him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry," he relaxes into your touch, though.

"You don't have any chains or ropes here, so I'm not here by force," you smile, darkly, almost transported back to 15 again.

Colson winces, sympathetically, before shaking his head (to no doubt clear images) the articles he had read that paint an all too vivid picture out of his mind like an etch a sketch.

"Look, I ... I really wanted to get to know you, and... Everybody told me it was a bad idea, you know? Like I would fuck up your life. But I just really can't resist, you seem so cool, so sweet," Colson trails off, realizing in your vulnerable state he had began being too vulnerable as well.

"Thanks. I know that sounds stupid, but, most people... Well, most guys, avoid me like the plague."

Colson melts back into the couch, into your warmth surrounding you, before beginning to pull a cigarette out for each of you. He passes it to you, so intuitive to how on edge you're feeling. He knows you too well already.

"You don't have to be scared, you know," you remind him, "you can keep playing 20 questions." You're joking but serious. "I've possibly purposefully not made any friends here yet. I salute you breaking the ice AND addressing the elephant in the room," you admit. "I like cutting thru the bullshit."

Colson takes a thoughtful drag from his cigarette while formulating his next question.

" okay," he sounds more at ease, "do you have a boyfriend?" He risks, wincing at how insensitive it sounds, but he correctly got the impression it was forgiven and you wanted to move forward exactly as he intended originally.

"Oooh, no, actually," you giggle at the spicy question. "Other than, the, ya know... Situation, shall I say, never been with a man before." You're shocked at how honest you're being.

Colson can't help his jaw dropping. "How... How old are--you're still a virgin??" He is stumbling over his words.

"21, and, yeah," you choke out, sudden shyness taking over.

It was so refreshing he considered you a virgin still that you could die on the spot.

"Whoa. Just.... Damn," Colson stuttered, as the etch a sketch cleaned his slate once again. Hopefully be was clearing thoughts of how tight you must be still, not how damaged you are.

"Do, um," he clears his throat while putting out his cigarette, "what kind of tattoos and piercings do you have?"

"None, of either, actually," you admit, eyes hungrily scanning Colson's inked up neck.

It seems he can't believe his ears.

"Are you.. Holy shit, no way? Prove it," he challenges.

You shrug the blanket and flannel off to expose your belly, shoulders, and lift your crop top to show nothing on collar bones. Colson looks like he would spit if he had water he was drinking. He wasn't expecting you to show him anything for real.

He lifts a tentative hand to your cheek to brush your hair behind the ear, "wow, no ear piercings, either. You're magical," he says heavily. "You're younger than me, by, like, a lot, but anyone... like you, I never would have guessed..."

You realize now that his knuckles still lay resting on your cheek, stroking it softly, and he'll be able to feel them burning red hot with embarrassment and desire The shame, because you've never done this before, never been so close and intimate with someone, and the desire as well for the same reason.

"You're better than I ever even imagined," he admits before falling silent, soaking up your reaction fully,

Colson breaks the silence first. "I want to kiss you," he states, voice dripping with lust, and cracking slightly.

As you place a hand over his much larger on your cheek, he takes this as a sign to keep going. Leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, Colson licks his lips and scans your face hungrily.

"Can I?" He prompts, impatient, pupils blown, and jaw tight with anticipation.

You feel like you barely nod, hand dropping off of his, before he grabs it tightly to put it around his neck.

"Like this, let me show you," he whispers, lips ghosting yours.

In one Swift motion he slides a hand under your lower back in order to lay you down gently on the couch, hovering above you, on the edge of deranged with desire, like a wolf standing over a downed deer. You figure Colson has never had to exhibit this much self control before.

"I wanna defile you, take your innocence," he rasps, thumb finding its way to your bottom lip, stroking gently, opening your mouth ever so slightly. "I want it to be mine, I've wanted this for so long," he smiles, his rock hard cock pressing with a ungodly heat against your pubic bone. He's not even hiding anything anymore, using your exposed tummy and clothed pussy to hump and grind softly in order take the edge off.

"Can I touch you?" He asks desperately, biting his lip so hard you thought it might bleed. "I want to help you relax a little," Colson whispers, though you imagine it's just as much for him as it is you.

"Anything you want, Cols." You're almost choking.

He lets out a dark laugh at this, and in an instant his hands feel like they're all over you, exploring, finally coming to rest at your jugular, feeling the intense pounding underneath his fingertips.

"You're scared?" It's a question as much as it is a statement. "Or turned on?" Colson raises a brow, other hand massaging your thigh, slowly curling it around his waist, positioning and posing you like a ragdoll, your body defeated and limp to his touches. You are in a state of bliss and fear. "Maybe both," he concludes, smirking.

At this you close your eyes, expecting any second to wake up from this all too familiar dream, as you've pined for your coworker possibly even longer than he has.

Suddenly, Colson is at your ear, breath hot and desperate. "Don't be scared babydoll, you're in good hands," he reassures, nipping at your earlobe in such a way it sends a shiver all throughout your body. "I... Will go... Slowww," he teases out painstakingly, "slow as you need me to," he adds gently.

It was then you were startled into the reality of the situation by the sound of his belt coming undone, soft noises as it is expertly slipped out of his belt loops in one, fluid motion. Colson feels you panic underneath him, and he is quick to respond to this.

—-

Havent had a chance to read it yet but i wanted yall to have fhis lmfaoo. A gift from bigblakdix to me to you

[xpeachesncream]

acquainted | thirteen

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.0k

warnings: cussing/mature language, lots of crying, overthinking, insecurities, questioning feelings/thoughts, your bestfriends are your ride or dies!

notes: happy valentine’s day my loves! 💗

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead@bluesharksandfish@photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1​ @thebeebi​ @brightcolorsoffendme​ (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

Class comes by quick and you're dreading it. You're dreading it so much you consider skipping out. But, you don't; Simply because you don't want to show that this has defeated you. That Jin has gotten to the best of you. Although right now, you'd probably slap that shit out of him.

You stray clear from any spots you think Jin would find you at, parking at a completely different lot on the opposite end of campus. Jin also isn't in the best of moods, being that his parents came down for an unexpected visit just to give him an earful while getting ready to head to the office to prepare for another business review coming up. Not to add that Grace's mom texted him a very long, unfriendly message last night. He expected it, but he just didn't wanna deal. He sounded like a broken record telling everyone they just didn't work anymore, and that he wasn't going to force himself into something he didn't see himself in.

Yes, he's sorry for the way that he acted. Yes, he fucked up for not doing this the right way. Yes, he fucking gets it. Leave me the hell alone.

After all, all he wanted was you. And it killed him that you hadn't returned his calls, or answered his texts. He just wanted to hear if you were okay. He just wanted to see you and reassure you. Apologize for not owning up to your relationship, because it does matter to him. It's the one thing that truly does.

You walk into campus once your friends have texted that they've arrived. The four of you make your way into the classroom, your head hung low. The rest of the three greeted Jin just for common courtesy, but he knew he wasn't going to hear anything from you. He looked at you, noticed how tired and sad you had looked and his heart instantly broke. He wanted to hug you right then and there, kiss you. Let you know you two would be okay. If that was still something you even wanted.

Jin does his best to get through class, but he's not sure if he could do this anymore if this is how things were going to be. You barely looked at him. You didn't send any of those cute, small smiles his way. You didn't giggle. You didn't do anything besides stare at the paper beneath your hands and write.

When class ends, he waits to see if you'd say anything. You don't, even though you're still one of the last to leave. He watches as you hold onto your books tightly, Ryujin waiting for you to catch up at the door. It's not like you hated him or anything - you could never see yourself hating Seokjin. You could almost say you loved him, you had fallen in love with him. And that's what sucks the most because now what? What do you do with those feelings right now? After everything? God, you wanted him. But there were so many questions racing through your mind, the most important being if you were worth sticking around for. If he would actually be in this with you and stick around.

You and your friends head over to the library to get some work done, but you excuse yourself to buy a cup of hot chocolate and a snack at the campus coffee shop a bit of a walk away. There was a line, surprisingly, but it wasn't too bad and you ultimately decided this was worth waiting in line for. Once you had ordered and gotten your food, you stepped outside to take a sip & enjoy how good it felt to have hot cocoa on a cold evening. You begin to slowly walk back, the walk being a little dark and lonely being most students had already left campus for today.

"Y/N." You hear behind you. You know that voice all too well. You turn behind you to see Jin trying to catch up with you.

"Not doing this here." You say as you try to walk away, but he gently grabs your wrist and turns you around. It hadn't been long but you missed looking at his face this way. You missed his touch. You missed him.

"Can we please just talk for a minute?" He asks softly, letting you go before anyone sees.

"We don't have anything to talk about right now."

"Yes, we do." You shook your head.

"I don't wanna do this right now. Please, I just need some time."

"Y/N, I care about you a lot, you know that right?" You feel your tears welling up because you wanted so badly to just throw yourself on this man right now, and hug him tightly and tell him you love him. But, you just needed your space. You needed to give him space.

"Not now." Is all you say. "Look, we can talk when the time is right. Just not now."

"When is that going to be? I miss you." He says almost at a whisper. "You know it's you."

"Jin—" You say, shaking your head and placing a hand out in front of you before stepping backwards.

"Hey, did you grab what you needed? We have to go." You hear Taehyung say as he grabs your arm. You knew he was just pulling you out of the situation with a lie and honestly, you couldn't thank him enough because you weren't sure how else you could handle Jin right now. Not without breaking down.

"Yeah." Jin stares at both you and Taehyung. "I'm good."

"Cool." Taehyung swings his arm over your shoulder before turning on his heel to walk away with you. "Night Mr. Kim." He throws up the peace sign as he leads you back to the library.

"Thank you." You say, leaning into his body.

"No problem." Taehyung gently caresses your arm as you both walk back to the library. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just not ready to talk to him yet."

"Maybe you should at least hear what he has to say."

"I don't know, Tae." He shrugged.

"Look, things are kind of messy right now, but I have to say, he looks like he's still focused on you throughout this mess. I think that should at least mean something."

"I guess." Is all you can say. Taehyung doesn't say anything else as you approach Jimin and Ryujin. You and your friends stay until the library closes, getting a lot of work done together.

"You sure you don't need any of us to stay with you tonight?" Jimin asks before you all split ways to get to your cars.

"I'll be fine."

He nods silently. "Let us know if you need anything." Ryujin and Taehyung nod reassuringly behind him.

The ride home is quiet, besides the random downpour of rain that begins to fall as you near your apartment building. The rain was soothing to you, and all you wanted was to be in bed, listening to the rain pound against your window. As you start tidying up your apartment and getting ready for bed, your phone starts to vibrate on the bathroom counter.

Seokjin.

After tonight, you're still not sure why he's calling, but you're afraid something might have happened to him in this rain since the call ends, but another one comes through right after.

"Jin."

"Let me come see you. Hear me out, please." His voice slightly cracks. It sounds like he had been crying, or at the very least, trying really hard to keep his emotions in check. You feel terrible, and the last thing you want is for him to do anything irrational in this weather.

"Okay." Is all you say.

"I'll come pick you up in 20 minutes?"

"Sure." And the call ends. You're nervous and you feel your heart beating pretty quickly. You're not sure what to expect, or what to even say at this point. Is it even valid for you to feel upset for what happened? You weren't in Grace's shoes, nor did you end up getting the short end of the stick [besides the fact that Jin wasn't up front about your relationship]. You didn't really have a reason to be this way. However, you weren't sure where to go from here. You loved him, but how could you both just continue on like shit never went down? Like things are all fine and dandy when there's people angry and hurt? It seems like that would be fueling the fire even more. You both may never be able to rest. But part of you really wanted to keep being selfish, and you had no idea what exactly it was about this man that was making you like this. But, you wanted him in every way and it was frustrating. You just wanna tell people to leave you both the fuck alone and let it be.

He wants me, and I want him. So be it. I'm sorry.

You lazily throw on some clothes, hopping into matching grey sweats, grey hoodie and an added layer of a bomber jacket to go over it. He gets there a little earlier than the estimated 20 minutes in a hoodie, jacket and ripped jeans, his hair slightly dampened from the rain, making strands fall messily above his forehead.

God, this is unfair. Jin's duality is fucking crazy.

He simply looks at you before extending out his hand, asking for permission to hold yours before he drives off. You gently intertwine your fingers with his, his cold hands gripping tightly as he caresses the top of your hand with his thumb. The ride is quiet, and you find yourself overlooking the skyview of SF once again. He parks his car in the same spot he parked when he had asked you to come to LA with him, but he sits in his seat looking out quietly.

"What's on your mind?" You softly ask, breaking the silence.

"I miss you." He pauses while he tilts his head to look at you. "It hasn't even been long, but I miss you and I just want to be with you, Y/N."

"Do you really think this is a good idea? Us?" You turn in your position to fully face him. "Look at all the people that are hurt and angry at us. How can we just let it be?"

"I don't care. I really and truly do not care."

"Seokjin." You shake your head. "Don't say that."

"I don't. What else do you want me to say?" He shrugs. "The only person that matters to me is you."

"Your parents—"

"It's my life, they can't do anything about it." He sighs. "Y/N, what's going on?"

"I'm just scared. I— I know it's a little late for this but I'm scared. I don't wanna hurt anyone else, I don't wanna make anyone else upset." The tears began to pool against your bottom lid. "Jungkook—" He sharply turns to look at you once more. "Jungkook came to my house the other day and I felt terrible."

"He's not talking to me."

"See." You begin to cry. "I don't wanna ruin your relationship with him any further. He's your brother."

"He'll be fine."

"And how do you know that? How do you know things will be okay between the both of you? You had such a strong relationship with him. I shouldn't be getting in between."

"Stop." He says, gently wiping your tears from his seat. "He'll need some time but I know we'll be okay. Y/N, please just listen to me. I don't—" He sighs again before he looks down at his jeans. His head continues to hang low as he begins to speak softly, his voice slightly cracking. "I don't want you to throw us away because of everything that happened. That's the one thing I've been terrified about."

"Are you genuinely terrified of losing me, or of being alone?"

"What? How could you ask me that? Of course I'm terrified of losing you." Silence. "I love you, Y/N. I don't think you understand how deep my feelings run for you." You almost gasp at the statement, but you simply look at him. You only questioned how he felt because you were certain you had fallen in love with him. You were certain that you had gone past those boundaries and that you loved Seokjin. But you weren't sure if that was the case for him. He had never said it until this moment, even though he had beat around the bush, telling you how much you meant to him and how much he wanted to be with you. But he had never said he loved you until now. You were beginning to think you were just the excuse - the excuse to get out of a failed engagement. He lifts his head once again, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please don't tell me I'm the only one who feels this way." You begin to cry a little more, seeing the look on his face when he says what he says.

"I think we should sleep this off." Is what you respond with, even though it's not what you actually want to say. You want to tell him yes, you love him too. Yes, you want to be with him. Yes, fuck everyone else.

But it's not that easy, for whatever reason.

He doesn't object though, he doesn't try and argue. He doesn't try to act all crazy and make you feel a certain way or say a certain thing. He just nods, even though he can't really look at you.

"Just know that I've meant everything that I've said up until this point. I love you so much, Y/N. It's insane how quickly I've fallen for you and what you do to me. I wouldn't want it any other way, and I don't want it if it's not with you." You look out the window, pursing your lips into a fine line to prevent yourself from loudly breaking down next to him. The tears won't stop coming down but you don't want to let him hear you. At this point, he doesn't say anything else as he starts up his car and begins to drive back to your place. His hand is resting on your thigh, gently caressing it up and down as if he knows you were silently crying in your seat. You couldn't get past the events that have transpired the past couple of days, and you just needed a breather.

Some time to be away, some time to be in peace. Some time to sit on your thoughts. Some time to just be.

You can't help but think about what things would be like if you and Jin continued on. You couldn't help it, that's just who you were. You'd imagine his parents looking down on you for messing with both of the siblings to a certain a extent. Jungkook ultimately just hating you for life. Jin's friends probably also questioning you.

The real question was whether or not your feelings for Jin would overcome that fear, that uncertainty, that anxiety. Even though you knew where you stood with him - was this really something you could get over? Was this something you could live on with? Knowing how you and Seokjin had come to be, hurting people along the way just to be selfish and be together.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Jin stops his car in front of your building, leaning over to turn his hazard lights on. The rain is pounding incredibly hard right at this moment, and you're torn between going back upstairs or going back home with Jin.

It's fucking annoying. Your thoughts.

"Come here." He says, gently tugging on your jacket. You turn to face him, the tears still streaming down your cheeks. He clicks his teeth as he wipes your tears away, hating the fact that he's seeing you hurt right now. He couldn't stand it. "You know I'm always gonna be here right? Whenever you're ready." You nod. He leans in to kiss you on the lips, his hand resting behind your head and fingers tangled in your hair. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, keep his eyes locked on you before completely pulling back to let you go.

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" You say, almost at a whisper. He simply nods, watching you grab the door handle and dash into your building. You run upstairs and into your apartment, only to crash against the wall and cry out every emotion you were feeling.

"Y/N?" Jimin calls out softly, popping into your apartment after you had called him to come over. His jacket is soaking wet, and you feel terrible that he probably had to park a bit further from your building due to no guest spots being available at this time of night. He instantly drops his bag to the ground when he finds you curled up on the couch and wraps his arms around you. "What happened?"

"I don't know why this is so fucking difficult for me." You mumble into his chest. Honestly, Jimin knew the answer already. It was obvious that your feelings had gotten deeper than you had expected, you didn't have to tell Jimin that.

What was difficult was the fact that you hadn't been looking for love, nor were you trying to fall in love after Chance had passed. He knew the moment you did find something other than Chance, that's when things would get difficult. You had been longing for someone to touch you, to feel you, to want you, to care and love you, to bring about those feelings Chance once had brought. Seokjin might have been the closest thing to it and you didn't wanna let that go, not after you unexpectedly lost it the first time. No matter how much you tried to fight it off.

"Y/N." He says softly. "I think you fighting this off is just making it worse. You need to start being honest with yourself, no matter what that looks like."

"It's wrong, isn't it?" He shrugs.

"I mean, regardless of how it came about, I think what matters is how you feel about him and what he's starting to mean to you. Especially after all the shit you've been through with Chance's passing." He responds forwardly. "If you love him, then you do. There's really no hiding from it anymore. You both are here now."

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 127

Annnnd a-one, and a-two, and a queue-queue-queue!

This chapter has one of my favorite things in the world to write - Interpersonal relationships (if you are surprised, I’m going to assume you are new here....).

Specifically, one of my biggest pet-peeves is when friends or siblings are written in a way that shows that the author doesn’t actually have any friends or siblings they are close enough to that all rules of societal politeness go whizzing into some far-off dimension as soon as they are in proximity.

When I get to write a chapter with such close friends/ersatz-siblings and also have @baelpenrose cackling and egging me on, it literally makes my whole day.

P.S: If anyone has wondered about the ages of the characters, several are clearly lined out in this chapter......

EDIT: Fixed some insane formatting issues.

“The food festival, Sophia? Really?” an incredulous voice asked before the door to my office even opened all the way.

I resisted the urge to scream, but did surrender to pinching the bridge of my nose and breathing slowly. “Hello, Arthur. Do come in. Long time no see.  Of course I’m not busy…” My one day each week to have a few hours to myself - no mentees, no assistant, even Tyche was off work….

“We saw each other last night when I came over for dinner after sparring with Conor, and  you’re never busy on Saturdays, Alistair makes sure of it.” He dragged a chair in front of my desk for what I felt was the sole purpose of putting his boots on my desk instead of the conference table.

“I thought you two didn’t even like each other, how did you - “

He waved a hand dismissively. “Enemy of my best friend’s enemy is my friend, that sort of thing. Anyway - “

“Did you just call me my own worst - “

“You are, let’s not pretend otherwise. Anyway.” Arthur arched an eyebrow at me and waited for any further objections, but I couldn’t think of any. “The Food Festival. It’s my one favorite tradition on this ship until armed combat becomes a spectator sport, and you are putting Parvati and Hannah in charge of it?”

After a beat pause to make sure he was done, I glared at him. “Everyone has asked me that, and I don’t understand the issue.  They’ve both helped in the past, even before they started training to replace me.  I’ve handed more and more off to them each time, and they did great! Plus, they have three months, it will be fi - Wait, why do you even care, Arthur?”

He held up one finger with the authority of a deity who would have smited me if he could. “One, Parvati Fletcher does not like mapo tofu. You do. Specifically, you like it from that one vendor who grows her own Sichuan peppercorns and uses them like they are an infinite resource. Two, I spend entirely too much time working with Zach Khan, and he won’t shut up about how stressed Hannah is. Three - “ I was seriously starting to get concerned he actually could smite me at this point - “As much as I love you in the most platonic way possible, you are an obsessive, compulsive perfectionist who insists on doing everything herself and running herself into the ground so that everyone else has the time of their lives. So why are you trusting this, the largest and oldest event on the Ark, entirely to other people?” Dropping his boots from the desk, he leaned forward, palms down until we were nearly nose to nose.

“Sophia Reid, I swear on any god I can kill if you are dying…”

“WHAT!?” I squawked, jerking back and standing so fast I knocked my chair over. “For the love of little fish, I’m not dying! I haven’t had a near death experience in four years, thank you.”

“Three, not counting the fact that there is a reason Alistair makes you drink anything through a straw anymore.”

“How did - Nevermind.” I shook my head and tried to focus on the topic at hand. “No, I’m not dying. Nor am I injured, having a midlife crisis, rethinking my life choices any more than I ever do, or so much as in possession of a stuffy nose.” Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes and started counting off before I could stop myself. “Conor and Maverick and I are fine. No, I’m not arguing with Tyche again. Yes, I’m still going to therapy. Else is fine. No new sentient plagues or rogue cult leaders that I’m aware of. Nor have I become immortal, queen of the universe, savior of humanity, pregnant by Noah, or possessed.” Carefully, I picked my chair back up and sat down.

“Good...to… know?” He gave me a funny look. “Who asked the most disturbing one?”

“Immortal or Savior of Humanity?” I asked for clarification. “Those were Maverick and Derek, respectively.”

The look only got worse. “I meant ‘pregnant by Noah’, but fascinating to see where your priorities lie….?”

“Oh. That was Charly.”

“Dammit,” he swore softly. “I had her pegged for ‘possessed’.”

“I’m pretty sure she is, but the suggestion that I am came from Tyche, on no fewer than 3 occasions, by 4 different entities. She seemed pretty hopeful that Else was potentially mind-controlling me in an effort to make me take a nap,” I admitted.

“That tracks.” A nod of approval prefaced the question I had been avoiding - successfully, thus far, I might add. “Now that you’ve ruled out every possible plausible reason that you would entrust this to literally anyone other than a clone of yourself, why?”

“Why what?” My face was composed in an expression of innocence so convincing that I probably deserved an Oscar.

“I can and will convince Charly to turn all your coffee to decaf, so help me, Sophia.”

Realizing that he was, legitimately, worried about me and at the limits of his usually-impressive patience, I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine. You get the scoop.  Please record this and send me the loop, so I can just flick it at people who ask, please?” When he nodded, I exhaled slowly.  “It is no secret to anyone that I never wanted this job. I made the mistake of establishing the Food Festival, which as you point out is the largest event of the cycle on the Ark - the last three years, literally everyone attended in some capacity.” When he opened his mouth to argue, I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the Festival. What basically started out as a potluck because we were homesick and needed to meet - you know, the rest of humanity - is a huge, three day holiday.  It’s amazing!” I spun in my chair, arms flung wide for emphasis, before stopping to face him. 

“It also consumes my life, for months, to prepare for.  And that’s just implementing changes to make it more accessible so people don’t miss out! That doesn’t include adding things to make it more interesting or keep it from getting boring, or whatever. I literally don’t have time to do any of that!”

“So, you’re inflicting this on them instead?”

“Inflicting?” I snorted.  “Hardly. This is their final exam, their capstone project, their dissertation.  If they pull this off, I will gladly hand the entire office over to whoever is elected, cheerfully and knowing the Ark is in good hands.  But, they have to pull this off.  It’s the only major part of being Councilor of Resources and Relations that they haven’t done yet by themselves.”

He rubbed his face, looking somewhat impressed. “That’s honestly not what I was expecting.”

“I don’t think it ever is, honestly.” I shrugged at the question he glanced towards me. “For Evan, it was coordinating the weapons exhibitions.  Charly managed to pre-empt her own by designing more efficient aqueducts and filtration for when we reach Von - you know, the ones that also produce light?”

“Of course she would invent glow-in-the-dark plumbing. Who else?” Something caught up with him. “Evania Josue got away with planning an event? Seriously?”

“Oh, that’s right… you weren’t on Level One…” I murmured. When he only looked more confused, I clarified. “She was Maverick’s co-pilot when we needed people to pilot the Ark, which was not designed to pilot manually, via dead reckoning, using cameras pointed out the few viewports we have, for several weeks after the sensors were sabotaged.”

“She was whose co-pilot?”

“You really never heard this story? You practically live with seven people who were there…”

“Usually I get the bits about ‘Sophia nearly got her brains bashed out’ and ‘that traitorous bitch’, then start tuning out while I try to decide what it would take to get Charly to teach me necromancy… If Evan was the co-pilot, then why is Maverick….”

“Not in line to replace any Councilors? Arthur, we know that would be a disaster for him.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Your younger partner is a nice boy.”

“For fuck’s sake, he’s thirty seven!” I groaned.

“Nice man, whatever,” he waved off. “Which is exactly what I would like for you as a partner. You need nice partners, and blunt siblings. But I see what you mean about him being a Councilor… he’d be miserable.”

“What was yours?” I asked mischievously, dropping my chin onto my hands.

That earned me a flat stare, until he finally surrendered when I didn’t flinch. “The Twentieth/Early Twenty First History curriculum.”

“Seriously?” That had literally been the first thing he had done when Eino tapped him as a possible successor.

“I didn’t budge on points even he admitted he would have, out of fear of offending people.”

“Which is a fear you very much lack,” I pointed out.

“The truth is the truth. Coating it in sugar only makes it taste worse.” He shrugged nonchalantly before suddenly looking dangerously like he was thinking again. “There’s two of them.”

“Yes, Arthur. Hanna and Paravati are, in fact, two distinct and separate women-type-lady-people.”

“Thank you, Fee, I was well aware.” I suppressed a growl at the nickname - he knew I hated it. “I meant, only one can win the election, smartass.”

“Better to be a smartass than a dumbass,” I muttered.

“Sophia, you are forty five. Please grow up just a hair?”

“Tyche doesn’t want to be HR forever, you know.”

That brought his mind to a visibly screeching halt. “Wait, what?”

“What what?” I asked. “She does it because she is phenomenal at it, but it isn’t her passion.  She only stuck around as long as she did to make sure I didn’t trip over a chair and brain myself while I was at work.  When I’m gone, she’s gone, loser take the spoils.”

He whistled softly before shaking his head. “It’s bizarre to think of you two retiring around the same time I’m just starting the position.”

“I’ll have been a Councilor for a decade when I step down,” I pointed out.  I almost included unless I die first, but that never seemed to be as funny as I thought it was.

“But you aren’t that much older than me,” he sighed dramatically. “Anti-aging technology is frustrating.”

“Annnnd this is a natural extension of your career, with a ten year break thereabouts the middle.”  My grin was so bright it made him scowl before I finally got a begrudging smile.  “Think of it as getting elected head of the school board.”

The groan he let out probably echoed for several levels throughout the ship. I had basically just pointed out that he was becoming that which he most hated.

Or not. He seemed to recover with a gleam in his eye. “Pfft. Dean of Students, at the very least.”

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[suituuup]

shine

Beca and Chloe meet during Pride

Word count: 2,7k

Rating: T

ao3 link

inbox open to prompts!

*

It was Stacie’s idea. 

 Of course it was. Everything that leads to Beca asking herself what the fuck she’s doing here can often be linked back to Stacie fucking Conrad. 

 Beca’s got a few examples to argue her case. That time she ended up in the ER on New Year’s Eve because Stacie thought riding a Segway while being drunk would be super fun, or when they got stuck in a snowstorm while driving up to Vermont that one year and nearly froze to death. 

 So when Stacie suggested a few days back that they go to the Pride parade, Beca initially said no. Don’t get her wrong; she’s all for the event, she just doesn’t do well with crowds. That Friday before the parade happens to be one of Beca’s worst days at work probably since the start of her career though, so when Stacie insisted she should tag along with her and Amy, Beca rolled her eyes, huffed, and eventually agreed, because  what the hell. 

 She doesn’t know it yet, as she stands in packed 7th avenue that hot and humid Saturday afternoon, but she’ll be  so glad she decided to go to Pride.

Right now though, she’s struggling for breath as panic slowly creeps into her body, tangling around her limbs and making her legs feel as heavy as lead. There are people  everywhere, the music is pounding against her skull and it’s just too fucking  hot. 

 “I’ll be right back,” she tells Stacie, curling a hand around her wrist to get her attention. “Check your phone if I lose you guys?” 

 “Yeah, you got it.” 

 Beca uncomfortably weaves through the crowd, muttering various apologies to the few people she bumps into as she keeps her eyes fastened on the sidewalk. The knots in her chest tighten when she reaches an adjacent street, leaning against the wall and tilting her head back. She’s focused on her chopped breathing and willing her heart to slow the fuck down when a voice cuts through the fog clouding her brain. 

 “Hey, you okay?” 

 Her eyes snap open to find twin twinkles of bright blue staring at her in concern, standing out despite the colorful rainbows painted on the woman’s cheeks that should steal Beca’s attention.

 “I’m uh,” Beca winces, bracing a hand on her chest when her breathing derails even more. “Not really. I’m having a sort of panic attack.” 

 “Oh shit, okay, um--” The redhead glances around them, then focuses back on Beca. “Anything I can do?”

 Beca shakes her head, her eyes screwing shut as she goes through the 5-5-5 breathing technique a few times, until her lungs don’t feel as deprived of oxygen as before. 

 The redhead is still standing there when she opens her eyes. She fishes into her tote bag, pulling out a bottle of water and extending it to Beca. “Here. It’s still capped.” 

 “Thanks,” Beca mutters, taking the cool bottle from her and drinking a few sips. She takes a few beats to observe the other woman as she hands the bottle back. She’s wearing a white shirt with a cute dinosaur waving a pride flag, faded denim shorts and sneakers, and has got a camera slung across her chest. “You’re a photographer?” 

 “Yeah. Well, not professionally, but hoping to become one someday.” She extends her hand, that genuine smile still in place. “I’m Chloe.” 

 Beca flushes, knowing her hand is probably clammy and disgusting compared to how soft Chloe’s feels. “Beca.” 

 “First Pride?” 

 Beca nods. “Yeah, and kinda regretting it.” She scrunches up her nose when she realizes how that might come across. “Not because of-- I think it’s great that it exists, I mean, I’m not straight so of course  I don’t have anything against Pride itself.” God, just  shut up.  “I just don’t like crowds. Or the heat.” 

 Chloe hums, seemingly barely able to keep her amusement at bay. “I kinda need a break, too. Wanna come check out the Stonewall exhibit at the public library with me?” She raises an eyebrow, then adds, “Less people and AC…” 

 Any other day, Beca would have probably said no. But the journey back to Brooklyn if she goes home now will most likely be slow and painful, and she kinda wants to hang out with Chloe, for reasons she can’t explain as they’ve only ‘known’ each other less than five minutes and Beca is usually wary about strangers. 

 “Sure, why not. Let me just shoot a text to my friends.” 

 Once she tells Stacie not to worry about her, Beca follows Chloe through the crowd, Chloe’s hand finding hers before they get in the thick of the crowd. 

 “So we don’t lose each other,” Chloe says over her shoulder, winking softly. She doesn’t let go even when they reach quieter streets, but weirdly Beca doesn’t mind.

 She chuckles at herself, shaking her head softly because this is so unlike her. 

 “What?” Chloe asks, a mixture of curiosity and confusion swirling in her eyes. 

 “Nothing, I just…” Beca shrugs. “This is not how I expected today to go, at all.” 

 Chloe’s head tilts to the side as she stares at Beca’s profile. “In a good way?” 

 “Yeah, I really think so.” 

 Chloe smiles in response, then emits a soft gasp, letting go of Beca’s hand. “Hold on, one sec.” She crosses the street before Beca can say anything, stepping up to this drag couple and asking them if she can do a mini photoshoot. 

 Beca watches on in amusement, grinning when Chloe walks back to her after thanking the pair. They fall back into step, and Beca resists the urge to slide her hand into Chloe’s once more. 

 She lets out a sigh of relief as soon as they step inside the cool building.

 “Better?” Chloe asks. 

 “Yeah,” Beca breathes, nodding. 

 They hike up the staircase, Chloe coming to a stop to snap a picture of the  Love & Resistance  neon sign above the door leading to the exhibit. As they stroll about from one picture to another, Beca finds herself glancing at Chloe often, finding Chloe’s clear love for photography endearing. 

 “That was really cool,” Chloe says when they step back under the scorching sun after spending about an hour inside. They stopped at the gift shop, where Chloe purchased a few prints of the photographs exhibited. “Did you like it?” 

 “I did, yeah,” Beca nods, smiling softly. “Those people were really fucking brave. It’s inspiring.” 

 “I think so, too.” She licks her lips, glancing at Beca. “What are you doing now?” 

 “Not sure yet,” Beca says; one thing she’s sure of is that she doesn’t want to part ways with Chloe just yet. “Why? Wanna whisk me away again?” 

 Chloe’s soft laughter sends Beca’s heart for a spin. “Maybe.” A soft hand emcompasses hers once more. “Do you trust me?” 

 Beca cocks an eyebrow, a smirk ticking the corners of her lips. “Kind of a bold question seeing as we’ve known each other for an hour. You could be a serial killer for all I know.” 

 A giggle flits past Chloe’s lips, and she tugs on Beca’s hand. “Come on.” 

 “I’m low key concerned you didn’t try and correct me on the whole serial killer thing,” Beca teases, catching up so she falls into step with Chloe. “Or maybe you’re just a stalker? Would explain the fancy camera.” 

 “Stop,” Chloe requests with a chuckle, shoving Beca with her shoulder. 

 “I’m kidding,” Beca assures her, lacing their fingers before she can think twice about it. “So where are you taking me?” 

 “There’s a street fair a couple blocks away with crafts, food and drinks. Should be less crowded but still festive.” 

 “Sounds cool.” 

 They get there about twenty minutes later, Chloe stopping a few times along the way to snap a few street shots. The fair has a family-friendly block-party kind of vibe, with various vendors displaying their arts and crafts. Live music is drifting through the street, and Beca instantly feels more comfortable than she did during the parade.

 Her heart swells at the sight of a family just ahead of them; two women and their two young kids with rainbows painted on their cheeks. Beca is filled with hope that someday she’ll get to have that, too, that being gay won’t prevent her from building a family and finding happiness, like her dad said it would when she came out to him a couple years ago. 

 “Where’d you go?” Chloe’s soft voice once again cuts through Beca’s thoughts. 

 “Nowhere,” she murmurs, glancing towards her new friend. “I just really like it here.” 

 After strolling about the different booths, they grab a bite to eat and settle down at a picnic table near the makeshift stage where the live band is playing. 

 “Do you know if there’s a face painting booth somewhere?” Beca finds herself asking once she’s finished her fries. “I wanna get flags on my cheeks, too.” 

 Stacie offered before they left the apartment, but Beca turned her down, preferring to keep it low-key. Chloe’s rocking it though, and Beca is definitely more ready to embrace her identity than she was a few hours ago. 

 “Oh, I can do it!” Chloe reaches inside her bag, producing a small paint palette and a brush. 

 Beca chuckles, shaking her head in amazement. “Of course you’d carry that around.” 

 As Chloe settles down next to her, straddling the bench, Beca mirrors her position and gathers her hair up and out of the way, piling it up on her head in a messy bun. She inhales sharply as Chloe takes her chin gently and leans closer to apply the first stroke. 

The cool brush sliding over her heated skin makes her shiver, and the sudden proximity has her heart thud harder, and she feels a bit overwhelmed by the sudden urge to tilt her head up and forward just slightly to brush a kiss across Chloe’s mouth. 

 She doesn’t though, because she’s never kissed a girl before and that urge is soon suffocated by the nerves that sprout in the pit of her belly, shackling those butterflies back towards the ground. 

 “There,” Chloe murmurs, backing away to check her work. Beca realizes she hasn’t been breathing properly and sucks some air into her lungs, blinking. “Cute.” 

 “Thanks,” Beca croaks out, clearing her throat. She takes her phone to see it for herself in the reflection of the screen, and a bright smile spreads across her features. 

 “You’re rocking it.” 

 Soft blush coats Beca’s cheeks as she meets Chloe’s gaze, quickly averting her eyes because those striking blues are really messing with her ability to function properly. 

 “So I’m supposed to meet a couple friends of mine at this cool bar in an hour or so, I was thinking maybe you and your friends could tag along? No pressure, though.” 

 “Yeah, um, I’d like that. I’ll text my friends to see if they’re down.” 

 Cue to Beca being a bit more drunk than she initially planned in a gay bar in Soho a few hours later. The scorching heat probably (definitely) got to her head over the afternoon, so the two cocktails she had really feel like four. 

 She doesn’t mind, though. That pleasant buzzing thanks to the alcohol loosens her up a little and makes her second guess a lot less. 

 “So what’s up with you and Red?” Stacie asks over the music as they stand by their table. Chloe’s friends Jessica and Ashely are currently dancing, and Chloe’s gone up to the counter to get water. 

 Beca wonders if her attraction to Chloe is that see-through, or if it’s just Stacie being Stacie, and poking Beca has always been one of her favorite things. “What?” 

 The tall brunette rolls her eyes. “Come on, you guys have the hots for each other.” 

 Beca is thankful for the dim lighting as her face flushes hard. “You-- you think she’s into me?” 

 “Duh,” Amy confirms with a twin eyeroll. 

 Stacie slaps Amy’s arm. “Oh, here she comes. Let’s go dance, Ames.” 

 Beca’s eyes widen and her jaw drops when she realizes her friends are abandoning ship. “Guys!  Seriously?? ” 

 The confirmation that Chloe’s attracted to her only makes Beca all nervous again, and she jumps slightly when Chloe shows up beside her. 

 “You alright?” Chloe asks, gently cupping Beca’s elbow. 

 “Yeah, yes. I’m grand.” Grand?  Grand??  God, it’s like she can hear Stacie cackling in her head. Beca slams her eyes shut and wrinkles her nose as Chloe giggles. “Ugh. I mean good. I’m good.” 

 “Good,” Chloe echoes, her smile teasing. “So why are Stacie and Amy staring at us?” 

 Mortified, Beca glances in the direction of Chloe’s head tilt to find Stacie and Amy both innocently looking away as they stand across the room. She groans in annoyance. “I’m gonna kill them.” 

 Chloe laughs again, and Beca realizes her hand is still on her arm, her thumb stroking Beca’s skin back and forth. “It’s okay. I’m glad they’re looking out for you.” 

 “They’re not looking out for me,” Beca grumbles. “They’re just having the time of their lives because they know I’m a terrible flirt and I don’t know how to act around a beautiful woman.” She chuckles, her blush flaring up once more. “Oh wow, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” 

 “Which part?” Chloe asks. “You being a terrible flirt or calling me beautiful?” 

 Beca wets her suddenly dry lips. “Me being bad at this,” she replies, sucking in a sharp breath. “I definitely meant the second part.” 

 Chloe licking her lips like she does in the next beat makes Beca’s knees wobble. “You wanna dance?” 

 Beca’s phone lights up with a text from Stacie before she can respond.  We’re heading somewhere else. Coming or staying? ;)

 She throws Chloe an apologetic smile as she grasps her phone. “Sorry, let me just reply.” 

 Beca

I’m gonna stay. 

 Stacie’s reply is instant.  Happy scissoring. 

 She makes the mistake to glance towards the pair, catching Amy doing a V with her fingers by her mouth and flicking her tongue between them. 

 “Oh my god,” Beca mutters, setting her forehead on the table. “Any chance you didn’t catch that? My friends are an embarrassment.” She eventually straightens, shaking it off. “And yeah, I wanna dance.” 

 Chloe doesn’t beat around the bush, setting her hands on Beca’s hips and tugging Beca closer once they’re facing each other. Beca’s top doesn’t quite meet her high waisted skirt, and Chloe’s touch sends an electric jolt down her spine, its aftershocks echoing in the tips of her toes.

 Her arms loop around Chloe’s neck and it’s only now they’re standing so close that Beca notices how blue Chloe’s eyes are. She also notes the want and passion burning in those irises, and feels another chill travel her body. Chloe moves flawlessly to the beat, and Beca matches her rhythm, gradually crushing the sliver of distance between them until her own hips are swaying flush against Chloe’s. 

 The song blends into another one, but Beca doesn’t really register it; she’s slowly being consumed by the desire to kiss Chloe, and this time doesn’t let her damn insecurities get the upper hand. Leaning in slowly, she captures Chloe’s lips in a kiss, a delighted hum mingling into it as Chloe kisses her back instantly. One of Chloe’s hands leaves her hip to hold her face gently, warm and reassuring over her skin. 

 The kiss is slow and tender, exploratory on Beca’s end, and probably the best Beca’s ever had. Her head soon spins from those wonderful, foreign sensations spreading through her body, and she finds herself needing a break shortly after. She pulls away just a bit, her lips tingling as Chloe’s breath skates across them. 

 When Chloe asks her if she wants to get out of there, Beca should probably tell her she’s new at this, that she’s never been with a girl before, but the words never surface from her throat. She does admit it half an hour later as they’re heavily making-out just outside Chloe’s place, but not to put a stop to it. 

 She wants this more than she’s probably ever wanted anything else, but she’s afraid of not knowing what to do. 

 Despite their palpable desire, they slow down once they eventually make it to Chloe’s bedroom, and Beca’s grateful for that. The next couple hours are a blur of yet unparalleled pleasure and Beca sleeps hard afterwards, waking up a bit confused the next morning. 

 She flushes when memories from the night before surface, explaining the wonderful aches her body’s experiencing when she stretches. She’s alone in bed and the apartment is silent, but a note lies on the pillow next to her. 

  Hey you. Had to run to work and didn’t want to wake you up. Help yourself to coffee and a shower, if you’d like. Yesterday was pretty awesome. I hope we can see each other again soon. Here’s my phone number: 917-695-8691. Have a good day. :)

Chloe xx

 Beca fails to keep her smile at bay and she might even squeal a little bit as she flops back against her pillow. 

 She guesses she should thank Stacie for dragging her to Pride, after all. 

[carewyncromwell]

Hi guys! I thought I’d start this HPHM AU Ships Challenge, just for funsies! Feel free to steal and pass it along, if thou dost wish!

Tagging @dat-silvers-girl, @annabelle-tanaka-official, @angellazull, @lifeofkaze, @samshogwarts, @drinkyoursoupbitch, @kc-needs-coffee, @cursed-ice-spirits​, @thatravenpuffwitch​, @cursebreaker-lilith​, @cursebreakerfarrier​, and @cursebreakerelmswood​! 💖💛💙💚

What HPHM characters (or MCs) could you see your MC dating, in an AU? What would their relationship be like? Why did you ultimately decide not to go with that ship, or do you still hold a torch for it?

My answers for my girl Carewyn are under the cut!!

(Sorry, I couldn’t resist starting with a recycled doodle of my canon ship, the HMS Carion. 🥰)

Andre Egwu

Alright, right off the bat, we should discuss Carewyn’s canon ex, Andre. Carewyn and Andre attended the Celestial Ball and dated until their fifth year, breaking up right after the All-Wizard tournament. Fortunately despite their break-up, they’ve stayed on good terms and still greatly respect each other -- but truthfully, I never intended for them to be a long-term match in any universe. If you’d like to read more about why Carewyn/Andre didn’t work out, you can consult this analysis, but to put it very simply, Andre was someone Carewyn admired deeply, but couldn’t ever be completely herself around. And from a personal perspective, my parents are one of those rare couples who remained friends even after divorcing, and I’ve always found their relationship really fascinating, as no one can deny they do still sincerely love and admire each other, even if it’s no longer romantically. Carewyn and Andre know each other in a way no one else does, so it gives their friendship a depth that it didn’t have before -- so unlike with a lot of relationships, their bond actually strengthened after they broke up, rather than falling apart. 

Bill Weasley 

In Carewyn’s canon, Bill ends up becoming Carewyn’s best friend. Although at the start, their relationship had much more of a surrogate big brother/little sister dynamic, over time the two ended up on much more equal terms, both as Cursebreaker partners and as unofficial “parents” for the rest of their friend group. Bill is Carewyn’s right-hand man both while dealing with the Cursed Vaults and while leading the Circle of Khanna, and even though Carewyn wants nothing to do with Cursebreaking after dealing with the Vaults, she’ll still drop everything to help Bill with his work, should he need her. Bill is the one who came up with the nickname “Carey” for Carewyn, and he’s also arguably the friend who understands Carewyn best after the death of Rowan, given the similarities in their personalities and how long they’ve known each other. I actually did write out a post guessing what a romantic relationship between these two might’ve been like if they’d become a thing, but honestly, I’ve never really shipped these two. Carewyn may not be entirely based on me (she’s got elements of my mum too), but one aspect of the wish fulfilment for me early on was that my girl could have a ride-or-die best friend like Ron was for Harry in the original Potter books. In the end, that friend ended up being Bill, Ron’s eldest brother and a character I loved when I first read the books and only became fonder of through the game. And honestly, we could really use more sincerely loving, but completely platonic male-female friendships that never bump up against romance!!

Talbott Winger

Talbott and Carewyn are truly “birds of a feather,” though one would never know it based on their respective masks. Talbott is the sort to put a gruff facade on to hide his more sensitive feelings, while Carewyn is the sort to put on a pretty face to hide her angrier and sadder feelings. Underneath, though, they both are stubborn, intelligent, and distrustful people with a strong desire to fight evil and a creative spirit. After becoming an Animagus, Carewyn would frequently fly around the school grounds with Talbott in robin form, singing songs for both herself and Talbott, and even though Talbott teased her about it, he did sincerely enjoy it. Carewyn loves reading Talbott’s poetry, and Talbott is also one of the few people who can get Carewyn to laugh a lot, since their senses of humor line up really well. Last but not least, they become a lawyer and an Auror post-Hogwarts, so they end up working together A LOT, especially post-War. I did write a prompt once about what a Talbott/Carewyn romance would be like, and I admit, I could see them being a relatively good couple, particularly since I headcanon both of them as being on the ace spectrum. That being said, though, I ultimately didn’t go with Talbott for Carewyn for two reasons. One, I thought they’d be too similar in a lot of ways (most notably, they’re way too friggin’ serious -- give each of these two some sunshine, will you??) -- and two, on a much more superficial note, Talbott was so popular that I kind of hesitated before having Carewyn ask him out. (Plus come on, for that date, how much of a b*tch would you have to be to break Andre’s heart and then snatch up an outfit he made for you to wear on a date with his dormmate?! Just -- COME ON.)

Chiara Lobosca

When I first started playing HPHM, I strongly considered shipping my girl with Chiara, once she broke up with Andre. From the moment Chiara and Carewyn met, Carewyn just knew she had to know Chiara better, and that ended up being because -- thanks to her latent Legilimency potential -- she could subconsciously sense that Chiara and she were similar in a lot of ways. Most importantly, Chiara was very lonely and desperately longed for a friend, which reminded Carewyn of how lonely her pre-Hogwarts life was, especially after Jacob disappeared. Once Carewyn earned Chiara’s trust, Carewyn proved herself to be a very loyal friend, even learning how to become a robin Animagus so she could keep Chiara company and cheer her up with twittered songs during full moons. Both Carewyn and Chiara are sensitive “Healer” type personalities (though Chiara is a bit more literal of one) who fight against their own crippling self-loathing to try to nurture others. This, in the end, though, is why I hesitated on making them official and why I’m ultimately glad I didn’t. Like Talbott, Chiara in some ways is too similar to Carewyn, and I think in a romantic relationship, they wouldn’t grow as much as people through their interactions. I did come up with quite a few ideas about what their relationship might be like -- but ultimately I couldn’t help but feel that Carewyn’s happy ending couldn’t just be about peace, but about finding someone who could challenge and contrast her.

Diego Caplan

This  started off as a crack ship for me before actually gaining some legs and becoming Chiara/Carewyn’s main opponent, when it came to my debate with myself regarding Carewyn’s romantic future. In contrast to Chiara, Diego is pretty much Carewyn’s complete opposite. Carewyn is a planner. Diego is spontaneous. Carewyn is meticulous. Diego is flirtatious. Carewyn is serious. Diego is anything but. Carewyn is ace. Diego I headcanon as pan. And yet they both have their romantic and creative sides and are both seasoned fighters and loyal friends. Diego would definitely be able to bring some levity to Carewyn’s life, while Carewyn could bring some grounding to Diego’s. Diego even has a cute little nickname for Carewyn from their time in the Circle of Khanna: “general!” In short, these two would be perfect leads in a rom-com chick flick. But this, ultimately, ended up being why I hesitated on making them official and why I’m ultimately glad I didn’t. Diego/Carewyn is a ship that could really only bloom and blossom under fair conditions, and I had trouble seeing Diego being equipped to deal with Carewyn’s darker emotions or even her more intellectual bent. Just like with Chiara, I came up with plenty of ideas about how these two could be as a couple -- but I really felt as though Carewyn needed more than just “fun” as a happy ending. And ultimately, this conflict between peace VS fun ended up coming to an end when I discovered Carewyn/Orion, as Orion could provide Carewyn with both.

Jae Kim

Okay, honestly? When I first encountered Jae as a character, I didn’t think he and Carewyn would have anything in common, but in a weird way, they sort of subvert their respective house’s stereotype by exhibiting values from the other’s house! Gryffindors are seen as these rash, reckless, show-off hero types, but Jae showcases a lot of Slytherin-worthy cleverness, resourcefulness, and disregard for rules and what others think of him. Slytherins are seen as these cold, cruel, ambitious villain types, but Carewyn showcases a lot of Gryffindor-worthy courage, nobility, and selflessness. And so even though Jae is generally a rulebreaker and Carewyn is generally a rule-follower, when circumstances made it ideal for them to be on good business terms (namely, working in detention together and Carewyn needing an ally who knows Knockturn Alley and Jae needed an ally who was a Prefect), they soon found a lot of common ground. Add to that how much Carewyn encourages Jae’s cooking talent while respecting his privacy, and it’s little wonder that post-Hogwarts, when Jae opens up his own pub on the border of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, the two still meet up very frequently to swap news from their respective corners of the world. I admittedly don’t know how well Carewyn’s job as a magical lawyer would be conducive to her being anything other than friends with Jae, and I don’t think they’d ultimately have many interests in common, so I do much prefer them as friends, but their dynamic is full of fun contrasts! 

Ben Copper

Hahaha, oh god. So. Obviously Ben in-game is still very polarizing, but in my canon, Ben and Carewyn’s relationship is really complex and honestly one of my absolute favorite friendships for my girl. Ben was one of Carewyn’s very first friends, so he -- like Rowan, Bill, and Penny -- knows Carewyn in a way few others do. He befriended her before she became known as the poised, perfect Slytherin “Mama Bear,” but unlike her other friends, he was a bit disappointed by her abrupt transformation between her third and fourth years. While those like Bill, Penny, and Andre saw it as Carewyn coming into her own, Ben noticed how much Carewyn put herself “over” the rest of her friends, becoming their protector more than their equal, and Ben lamented it, disliking how he felt like a responsibility to Carewyn more than her friend. But Ben kept those feelings inside, not knowing how to properly express them when he did still cherish Carewyn’s friendship. After the events in the Portrait Vault, Ben went through his own dramatic change, and Carewyn sure enough didn’t end up liking it any better than Ben had liked hers. But ultimately the two had a heart-to-heart and realized that they both had become very different people than the kids who’d befriended each other in first year. After Rowan’s death and the formation of the Circle of Khanna, the two reforged their friendship on more equal terms. I did actually write out an AU roleplay where Ben and Carewyn’s confrontation in Jacob’s room ended up hinting Ben/Carewyn, but I ultimately think that the people they ultimately become are way too different to be a great romantic match. It makes their friendship fascinating, as it makes you wonder how such a tall, suspicious, reckless Gryffindor ever befriended such a poised, methodical, lady-like Slytherin...but even if they do feel a lot of deep platonic love for each other and I personally headcanon Ben being on the ace spectrum like Carewyn, I ultimately think they’d have very different dreams in mind for their future and would each need something different in a romantic partner. 

Barnaby Lee

Barnababy!! 💚 Yeah, Barnaby Lee is my personal favorite HPHM character, and yet I have never really shipped him seriously with Carewyn, even though I love their relationship and could see potential chemistry. Barnaby and Carewyn are both amazingly sensitive, loyal, and modest Slytherins with a love of magical creatures and a strong sense of honor, but they also contrast each other in some fun ways too. Carewyn may put on a happy face a lot, but she’s actually rather pessimistic. Barnaby’s unblinkingly optimistic and he wouldn’t even dream of putting on a mask to hide his feelings. Then of course there’s the fact that Carey-Bear is this tiny and rather physically weak thing, while Barnaby is a perfectly dashing tank. 😂 Barnaby and Carewyn are both protective of each other, as seen by Barnaby throwing himself in front of Carewyn to shield her from an Imperiused Rowan’s spell and Carewyn verbally tearing into Ismelda when she learned she planned to use a Love Potion on him. Barnaby was the one who really taught Carewyn about how deceiving appearances can be, and Carewyn was the one who really taught Barnaby about how generous and selfless friendship could be, so they both respect each other a lot. For all that respect, though, there’s a significant slant to their relationship. Carewyn supports Barnaby emotionally infinitely more than she would ever let him support her, so their dynamic comes across as very “mother/son”-like rather than complete equals. Plus, honestly, I think Barnaby and Carewyn’s dreams for their respective futures -- namely, to be a magizoologist traveling the world and to be a magical lawyer for the Ministry of Magic -- don’t match up in the least bit. I could also see Barnaby wanting a large family, and Carewyn has no interest in bearing children herself and would prefer a quieter home life. 

[jeremystrele]

Connecting With The Past + Grappling With History, With Painter Mia Boe

Connecting With The Past + Grappling With History, With Painter Mia Boe

Studio Visit

by Sasha Gattermayr

Mia’s new Brunswick studio is filled with light, and is the perfect space to continue on her growing portfolio of work. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

A painting from her recent catalogue sits on the mantle. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Butchalla-Burmese artist Mia Boe in her light-filled studio. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Mia paints full time and volunteers for The Torch in her spare time. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

One of Mia’s works in progress.

Mia’s paintings are vibrant and narrative-driven, which means she does a lot of her own historical research. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Left: Mia is inspired by figures in art history like Albert Namatjira, Sidney Nolan and Russell Drysdale; and figures from history such as Eliza Fraser, Ned Kelly and the Queensland Native Police. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Right: ‘Stripes 3’ by Mia Boe.

A selection of work Mia recently sold in her latest catalogue and has prepared for prize entries. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Her elongated, distended figures are always in the landscape and often accompanied by food, animals or spirits. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

You can see the Sidney Nolan influence in this composition! Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

The historical and contemporaneous imprisonment of First Nations people is a continuous theme in Mia’s work. Patterns and vibrant colour create tension between the political context and the composition.

Watching Mia Boe’s rise to cult status is almost giving me whiplash. The Brisbane-raised, Melbourne-based artist has grown a dedicated following in the 18 months since she’s really begun concentrating on her painting – and it’s only going up. To give you an indication of just how devoted her audience are, her recent catalogue of nine paintings sold out in under two minutes.

Mia studied art history before last year, when Melbourne’s sweeping lockdowns gave her the time (and a good excuse!) to focus on her art. But it’s not just Instagram fans who are hot on her tail. With a residency at the Museum of Brisbane, commissions for Craft Victoria and Brisbane’s Institute of Modern Art, two group shows and a solo exhibition (titled Black Devil) at Open Space Collective under her belt since the beginning of 2020, it’s evident that Mia has well and truly caught the attention of the nation’s arts community.

But the institutions aren’t everything. When she’s not painting, Mia volunteers at The Torch – an organisation that aids First Nations prisoners and ex-prisoners with their art practices.

Art is the past, present and future for Mia – storytelling is her mode of being. Hear it in her own words.

How did you arrive at your current painting style? Has it evolved slowly over time or always been somewhat similar?

One clear continuity in my style has been that I tend to populate my landscapes with strangely elongated figures, whose bodies are also sometimes bloated and distended. I guess also that female figures in my work are representations, approximately, of myself, so a lot of my works could also function as self-portraits. But when I start a painting, I’m not always conscious of who the figure is, though if I’m painting black figures, they’re probably members of my family.

Also, I sometimes add larger figures with little detail, or floating in the landscape — these figures are representations of spirits. They represent family members that have died, and are a marker of the family that I will never get to know because of the repercussions of colonisation. I also try and experiment with colour: inspired by the ubiquitous blues of Robert Owen’s recent exhibition at Heide, I’ve recently been trying to control and limit my palette.

Do you use your art to connect with history or grapple with it?

Probably a bit of both. I’m especially interested in the histories of my family’s cultural heritages. My mum is a descendent of the Butchulla people, but she was only told by my grandmother that she was Aboriginal when she was in her teens (my grandmother was worried she’d have her children taken away from her if she was open about it). My Dad moved to Australia as a refugee from Burma when he was a young child.

My art practice has allowed me to research these twin histories, and to track the consequences of British colonisation in both Australia and Burma. (Burmese historian Thant Myint-U’s recent The Hidden History of Burma is an amazing book for people interested in learning more about Burma.) I hope soon to be able to spend some time looking at concrete connections between the colonial occupations of Australia and Burma. Empire, after all, makes the world smaller — it’s big project, I think, is to remake the margins in the image of the centre — so I’m sure there are some connections to be found (white officers, for instance, might have trained in Burma before coming to Australia, or vice versa).

Anyway, I definitely use my art to think through history: sometimes head-on, sometimes obliquely.

How do you involve historical references in your pieces?

I make sure that I’ve done proper research into a subject before making work about historical events. At the start of the year I showed my first exhibition in Brisbane. It was called Black Devil, and the works responded, from multiple angles, to the history of the Queensland Native Police: an exterminationist outfit which consisted of Aboriginal troopers led by white officers, and which aimed to wipe out resistance to colonisation.

The Native Police was active from 1848 to c. 1905 and were estimated to have killed over 44,000 Murris in those 50+ years. The fact that many of the massacres of Aboriginal people were carried out by Aboriginal troopers, who were themselves often kidnapped as boys, and barracked hundreds of kilometres from their kin and ancestral lands, pointed up for me the ongoing violence and infernal strategies of division which colonialism employs.

During research for this exhibition I found out that my ancestor, my great-great-grand uncle Wonamutta, a Butchulla man from K’gari (Fraser Island), was a trooper in the police force. Apart from his postings around the state, he was also seconded to the Victorian Police, where he helped to track down Ned Kelly (that’s where the exhibition’s title comes from — Kelly called the black trackers on his trail ‘black devils’).

Out of this discovery I got interested in Sidney Nolan. Two of Nolan’s most famous preoccupations were [Fraser Island’s namesake] Eliza Fraser and Ned Kelly. Nolan didn’t see these figures as related, and yet in an eerie way I think they were: Wonamutta, whose country was re-named by Europeans after Eliza Fraser, was also the man who caught Ned Kelly. So through thinking about this personal history, and the random but weird connections it disclosed, I came to envision my exhibition as also responding to Nolan’s own practice. It was a art show about history, but also about the history of art.

Do you have any key references or inspirations?

Some abiding influences for me have been Albert Namatjira and Russell Drysdale. Namatjira looms especially large: because of his tragic life story, his amazing colours. The William Dargie portrait of him which hangs in the Queensland Art Gallery, and the Noel Counihan linocut, which shows Namatjira crucified, are some really important images for me.

Drysdale matters for me because of the colours of his burnt-out backgrounds and those extraordinary gaunt figures idling about in them. His representations of Aboriginal people are very respectful and moving.

Other artists who are key points of departure for me are the contemporary South African artist Marlene Dumas, and Bill Traylor who was a self-taught artist born into slavery.

What does art-making mean to you?

On an individual level, my art allows me to recover and remake the cultural heritages which were stolen from me. And I hope in this process that I remind people (even as I learn myself) about the forgotten pasts which shape everyday life in the present.

Mia is represented by Sunday Salon. Learn more about her practice here. Mia’s next exhibition will be at Milani Gallery from 4th – 25th September.

[deejadabbles]

Crime and Consequence (Atem x Reader) Chapter 2

Two: The Avenger

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// [Five coming soon]

Summary: Years have passed since Atem's crimes came to light. Years have passed, but in some cases the wounds of that time were still fresh. Despite that, however, you've done your best to rebuild your life for you...and for your son. So, when Atem's crimes come back to hurt you and your boy, how will you survive and protect what little you have left?

Years have passed since Atem last saw you. Years have passed, and he had never been able to meet his son. Despite that, Atem carried on with his life, as limited and meaningless as it was, locked away for his crimes. So, when a threat is made against the only ones he still holds dear, how will he defend the love of his life and his boy?

(Modern, season 0 inspired AU. Contains some disturbing themes, depictions of violence, cursing/vulgar language, and sexual content.)

A.N.  I usually keep it ambiguous in my AUs, whether my versions of Domino are based on western, or Japanese cultures, and I'm doing the same thing here. Though I'm using the Japnese versions of the character's names, the way I portray the prison system in this chapter (as well as the next) is likely more contemporary with American prisons. Just thought I'd warn you guys about that since I know next to nothing about Japanese prisons and for the purpose of the story is had to make it more American.

Dan was still getting used to his job, but the longer his first week went by, the more he was certain that he just wouldn’t ‘get used’ to it at all. The Domino City Penitentiary- more commonly called “Burngate”, was one scary-ass place, to put it mildly. Dan knew the risk of working in the buildings where they housed the city’s worst, literally worst, criminals, but with so few jobs out there, he figured the high risk was worth it. Better than getting evicted from his apartment and ending up on the streets anyway.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was a guard, hell, he was pretty much a glorified errand boy for the prison. Like his task today for instance: mail delivery. So long as he widely ignored the mild threats and graphic comments the inmates threw at him as he passed their mail into their cells, it wasn’t too bad. Dan was actually surprised with how many inmates got mail in the first place, though most only had one letter, maybe two if they were lucky. Why anyone would take time to write letters to these monsters was beyond him.

But there was one stack that had caught Dan’s interest as he made his rounds through the prison. A stack of mail six letters thick, all heading for the same cell. They didn’t all bear the same name, one was even addressed to “the savior”, so Dan kept telling himself it was probably just split among two cellmates who were good at keeping girlfriends on the outside or something. Still, as the stack of bulging envelopes stood stark against the dwindling piles on his cart, Dan wondered.

Finally he came to that lonely little cell, and the fading name card beside the door simply read “Inmate 27748, Atem Mutou”. Finding himself suddenly nervous, Dan stepped closer to the door and peered in through the small, barred window.

Inside was a man, much younger and scrawnier looking than he had expected, sitting cross-legged with his back against the far wall. Wild hair sporting several colors stuck up in crazed spikes and Dan knew the hair could easily add to any deranged look that might come across that youthful face. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping or meditating and Dan had the sudden urge to bolt past the cell before the guy woke up and saw-

Violet eyes snapped open to meet Dan’s and the poor worker actually jumped at the sudden action. Too late to run now. Though, the urge to do just that increased tenfold when the man’s lips curled into a smirk, eyes lighting up.

“You’re new,” the inmate said simply, smile never leaving his face.

Dan felt his heart pounding in his ears as the man rose to his feet with a grace that was almost eerie. As he took a step closer to the door Dan didn’t resist the urge to step back.

The man- Atem, made a tutting noise as he came as close to the door and Dan as he could. “Come now, there’s no need to be scared. You have my word that I mean you no harm.” When Dan only answered with an audible gulp, Atem sighed and continued. “Look up my name or ask around and you’ll find that I only kill scum who’ve escaped justice. So,” Atem’s eyes traveled down to the nametag pinned to his shirt, “Dan, as long as you aren’t a murderer, rapist, pedophile, or any other example of human vermin blighting the earth, you have no reason to fear me.” The smirk that was getting creepier by the second actually softened a bit as Atem’s eyes peered down at the mail cart. “Besides, I wish to be friends with anyone who brings me my only contact to the outside world.”

Somehow feeling a bit more at ease, or at least enough to regain his curiosity, Dan grabbed the stack of mail and prepped to pass it through the meal slot in the door. “That’s a lot of letters for one guy, I figured you had to have a cellmate or two.”

Atem hummed, “No, this cell is all my own. The warden seems to be under the impression that I would find a way to kill any criminal they put in here with me.” The smirk turned to one that sent a cold shiver down Dan’s spine, “And given the kind of animals that are housed here, I think that’s a fair impression to have.” With that Atem snatched the letters from the slot and snapped it shut. “Thank you for delivering my mail. Now, I won’t keep you from your job any longer, I hope you stay safe during your employment here, Dan.”

Atem watched as the man scurried off without another word or a backwards glance and almost felt guilty for scaring him. He supposed he couldn’t help it anymore, five years in this pit had taken its toll on his social skill, among other things. He truly was grateful though, and turned to the letters with hope bubbling in his chest.

He flipped through them all, eyes scanning over the handwriting with an odd kind of hunger. He recognized most of the scrawls in an instant, one was new and another only vaguely familiar- but hot anger and disappointment rose in his chest when he went through all six and didn’t see the handwriting he truly longed for.

In a moment of madness, he growled and threw the papers across the room! He couldn’t help it, he was angry and desperate- he was at the end of his rope! Almost a year since your last letter, a year since he got to see the words your lovely hands crafted just for him, a year since he got to hear about his son. The beautiful baby boy you both made before his life went to hell.

Didn’t you realize your letters were the only bright light in his imprisonment? Didn’t you know every week that passed without your written words were hell for him?!

Atem caught himself before another harsh thought crossed his mind, it wasn’t fair to think those things of you. To calm his suddenly ragged breathing, he closed his eyes and took in a few deep breaths, remembering his mantra. He couldn’t be impatient with you. You had your own life, a life you had to live and provide for without him. You had responsibilities, his son paramount among them, he couldn't blame you for neglecting to write to him.

Besides, Atem was no delusion fool. He knew the only reason you wrote him and sent him pictures of Yugi at all was because you thought it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t some romantic gesture of devotion on your part. Some part of him hoped and clung to the idea that somewhere, deep in the heart he had broken, you still loved him; but the letters were not sent because you were still clinging to him and the life you had before.

Despite that, despite all of that, he still held tight to every word you wrote him as if they were his life line- the only things making his life here worth while. Atem sighed, slumped against his cell door, and ran a hand over his face, a pitiful feeling rolling in his chest. Honestly, he was lucky you wrote to him at all, considering what had happened the last time he saw you.

His leg was shaking. It was a sign of nerves that he had never exhibited before. Of all the panic-inducing things that had happened to him this past week, he supposed it made sense this was the most nerve-wracking. The detectives who questioned him were pitiful, bearly worth the sweat on his brow as they tried to intimidate a confession out of him. It was only because one of them had the gall to threaten the love of his life that they got him to confess to more than the one murder they witnessed him committing. Then the others in the jail they kept him in were even more pitiful. Thugs who tried to threaten and scare him through the bars of their cells like children playing bully in a schoolyard. They realized very quickly that they were nothing when he showed them just how much damage he could do even with the bars separating them. None of that had made him this nervous, even as the threat of life in prison, or execution itself loomed over his head.

None of it had scared him more than facing you.

There was a buzzing sound and his eyes snapped up from the metal table to watch the barred door of the visiting room. A moment later it opened, and there you stood.

You looked unwell. Eyes red and tired looking, as if you hadn’t slept in days and spent all the waking moments crying. Perhaps that was exactly the hell you had been through. He had no idea what the detectives had told you, or what the news anchors were saying about his crimes. And he had no idea how you were taking the truths of his sins being brought to light.

As you stepped into the secured room he stood, tried to hold his hands out to you- but the chains clasped to his wrists yanked him back down. Something flashed in your eyes as they lingered on the cuffs. It must have hurt, seeing him like this.

“Kitten,” he whispered, trying desperately to draw your attention back to him and away from the shackles. But when your eyes met his, he saw a fury in them that made him want to recoil.

“Don’t call me that.”

Shame reared its head and all he could do was nod, waiting for you to take the seat across from him. He never took his eyes off of you as you approached the table and bench, casting a wary glance at the armed officers standing in the corners of the room. This was all wrong, someone as pure and precious as you shouldn’t be subjected to a place like this.

When you sat, a thick and stale silence hovered between you both. He didn’t want to speak first, lest he say the wrong thing and bring out your ire again, so he continued to wait.

Eventually, you let out a shaky breath and shook your head.

“I don’t know what to say or where to start.”

He heard the strain in your voice, the tears threatening to break through. In all your years together, only once before had he done something foolish enough to make you cry and he still felt twinges of guilt at the memory. How long would this haunt him? How long until the pain of knowing how much he hurt you faded?

“Please, my love, please let me explain.”

“Explain why you confessed to murdering thirty people?” you snapped. “I couldn’t believe it at first, when they brought me in for questioning. I couldn’t believe that my noble, sweet Atem did anything they were accusing you of. But then you confessed- you confessed to it all!”

All he could do was look back at you and he was sure his eyes were desperate and pleading. If it wasn’t for these damned chains he would pull you into his arms and hold you- let you cry and beat on his chest all you wanted, let you take whatever vengeance you wanted from him for making you feel this way.

After another minute, you ask in a simple and tired tone, “Why?”

“Because I couldn’t save Yugi.” For all the complexity of his crimes, his reasoning really was simple. “He was taken from us, killed like- like an animal, and his murderer was let go. They let the filth that killed my little brother go, because of a technicality.”

He couldn’t keep the anger from clawing through his voice. Even now, years and years later, he still felt the raw pain and rage over Yugi’s death. His little brother was as pure and bright as the sun, never causing or wishing anyone harm, always doing what was right and kind even when others didn’t deserve it. And what had the world done to reward his kindness? He was beaten and cut up by a psychopath who preyed on teenage boys. A psychopath that was free to kill again because of an error in the investigation, a mistake that made the case against him null and void.

Atem saw a numbed version of understanding in your eyes while he spoke, as if he had confirmed something the back of your mind had already told you. Did you forgive him, then? Did you understand his need for justice? You had loved Yugi like a brother, you had known him even longer than you had known Atem himself. So then, did a part of you forgive his bloody actions, understanding first hand how devastating Yugi’s death had been?

“I thought that was why,” you whispered, “when they said Chopman was one of your victims, I thought...I tried to tell them that you may have killed him but-...but thirty other people, Atem?”

“Not people, monsters,” he corrected in a careful, delicate tone, “monsters like the thing that took Yugi from us. When I killed him it-”

He averted his eyes from yours, his explanation becoming jumbled and desperate in his head. He took a moment to recollect, and he thought about keeping his eyes downcast as he explained the rest, but no, you deserved to be looked in the eye, no matter how much it killed him to see your horror.

“When I killed him, it didn’t help. I had this...void in me, this darkness that kept telling me others just like him were out there. Killers and predators that were walking free to hurt more people… And that I had to be the one who brought them to justice, I was the was one who could put a stop to their killing and raping and drug pedaling and-” He drew in a sharp breath. He had gotten carried away, the look in your eyes had shifted, but he wasn’t sure he could read it.

One thing was certain though, he was scaring you. No matter how you felt about the people he killed, his words were scaring you. After all, you had never seen a side of him that was this...disturbing.

“I never hurt an innocent person.” It was a desperate move. A truth that he was bringing out because above all, above what anyone else thought of him, the idea of you being disgusted with him tore him apart inside. “I was always careful to never endangered an innocent life. If you believe anything I say, please believe that I wasn’t so mad as to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m not the only one who knows that,” you said in a tone devoid of any particular strong emotion. Your eyes shifted to the small window placed high on the wall, “did they tell you that people are gathering outside the jail, holding up signs supporting you? They’re calling you The Avenger.”

He had heard. Even through the thick concrete walls, he heard the cheering and shouting from his cell- but he didn’t care about all that! Right now the only person he gave a damn about was you. The only opinion that mattered to him at all, was yours!

“A lot are going to think you’re a hero.” Your eyes finally turned back to meet his.

He held your gaze, careful and steady, “And what do you think?”

He watched as your eyes finally glossed over with a sheen of tears. Only one broke free to run down your cheek as you whispered, lowly, almost broken, “I don’t know.”

His hands reacted, reaching out to you, longing- needing to hold you, to wipe away the tears and make amends. But again the shackles stopped him, clanging in an ear-splitting wrench as they slid and caught on the metal table. You flinched at the sound, or...or were you flinching away from him? Nails clawed at his chest at the thought, at the idea that you were scared of him. That you ever thought he could harm you .

He barely registered that the guards had surged forward at his action, but seeing that his chains stopped him, were hanging back, observing and ready to strike.

“I’m sorry.” He had never sounded so desperate, but Atem didn’t care. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to-”

“Stop!”

He flinched that time, you were at the end of your rope, angry and hurt and scared. All of it was there in your tone.

“You’re sorry?” you accused, appalled disbelief etched on your face. “How many times did you lie to me to cover up this- this sick mission of yours? How many times did you come home and put hands on me right after murdering someone? You ‘never meant to hurt me’? From what I can tell you weren’t thinking of anyone but yourself- your needs!” You jumped to your feet, glaring down at him with that righteous fury. “Did you know Jonouchi might be kicked off the force because of his ties to you? Do you know how many people have sent me death threats and cussed me out on the street because they think I knew what you were doing this whole time? Even throwing aside the moral question of what you did, every crime you admitted to is bleeding over onto everyone you love!”

He jumped to his feet as well, “Everything I did was to protect others!” he was angry, ashamed, confused and- so many other damn things and his head was spinning! “I’ll make this right- I’ll- I’ll find a way, but don’t ever question why I did the things I did. I wanted justice for all those victims, I wanted to stop any more harm from being done! And I won’t let you or Jonouchi or anyone else pay for my crimes, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, I’ll-”

“I’m pregnant!”

His mind stalled. The words, blurted out almost frantically, rang in his ears….Pregnant?

More tears were rolling down your cheeks now, and after a moment of silence, you threw your hands in defeat, body practically going limp; all the fight slowly draining from you. “I was going to tell you on our next date night. Was going to plan this big romantic reveal...to tell you we were having a baby.” You looked at him as if you didn’t know him anymore, and only held his gaze for a slow heartbeat, “Now I don’t know what to do.”

And with that, you turned away. He blinked to snap out of his stupor and called out your name, but you didn’t look back. The officer by the door jumped to open it for you, giving the others a gesture to take the prisoner away. Even as they grabbed his arms he called for you, but you kept your back turned to him. He started to struggle, as if he had any chance to break free, chase after you, and make this even an ounce better. He must have sounded deranged as he screamed your name over and over, until the door slammed shut behind you.

Atem scrubbed his hands over his face again, the memory still raw and painful in his mind. At the time, he thought that was the end, that that was the last we would ever hear of you and the child you were supposed to have and raise together. For six months he went through life in a haze, his sentencing, his transfer to Burngate, the stunts he had to pull in order to show the scum here that he was not to be trifled with, all of it. He admitted that he became a bit more...brutal in those months. The other prisoners who tried to jump him to make an example of him or take their revenge for some associate he had killed met a very...bloody end. More bloody than he had extended to the criminals he was put in there for killing. In truth, he simply didn’t give a damn about much of anything at that point.

But then, he received your first letter.

It was a simple thing, short, but enough to make him regain his sense of self, even just a bit. “I thought long and hard about this,” you had written, “but in the end, you’re still his father and you deserve to know him, even if it’s from afar.” And with the letter, was a picture of a beautiful newborn baby, wrapped in a deep purple blanket, eyes closed and little pink face passive with sleep. “I named him Yugi. If he becomes half the man his uncle and namesake was, then I know we’ll both be proud.”

Atem smiled at the thought of that first picture. The warm expanse of emotions that rose in his chest at the sight of his boy, his son. But there was also regret. And anger. He had no one to blame but himself, and because of his actions you had to raise their little one on your own. He had no worries that you couldn’t, but, the fact that him building a happy, loving home with you was now unattainable broke his heart. And the saddest part? He had been so close, so damn close to stopping. Quitting his ‘bloody mission’ and focusing on his future with you.

Too little too late, he supposed.

“You awake in there, creep?”

Atem, who’s eyes had been scanning over one of the letters he had gotten that day, barely moved the paper enough to look at his door’s window. It was Ushio. One of the guards who showed just how cruel men could be when they had power over another. He was always looking for an excuse to beat prisoners half to death. Even relished when there were riots despite how often they resulted in the deaths of his coworkers.

Ushio snarled when all Atem did was stare from his reclined position on the bed. “Put your girly poems away, you got a visitor.”

A visitor? But, who? No one had ever been given authorization to visit him, as prisoners in this penitentiary were rarely given that privilege and visitors had to be thoroughly screened before getting permission.

Carefully, Atem folded the letter and put it on his bed before rising. “And who may I ask, wants to see me?”

A nasty smirk covered Ushio’s face. “You’ll find out soon enough, creep.”

Accompanied by three other guards, Ushio led Atem down the stark hallways of the prison and as they walked, Atem wondered. None of his old friends had contacted him since his sentencing, sadly, so he doubted it was any of them. You wouldn’t come to visit him without mentioning it in a letter, surely...unless something was very wrong.

Atem shook the thought from his mind. It had to be one of his fans. Many had expressed interest in meeting him face to face and some were surely determined enough to jump through the hoops required to get put on the visitor’s list.

When they were buzzed through the several doors that blocked off the visiting rooms from the main prison, Ushio gave a silent nod to the other guards, who promptly scurried off down the hallway. That caught Atem’s interest too. Never was a prisoner allowed to be with a visitor with only one guard to contain any ‘trouble’. Ushio made no comment of the fact, only turning and opening the thick metal door.

It was a private visiting room, yet another abnormality, and inside there was only one man. Atem instantly recognized the look of a two-bit thug. He was looking at Atem over the rim of expensive-looking sunglasses, one hand clutched tight over a case of sorts, the other playing idly with the gold chains on his neck. His head was shaved, with a gaudy tattoo of a snake in place of hair, another tattoo of a scorpion crawling down his neck. He smiled at Atem with a look of knowing and anticipation, as if he had been waiting for this meeting for some time. Atem only stared back, stone-faced and still.

When Ushio moved to cuff Atem to the table in the room, the man waved him off. “Don’t bother with those. I ain't afraid of this punk.” He then stepped closer to Ushio and presented a wad of twenties to him, “As promised. Just make sure you give me the room for as long as I need it.”

Ushio chuckled and took the money, stuffing it inside his jacket pocket. “Gladly.”

With that, Ushio walked out, closed the door, and left Atem alone with the lowlife. Said thug stared at Atem for a long moment, looking rather satisfied. “You know who I am?”

“A drug dealing roach who thinks he’s something special?” Atem said in a bored tone.

The roach in question only scoffed at him, “Names Haru...Haru Hirutani.”

Ah, Hirutani, now that did trip something in Atem’s memory. A tall, blonde crime lord who met his end face down in a puddle of rainwater, with lethal currents of electricity running through his body. Atem had come very close to ridding Domino of the entire Rintama gang that night, but knew that many had escaped his grasp. He always hoped that taking out the heads of the gang was enough. Apparently he had missed one.

“You killed my brother,” the thug said, face dropping some of that smug contentment and shifting to something even more sinister.

“And now you’re here to gloat over my incarceration?” Atem asked, still sounding rather bored. “Or are you going to try getting your payback with your fists?”

Again Hirutani scoffed, “Nah. I’m here because my revenge’s been five years in the making. I finally have all the power and money I need to make you pay for what you did to him. Took a long time for me to rebuild my brother’s empire, but now it’s even greater than he imagined.”

Atem smirked at that. “Empire? Your brother was gutter trash who built his reputation by selling drugs to children.” Spurred on by the memories- the righteous anger he felt when he saw what that rat did to literal children, Atem narrowed his eyes at the man before him and leaned in. He looked the second Hirutani brother in the eyes as he said, tone low and dangerous, “Your brother deserved everything I did to him.”

To Atem’s surprise, the man only smirked. “And your girl is gonna deserve everything I do to her.”

Atem felt his blood go cold, but he tried his damnedest to make sure the surprise and fear didn’t show on his face. Before Atem could reply, Hirutani turned and walked over to the table in the room, opened the case in his hands and started setting papers on the metal surface. No, not papers, pictures.

“I could do something mainstream and simple, like pay the guards to look the other way while I put holes in you right here, but I ain’t a fool.” the thug said, still with that smirk as Atem walked closer until the pictures were in view.

His heart was thundering in his ears now. They were all of you, and of Yugi. You, walking in the dark parking lot of the hospital. Yugi, playing games on a small apartment porch. Both of you eating icecream as you walked down the sidewalk together. A mother tucking her sleepy son into bed, taken through a bedroom window.

“See, I know with a man like you, it don’t matter if I stab you or beat you,” Hirutani continued, voice full of malicious glee. “Nah, the real pain is knowing the people you love are gonna pay instead.”

“Stay away from them,” Atem growled, losing his grip, rage and fury taking over. How easy it would be to end this scum right here and now. Half a dozen means of doing just that flashed through his mind, most of which could be done before Ushio could get that door open- but no, he had to keep a grip on himself. Chances were this man had a legion of lackeys who would hurt the love of Atem’s life and his son for nothing but to honor their boss’ reputation.

“They go to the park every Wednesday and Saturday,” Hirutani continued, unperturbed by Atem’s threat as he pulled out another picture. This one was of you pushing Yugi on a swing in a small park surrounded by trees and wildflowers. “And they walk home down a nice isolated road.” He gave a perverse hum of appreciation. “Hm, she’s a real looker. I’m gonna have a lot of fun with her. But I ain’t a monster, the kid- cute kid by the way, real happy boy, now him, I’ll make sure he goes quick. Won’t hardly suffer at all. Your girl on the other hand,” he whistled, then looked Atem in the eyes as if to silently convey all his sick plans. “And I’ll enjoy every second of it.” He flashed Atem that sick smile. “What I’ll enjoy more though, is how much it’ll kill you, knowing it’s all your fault, and being stuck in here, helpless to stop it.”

Despite the fire in his veins and all the violent thoughts running through his mind, Atem kept calm. Despite how much he wanted to set this- this parasite ablaze and watch him burn for even thinking of harming you or the son you shared, despite it all, Atem kept calm. He had always been a man of strategy, it was what kept him and his mission going for so long. Attacking the thug now would feel good, but it wouldn’t save you and Yugi, and being thrown into solitary confinement would hinder the plan that was already forming in his mind.

So, instead, Atem smiled and got a rush of satisfaction when something faltered in Hirutani’s eyes. “Are you sure I’m so helpless to stop you?”

That scared the punk. He stepped back and ran a suddenly nervous hand over his tattooed head. “Even if you try to shank me right now, my guys will go ahead with my plan, just like I told them to.”

“I know.” Atem was enjoying this. Watching the rat squirm and wonder. And he was going to enjoy making him pay for threatening the only things that mattered to him anymore. “I’m going to make what I did to your brother look tame and merciful.”

“You’re just making this worse for your girl and kid,” Hirutani spat, then called for Ushio at the top of his lungs. “You're gonna regret all of this, Mutou!”

Atem said nothing as Ushio opened the door and grabbed him by the arm. He kept his eyes, as well as his smirk, on Hirutani as the guards pulled him away.

Ushio said nothing as they escorted him back down the halls, down the prison cell blocks. Atem was looking, waiting for an opportunity to obtain something- anything that would help the plan reeling in his head.

He was lucky, because soon several prisoners turned a corner, marching towards them with two other guards. When Atem saw that among them was a particularly hot head that was far too easy to manipulate, an idea sparked. Atem had never been one for gossip or rumors, but he had heard one swapped by the guards that might provide a perfect distraction.

“Evening, Jin.” Atem greeted as he and the other prisoners intersected in the hall. “Did you know that your wife has been sending some very naughty letters to Milo?”

“The hell did you just say!?” Jin spat, blazing eyes flashing to the man walking in front of him. He actually stepped out of the line up to look the accused more directly, ignoring the snapped warning from the guards.

Milo, a tall mountain of a man, looked over his shoulder and down at Jin as if he were a roach. “Don’t even try. I aint above crushing you under by boot, fool.”

Just as Atem had predicted Jin’s short fuse blew and he practically howled in rage as he jumped at the mountain. The other’s in the line up had mixed reactions as the guards surged forward, some hooted with laughter, others egged them on, and finally, as Atem had hoped, two actually joined in on the fight.

That caused Ushio and his cronies to step in and Atem took the moment to strike. Ushio was a chain smoker, and chain smokers should always have a source of fire on their person, even if it was against the prison’s rules. The abusive guard was too distracted to notice the deft hand slipping into his pocket, or the next when that one came up empty. Unfortunately Atem’s luck ran thin when someone in the scuffle knocked into him and he fell against Ushio’s back, hard.

That got attention.

“Back in line, Mutou!” Ushio spat and a large fist collided with Atem’s face.

Atem was sent back across the hall from the blow and tumbled to the ground. Shouts echoed behind and above him, excited cries from the inmates, guards spewing threats, but Atem didn’t care about any of it now. He got to his hands and knees, letting his vision settle after the jarring punch. A familiar iron tang filled his mouth as his teeth ached and a moment later Atem spat a small pool of blood onto the gray floor. He ignored the stark red and instead opened his palm, the object held there hidden from the view of anyone else. His plan was already coming together as he smiled down at the small black lighter.

Yes, this would do nicely.

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 13: Only the Good Die Young

Sources:

Ryu Gwansun

History Channel

Internet Archive

Wikisource

Korea(.)net

Further reading/viewing: Pantheon, Memories of Cell No. 8 (YouTube), A Resistance Trailer (YouTube)

Brittany Murphy

Investigation Discovery

ET Canada (YouTube)

Biography, Brittany Murphy: The Mysterious Circumstances Surrounding Her Untimely Death

Rotten Tomatoes, 11 surprising things you probably didn’t know about ‘Clueless’

Buzzfeed

CNN

Alice Ball

Biography

National Geographic

Oxford Museum of Natural History

ScholarSpace University of Hawaii Manoa

Chemistry World

Click below for a full transcript of the episode!

Alana: So the title of this episode is Only the Good Die Young, right? Haley: Yeah. Alana: And I know it's a song. But that's not even true, because people are complicated, first of all, and all dichotomies are false dichotomies, even that one, because there are some true dichotomies. And goddammit that's a Hank Green quote. Lexi: Yet another episode where the Greens slipped in. Alana: Because I love one man and his brother. [INTRO MUSIC] Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. I'm not quite with Lexi. Lexi, what's the worst part about doing this on Zoom? Lexi: Dang. The worst part about doing this on Zoom is if I wanted to make cocktails and give them to you guys I would have to mail them and then the ice would melt so that would really suck. Alana: Also almost here is Haley. Haley, what's the best part about doing this on Zoom? Haley: Seeing your lovely faces. We spent like three, four years together just seeing each other every single day and that was the worst part about going to grad school was I didn't have you guys. Alana: And I'm Alana and I haven't spent this much time in a closet since 2014. Haley, laughing: Oh, shit. Lexi: That's good I love that. That adds a little light. Alana: A little levity. Oh my god Haley’s losing it. Lexi: A brief warning about the following story. This story includes police brutality and torture. If these subjects are uncomfortable for you, please skip to the next story. Archival Audio: Arirang Lexi: You just heard the song Arirang, an approximately six hundred year old folk song which is on the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage List. During the fight for Korean independence, protesters sang the song as a symbol of Korean spirit. We will tell the story of one of those protesters today; Ryu Gwansun, listener suggested by my sorority sister Kate. Shout out to Kate. My sister from George Mason. I love her and she suggested this lady and it was a really good suggestion. Alana: Wait it's– it's another Korean lady. Lexi: Yes. Alana: Which is the language that you studied in school. Lexi: Yes so it all comes back. And I actually had heard of Ryu Gwansun before, so I was excited to dive deeper into that story and share it with other people because every Korean teacher I ever had brought her up at some point. And if you take Korean history in a college setting, one of the days will be about her, inevitably. So every year in Korea, the people celebrate Independence Movement Day on March 1, and Koreans call this day Sam-il, which literally means three one. This annual event commemorates the protests that took place on March 1, 1919, a large resistance of Japan's military rule of the Korean people. For some context, in 1910 Japan annexed Korea without the consent of Korean leadership. Japan's rule in Korea sought to assimilate Koreans to Japanese culture. It would take a whole episode to explain this entire story and how the U. S. is involved in a whole bunch of other things, but for our purposes it is important to understand that this was like overall a really bad time for the Korean people. Korean culture was restricted, Japanese individuals moved into their land, and violent military rule by the Japanese became the norm in the Korean Peninsula. Additionally, Koreans were forcibly removed from the peninsula and taken Japan to work as forced laborers. So, as you can imagine, there was a lot of resistance to the Japanese in early 20th century Korea. One act of resistance was a protest that occurred on March 1, 1919, Sam-il. On that day, thirty three activists gathered in Seoul and read aloud the Korean Declaration of Independence, which begins “We herewith proclaim the independence of Korea and the liberty of the Korean people. This we proclaim to all the nations of the world in witness of human equality. This we proclaim to our descendents so that they may enjoy in perpetuity their inherent right to nationhood.” Obviously that was said Korean, translated to English for our listeners. This moment was just the spark that began a fire of resistance with communities across the peninsula beginning to protest the Japanese occupation. One protester was Gwansun, who had represented this moment in history for generations of Koreans and today serves as the main symbol of the March 1st movement. Gwansun was born in modern day South Korea, but of course at this time Korea was still one unified nation, so that doesn't really matter, but she was born in a province that's now modern South Korea. She was born on November 17, 1902 so happy birthday to her two days ago when this episode airs. Her father was a reform-minded Methodist and an enlightenment thinker. And in 1918, Gwansun was admitted on scholarship to the Ewha Girls’ School. It's a school that still exists today and has a long list of famous graduates. It is not to be confused with Ewha University, which is a prominent women's university in Seoul, but it is in Seoul and it is Ewha’s girls school so I can understand why people mix them up. The school, along with many others in the country, had become a hub for young activists to learn and discuss the Japanese occupation. Together, they dreamed of Korean independence, so it was very much a young people's movement, and they protested actively cheering “long live Korean independence!” Japan, noticing the schools were becoming organizing hubs for young activists, shut them down. So, Gwansun was sent back to her hometown where she continued to rally support for Korean independence among her community. The school closures were catalysts for national unity among the Korean people and ignited a wave of new activism. So everyone was like “they closed our schools, let's all get together and really start to protest.” So Gwansun recruited people to participate in protests with her on March 1, 1919. The protests would take place at the Aunae– I might be saying that one wrong, I couldn’t find in Hangul, only in English so I'm reading the Romanized version not the Hangul which is why I'm pronouncing it really badly– the Aunae Market. And soon Japanese police forces arrived and began to shoot the Korean protesters who were unarmed. And the police killed nineteen people, including both of Gwansun's parents. The police arrested many of the protesters, including sixteen year old Gwansun. In custody, Gwansun was offered a deal; if she pled guilty and outed her fellow activists who organized the event, the Japanese police would lighten her sentence. When Gwansun refused to out her co-conspirators, the Japanese police tortured her. Despite being beaten, she still resisted giving up any information, thus maintaining her role in the fight against Japanese oppression and violence. Many other women who fought for independence were imprisoned with Gwansun at Seodaemun prison. One year later, on March 1, 1920, women in the women's walk of Seodaemun prison began to chant “long live Korean independence.” The chant spread across the prison. One of these young women was Gwansun. I actually got the chance to visit this prison when I was in South Korea in 2018, highly recommend going there it's now a dedicated history museum with exhibit materials in English, Korean, Chinese, Russian, and a couple other languages. And I got to see cell number eight in the women's branch which is where Gwansun was imprisoned, and it's now dedicated in her honor and it’s set up as an exhibit for her. They had really immersive exhibits to explain her story so it was a very moving experience. After the chant, Gwansun was transferred to solitary confinement. Just two days before the end of her sentence on September 28, 1920 at the age of just seventeen, she died in prison from injuries sustained during torture. Never abandoning her beliefs, she continued to advocate in prison, writing in her diary “Japan will fall. Even if my fingernails are torn out, my nose and ears are ripped apart, and my legs and arms are crushed, this physical pain doesn't compare to the pain of losing my nation. My only remorse is not being able to do more than dedicating my life to my country." It would be another twenty five years until Korea gained independence, with Japan being defeated in World War II. Gwansun has been remembered in popular media, including in Korean films and books, and the trailer for one such film that just came out last year will be on our show notes in the tumblr, it's called “Resistance” in English, it looks really cool. I haven't had a chance to watch the whole film yet but I watched all the trailers that are on YouTube because I was just so captivated. The young actress who plays her seems really really talented so I will be watching the whole thing. Join me in watching it at some point, definitely check it out. And Gwansun is seen as a martyr for the Korean independence movement. She is still honored by Korean people to this day. A shrine was erected to her in home city. It's a really cute statue of her holding up a flag and protesting. And many scholars refer to her as Korea's Joan of Arc, but I don’t like when we compare women to each other. I really think Gwansun is Korea’s Gwansun. She is a woman who died far too young, fighting for what she believed in, and we deserve to remember her in that way. Haley: I love your note on not comparing women to women because… Lexi: It bugs the shit out of me. I just… Like, why does she have to be compared to particularly a white woman, white Christian woman. But why does she have to be compared to anyone else? She did something incredible for her people. Maybe Joan of Arc is France’s Ryu Gwansun. Archival Audio: Before you lies the most glamorous city on Earth. Hollywood, California. A city where men and women skyrocket to fame or crash to oblivion.

Haley: I'll be talking about Brittany Murphy, and with this a brief warning of death, poisoning, murder, and eating disorders. I really struggled with picking a lady today because it was either someone who recently died, which I felt very awkward talking about, or a very small child, which I just, again, mental health needed a break. However, I recently watched Clueless and there is a new ID Mystery or Investigation Discovery coming out so drum roll I had to pick Brittany Murphy. And a lot of me in remembering my deep dive of her life when she died in 2009 and she's one of the first celebrities I remember as a– like a death, like they're dying being reported, and me as a young child having that connection being like “I know who that is I've watched her movies, I've seen her, I had a connection. Also I believe it was around the time my grandfather died, so I kinda– it's been very strange. Whenever someone significant in my life has died another celebrity that had a significant impact in my life also dies around then, so that also had an impression on me. So we all know her as Tai Frasier from the 1995 classic Clueless. However, her big break actually came from becoming a regular on the sitcom Drexell's Class at age fourteen, and honestly it was no surprise that she became such a huge star because around age eight she was begging her mom to start acting, and by age twelve her mom was like “you know what, sure. Let's do this thing. We'll see what happens.” And almost immediately she was booked for gigs, and it was like gig after gig. Back to Clueless. As if - heh - I were gonna just not talk about that movie. Brittany’s character Tai is a new student who's described as hopelessly klutzy and who gets pulled under the wing of popular socialite, Cher, and once she gets that classic makeover, her popularity skyrockets. And yes, this is the movie where the main character starts dating her ex stepbrother who's Paul Rudd. Utter classic. I believe it's still on Netflix. Do yourself a favor and watch it. Alana: It’s based on Emma… Haley: Yes, yes. Alana: And at the end of Emma, Emma starts dating her brother-in-law, so… Haley: So along with the movie being absolutely iconic, it's over twenty five years old so we get a lot of like the fun facts or the tidbits being released. And honestly, not many reference Brittany Murphy. I was really surprised by that. A lot of them of course are on like Cher, being the main character, but a lot on like the director, creator and the costume designer. But for Brittany Murphy I was like oh my gosh I just have all these fun facts in my brain that I just remember from her In Memoriam reel but I couldn't find like the evidence to back it up. But my two favorite were the insult that Tai and Cher like were arguing and Tai goes “you’re a virgin who can’t drive.” Alana: Way harsh, Tai. Haley: Chef’s kiss line. Well, Brittany Murphy was actually the virgin who couldn't drive, which I thought was hysterical. And at the time I watched Clueless I was also a virgin who couldn't drive, so I don't realize like why that was an insult like yeah, what? Alana: I still can't drive. Haley: Like do you not have a license or you’re just a bad driver? Because I’m a shitty driver but I have like– Alana: Oh, my license expires in January. Haley: Oh, okay. Also the scene where she gets hit in the head with like a clog in that like house party, it was a little bit of movie magic if you will because they did the scene with like a prop and it just looked really really fake so when they went in post they superimposed a shoe or whatever like hit her, I believe it was a clog, so the movie would look more realistic. And now I really want to rewatch the movie to see if I like they got it just right with the editing. Now doing a one eighty to her death. As I said, Investigation Discovery has a new episode documentary. In the show notes, I’ve linked it, it’s free. It calls it like episode one or something and I believe it's like forty minutes long, so it's something you can do while you're building a bookshelf, cooking dinner, trying to fall asleep; that's how I watched it, please don't read into that. And the episode documentary is not necessarily on her death that she died, but investigating it as not actually an accident from the perspective of her father really spearheading this. So her father, before he died in 2019, was like “I need to investigate this more,” did a bunch of interviews on how he believes that there is a little more to the story about his daughter Brittany Murphy dying at the age of thirty two. And a lot of my notes come from the documentary or commentary from it and I'm doing a warning in addition to my previous trigger warning that there are a lot of nine one one calls and as Investigation Discovery does, it covers the tragic story without holding anything back. So if that might be a little too much, you'll have a snippet here today. A very abbreviated version, if you will. So her official death from like LA county or like the coroner there in 2010 was said to be a combination of iron deficiency, anemia, pneumonia, and a combination of prescription drugs- like heavy doses of cold medication. But originally, the report was written as a heart attack, and I believe that one of the coroners told news outlets that her death appeared natural. I just want to pause and say a thirty two year old should not have like a natural death if it was ruled as a heart attack. And even kind of with the like documentary, I was having a hard time with like which coroner said what. Maybe that was just me watching this after my stressful life just being my stressful life with work and school. I really want to watch it with you guys too. There are also rumors that she had a drug problem and an eating disorder which could have contributed to her death, but when I was reading like some news outlets and it was like the really crappy tabloids it was like “she died of an eating disorder” and like no or like if she didn't have an eating disorder she would've lived. And there was nothing to say that she did or did not have an eating disorder per se, like at that time. I couldn't find any credible sources from 2009/2010 that she did have an eating disorder. All I could find was like “Brittany Murphy is looking really skinny” and that that’s… as a person– I’ll go out and say it– who has struggled with like eating disorders in the past, I will never say this person had an eating disorder, this person didn’t. I could not find Brittany Murphy coming out and saying that she had an eating disorder. This is all speculation. Even if it comes from a doctor, even if it comes from her dad, speculation. I’m not a doctor. Before her death, both Brittany and her husband Simon Monjack believed that they were being watched by the US government, and Brittany was reportedly a witness to Julia Davis, the Homeland Security employee who called out some of the problems within the organization. So that was kind of like a part that I– people are like “oh she could’ve been murdered, taken out by the government.” And I really didn't know where to put this note in, because it was kind of like she was saying it before she died as well, and she was, I think, a little paranoid from this. Also before her death, Simon and her mother were both sick in Puerto Rico. Brittany was filming The Caller, they went along for a vacay and things just turned nasty. You get sick, that's also like just like a common thing… getting sick on vacations. However, she was reportedly fired on like the first day and some kind of like pointed to her husband causing a nuisance on set for being like drunk and such. So things are just like being very weird. Like a lot of first like the government coming in thinking that she was being followed or watched and now being on a film set and her husband causing a huge disturbance. And sometimes still while on this island, like I said Simon and her mother got sick, so much so that on the flight home, Brittany had to give her husband CPR. And someone, I believe it was Simon claimed he was having a mild heart attack. So again we have this heart attack cause of illness coming back. So of course we get to the part where Brittany now gets a little cold, and it isn't just a little cold. She gets laryngitis. Apparently she got her second period in a month, hence the anemia. A lot of list of just the dominoes hitting the fan of she was essentially sick for six weeks, which takes a toll on any body, regardless of if you were healthy before or not. And she even had a doctor's appointment for the Monday after she died and I believe she died like on a Friday night at home. So fast forward a few months to now her husband dies, of like similar causes. And this was also sketchy because not only did he die like in the same room, same bed, his death was also ruled as quote “severe anemia and acute pneumonia.” So now like bells should be ringing off like what the fuck what the fuck, this is just a few months after her. And another weird part was that there was like an alleged scandal that he also had a relationship with her mother. Things are not adding up. Just to like wrap this whole thing up, like her father said in one of his last interviews he just didn't feel right. This didn’t sit well, and he continuously made allegations against other family members, and he just really wanted to get closure on her death. And that's basically where it ends– where it’s we don't know, we just now have all this new information and people like Investigation Discovery documentary episode are just trying to put it together. Alana: That's a heavy one. Archival Audio: From the Middle Ages, down to modern times, the magic of chemistry has fascinated mankind. Alana: So I don't have a content warning for this one aside from like she died when she was young and that's hard to talk about. Alice Augusta Ball was born on July 24, making her a Leo, 1892 in Seattle, Washington. I'm gonna make that my thing that I just note the star signs of my ladies. Both of Alice's parents and her grandfather were photographers, which meant that because of like photographic technology in the late 19th century Alice grew up around the chemicals that were used for developing photographs at the time. In 1902, when Alice was ten, they all moved to Honolulu, hoping that the change in climate might alleviate her grandfather's arthritis and other medical conditions. Alice's grandfather died two years later and the family moved back to Seattle where Alice graduated high school in 1910 with stellar, amazing, incredible, top of her class grades. She earned a degree in pharmaceutical chemistry in just two years and then a degree in chemistry in four years, both from the University of Washington. She went back to Hawaii to get her master's degree in chemistry from the University of Hawaii which was then called College of Hawaii. She was the first woman and the first Black woman to get a master's degree from the university of Hawaii. She graduated in 1915 and then that fall she became head of the chemistry department. Her thesis was about isolating the active ingredients in kava root for medical purposes, and this is why Dr Harry Hollmann, an assistant surgeon at the local hospital, sought her help. At the time, the best treatment for Hansen's disease, A. K. A. leprosy, was a pill or an ointment made from chaulmoogra oil, which was derived from the seeds of a tropical evergreen tree called the chaulmoogra. So isolating these active ingredients in plants would be an excellent skill to have if you were to research further on chaulmoogra oil and cures slash treatments for Hansen's disease. She juggled teaching and research as a twenty something. And the time management skills of this woman, that within a year she had created a water soluble solution of chaulmoogra oil which meant it could be administered directly into the bloodstream and be much more effective. It. Worked. The practice for people who had been diagnosed with Hanson's or leprosy was to group them together and isolate the group. This is where you get the phrase leper colony. One of my sources called this treatment only partially effective, but holy shit! Because of Alice, those people got to go home to their families. So I don't– partially effective? No. I hate you. I don't hate you, thank you for writing something that I could read for free, but come on. Alice died December t31 1916 at the age of twenty four, after a lab accident while she was teaching gave her chlorine poisoning because lab ventilation wasn't required yet. Her work was stolen. And this you'll see when we talk about– when I talk about Rosalind Franklin in January that stolen work of women in STEM is kind of a theme for me. Arthur Dean, the college president who took over her work after she died, but basically all he did was publish it, only mentioned her name once in the publication and started calling it the Dean Method. Luckily, Dr Hollmann was like “um. No ma’am.” and actively started calling it the Ball Method, and that's the name that stuck. And this method was used until the 1940s, so for twenty years, until sulfone drugs came onto the scene, and they work better or something. I… As previously mentioned, I am not a doctor. Just a little bit about her legacy, as of 2000, February 29 is officially Alice Ball day in Hawaii which… February 29? Really? The twenty ninth? A date that doesn't really exist? Come on. The University of Hawaii Manoa also offers the Alice Augusta Ball scholarship for students majoring in chemistry, biochemistry, biology, or microbiology. They also have a little plaque for her on their chaulmoogra tree, which is just small but I think it's cute. But Alice's work basically cured leprosy. And was just like– people weren't contagious and could go back to living with their families and living their lives and just being people. And then this is one of those things like in a general sense that I'm like, how many great, incredible, fantastic, smart, brilliant minds are we stifling due to systematic oppression? because Alice was so amazing and smart and was able to accomplish all of these things as a Black woman and overcame like– every single source that I read was like this was so strange for a woman, for a Black person, for a Black woman to be doing. So like, larger than anything that she personally could have done, which I think if she had survived this poisoning or if there were… if ventilation was a thing in labs, could she have found the vaccine for leprosy? That I don’t know whether or not we have. I can't really tell. They were working on it at one point according to one of my articles, that was in 2018 and it was promising so it might be done by now. But like what are we as a society missing out on by making life so difficult for anyone who isn’t a cisgender straight white man. Like all of these amazing… Lexi: Snaps. Snaps to that. Alana: Thank you. I'm very frustrated by systematic oppression these days. It's like Covid, systematic oppression, how systematic oppression is making Covid worse in places… Lexi: There's gonna be a Black woman in the White House. Alana: There’s gonna be a Black woman in the White House. Lexi: Just to make you feel a little better. Alana: I do feel better about that. Haley: It makes me so happy. Alana: I do like that. And then her husband is the first Jew in the White House. Haley: Really? Alana: Yeah. Haley: I really wish like we could've called him like the First Doug, because I feel like that's awesome. Yeah, the First Doug. Lexi: Second. Second, because it’s a VP’s spouse. It’s the Second. Alana: Yeah, Second Doug. Lexi: A Doug that really went up the ranks. Alana: I think the vibe that is going to end up happening is First Gentleman– Second Gentleman because that’s what they do for governors. Haley: But like I want Second Doug and then like forever it just be Doug. Lexi: Oh, it becomes Doug, even after. Haley: Yeah. Alana: I like that. Lexi: Kinda love it, it's like oh the Doug. Alana: I'm not a fan of Second Dude, I don't care for that I think that's like… Lexi: Yeah I don't like that. We need like a Spouse of President. No like a SOP. Alana: SOP! Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself. Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra, you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time on Lady History. Haley: Next week on Lady History, it's our U. S. Thanksgiving episode, and we’re doing a deep dive into Native slash Indigenous peoples’ history. [OUTRO MUSIC] Haley: Are raccoons like ducks where you can just like pick one up off the street? Lexi: That’s not true for ducks, we talked about this. You can’t steal wild animals.

[pancakesfor2]

Followed - b.b.

Summary: You lose track of time while working in the studio and now you have to walk across campus in alone in the dark.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 1.3k+

Warnings: pretty equal balance of fluff and angst

Note: I haven’t written in a while, but schools out so I have time to get things done. I wrote this whole thing in one sitting so it might suck but plz reblog it anyway bc i need validation ;)

Masterlist

“Fucking finally!” The sound of your voice cut through the silence in the empty studio where you were finishing up one of the final pieces for your exhibition. You’d had a day off of classes and decided to spend it working in the art room on one of your larger paintings that had been giving you trouble all week, but needed to be done before your next class. If you didn’t finish it, you wouldn’t be able to submit it for official peer reviews, which would alert your teacher to the fact that you were behind on your work, which was something that absolutely could not happen.

You’d come in just after lunch, when there were three or four other people also working on their pieces, but by the time you were done, they’d all gone home; the last guy, Steve from your art history class, had left at around seven pm but not before asking you if you needed a ride home. You’d thanked him for his offer, but declined. You had been determined to finish your painting tonight even if it killed you.

Without realizing it, you’d worked until it was almost midnight, and you were finding it getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Luckily, you were finally satisfied with the way the painting had turned out and began to put away the materials you’d been using. You grabbed your bag from the hook by the door, and locked up the studio with they key you’d gotten from your professor at the start of the semester.

The studio was pretty much on the opposite end of campus from where your dorms were, and the walk was fine during the day, but you’d never had to make it this late on your own. You had to get home though, and you weren’t about to waste the small amount of money you had on a cab. I should’ve taken Steve up on his offer, you thought, but then you wouldn’t have finished your painting, and who knew when you’d have this much time to work on it again.

You pulled out your phone, punched in 911, and positioned your finger over the call button. With that in one hand, and your keys clutched between the fingers on your other, you nudged the strap of your tote bag up with your shoulder and set off towards where you lived on the other side of campus.

You’d made it about a quarter of the way home without any trouble, when the familiar chill crept up your back. You were being followed. You didn’t want to make it obvious that you’d noticed, but you couldn’t resist slightly turning your head and taking a peak at the person out of the corner of your eye. It was a guy, probably another student. He stood somewhere around six feet tall, and was pretty well built. There was something about him that made you shiver with unease and you hoped that he’d go into one of the buildings or cross the street.

He followed you for five minutes, and then five minutes turned into ten and you got desperate to shake the stranger who’d become your shadow. You tried to remember what they’d taught you at the self defense class you’d taken when you started college, but all you could really recall was that if you had to go somewhere alone at night, it was best to walk on the parts of the sidewalk that were lit by the streetlamps. You’d been doing that, but lighting wouldn’t make a difference if the stranger decided murder you in the empty street.

You saw one of the campus gyms up ahead, and made out the shape of a person going down the steps. It was dark, but the streetlight reflected off the metal of his arm and you let out a sigh of relief. Bucky Barnes lived across the hall from you, and was good friends with Steve. The two of you weren’t close, but you’d interacted enough for him to recognize you. You figured that if you walked with him, the other guy would get off of your tail and go home. You hoped the guy up ahead actually was Bucky, and that you weren’t just hallucinating about his arm from your lack of sleep.

You jogged a little to catch up with the guy, who you were relieved to see was Bucky, and once you reached him, you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his torso. He tensed up and started to recoil when you whispered, “Please just go with it, this guy’s been following me for the past 15 minutes and I don’t think it’s because we live on the same block,” you relaxed your grip on his body, but left your hand resting on his right arm, the one that wasn’t made out of metal.

He did the same thing you’d done earlier, and took a quick peek at your shadow who’d stopped in his tracks and seemed to be watching the two of you quite intently. “Yeah of course,” he whispered back, and then “Hey babe! I missed you today!” Bucky was being loud on purpose, so that the guy would get the message and leave the two of you alone. What he did seemed to work, because the stranger turned into the next alley he passed, making it so you and Bucky were the only people in the street.

“What are you doing out so late?” you asked him.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was at the art studio finishing up one of my paintings before the exhibition next week. Your friend Steve was there earlier, I think he was working on one of his pencil drawings of Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, he was telling me about those the other day, but he usually isn’t there this late.”

“I’m not either,” you laughed, suddenly a lot more carefree, “but this piece in particular was a real pain in the ass. I got it done though! Which is really all that matters, who needs sleep anyway?”

“You by the looks of it,” he smiled, reaching out to steady you as you tripped over nothing at all.

“Okay, but you still haven’t told me why you were out this late. I showed you mine and now you gotta show me yours,” you wiggled your eyebrows up and down suggestively. All the tension from before had melted away, leaving you sleepy and slightly delirious. You took a hold of his hand, and when he didn’t flinch or push you away, you intertwined your fingers with his.

He laughed at your comment and explained “Sometimes when I can’t sleep I come down to the gym and work myself really hard so that I get tired enough to sleep out of sheer exhaustion if nothing else.”

You gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze, and realized that while you’d been talking you’d made it to the building where you both lived. Because your dorms were right across the hall from each other, you didn’t have to part ways just yet. You spent the elevator ride up to the fourth floor in a comfortable silence.

You unlocked your door, but before going inside you leaned up against it and said, “Thanks again for saving me back there.”

He turned around from where he was unlocking his room and smiled “Anytime doll, I’m always here if you need something.”

“Well actually…”

“Yeah?”

“I might need someone to go out for coffee with me tomorrow?”

“We can’t have you going out all alone now can we?” he laughed, pushing his door open just enough so that you could see that he’d forgotten to turn the lights off before he’d left. “I’d love to go out with you tomorrow, but first I think we both need to get some sleep.”

“Night, Bucky.”

“G’night doll.”

Once inside your room, you leaned against your closed door and sighed in contentment. It was almost one in the morning, and you were about to pass out, but you couldn’t feel more awake. You had a date tomorrow.

fin.

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[bytheangell]

Second Chances at First Impressions

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: First Date // Ship: Clace // Rating: General // Tags: Christmas fluff, first dates, holidays, Post-Canon Summary:   Not wanting Clary to be left alone for the holiday, Jace invites her to spend it with his family - and Clary feels right at home though she doesn't know why her time with the Lightwoods feels so natural. Created for @shadowhunterbingo

—

It’s a dating auction for charity, but with a twist: several of the art classes at the local college are auctioning off paintings - and whoever wins the painting also wins a coffee ‘date’ with the artist after the auction. Obviously, as no genders or appearances will be known, it’s set up as less of a date-date and more of a chance to meet and talk with someone new. 

Jace has no way of knowing whether Clary’s even going to participate, but he’s willing to gamble on yes as he situates himself in the audience looking spectacularly out of place for an art auction in his ripped jeans and leather jacket.  Clary’s never turned down the chance to help people, he can’t imagine she’d stop now. 

He’s right. The moment the 9th painting is brought out he knows that it’s hers - he’s been going to her exhibits, watching the evolution of her work. He may not know much about art in general but he knows a lot about Clary’s art - her use of colors to give hints at scenes just beyond the canvas, the way the brush strokes grow thicker and the colors more prominent where her emotions take over and she gets a little too into the work, a little too heavy-handed. 

He wins the auction after a very strenuous back-and-forth with a middle-aged woman, and has to act surprised when he’s brought over to ‘meet’ the artist. 

“You again!” Clary says, smiling. “Jace, right?” 

“You remembered, I’m touched,” Jace says, smiling with just the right amount of teasing. 

“Yeah, well, it isn’t often someone runs away from me at my own exhibition,” Clary points out, joking just as easily. 

“No running away this time, you’re stuck with me for an entire coffee,” Jace promises, motioning for her to lead the way out. “Java Jones?” 

“That’s my favorite! How did you know?” Clary asks. 

“I didn’t. That just happens to be my favorite,” he covers quickly. 

“Huh,” Clary muses, but doesn’t comment on it any further than that. Instead they chat, about the crazy up and down temperatures lately, about Clary’s classes, about Jace’s work. He freezes for only a second before deciding on a whim to say it’s training in, and teaching, various forms of martial arts... which isn’t entirely off base.  

Soon they start talking about Clary’s artwork, and once Clary starts she doesn’t stop. Jace listens with his entire focus on her, asking questions and commenting here and there. He starts one too many sentences with “This girl I knew used to-” for everything he has to add, because everything he knows about art he learned from watching her during her time at the Institute, not that he can tell her that. 

The hour they’re scheduled for flies by, and the next thing they know it’s been two hours, three drink refills, and they’re still talking when the barrista comes around to warn them they’re about to close. 

“Oh my goodness,” Clary says, looking at the clock on the wall. “I can’t believe I kept you here so long, I didn’t realize how late it was!” 

Jace smiles and shakes his head. “I wasn’t exactly trying to leave, you know,” he points out. 

And it’s true. Even without having the Shadow World to talk about, it’s like falling back into stride with an old friend talking with Clary, where everything is so much easier than he ever expected. It’s a blessing and a curse because as nice as their conversation was he knows this is only for the night, and once he walks out of here she’ll probably never speak to him again. 

“I think I’m just starved for company this week. Everyone else went home for break, I think I’m the only one left on campus,” she says, trying to laugh off the statement though he can tell she’s at least a little bothered by it. 

He almost asks why she stayed behind when he remembers - she doesn’t have anywhere else to go for the holidays.  

His heart breaks, and before he can think twice the words are tumbling out of his mouth. 

“Why don’t you spend Christmas with me?” 

“What?” Clary asks, clearly surprised by the offer. 

“I mean, not just me. My family. It isn’t anything big but you’re more than welcome. What’s that saying? There’s always room for one more?” Jace ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him how terrible of an idea this is, especially when he catches the hint of

“I couldn’t. I barely know you-” Clary starts, but Jace cuts her off before she can completely turn the offer down. 

“Really, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. My mom always makes way too much food, and my brother’s husband makes the most amazing cocktails. And I have this feeling you’ll get along really well with all of them. In fact, right now I’m the only one not bringing someone along, so you’d be doing me a favor.” Jace pauses, realizing how that might sound. “Just as friends. And if you hate it you can turn around and leave. What do you have to lose?” 

He knows he might be trying a little too hard to get her to agree, but he can’t imagine a scenario where he walks away from her right now to leave her entirely alone for the next two days heating up Christmas dinner in a dorm microwave, or eating alone at a diner. 

Clary considers the offer for a very long minute or two before sighing. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. But if it’s awkward you have to cover for me leaving early.” “Deal,” Jace agrees immediately, pulling out his phone. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address.” 

She does, putting her name in as ‘Clary’ with a little paintbrush icon. Jace immediately sends her a text with Maryse’s address. 

“I’ll see you then,” he says, resisting the urge to hug her goodbye. He doesn’t want to push his luck, and he wants to make sure she’s comfortable enough to follow through on the offer in two days.

To his surprise, Clary’s the one who takes one step to leave, stops, and turns back to wrap her arms around his middle for just a few seconds. 

“Thank you, Jace,” she says as she pulls away, and this time doesn’t look back. 

---

They do breakfast and presents with Simon and Luke who both leave before Clary is due to arrive. As far as Jace could figure out from his time with Clary, her memories of the two of them were altered in a way similar to Simon’s mother’s, so it wouldn’t do to have her completely blindsided walking into a room with the two of them. It’s enough of a risk with the rest of the Lightwoods and Lightwood-Banes - something Alec brings up one last time. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Alec asks. 

“It’ll be fine. We just can’t let the wrong things slip out… we did it once before, you all managed that dinner with Charlie,” Izzy reminds him. 

“Does Clary think we’re jewelers too, then?” Alec asks with a slight smirk. 

“You can do whatever you want. I’m a martial arts instructor,” Jace reminds him. 

“Of course you are, blondie,” Magnus says, walking over with a drink in hand. “But Isabelle’s right. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He doesn’t bring back up the contingency plan of being able to wipe this day from her mind and send her on her way if it backfires spectacularly, because Jace hates the idea and only bristles and insists they won’t need that. 

“Better than leaving the poor girl alone for the holidays,” Maryse agrees. 

“She might not even show. I mean, it’s a weird offer from a guy she only spoke to twice,” Jace points out. And when it hits ten, and then twenty minutes past the point Jace told Clary to come over they’re pretty sure she decided just that. 

Until the doorbell rings. 

Jace goes to answer it, beaming when he sees Clary in the hallway holding up a bottle of wine. 

“Happy Holidays,” she says. “I hope this is alright. I didn’t want to bring nothing, but I didn’t know what anyone liked…”

“It’s lovely,” Maryse says, coming up behind Jace. “Come inside, take your coat off, dear. I’m Maryse, by the way. We’re so glad you decided to come.” 

“Thank you for having me,” Clary says. “I’m Clary.” 

Jace watches Clary’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the number of people she doesn’t know and swallowing back a moment of nervousness. Jace wonders if maybe this is too much for her - perhaps he should’ve arranged to do something with just her rather than expose her to all of the Lightwoods all at once. 

But a moment later Izzy is bounding over with a bright smile. “I’m Izzy! So glad you could make it! I’m tired of being outnumbered by all the guys here,” she whispers conspiratorially to Clary who laughs and allows herself to be led off to grab a drink. 

It’s roughly half an hour later, with Izzy making her way quickly across the living room to grab something from her bag, when Maryse says, “I don’t know how you manage those heels on this carpeting.”  

“There’s nothing she can’t do in heels,” Clary chimes in, and Izzy and Jace share a look. Clary doesn’t even seem to realize she said it, turning right back to whatever she’d been discussing previously. 

It isn’t the only time it happens, either. Magnus calls her ‘Biscuit’ and Clary only smiles and says, “It’s been a while since anyone called me that.” Another time she brings up archery to Alec. 

“How did you know I shoot?” Alec asks slowly, eyebrow raised. 

“What? Oh. Jace must’ve mentioned it over coffee,” Clary says with a shrug. Alec looks over at Jace who only shakes his head slowly. 

Jace isn’t sure if it’s good or bad that Clary remembers more about them than just his name, but he’s certain that she has no idea she’s even doing it. Dinner is full of laughter and stories with just as much attention paid to Clary as to anyone else at the table, possibly more so as everyone - even Alec - goes out of their way to make sure she’s comfortable. They sit next to one another at the table, and more than once he catches himself getting lost watching her laugh over something Magnus said or blush over a compliment from Izzy. He also catches her staring at him a few times, too, though she’s always quick to look away once he does. 

Refusing to get his hopes up Jace does his best not to read into those little moments. He did invite her here as just friends, after all, and he’s sticking to it - if he can keep Clary in his life, even just as a casual acquaintance, it’s better than the total lack of her he suffered the past year. It’d have to be enough, and he’s determined not to scare her away and ruin even that. 

“I hope I didn’t impose too much,” Clary says at the end of the night. 

“Not at all, Clary,” Maryse promises. 

“In fact, we lost a good friend last year who you remind me a lot of… it was nice to have that energy around again,” Magnus adds, earning himself a warning glare from Alec which he pretends not to see.

“Oh, and it’s started to snow! ” Izzy announces from the window, turning around with a smile before Clary can read too much into Magnus’ comment and before the mood grows too somber. “We haven’t had a white Christmas since we were kids!” 

“Let me walk you back,” Jace offers, and Clary looks like she might argue for just a moment before giving him a small nod. 

“Alright,” she agrees, grabbing her coat and saying quick round of goodbyes to everyone before the two of them are out the door and on the snowy street below. It takes every bit of restraint Jace has within himself to not reach over to grab her hand as they walk, or move closer as they walk. He misses this. 

“I know I said it before, but thank you again for inviting me. Everyone was so welcoming, and honestly? I felt so comfortable around your family, like I’ve known them for months, not hours.” Clary says with a happy sigh.

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Jace says. 

Once they’re back at Clary’s dorm Jace hesitates. There’s so much he wants to say but he’s afraid of scaring her away, of being too much too soon, that he’ll come across as too eager to have her back in his life for someone who should, as far as she knows, barely know her. 

Before he can say anything, still trying to figure out how to ask to see her again as casually as possible, Clary speaks first. 

“I know you said this was just as friends,” Clary says, carefully avoiding his gaze as she talks. “But… I wouldn’t mind if it was more. Unless I’m totally misreading this and you were just being nice, which is totally fine-” 

“Do I get to answer?” Jace cuts her off, unable to keep the smirk from his face. “Because I think this was a perfect first date.” 

Clary relaxes at his words, smiling back. “Me too. Well, almost perfect,” she adds, taking a step closer to him. 

Jace closes the rest of the distance between them, their lips meeting amidst a flurry of snowflakes. There’s an immediate warmth between them, the spark of a connection that’s still there. He doesn’t have to wonder if Clary can feel it too - he feels her gasp against his lips at the spark between them, so intense it’s palpable, just like that moment in the alley the night of her exhibit. 

“What-” she starts, but the words trail off. He knows she can feel it, their past just beneath the surface, but not enough to put words to it. Instead she falls contemplatively silent again instead. 

“Setting the bar pretty high for a first date, aren’t we?” Jace observes. 

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Clary counters, leaning up for another kiss, this time bringing her arms around his waist to pull him closer. “After all, this wasn’t even supposed to be a date - we weren’t even trying.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Jace says with a huff, and finds himself rewarded with a laugh Clary tries, and fails, to hide behind the hand she brings up to her mouth. “But you’re right. With a little planning I think I can arrange for us to go ice skating next time.” 

“I used to ice skate all the time when I was little,” Clary says with a soft smile. “I haven’t been in years, though. I’d love that.”

It’s obvious neither of them want to be the one to walk away first but as the snow continues to fall and the temperature drops they finally part ways with the promise to make plans again soon. 

Jace’s phone buzzes almost as soon as the door shuts behind Clary. 

Clary: Too soon to make those plans?

And with a smile he wastes no time in replying:

Jace: Free tomorrow? 

He already knows so much about her he doesn’t like lying to go along with this ‘first date’ label, acting like he doesn’t love her with everything he has and then some, but it isn’t like he can tell her. All he can do is start over and hope the pieces fall into place the way they’re meant to - the way they did once before and hopefully will again. Angels be damned, Jace thought their happy ending was lost forever, but now?

Now that he has his second chance he isn’t going to let another second go by without Clary in his life. 

[sweetbitterpdf]

hello. I love your writings, they’re so damn good! Can you do 80 and 99 from the prompt list please💚

hello veronica, and ahh thank you so much!! i can absolutely do that!! 

i did some thinking about this one, and my brain provided me with a long-distance(ish) AU. hope that’s alright! 💖

( angst/fluff prompt list !!! )

80. “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’.” &  99. “Don’t you ever change.”

Eliott sits at the table, his foot bouncing up and down, up and down. Not with nervousness, but anticipation. He looks at the time—16:43— and then checks back over his messages.

Lucasi’m sat beside this businessman who keeps smushing me against the window

do i kill him

EliottNO KILLING !!

if you committed manslaughter i highly doubt you’d ever make it here 

and i want you here, so much

Lucasi want to be there too

maps says three more hours to Lyon

that’s basically nothing, right?

Eliott180 minutes

Lucas179 now

178

177

Eliottif you send me 176 more messages over the next three-ish hours i will have no choice but to block you

Lucas:(

whatever, last time i try to be romantic

Eliottsee you can��t say that because i know you to well

lucas lallemant, closet hopeless romantic

Lucasugh

what’s that deep quote you love

reward of being loved, ordeal of being known or something??

Eliott“if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known”

Lucasthat’s how i feel rn

wait

Eliottwhat?

Lucas i just looked it up

it’s from a new york times article about goats

Eliottyou’re lying

oh my god

you’re not lying

you’ve ruined it for me

Lucas i’m SORRY

ok businessman is getting nosy i think, gonna try and nap for a bit

i’ll text you later

Eliottsounds good!!

Lucaslove you ❤️

Eliottlove you too!!! ❤️❤️❤️

The texts were from precisely two hours and thirty nine minutes ago, and Eliott tries not to leap out of his seat and run around the cafe out of sheer excitement. Lucas will be in Lyon in mere minutes, and he’ll get to hold him in his arms for the first time in over a month.

LucasKitchen Cafe, right?

Eliottyep! on rue chevreul

That must mean he’s close, Eliott thinks. Is he at the station already?

Lucascome outside

Eliott gapes at his phone— rally and truly gapes. He can’t mean that he’s here, right? He can’t possibly be—

Lucaskinda look weird stood here on the sidewalk with all of my stuff, would appreciate you out here with me

He’s up out of his seat before he even thinks about it, his chair screeching at it’s pushed back behind him. He goes as fast as he can without calling attention to himself— though the screeching chair accomplished that for him already— and he’s out of the door, down the front steps and then—

Lucas.

His hair is a bit longer— a bit fluffier— but otherwise it’s the same Lucas that he sees when he closes his eyes. It the same Lucas he thinks of the moment after he wakes and the moment before he sleeps. The same Lucas that he loves, that he longs for every single day that they’re apart.

Except he’s here, now.

“Hey,” is all he can say to Lucas.

“Hey?” Lucas says, and he scoffs— a noise that Eliott didn’t even realize that he missed. “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey,’ Eliott. Come here,” and then Lucas is running at him, and his arms are open, and he’s smiling so wide and then—

They collide with a soft thud. Eliott pulls him as close as he possibly can, and they sway gently as they hold each other. He doesn’t want to let go, he wants to keep Lucas held in his arms like this forever. He doesn’t really care about the logistics of bringing Lucas to class with him— he’ll figure that out later.

“You’re here,” He breathes into the crook of Lucas’ neck, “Oh my god, you’re here.”

“For a whole week,” Lucas affirms. They pull back and Lucas’ eyes are sparkling, and he’s smiling, and he’s so warm and so beautiful. He can’t resist pressing their lips together, and then pressing their lips together again. Even when they pull apart, he keeps an arm around Lucas, pressing a kiss to his cheek, to his temple.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to grab something here before we head home?” Eliott rubs Lucas’ shoulder, and Lucas shakes his head. 

“I think I’m okay for now. Could we get food later?”

“Of course. The bus stop’s just down the road.”

—

There’s something about showing someone you care about a space that they’ve never been in, Eliott realizes. Especially when it’s a space that’s completely your own. It’s not completely unlike the first time Eliott brought Lucas into his apartment— the way he subconsciously holds his breath is similar.

“Wow.” Lucas says, looking around as they enter the small dorm room. He goes to the wall, running his fingers along the drawings that line it.

“What?” He asks, coming up behind him. He reaches a hand up to draw circles along Lucas’ back.

“It’s just… Such a small space. But it still feels so much like you.”

“Is that a good thing?” But the small smile on Lucas’ face tells him that it is, and so he smiles, too.

“I haven’t seen you in like a month, Eliott. Of course it’s a good thing.” Lucas pulls him in and he melts into his arms. They kiss gently, so gently it feels like a dream, and he pushes their foreheads together when they pull apart.

“Sorry the bed’s so small.” Eliott laughs, a bit nervous. One kiss turns into several, and then he’s being guided toward his small mattress.

Lucas presses him into it, says, “Something tells me we’ll make it work.” 

—

“What’s on the itinerary for today?” Lucas asks over a breakfast of eggs— that are actually edible this time, may Eliott add. The steam from two cups of coffee wafts through the air, and it’s times like these where he’s thankful for the fact that he has his own burner and kettle— meal hall is a mess, even on a good day.

“Well,” Eliott starts, as if he hasn’t been thinking about answers to such a question for weeks now— “there’s this museum that I love going to, the exhibits change, like, every week. Oh! and then there’s this interactive art gallery that all of my friends have been raving about, and I wanted to wait for you to get here to go. And then I was thinking we could have a picnic in the park?” He stops then, looks at Lucas’ slightly wide eyes. The sort of expression that says woah, slow down a bit. “Too much? We can just hang out if you want.” It feels as if he’s come back to reality a bit, as if he’s gotten carried away— and he’s so scared of getting carried away, because things have been going so well lately and Lucas being here is supposed to be good for him—

“No, Eliott, it sounds perfect.” One of Lucas’ hands is cupping his cheek now, and oh, his eyes were closed. When did that happen? But then his eyes are on Lucas, and his smile is so soft that Eliott can’t help but melt. “I missed you and your elaborate dates, okay? I was just… a bit taken aback, by how much I missed you.” He can’t help but believe Lucas, can’t help but lean in and kiss him, quick and gentle. “Don’t you ever change, I love everything you do, promise.” He stands there, in the middle of his dorm room, and he holds Lucas. Keeps him in his arms for what he wishes will be forever, feels his steady breathing against him. He takes a breath, and then, for the first time in ages he says to Lucas, face to face—

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lucas responds, so easily it makes his legs turn to jelly. “Now, where’s this museum?”

—

They spend the entire week hand-in-hand. They see museums and parks and cafes and friends together. Lucas falls in love with Lyon, and Eliott falls in love with Lucas— over and over and over again.

It’s almost enough time for Eliott to forget about how much he missed Lucas while they were apart.

But then— then— he’s leaving back to Paris, just as quickly as he got here.

“Hey,” Lucas says, feather-soft as he swipes at the tears that have begun to fall from Eliott’s eyes. “It’s only until Christmas, right? Not even, you’re done school when?”

“My last exam is on the eleventh.”

“Okay, so— let’s see…” Lucas pulls out his phone and starts tapping away. “sixty minutes in an hour, and then twenty four in a day…” Eliott smiles over at him, when he realizes what Lucas is doing “A few days left this month, then all of next month, and part of December, that makes… Sixty five thousand minutes— well, sixty four thousand, eight hundred.”

Eliott’s stomach drops. “Have we ever spent that much time apart?”

“No, I don’t think so. But hey,” Lucas says, getting his attention again by tilting his chin up. “You know what that means? We’ll have to make up for it by spending even more time than that together. Sixty five thousand minutes together, at least— maybe more.”

“Definitely more.” Eliott says, and he can’t help but smile. Lucas always knows exactly what to say— a talent that Eliott is thankful for every time he’s in need of comfort.

“Perfect.” And they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Then Lucas looks down at his phone, and his smile falls. “My train’ll be here soon, I should go. A few more kisses for the road?” Eliott indulges him, will indulge him for the rest of time.

“I love you.”

“I love you. See you soon.”

Their hands drift apart as Lucas steps through the turnstile. Lucas waves from the window, and Eliott can’t help but compare it to all of the cliché romance movies that he’s seen. Can’t believe that his life has become one.

He wipes the last few stray tears from his cheek as Lucas’ train pulls away. A moment later, his phone buzzes.

Lucasi left you something on your pillow, might make it easier to make up for our lost time

Eliottoh?

Lucasyeah

call me when you get home

—

Eliott rushes home as fast as he can. Into his dorm, up the stairs, into his room. He sees what Lucas had left him— an envelope, set atop his pillow. He picks it up, flips it over.

For all of the minutes we’ve spent apart, we’ll spend twice as many together. I promise.

And this will make it a whole lot easier.

Je t’aime,

Lucas

Eliott opens the envelope carefully, puts it in a box that he keeps for precious things, that he keeps near his bed. He then finally, finally, unfolds the piece of paper.

Gasps out loud.

Dials Lucas’ number.

Re-reads the paper as it rings.

‘Monsieur Lallemant,

Notre équipe à l’Université de Lyon a le plaisir de vous faire parvenir une offre d’admission définitive au département bachelier des sciences biologiques, effectif en commençant le terme d’automne 2020…’

[coasterchild]

once again, twitter got me all riled up thinking about Star Wars, so for mostly my own peace of mind here are:

The character arcs we DESERVED in TRoS

-Rey 

Learning to shoulder the burden, like Luke before her, of being the One True Savior of the Galaxy. People depend on her, they expect her to be a Hero and a Jedi and beyond failure. Leia tries to keep her grounded, but she pushes herself too hard. (this is where I'd throw Ahsoka in to help her achieve balance) (maybe a cameo from luke force ghost later on. "How did you do this, Luke. How did you do this alone?" "I was never alone. And neither are you.") She has a breakthrough when she's fighting something herself, a big monster or too many first order troops or a handful of tie fighters or whatever. She tells everyone to go, get to safety, she'll hold them off. 

Poe, Rose, and some assortment of droids do as they're told, disappearing around a corner. 

Rey is repelling blaster bolts or slicing tentacles (of course it has tentacles) or whatever, and she's nearly overwhelmed when she feels a hand on her shoulder. It's Finn, he looks terrified, and just as another attack approaches, a shockwave of a Force push emanates in a radius around them. Rey: "How did you do that?!" Finn: "I don't know!!" and they both take off running. Finn (there's some indication that he's a natural at sensing things in the Force) can detect where attacks will be coming, and uses it to make their escape clean. Poe, Rose & co swoop in just in time with a stolen imperial shuttle. (they had no intention of leaving her behind either)

There’s perhaps a poignant scene with Kylo where he makes some comment about her facing him alone. And she’s like “I’m not alone, and you don’t have to be either.”

With new found confidence, she faces off with the big bad. (I'm assuming still Palpatine here, but I'm VERY open to other options.) Redeemed Ben is there, fights happen, it basically goes down as it does in the movie (minus the Rey Palpatine nonsense), but now “I am every Jedi” is about the fact that she’s not alone, not ever. She has the power to defeat ol’ sheev because of those who came before her, the people who fight with her now, and her own strength of will to see it through. 

(also Finn’s voice is in the every Jedi thing, because he can feel her reaching out, asking for help without realizing it)

-Finn

Having committed himself to the Resistance after the events of TLJ, Finn is finally starting to feel comfortable in his role. His cause is just, there are people here who love him (rey and poe and rose!!), and he’s GOOD at what he does. 

Some plot device or another takes their merry band to a planet that has just managed to fight off the First Order presence plaguing them. They learn it was when the inhabitants were informed there would be another “Harvest”, which we eventually learn means officers backed by troopers with, just, so many blasters, go into homes and take children, usually infants and toddlers, as recruits. This planet has been a target before, and this time, they refused. At great cost. 

Anyway, yadda yadda yadda: WE MEET FINN’S PARENTS. Maybe he has a little sister?? Maybe she shows signs of having……… THE FORCE.. (Finn: when was the last Harvest? Mysterious parental figure: oh I’d say around [exactly when Finn was taken]) (Maybe he’s a SECRET PRINCE???) Anyway…

It’s a lot to take in, he has some heart-to-hearts with people, eventually they have to move on for plot reasons, but Finn has a home to go back to now. He never thought he’d have that.

And Finn is going through all kinds of emotional growth because GUESS WHAT in the final battle (don’t worry Jannah’s still there and they ride in on space horsies because that was great.), Finn (with Rose’s help!!) gains access to the Final Order inter-ship communication system and broadcasts a message offering amnesty and safe harbor for any trooper who stands down. Who stops taking life in defense of control and fear and starts living for the sake of Hope.

 Then, when Poe and the other pilots think they're beat, one of the star destroyers turns on the others. And then another. And it's not the whole fleet, but a few mutinied ships just might be enough to buy them the time they need…

Maybe there’s a dramatic pause where Poe is like “we’re outgunned. We can’t do anything all alone out here.” And Finn, noticing a SD turning its cannon at another, “Poe… I don’t think we’re alone.” Explosion! Cheers!! This is the legacy of FN-2187

-Poe

Poe!!! So he’s been given more authority in the Resistance, and he’s learned from TLJ. He’s still daring and wisecracking and undeniably poe, but with Leia’s guidance and Holdo’s example he’s become more measured, more thoughtful in planning his missions. And the success rate of the Resistance has improved because of it.

But now that he gives himself time to breathe, time to THINK, Poe finds dealing with the losses they do suffer harder and harder to bear. We get some juicy background stuff about his mom, about how his father took the news of her death, and how he wanted, more than anything, to live up to her. (none of the spice running backstory happens. If Zorri exists she’s actually given some kriffing THOUGHT as a character and not just a prop to affirm Poe’s alleged heterosexuality)

I’m not 100% sure how this one plays out. There’s definitely a Leia pep talk in there somewhere. She tells him that Shara would be so proud of him. EMOTIONS.

Ooh, there could be some good Lando moments too (especially to pick up the slack regarding obvious limitations with Carrie’s part). He knows what it’s like to make impossible decisions because you’re responsible for people. 

“Responsibility is heavy, and it might always feel like someone else is more qualified or more capable or more prepared to face it, but remember: One of the most capable people I’ve ever met tells me you’re the right one for the job. The only one she trusts to get it done. And when Leia Organa says she needs you, you do what you can, son. You do what you can, and when you make a mistake, you go back and you fix it. Getting hung up on anything else will drag you down, and I have it on good authority that you were meant to be in the sky, General Dameron.” 

-Rose is kind of our audience surrogate for Finn’s journey. She has to grapple with the fact that most if not all of the stormtroopers they face are never actually given a choice in what they fight for, and what that might mean for their tactics. She helps him realize that learning where he comes from doesn’t replace who he’s made himself into, it only adds to it. 

After the war, she oversees efforts to rebuild planets like Finn’s, to help them recover from the effects of First order occupation. Maybe Chewie goes with her!!

Finn Rey and Poe live happily ever after in Finn’s palace home, and maybe every so often people--sometimes parents with a young child exhibiting certain gifts, sometimes a teenager who can’t explain why rocks tend to float when they get excited about something, and all kinds of other folks, young and old--come knocking, saying they want to learn the ways of the Skywalker. 

[ill-skillsgard]

The Promise - Bill Skarsgård

Title: The Promise

Description: He is a good lawyer, a great liar and he never breaks a promise.

Warning: 18+ for swearing/sex/cheating/cuckold/impregnation/Daddy-kink etc.

A/N: This fic was 100% inspired by Qarni and is in no way original at all. Still smutty though.

"They don't know that you belong to me.”

"Are you sure you want to wear those all night?" I looked down at my black patent pumps and then back at my fiancé. "Yes. I'll be fine."

He simpered at me. "Don't you remember the Christmas party?"

Of course, I remember, I thought. Bill was wearing the best fitting black pants, a blue shirt and a black tie. He got his hair cut too. He looked so fucking good that night.

"I broke a heel. That doesn't mean I should stop wearing heels."

"I don't know how you girls wear those things."

Looking down at them again, I turned my ankle out and took a moment to appreciate the way the shoes made my legs look. I always had a big thing for shoes. I thought maybe it was because I didn't have much growing up and I always loved the way women looked wearing them. Once I started a new job at a big law firm I could afford the kind of shoes I always wanted to wear and I had gone a little overboard the first year. But I justified my obsession by comparing it to my fiancé's collections and habits so it didn't seem quite as bad. Plus, they encouraged it at work so I had another excuse to add a pair or two to my collection each month.

After applying the finishing touches to my makeup, I was ready to go. We were attending an after-hours office party in celebration of how successful the year had been so far with two birthdays mixed in. Bill made the announcement two weeks prior that he was going to allow us to have a celebration to accommodate all the happy and well-earned milestones that seemed to be in no short supply. It would also double as an engagement affair for us.

We were a little late to the party but when we showed up, there were many people excited to see us. I always thought it was so surreal hanging out with my coworkers in a non-professional setting, where everyone had drinks in their hands and worse stories to tell than the regular drivel that was spilled during our weekly nine to fives.

What was really, really surreal though was seeing Bill and my fiancé talking.

He went home to change his outfit from earlier. I wonder what cologne he put on. Knowing Bill, he probably showered and shaved too.

It wasn't uncomfortable approaching Bill when my soon-to-be-husband was already shaking his hand and exchanging more-than-pleasantries.

Fuck, he's so good at keeping his cool. I suppose that's why he's one of the best.

"And there is your beautiful bride-to-be!" Bill announced my arrival after I had found myself a drink and joined them. "We were just singing your praises."

He smiled at me, "that's my girl! Or should I say, my wife."

"Ah, ah! Not yet. Fiancé."

"Yes but, come on. How long have you two been together now? Four... Five years?" Bill inquired.

"Four," he replied.

"Three and a half," I corrected them.

Bill looked me over again but only with his eyes and it was very quick. Even but a short glance, I could see heat building behind his light green eyes. I knew the look because I had seen it many times before. Bill was a good lawyer and a great liar but I could tell the difference between his glints and glowers.

The night carried on and Bill was eventually pulled away by one of the many other people that sought an audience with him. It was fine though, I had other people to talk to; wishes to give and congratulations to receive. After a couple of drinks I had mostly caught up with everyone else and we all began to loosen up. There was music playing, food, drinks, all my co-workers and their significant others were talking or laughing together. It was easy to get lost in the din until somebody turned down the music and clanged a fork against a half-full wine glass.

"Good evening everybody," Bill's voice broke over the murmurs and dulled beat of the music. "Thank you all for coming. I just wanted to say a few things to the collective before anyone gets too out of hand. I'm looking at you, Trisha."

A dainty red-head of a secretary turned pink after being called out by Bill. The year prior, Trisha had gotten too drunk at the office Halloween party and vomited on the carpet in front of everybody. Not that any of us would judge since the vast majority of the people we worked with were also well known for getting too liquored up from time to time. It was all in good fun the way we made jabs at each other. We were a tight-knit team and everyone knew everyone's personal business. 

So far, our closeness had caused no rifts in the firm. Well... Any rifts that anyone knew about at the least. There was one scandal that had been carrying on for some time. Something that was so obvious to me but unthinkable to anyone else. Not even my fiancé suspected anything. I could tell because he treated Bill like his equal and he only did that when he perceived another man to be a non-threat to our relationship.

My fiancé was great, and he kept himself fit but he was definitely territorial; A trait that caused more problems than it solved. If he thought another man found me attractive, he would puff up like a blowfish and act like I needed protection. It got to the point where we stopped going to clubs and bars because he would get into fights with guys that tried to talk to me. If I was honest with myself, I would say that I liked the attention though I had never admitted it out loud. I liked the way he treated me usually, but we weren't without our issues.

Alas, he was there to support me and made sure all eyes were on me when Bill spoke of the happy couple during his speech. 

I had the attention of being newly engaged and earning a spot for myself as a partner which meant I got to have a nice big office all to myself. Not that it came as a surprise to anyone else in the firm. I had been doing great all year in the eyes of professionalism.

"With everything being said, I'd like to wish you all a wonderful evening! Here's to many more causes to celebrate." Bill rose his glass and everyone followed suit.

After Bill's short speech he mingled for a few minutes before inching his way towards me and fiancé again. 

"Would you mind if I stole your wife for a minute or two?" Bill asked once he had managed to break away from other conversations. "I'd very much like to show you your new office and give you the keys."

"Of course, take all the time you need. But I'll need her back by midnight!"

I smiled at him and then at Bill. With a slight bow, exhibiting his ability to appear solemn, Bill honoured the agreement and before I knew it I was following Bill away from our conference rooms and down the hall. As soon as we were out of anyone's sight he reached his hand out and grabbed my ass, giving it a firm shake as we walked side by side down the hall towards the corner office.

Bill had been promising me that office for a long time and I knew that he would give it to me if I proved myself. But he wouldn't just hand it over so easily. No, there would be a great deal of bargaining between the both of us even if I displayed enough intelligence and prowess in my position to earn us some big-name clients.

So many of our agreements had gone unspoken except for one. Our affair. The ongoing scandal of my life.

When he opened the door and allowed me in first, I turned to him immediately, waited for him to shut and lock the door and then opened my arms so he could put his hands on me wherever he liked. He backed me up against the desk, all lips and limbs tripping until he had me pinned firmly with his hips.

"Oh... I've been waiting to touch you since the moment you walked in." He whispered before kissing me hard with his hand threaded through my hair so he could tip my face up to his.

"Bill... Jesus. This is so risky."

"No, no kitten. Everything is fine. The door is locked, the guests have free alcohol and if anybody comes knocking... I'm just showing my very best employee-turned-partner her new office. Very professional. Nobody will suspect a thing."

I blushed as he ran his hand up my neck and jaw. "You're insatiable."

"Don't pretend like you weren't thinking about me. Oh... You might have them all fooled by the way you hang off your new husband-to-be but they don't know... They don't know that you belong to me... Isn't that right?"

His hand gripped my chin a little tighter as he whispered close to my ear, sending chills through my body with his voice and the way his pelvis had me forced up against the big oak desk.

"And that pussy... Mm-hm, that pretty, pink little pussy is mine too."

When he got close to me and hissed all of his nasty little words in my ear, I couldn't help but feel myself melting, breasts tingling, lashes fluttering underneath his work. All of those salacious promises that spilled from his pouting lips made it impossible for me to resist him. I had tried many times to say no to him but he made it so difficult with the way he dressed and how his fingers always got to toying with some part of my outfit when nobody was looking. Whether he was admiring my ponytail after a meeting or commenting on how my skirt was just short enough to cover what needed to be covered, he always had something to say to me in private that made me swoon.

"You wore my favourite heels too. Goddamn it. You look so fucking good in those shoes... The stockings too... Fuck. You knew what you were doing, weren't you? Putting those shoes on because you knew it would drive me crazy... You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I just want to look good for you, sir."

"Oh, fuck." He groaned. "I knew it. I knew it because you're my dirty little girl, aren't you? You're mine... He might be marrying you but your cunt will always belong to me."

"Yes... Yes, sir."

"Call me Daddy. Do it. Say, oh yes Daddy, my pussy belongs to you."

I obeyed him and earned myself another nice, long kiss. His hands ran down my hips and gripped my thighs so he could pull me up on top of the desk and force himself between my legs. He sighed as he ran his hand over the sheer material of my stockings.

"Oh fuck. Open your legs... Show me your panties."

When I spread my legs apart Bill took a small step back to see. I watched his eyes flutter and his teeth dig into his bottom lip when he saw what I was wearing underneath.

"Thigh-highs? How dare you." Bill seethed.

He reached his hand out and ran two fingers up the front of my underwear, eliciting a soft moan from my throat. "Daddy." I breathed.

"Mm, yes. That's right. I'm your Daddy. And who does that wet cunt belong too?"

"You, Daddy."

"Yes. Even though you're marrying him, that pussy is still mine, and it will always be mine. You belong to me."

He leaned over so he was at eye-level with me, making sure I didn't look off or close my eyes while he began to give me gentle little strokes over the material of my panties with the tip of his thumb. He cooed when I whined and smiled when my lips fell open.

"Does that feel good? When I just tease you a little?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want more, don't you kitten?"

I nodded my head and spread my thighs wider for him but he stood back up with a smirk on his face.

"I want to hear you beg. Say, please sir. Please touch my pussy. Please play with my clit and finger my wet cunt. Do it. Beg for me. Otherwise... I might just feel inclined to leave you like this and go back to the party. You wouldn't want to go back out there all wet and bothered, would you?"

"No, sir. Please... Please touch me. Please, I want to feel your fingers inside of me."

Bill groaned as he listened to the words he wanted to hear. He was a man that truly enjoyed indulging his senses. From visual to auditory to the way certain materials felt against his skin, I knew he was an intense creature of passion. Stimulation was something he always craved and when he had found out about my little crush on him a couple of years ago, he had used that information to get me to fulfill all of his little office fantasies. Although, the fantasy was becoming more and more muddled and marred by our own selfish lusts. It had become less of an obscene chimera that we would occasionally sneak off to and more of a blinding everyday reality.

"I think you can do a little better than that." He told me.

"Please, Daddy. Please, I need you to make me come. I need you inside of me. I'm so wet for you."

"Oh... You're such a good girl... and I'm not mad that you're marrying him. In fact, it makes me even more excited to take you whenever I want. Just knowing that he has no idea how much of a filthy little whore you are for me makes me so fucking hard."

Bill got down on his knees in front of me and began kissing my stocking-clad thighs. A small sweet kiss on one and then he would switch to the other side, gradually working his way until he was inches away from my aching wetness. It was another thing he loved to do; teasing me until I couldn't take it anymore. Until I felt his hot breath right there against me.

I brushed my fingers through his soft brown hair, pushing it away from his forehead as he stared up at me with those big, enthrallingly green eyes.

"You want my mouth?" He asked.

I nodded.

"Promise to keep quiet?"

I nodded my head again, but it wasn't a good enough answer for him.

"Say you promise."

"I promise."

With that, he hooked his long index finger underneath the fabric of my panties and pull them to the side. He immediately had this look in his eyes like he was seeing me for the first time, sitting on the desk with my legs spread. Like he was in love.

There was something irresistible about Bill. I had to have him. He had to have me. I wasn't sure what to do about it besides give in to my desire. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care. Not when it came to him.

"What to do? What to do?" He sang. "Should I... Finger you? Lick you? Should I just... Fuck you? What do you think, honey?"

"Whatever you want."

"Oh yeah? Is that what he does? Does he do whatever he wants to you? Huh? Does he make you this wet? Does he know how to eat your pussy just right? Can he make you come as hard as I do?"

"No." I whispered, squirming against the fingers he used to hold my panties over.

"No," He growled. "Nobody makes you come like I do. Because this..."

He leaned in closer to me, lips so close to my clit I bristled beneath his heat. "This is my pussy."

I let out the most helpless whimper when he stuck his tongue out and licked the slowest, hottest and wettest trail all the way from my opening to my clit. Then he moaned against me and it felt so good I thought I could turn to liquid on the desk.

I watched him, his lips, his tongue. I watched how he used his mouth against me, lapping at my clit and licking up the juices he helped draw from the wells of my weakness for him. He made it look just as good as it felt.

The sounds he made were dripping with carnality. He moaned incessantly as he tasted me and made sure I knew just how much he was enjoying every second of it. It sent sweetly sick vibrations through me every time he groaned or whispered against pussy.

He pulled away for a moment and said, "fuck... I love the way your cunt tastes."

"Mmm, yes Daddy. Yes."

"Oh, my good girl. My sweet, sweet girl."

His lips hung open as he brought his other hand up, turned his wrist and stroked two fingers up over my folds a couple of times before slowly working them inside of me.

"Oh yeah. You like that feeling? You like it when my fingers are inside of you?"

Hooking his fingers up, he rubbed that sensual little spot inside of me and smiled up at me like he was happy to do so. Really the reason he was smiling was that he knew he had complete control of me and when he started working those digits in and out my head fell back and I moaned.

"Quiet, kitten. Remember your promise."

It was a challenge not to make any noise after he started fingering me rigorously. Clapping one palm over my mouth, I watched with choked breaths as he worked those two long fingers in and out for a minute or two before flicking his tongue over my clit again. All of it was enough to leave me gasping and clenching my muscles. My thighs started to shake and Bill let out a soft giggle.

"Are you going to come for Daddy?"

I nodded my head, hand still clamped over my mouth. It was so easy to get to the edge with him. Nobody could make me come as fast or as hard as he could and it only took another minute before I was close enough to climax that he could feel me tightening around his fingers, angling my hips up so I could watch him slather me with his wet tongue.

"Yes, yes, yes... Come for me, baby. I need you to. I want you to come. Right in my mouth."

His free hand grasped my thigh, wrenching my legs further apart so I had a full view of what he was doing to me. It only took one more cast of his eyes up at me to bring me to my peak. I rode the deep tingling sensation until it was too much and my body began convulsing in orgasm.

"Yes! Oh, fuck. That's it, baby. Give me all that cum, yes. Mm, so good."

I shuddered and relaxed my body after he took his fingers out of me and began kissing my thighs again. His lips were red and when he stood up, I could see he was hard.

"Are you ready to get heading back? Surely people are wondering where we went off to?"

I shook my head. There was no way I could hop off the desk and go back to the party without at least giving myself a minute to calm down. When I saw the look in Bill's eyes I could tell he also had other plans. 

"Get up. Turn around then, I'm not done with you."

The clinking of his belt sounded after I scooted off the desk and turned around. He pulled my skirt up again and yanked my panties all the way down, palm on my back forcing me to bend over for him.

"Daddy's going to give you something," Bill whispered. "Something that will remind you every single day that you're mine."

I felt the head of his cock pressing against my opening and ever so slowly he pushed himself inside of me, teasing every inch until he was engulfed in my warm wetness. He groaned as he did so, relishing the feeling of how tight I had become from my recent orgasm. After giving me a light slap on the ass he started thrusting into me forcefully and I had to plant my palms on the desk to keep my balance in my black high heels.

"You like getting fucked hard, don't you? You love it when Daddy gives you his nice hard cock, isn't that right baby girl?"

"Yes, Daddy," I drawled.

"Yeah... You're going to take my cum too. All of it. That's right..."

My chest tightened, as did his grip on my hips. When I looked back at him his expression had changed. Normally he looked so euphoric when we fucked but this time it was different. His eyebrows were knit together like he was angry and his teeth clenched as he forced himself into me with a renewed ruthlessness.

"You heard me. You're going to take my cum... Yes. Yes, you are." Bill pulled my hair back, bringing his lips to my ear so he could whisper, "you're going to have my baby."

"Bill..."

"Yes. You will come to work every day, go to meetings and meet new clients and soon enough you'll start showing and everybody will think it's his but... you and I know that's not true. It will be my child inside of you."

I whimpered as his thrusts grew faster and harsher. Try as I might have to turn around, he only wrapped me up in his arms so I couldn't struggle against him. He had the height and power over me and when he sighed against my neck I felt every hair on my body rise.

"You will always be mine." He told me. "Always. It doesn't matter who's ring is on your finger. You're my good girl."

The sounds of his hips slapping against my ass filled the office and mostly drowned out my whining. I gasped as he bucked into me hard. It wasn't too late to stop him but he squeezed me when I tried to push off the desk.

"You're going to go back to the party... Back into your fiancé's arms with my cum still inside of you. Nobody will know except for us."

"Bill, please."

"Who do you belong to?"

When I didn't answer he slapped my ass hard and asked me again. "Who does that filthy, whore cunt belong to? Hm? It's mine and I'm going to fill it up with my cum."

When his thrusts grew faster, I knew he was almost there and the faster he came the quicker we could go back to avoid suspicion. I leaned my head back on his shoulder and he kissed my neck lovingly. 

"Oh, fuck... I'm gonna fucking blow. You ready to take it all, baby?"

My emotions started to get the better of me and I closed my eyes to stave off tears and whined. "Daddy..."

When he tensed up and pulled my hips back onto him I felt the throbbing sensation of him unloading every drop of cum he had inside of me. The way he shuddered and wrapped his fingers around my neck was as obscene as it was playful. He released with a storm of fucks and low growls that resounded through my entire body, reminding me I was just as filthy as he told me I was. With long, languid thrusts, he fulfilled his promise and poured himself inside of me with no remorse.

After he pulled out, he started to giggle again and bent down to pull my panties back up from around my ankles. He kissed my cheek and forced me to turn around so he could press me against the desk once more.

"Tell me one more time... Who do you belong to?"

"You, Daddy."

"That's right. You will always belong to me, that is a promise."